vickie’s suburban adventure, day six: the almost-flood

when i went down to the basement to feed kyle his breakfast this morning, i flipped on the light and noticed something unusual and mildly alarming: a large wet spot seeping out from under the washing machine.

uh oh.

i hadn’t done laundry since monday, and i don’t remember that wet spot being there last night when i put mr. poo to bed... so something was clearly amiss.

as monsieur angrily meowed at me for his food, i tried to figure out from whence the water was very obviously coming. i couldn’t SEE anything, but i could hear the distinct “drip... drip... drip...” of a leak somewhere. i looked up at the ceiling – nope, bone dry. i checked all the connections on the back of the washer – tight and fine. my mind started racing. what if this wet spot was just the calm before the flood? what if whatever was leaking started leaking faster? would i have to call a plumber? where the hell would i FIND a plumber??

so, taking a breath, i decided further investigation was in order before i hit the panic button. i found a flashlight (as kyle continued screaming at me in his irritated little cat voice) and started looking. hard. then i saw it: water dripping along one of the hoses and dropping off onto the floor where the hose curved into the washing machine. and the water that was dripping was seeping down from the knob on the faucet that controlled the hot water flow. the washers on those connections have been eroding forever, so i totally wasn't surprised that one of those faucets was now the source of my impending disaster.

now, i know i turned that knob all the way off when i finished my laundry on monday. but, for good measure, i thought i should try to tighten it just in case that was all it took to cause the drip to cease and desist.

so, i turned it about 1/100th of the way farther and... presto. end of drip. flood averted. calm restored to the house. cat fed in due time.

*huge sigh of relief*

the end.

today’s casualties: all’s quiet on the homestead. too quiet. i fear an attack is imminent...

vickie's suburban adventure, day five: when i was (a) ten...

for the past couple of days, i’ve been cleaning out the shelves in my parents’ basement. 16 shelves, to be exact.

for decades, they’ve been filled with books, notes, binders, folders, artwork, photos, mementos, toys and brick-a-brack from throughout my childhood and that of young beatrix. the job had been waiting for me for at least a year, but i wanted to do it when i could focus on it by myself, without interruption and the way i wanted it done. room for piles, for starters, and no one puttering around, checking on my progress or offering suggestions on what to keep and what to toss. i knew it would be time-consuming... mainly because i knew i would linger over each page, each drawing, each knick-knack as memories crept in about what my life was like when the item in question was first realized.

so, now that the parents are away on holiday, time to get sorted.

not surprisingly, it’s been an emotional experience. for some reason, i haven’t yet mastered the art of detachment, so when i pick up, say, an essay i wrote at 17 or a story i penned at ten or a picture i drew at six, i can remember my process from that time, and i can feel the same things i felt then. it’s been hard taking so much of my life – even if it’s “only” schoolwork – and putting it in the recycling bin, thereby (in essence) removing all evidence of my academic history and doing away with the tangible remains of chunks of my childhood. sometimes, nostalgia and melancholy take over and i wind up a teary mess; sometimes, i literally laugh out loud at the stuff i imagined as a child; and sometimes i’m taken aback by the person i used to be.

i used to excel at math. i absolutely loved it. i was great at french, and wrote fluently in the language. i even won the french award in my graduating year of high school. i drew all the time, made up stories all the time, used my imagination all the time, and somehow managed to work film or TV into all manner of school assignments... with positive results, encouragement from my teachers and excellent grades. i used my brain a LOT and in all sorts of different, enriching, expansive ways.

looking through my past, i’m repeatedly struck by what potential i had and, simultaneously, how many of my gifts i’ve squandered as i’ve grown older. what happened to the razor-sharp mind that couldn’t get full enough? where did the hunger to learn go? or the ever-constant need for expression, preferably in a colourful, funny or creative way (often, all three)? as i sorted through the stacks, i started to wonder where some of the vickie of days gone by had gone.

nowhere was this contrast between then and now more revealing than when i opened my “family life” notebook from grade five. i would have been ten years old, and the subject was sort of like a hybrid of social studies and religion, quite literally about life in a family. as i flipped through its pages and skimmed my work, i came upon a collage that knocked me on my adult ass.

i remember the assignment so clearly, and i actually remember cutting out the words that i pasted to my paper. we were told to create a collage of words that represented who we were, what we liked, and what we thought of ourselves. here’s mine:


yesterday, when i found that collage, i started to cry. not just tears welling in the eyes, but full-on crying. i looked at the words i had chosen and was stunned.

“amazing.” “the bestest.” “good company.” “special.” “original.”

then, in the accompanying series of questions and answers i wrote, “the one thing i would like to change about myself is: nothing.”

seeing that collage again was like a giant bucket of cold water being thrown in my face. and the tears came because i realized that, if someone had assigned me that task today, i doubt very much that those would have been the words i would have pasted to my page.

because one thing came screaming off that paper at me:

when i was ten, i liked myself, wholly and without question.

more easily, more readily, more proudly and more lovingly than i do as an adult.

at ten, i thought i was amazing.

and remarkable.

at ten, i thought i was a ten.

i thought it, all on my own, and without waiting for someone else to validate it as the truth.

at ten, i wasn’t self-critical, or self-flagellating, or self-conscious. i didn’t chastise myself for mistakes, or beat myself up over my flaws, or second-guess every action, or obsess about how i might be perceived. i didn’t spend hours worrying about my life, or whether it was going in the right direction. i didn’t automatically assume that everything was my fault or that i’d inevitably done something wrong, and i certainly felt i deserved great things in my life. i never thought of myself as a failure, or feared rejection, or found myself consumed by self-doubt. i didn’t pick at my self-image or undermine my own goals, and i didn’t dismiss my dreams. at ten, if someone didn’t like me, then that was about them... not me. and at ten, playing with animals or drawing or riding my bike or going for popsicles with my friends was all i needed to make my heart glad.

at the same time, at ten i was shy and nervous. i was quiet... unless i knew you well and then good luck getting me to stop talking. i worried a lot. i was introspective, extremely sensitive and cried easily. i was a thinker, careful and meticulous and analytical. i was cautious, and somewhat guarded. i was selective about my friends, preferring quality over quantity, and i found comfort in the oddballs. especially funny, warm, creative ones.

in those ways, i was the me of today, only younger and smaller. but, more importantly, i nonetheless possessed a much stronger, much more secure, exponentially more intrinsic sense of self-appreciation. self-acceptance. self-love.

so, when i stumbled upon that collage yesterday, i couldn’t help but be overcome with emotion because one thing kept bouncing around in my head:

how is it that, in growing up, so much of who am i was already present in that ten-year-old girl, but the one thing that i should have hung on to the hardest is the one thing i outgrew?

today’s casualties: all souls spared.

vickie's suburban adventure, day four: past blast

i spent most of the morning and afternoon sorting through my old school things.

notes, assignments, tests, grades, photos, mementos, you name it. and i'm not done yet.

the entire process has been unexpectedly moving, and all sorts of different emotions have bubbled to the surface. i won't lie: i cried more than once.

i was going to write about everything today, but ran out of time. so, tomorrow. i need to digest a little.

today's casualties: frazier, basement stairway, with a slipper... because you can run but you can't hide..

vickie's suburban adventure, day three: gems from the past

written by me, at 16. click to enlarge.
it's raw, but this is its only draft, written between classes.
(note: the last line is "well, i guess we'll all fail.")

today's casualties: leonard, under the front window, with a tissue; daryl and gaspar, upstairs hallway, slipper both.
lived to fight another day: frazier, basement stairway, dropped and ran.

vickie’s suburban adventure, day two: the no food festival

every year for the past, oh i don’t know, five? six? years, my sister and i (and mom, as well, back in the day) have attended the annual good food festival. used to be, we’d trek to whatever convention-centre-esque location was housing the event, and spend a couple of hours browsing booth after booth of food samples. we’d leave more-than-satiated, complimentary bags (which were handed out upon entry) filled to overflowing with free stuff to take home, or super deals we’d scored, and we’d lay out our considerable bounty on my parents’ dining room table at the end of the day to sort and trade, like kids going through their halloween candy.

over the past couple of years, though, the amount of take-home free stuff dwindled a little and the awesome deals became harder to find, but the fest was still a great way to spend a sunday morning. and, really, who doesn’t love a free sample?

cut to GFF 2009...

this morning, we arrived out in the west pole around 9:40am. doors open at 10, and we wanted to get a good spot in line so, despite the persistent drizzle, we trekked out and queued up.

now, a small word about the demographic at the GFF, at least as far as we’ve experienced: it’s a lot of suburban hausfraus and their respective broods, frequently carting along space-clogging buggies, suitcases-with-wheels or the like in which to haul their purchases. you know when you go to costco, and the entire perimeter around a sample table is taken up by obnoxious doughy moms with their obnoxious doughy kids, all obnoxiously clamouring for a dixie cup of iced tea or a napkin with a cracker on it with such a sense of rude entitlement that you’re tempted to tap them on the shoulder to say, “um, it’s just an oreo. calm down...”? imagine hundreds of them.

coincidentally, trix and i wound up behind just such a quartet of women as we waited to be let in. this factoid only matters because we ran into them again later.

at 10am and not a second before, security stepped aside and the flood (well, not so much a flood this year as a moderate tide) of food seekers made a run for the samples.

only... what the frick?

trix and i walked into the enormous hall and were shocked at how empty it looked. about a week ago, YB tried to dig up an exhibitor list – something that, in previous years, was readily available in any number of places – but came up empty. there was no list of participants to be found. this was odd, and she wondered if maybe it was a sign that this year’s festival would be decidedly lacking in the exhibitor department, and the organizers didn’t want the public to be the wiser that, say, ocean spray would no longer have a giant booth. neither would tropicana. forget cozy shack pudding, and don’t bother looking for the folks from dainty rice. long-time anchors were very noticeably absent, and where once booths were packed side-by-side there were now large gaps of space.

as we wandered though, we realized that a lot of the companies that had participated in the fest for years were missing in 2009. in fact, where the event had previously been an opportunity for big companies to shell out tons of freebies and even more good PR for themselves, it seemed to be dominated by smaller, more independent manufacturers this year.

which, one might assume, would be a good thing. giving the “little guy” some time in the spotlight. problem is, the “little guy” probably blew its budget just paying for space at the fest and, thus, has nothing left in the bank to afford sampling.

that’s right, at the 17th annual good food festival, good food that was also FREE good food was decidedly scarce. we used to get cupfuls of food, but this year it was more like capfuls. we used to get free full-size yogurt cups and pudding cups and the like. not this year. worse, a few companies were CHARGING for samples. this is in addition to a $14-per-adult admission fee! (thankfully, we had free tickets. had we actually paid to get in, we would have been in a blind rage by the time we left.) several times, we approached a tray-wielding individual or a table laden with samples, only to see or be told a variation on the following:

“we’re asking that you make a nominal donation. proceeds will go to (insert charity of choice here).”

sorry, what?

you want me to PAY for my free sample? and how do i know my “donation” is actually going where you say it’s going and not into the company coffers?

the GFF’s website says, right on its main page, “hundreds of FREE food and drink samples to taste.” they even CAPITALIZE the word “free.” and i’m not sure if they meant “hundreds” of samples in the cumulative sense of all the individual samples that would be handed out by all the vendors over the course of the weekend, because they certainly couldn’t have meant hundreds of different food items to try, or hundreds of different companies offering samples.

[and let’s not even get into the site’s further claims: “The Festival is all about food and LOTS of it!” really? maybe in 2005, but not today. and there was a cosmetics company hustling its products... what does that have to do with food???]

anyway, trix and i made brisk business of walking through. we sampled maybe, MAYBE, a dozen items each. that’s it.

oh, and remember the annoying women from the line-up at the outset? one of them cut in front of me in the line for a tiny bag of free roasted almonds. i scoffed, and she turned around and said to her friend (who was directly behind us), “hurry up.” then she looked at me and said, “sorry, but you two were chit-chatting away.”

?!

trixie and i had stopped – in a line that was BARELY moving as it was – to glance for a nanosecond at a display at the adjacent booth. but apparently this was FAR too long a moment in the eyes of this obnoxious woman whom i so very badly wanted to put in her place. instead i just kind of stared at her in disbelief, and she moved back behind us... then tried to get all friendly and chatty. i was having none of it. go away hausfrau and take your friends with you.

not surprisingly, we were peeved by the time we made our way back to the car. we were in and out and done in 35 minutes. 35 MINUTES! our complimentary tote bags – which would have carried a ton of free bags/boxes/bottles of stuff in years passed – were virtually empty. a handful of coupons, a single-serving bottle of mott’s clamato (ewwww), and a can of fruit punch. that’s it.

we wondered what the rest of the visitors, especially those who’d paid for admission, were thinking of the event and its decidedly sub-par showing in 2009. i have to believe at least a few them felt as cheated as we did.

we have thusly rechristened it, "the no food festival."

today's casualties: percival, in the upstairs hallway, with a slipper.

vickie’s suburban adventure, day one: sandstorms and (so shocking!) spiders

my stint in the suburbs has officially begun.

around 5pm yesterday, amid ominously black skies, young beatrix arrived at my apartment to collect my things and me. the weather had been unseasonably (read: disgustingly) warm and humid for much of the day, but there was a distinct change in the air. the world was getting darker by the minute and, by the time trix and i arrived at her car and had packed my stuff in the trunk, it looked like the apocalypse was nigh.

waiting to turn left out of my street, we saw what i can only describe as a massive wall of dust, dirt, debris and heaven knows what else barreling towards us from the left. it was so dramatic, i half expected the face of imhotep to materialize within it.

“what IS that?” i said aloud. “is that rain? (pause to assess) IS THAT SAND?!”

the wall was not yet close enough that we could identify its composition, but within a second or two the car started swaying back and forth from the force of the accompanying wind. everything, and everyone, out on the sidewalks went flying. it was like one moment all was well (if really scary-looking), and the next moment complete chaos hit.

“it feels like we’re in a tornado!” said YB.

and it certainly looked like it. the skies were a swirly, chunky, charcoal grey and the winds were super strong, and we could hear the sound of the cloud of grit washing over the car. (there was no rain at this point, just dirt.)

about two minutes later, as we sat in traffic amid the tumult, it started to rain. GIGANTIC drops hit the windshield, and within a few seconds it was pouring. hard. pedestrians and cyclists were instantly soaked (having been blinded by the sandstorm only moments earlier), and we were grateful to: a) be in the car, b) be en route home, and c) not be trekking along in my neighbourhood, carrying two large bags of laundry and no umbrellas. we had umbrellas, but the weather changed so quickly that we would have been hard pressed to open them – or hold onto them – in time.

we stopped to do some grocery shopping on the way home, and picked up fixins for a szechuan stir fry along with six of the most delicious chain-store cupcakes we’ve ever had the pleasure of consuming. (note: just over 12 hours after they were purchased, they were gone.)

arriving home, we were met by a somewhat confused monsieur le poo (“where’s mom and dad? when do i get to eat again? where’s mom and dad?”), set about making dinner (well, trix did most of it) and then settled in for some movies on TV.

around 11pm, i headed upstairs to brush my teeth. now, my arrival at “spider island” had, until then and despite the ideal weather conditions, been spider-free. as i ascended the stairs, trix called from the couch, “oh, i killed the spider that was in the bathroom.”

“what spider that was in the bathroom?”

“there was one that was cocooning up there since yesterday. but i killed it.”

huh. well, one less for me to kill.

but as soon as i flipped on the bathroom light, the spider island visitors’ association made itself known. because, sitting just below the lip of the sink in which i’d planned to brush my teeth, was a spider. i don’t think i need to tell you what happened next. (if i do: dead in three seconds.) but this time, i decided to capture the interloper on film before it met its demise. here, then, i give you... jeremy. i don’t know why he’s a jeremy... i’m not even sure he’s a he... but there you go. i figure, by the end of the week i’ll have quite a collection of fallen soldiers to list.

and, of course, because spiders don’t take kindly to the extermination of their kin, by the time trix and i went to bed at midnight, we found two more. one i let live because it had managed to position itself in such a way that i didn’t have the patience or energy to devise an effective attack strategy (we shall meet another day, bartholomew!).

the other? dead in three seconds.

RIP albert.

vickie’s suburban adventure: prologue

tomorrow night, i move back into my parents’ place for a week of housesitting and kylesitting in the suburbs. mom and dad are heading on holiday, and since everyone was aghast when i suggested kyle move in with aunt valerie during their absence... he stays put, and *i* have to pack up my stuff to accommodate him.

just in case you forgot: kyle is a cat.

so, i’m in the process of packing for a week “away.” thanks to mother nature and her bi-polar disorder, it’s going to be HOT in toronto for a few days, and then the temperatures will drop to seasonal (or below). this means i actually have to bring summer clothes AND autumn/spring clothes. flip flops AND shoes. tank tops AND sweaters. i’m also schlepping some laundry, whatever perishable food is currently in my fridge and the to-do list mom is leaving behind to keep my occupied.

to be fair, it’s not so much a list as a threat: clean out all the shelves in the basement and sort the stuff from your childhood – whatever you want to keep will go home with you, everything else will be tossed.

i won’t be bringing my mac, because it’ll be a day or two after i leave before young beatrix will be able to drive all my stuff back down to my place, and i need to be online for work as soon as i'm back at my apartment. i have to go directly from mom and dad’s to some screenings (no stopping at home first), and i don’t want to lug my laptop (or laundry or leftovers) with me as i sprint from theatre to theatre so, for a week, i’ll be using... my parents’ PC. *groan*

i’m bringing my camera, just in case kyle does something cute or a curious flower blooms in the freakish heat. and i’m trying to convince myself i’m actually going away on my own holiday to a relaxing suburban retreat. they do have a nice, big porch on which i can sit... assuming there aren’t any bees.

oh, and let’s not forget the fact that the impending, unusually warm weather will no doubt mean that spider island’s inhabitants may be on the prowl. i plan on spending as little time in their basement as possible (though, that’s where the computer is) and keeping kyle close at hand to handle any arachnid interlopers.

i find it challenging to write there, without my computer and my desk and my environment, so blog entries may be sporadic. at the same time, sitting out in the suburbs with just kyle to keep me company may find me desperate for human interaction... even if it’s just blogging. and, really, who knows what kind of adventures might await me.

maybe i’ll have tons to do and lots to say.

maybe i’ll take lots of pictures of mr. poo as he goes about his day.

maybe i’ll even attempt some unsupervised baking.

for now, i’m packing socks... and sunblock... and spider-be-gone...

tic tacs and tough love

sometimes, the universe works in mysterious ways.

sometimes, the universe enlists the aid of the postal service (the actual postal service, not the band of the same name) to deliver its messages.

sometimes, the universe and the postal service are joined in harmonic convergence with people you know for the process of message delivery.

today, i experienced that.

because today i’d been feeling a little delicate. insecure. doubting myself. worrying. wondering. and i recognized it happening as it happened... that very subtle shift from self-examination to self-flagellation. the little hamster wheel in my head started spinning, and i knew it would spin on wildly if i didn’t intervene.

so i went to see m-dub for a visit. a helpful visit. we chatted. i was given a dose of tough love (delivered in a strident, but loving and supportive, way) and some food for thought. by the time i left, the hamster was still inside the wheel, but pausing to quietly gnaw on a pellet.

when i got home, there was a small padded envelope in my mailbox. it was a care package from ericanddan... a wonderful, sweet and perfectly timed delivery, that had been sent “just because we love you and miss you.” (i know. my heart grew a few sizes, too.) it was a card and two boxes of those delicious, available-in-the-U.S.-only cherry-passion tic tacs.

that envelope could not have arrived at more serendipitous moment. i loved it, and i love ericanddan for their thoughtfulness. the hamster was napping peacefully at this point.

i then sat down to check my email, and found a tremendously helpful, encouraging and tough-love-laden but fully supportive email from j-dub. she’s a truly amazing woman, and i feel so lucky that she and i have forged this really cool, deep bond. and the email? just as perfect as the sit-down with m-dub and the treats from the boys. by now, the hamster had packed up its wheel and gone on its merry way.

none of these three incidents were interconnected in the sense that any of the people (or the mail carriers) involved knew what the others were doing or when they would do it. but they all happened within an hour of each other – i left m-dub’s place around 5:15pm, and by 6:05pm i was online sending thank-you emails.

and yet, at the same time, they were all TOTALLY connected. i needed them all, i needed them today, and the universe went, “okee doke. here you go.” i felt loved and supported and cared-for and warm and fuzzy and better. the tic tacs helped as much as the tough love, and having them all materialize together... well, that’s just really, really cool.

for me, anyway. not so much for the hamster.

how do you hold a hummingbird?

i wish i knew.

where time stands still

i’m pretty sure the laboratory at my doctor’s office exists in the same kind of weird time loop as the island in LOST.

because no matter what i day of the week i go, no matter what time of year, no matter what time of day, no matter how busy or empty its waiting area... i always wind up sitting there for almost exactly 40 minutes before i’m called in, poked and released.

this morning, i had to swing by for some routine blood work. i opted to go relatively early – after rush hour but (hopefully) before a backlog formed at the lab – in the hopes of trimming my wait time to maybe 20 minutes or less. i arrived just before 9:30am, and saw a handful of people already waiting... each one sort of heaped in a chair, requisition form and number (think: the kind of take-a-number number you’d get at a bakery) in hand, checking the time and sighing. clearly, this was going to be a slow process. per usual.

so, i pulled my little number from its wheel-like dispenser and sat down.

and waited.

there were three people ahead of me. i figured even if each one took a very-generous 10 minutes, i should be in and out in just over a half-hour. and, really, a blood test doesn’t (or shouldn’t) take 10 minutes.

time crawled past.

s-l-o-w-l-y.

one by one, the folks preceding me got up, went in and came out.

i looked at the clock – almost 30 minutes had passed.

good grief, this place really DOES exist in its own freaky time loop.

thankfully, when i was finally called in, i saw that my favourite lab tech was on duty. i like her because she’s warm and friendly and her work never, ever leaves an unsightly bruise afterward. she even gives me tiny “button” band-aids from her secret stash so that i don’t have to walk out with that tell-tale cotton ball held in place with the world’s biggest strip of medical tape.

sure enough, she did her thing – three vials today! – and was jovial and chatty... even when her fellow tech accidentally bumped into my chair (while the needle was still in my arm). no apology, no “sorry, i hope that didn’t cause the needle to slip!”

so my tech kind of rolled her eyes and chuckled. then patched me up and sent me on my way.

i looked at the clock on my way out.

it had been 40 minutes.

arachnophobia

i don’t like spiders.

there, i said it.

the only spider i have ever loved was named charlotte and she was animated and pretty and loving and sounded a lot like debbie reynolds.

otherwise, i’m generally not a fan of anything with six or more legs, and certainly not something that can scoot across a ceiling and drop on me at will. especially if it can’t even spell words out in its web.

but it’s springtime in toronto, and it’s been unseasonably warm for a few days, so all manner of eight-legged wonders have simultaneously hatched or returned from wintering in florida to make their presence known.

because i’m a civilized human being, i live as nature intended: in an apartment made of concrete, several floors above ground level. therefore, i don’t have spiders. back in hell house, which was an old building made of wood and papier mâché and broken dreams and thus prime real estate for spiders and scutigerae and flies and everything else, i had spiders. lots of them. but here? nary a one.

so, imagine my delight (read: undelight) when i spent this past weekend at my parents’ house in the suburbs and realized, “oh no. i’m on spider island*.”

[*for the uninitiated, “spider island” is the name coined by dan of ericanddan last september, when the three of us visited toronto’s centre island and rode back on a ferry TEEMING with large, scary spiders.]

see, mom and dad’s house is 40 years old and is well-treed and has thousands of nooks and crannies where spiders can nestle and cuddle and set up shop for themselves. they crawl in when the weather’s warm, hide, mate, multiply and eventually find their way onto walls and ceilings throughout the year, regardless of the season.

and yes, i know, spiders are harmless and beneficial to the ecosystem and blah blah blah. i know. I KNOW. but i still don’t want to be lying down to go to sleep only to spot one smack dab above my head... sneering at me as i reach over to turn off my lamp. they pride themselves on sneak attacks, too. think i’m exaggerating? may i remind you of the events of january 4th?

anyway, cut to this weekend: warm weather, sunshine outside, windows open... the sound of little spider cocoons creaking open and the pitter patter of lots of little feet gently scurrying around.

i encountered my first spider in the bathroom. my FAVOURITE place to run into spiders, especially unexpectedly. and by “favourite” i, of course, mean “oh COME ON. honestly!”

i had just stepped out of the shower, and reached to grab my towel off the hook next to the bathtub. i moved the towel and there, on the wall behind it, emerged a spider.

dead in three seconds. sorry, spider.

after drying off and getting dressed (eyes darting around the room to see if any of the spider’s homies were preparing to retaliate), i walked into the hallway and saw kyle intently following something i could not see along the floor. it was nighttime, so the hallway was dark, and i was afraid to turn on the light lest i see a scutigera.

“mr. poo? what are you looking at?” i asked. i knew i wouldn’t get a response, but i was hoping he’d take it as a cue to eat whatever it was, in the same way he might quickly scarf down an illicit bit of food on the kitchen floor before it’s snatched away.

but no. i turned on the light and saw his prey: a rather nervous-looking (that’s right, i can tell) spider, curled up in a corner of space between the edge of the baseboard and some door trim.

dead in three seconds. sorry, spider. and sorry, kyle. no snack for you.

i then went into my bedroom to open the windows so that the now-cool wind could drop the temperature in there before it was time for me to hit the hay. as soon as i turned on the light i saw it: another spider, sprawled out, napping (that’s right, i can tell) on the window screen. no mercy.

dead in two seconds. sorry, spider.

only by then, and after terminating its brethren, my sympathy for their plights was seriously waning and my apology was woefully insincere. let’s be honest, if you’re a spider and you meander onto my turf, we’re gonna have problems. there are very clear “enter and die” reminders for the spider (and insect) community at large, so if they choose to ignore those then they have no one to blame but themselves if they are killed on sight. by me, or by kyle.

after nixing three spiders in about 15 minutes, i started to head downstairs... but not before looking up at the (white) ceiling to see two more juicy brown spiders (not too large, but large enough) lying in wait. backed into corners where it would be difficult to squash them before they scurried to freedom. i actually looked up and asked them to please get lost... partly because i figured i should give them fair warning, and partly because i was too tired to go get the chair that would be needed to reach (and destroy) them. so i hoped a not-so-veiled threat would be enough to inspire their defection to the outdoors. it did not, because they were still there two hours later when i went to bed, and they were there in the middle of the night (though, in new positions) when i had to get up to pee.

they’re probably still there now. plotting. awaiting my return. i’m housesitting for my parents for a week in a little while, and i just know they’re rallying the troops for all manner of mischief, mayhem and terror when i do.

because spiders are devious and vengeful like that. sort of like a gang, only with more limbs.

anyway, all this would have been more than ample arachnid exposure for the weekend, but then...

then i went to a friend’s blog and saw THIS. (don’t click if you’re easily spooked.)

go on.

i’ll wait while you click.

then i’ll wait while you recoil in horror.

then i’ll wait for you to regain consciousness.

then i’ll tell you that’s a female wolf spider avec egg sack, and my friend found it on her pool deck.

granted, it was in florida, but still.

that is NOT cool.

*shudder*

okay...

have you recovered? good. deep breath. deeper (trust me).

now... scroll back up and click on the photo again and look very closely at the body. see them? do you see all the little spiderlets on her BACK?!?!?

spiders are everywhere.

i’m glad i don’t live in florida.

i’m glad i don’t live in a house.

because they’re full of spiders.

and i only have so much toilet paper...

stuff and things

stuff: i’m doing my taxes tomorrow.

things: i might be the only person in the city who’d rather the temperature stay below 14ºC.

stuff: i am completely out of fruit.

things: but i have three almost-finished bags of chips that will likely never be eaten.

stuff: i sat down to transcribe an interview yesterday, and discovered that the tape recorder hadn’t recorded anything.

things: thank goodness for understanding interview subjects.

stuff: i’m accredited.

things: i’m not going to florida.

stuff: i’m really loving Southland.

things: yet Parks and Recreation was seriously underwhelming.

stuff: i love long conversations.

things: even if they’re frequently circular and often about the same things.

stuff: i finished writing a short film.

things: so far, people seem to like the script.

stuff: crème brulée ice cream tastes like caramel swirl.

things: crème brulée ice cream that tastes like caramel swirl is nonetheless still delicious.

stuff: i didn’t really meditate properly.

things: i did go for a walk, though.

stuff: i really hope i sleep well tonight.

things: life’s always easier when i do.

if

several months ago, i wrote lyrics for a song i called “if.”

the words are very simple, and the sentiment likewise so.

what if i told you how i felt about you?

i wrote them for a reason. for me. it was personal. a specific idea and specific ponderings.

but more than just for myself, i wrote them for anyone who’s struggled with the uncertainty of whether to reveal feelings. wondered whether to tip their hand. wanted to say what’s in their heart but feared what might happen if they did.

what if i offered you my love... would you accept it?

it shouldn’t really be an issue, should it? to say to someone “i like you” or “i miss you” or “i love you” if that's what we truly feel. because aren’t those all good things? wouldn’t we all like to hear them? shouldn’t we be eager to share those thoughts with someone we care about or for whom we have fondness or affection?

what if we did?

love is vital.

and life is short. i was reminded of that on the weekend. certainly, too short to worry about walking on eggshells when it comes to telling someone they’re loved.

even if you're scared to do it.

a belated post-easter entry

i’ve been struggling to find a topic about which to write, which is why there’s been a delay in blog updates for the past few days. then last night, in an email, a friend wrote the following when describing what easter’s become for her in recent years (as a result of events in her family):

Easter is a good time to think about life, death, and renewal...I suppose that's more what was intended before we all started scarfing Cadbury Mini-Eggs.

and, not surprisingly because she and i are frequently brain twins, her description gelled perfectly with what i’d been feeling, this year especially.

contemplative.

reflective.

introspective.

i was feeling easter.

it was a weekend of juxtaposition, and one in which those sentiments of the holiday – life, death, hope, renewal – revealed themselves repeatedly and in interesting ways.

good friday is always rather solemn, marked by what’s frequently a very long mass and (sort-of) fasting. but this year i was strangely moved by the whole day, from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other.

in the morning, i sat with my mom in a new church (we needed an early mass and decided to test drive an unfamiliar parish), and found myself thinking of the past... of good fridays gone by, of how we used to go to mass with my late grandmother (my mom’s mom), and of how my mother might be feeling on this day that no doubt reminded her of the past, as well. she misses her mother a lot, and holidays are especially challenging. i also listened to the homily – a point which is noteworthy largely because my mind normally drifts off to neverneverland during the sermon, so paying attention to its content is often hit-and-miss. the priest talked about all the means we have at our disposal today to distract us from our feelings... that, as a society, we’ve dreamed up all sorts of ways to help us stay detached, and that we’ve forgotten that it’s okay to be human. it’s okay to feel. i’m sure it will come as no surprise to anyone who’s read this blog before that those words really resonated with me. so, i sat there and let myself feel sad. i thought about death, and life, and people who aren’t here anymore, and people who are. then i took an hour and walked home from mass to be alone with my thoughts.

as mentioned in my entry from saturday, friday night was spent in the company of friends, decorating eggs. unlike the solemnity of the first part of the day, in those hours, i was buoyed by the joys of life and love, and my spirit was renewed in the process. a wonderful contrast and one so perfectly fitting for easter.

saturday was uneventful, event-wise, but the pysanka blog entry took me a couple of hours and gave me the opportunity to enjoy those warm feelings (about which i was writing) for a while longer. i then headed to young beatrix’s for a saturday-night sleepover. whoopie pies for dessert. score another point for spirit renewal through cake.

on sunday, after morning mass with trix, i went for an easter-afternoon walk with a friend. we have amazing walks, and even more amazing talks on those walks. easter sunday in toronto was absolutely gorgeous – cloudless blue skies, sunshine, crisp air and temperatures that were a little brisk but still delightful. it was a perfect day and lots of people were enjoying the weather, so out we went.

around the midway point of our walk, just after we’d turned to head home, she got a call delivering some sad news. strangely enough (or not, actually), a lot of our walk up until then had involved discussions of life and death, of people here and gone, of love, of loss... again, all themes reflected in the holiday itself, even though neither one of us had used that context. then suddenly, in a heartbeat, life delivered a poignant and ironically timed reminder of its fragility. and, even though the walk home took on a different energy, i feel it – like easter – was somehow perfect and profound in its unexpected divergence. though it was sad, through the sadness (or perhaps because of it) emerged a deeper level of connection that i can’t quite articulate, but for which i’m grateful.

life, death and renewal. repeated in various forms. that was my weekend. as a whole and in its individual parts. i felt sad, and happy, and sad, and content, and various grey areas in between depending on the time and day. it was emotionally tiring but wonderfully enriching at the same time. and i’m glad for it all because, just like the priest said, i’m human.

and it’s okay to feel.

wax on, wax off...

photo credit: P-Lo or J-Lo. not sure which one.
last night, i took part in my first ever pysanka party. and, in addition to the fact that the experience itself was absolutely wonderful, i found the whole process to be steeped in unexpected symbolism. but i’m getting ahead of myself...

P-Lo had invited a small group of us over to her parents’ place, so that we might engage in the ukrainian egg-decorating tradition under the sage, ever-patient, sweetly watchful eye of her non-ukrainian mum, Hel-e-Pad. Hel really knows her stuff, as evidenced by an array of gorgeous eggs – that had been decorated by friends and family over the years – lovingly on display around her home.

by the time i arrived, several of my fellow pysankatists (totally made-up word, but whatever) were already seated around Hel-e-Pad’s dining room table, which had been carefully covered in newspapers. all were hard at work on their creations. like a small, eager gaggle of kindergarteners, we sat – egg in one hand, a pencil to sketch out our dream designs in the other – and drew. not an easy task when one is sketching on a round, porous surface, let me tell you.

we were taught how to use a kistka (the stylus through which the wax is drawn on the egg), how to scoop up some beeswax and then melt it over a tealight, how to choose which size kistka would be best (fine-point for delicate lines, large-point for filling in bigger areas), and given careful instructions on what to touch (basically, anything but the beeswax) and what not to touch (the beeswax!).

the process, in an eggshell, is this:

1. pick an egg

2. draw on your design with a pencil

3. trace those pencil lines with melted wax – anything you want white gets wax on it, anything you want another colour gets no wax

4. dip the egg in your first desired colour (usually working from lightest colour to darkest)

5. anything you want to stay in your first colour (e.g., yellow) then gets covered in wax, anything you want another colour gets no wax

6. dip your egg in colour #2

7. repeat this process over and over again as many times as it takes to get all your desired colours in their desired places

8. watch as your egg is eventually entirely covered in wax

9. when you’re finished dyeing, use the heat from a candle to melt the wax off your egg, and then wipe it clean with a paper towel

10. bask in the freshly exposed splendor of your creation, and coat it in polyurethane for a glossy finish

done and done.

for some of us gathered near Hel’s kitchen, the above process took perhaps an hour. for others of us (i.e., moi), it took four. but regardless of whether one was a speedball pysankatist, or a slowpoke, the evening was filled with much laughter, creativity, hospitality and camaraderie.

we worked in near-silence some of the time, everyone fully in their own pysanka zone, trying not to accidentally unleash any unwanted globs of wax on their respective eggs or inadvertently bump the table and send someone else’s kistka flying in the wrong direction. other times, as folks snacked and waited while their eggs stewed in dye, stories were exchanged, discussions unfolded, affectionate teasing bounced around and the room was bathed in the colours – literal and figurative – of a very good time.

as anyone who was there hier soir will tell you, i was almost completely consumed by my egg. i LOVE an art project and, unfortunately in hindsight, i opted for a geometric design that wound up being so confounding that it left me precious little time for actual socializing. i’m fairly certain everyone who was there can easily tell you exactly how my hair was parted but not what colour my eyes are, because all anyone saw of me for almost the whole night was the top of my head. long story short: my egg took forever, and i was the last one finished.

despite the fact that much of my time was All About the Egg, the collective energy of the room was not lost on me. it was so warm and welcoming and peaceful, with a very distinct sense of family wafting amid the thin plumes of candle smoke. i feel that same thing anytime i’m with these folks – the feeling of community, of friendship, of love. doesn’t matter if we’re all loudly goofing around or sitting quietly, trying to make a curly-Q with minimal profanity and maximum precision. i was, and always am, grateful to be a part of it.

when all the eggs were done, and as we packed up to leave, i started to think about our group activity and how i might write about it today. more specifically, i started to notice that unexpected symbolism i mentioned at the start of this entry.

because there’s much to be gleaned from the pysanka process if you look at it as a metaphor for life. you start out with a blank canvas, and you draw out a plan. then you start filling in that plan. sometimes, though, you make mistakes and the choice then becomes whether to work with them, or around them, or allow them to completely derail everything. as you go, you also start adding successive layers of a protective covering. gradually, those layers can get thicker and thicker (sometimes very thick), until you’re looking at something unrecognizable from what you thought it would be. your original design is hidden beneath a hard, lumpy, smudgy shell. it’s unremarkable. dull. plain. ugly, even.

but then... something extraordinary happens.

despite what the casual observer may see at first glance, if you add some warmth, that shell slowly melts away to reveal the true beauty underneath. the original design for greatness, at last realized. it may require patience, and a little extra effort, but the result can be truly spectacular.

or, sp-egg-tacular, as the case may be.

happy easter.

eggs-pect an entry tomorrow...

tonight, i pysanka-ed for the first time.
but i won't be writing about the experience until demain.

mr. poo goes to the vet

this morning, i was over at my parents’ house and decided to accompany my mother to the vet, where kyle was scheduled for his annual check-up.

it was an unexpectedly emotional experience.

i’ve gone with them before. used to be, mr. poo had no problem with vet visits. he’d get in his carrier at home, quite readily (provided a treat or kibble were tossed in ahead of him) and, upon arrival in the vet’s exam room, he’d happily stroll out of the carrier immediately and wander. curious. relaxed. like he was on a field trip.

however...

if you recall, kyle’s had more than a few paw problems over the past couple of years (and prior). he had repeated surgeries, the most dramatic and intensive of which occurred at the offices of his current veterinarian and within the past year and a half.

VERY very clearly, kyle remembers that going into that office now means something scary and painful is probably going to happen, because now he’s terrified of going. so, this morning, i decided to tag along to keep mom (and kyle) company, and perhaps help him relax by being present.

getting him into his carrier was a careful dance of cat treats placed on the floor, each one a little closer to the door of the carrier. when he very reluctantly crouched down to eat the treat closest to the door, i gently pushed his bum and in he went. i kept repeating, “who’s a good boy! who’s a smart boy!” as he settled in, lay down and peered out at me. he didn’t seem too anxious, and i just kept lavishing positive reinforcement (and fish treats) on him, so that he might associate the carrier with good things instead of suffering.

we got to the vet’s office, and i sat with kyle while mom signed him in. at first, he seemed fine... but within a minute he began trembling. i looked into the carrier and could see him trembling in a pronounced way, so i lifted the carrier onto my lap and tried to soothe him. but he was shaking so hard that i could feel it through the floor of the hard-plastic carrier, like a low-frequency vibration on my thighs. admittedly, the vet – who’s quite gregarious – has a VERY LOUD VOICE, so we could hear every word she said to other patients and their owners while we waited. someone somewhere in the office was also vacuuming, and mr. poo is scared of vacuum cleaners, so that didn’t help ease his anxiety.

i kept trying to distract him, or entice him with treats, but he wasn’t interested. he just sat in the carrier, shaking, and looking out with wide eyes. and then... i almost started to cry. for real. because here, in my lap, was our beloved little friend, who was very scared. and i couldn’t do anything to make it better. i wrapped my arms around the entire carrier and leaned my chin on top, speaking to him very softly and telling him he was coming home, everything was fine, he was only there for a quick visit, etc.

then, another woman walked in with a big cat carrier. she was an older woman, probably in her late-60s, and she seemed to have a cat with her. the vet’s assistant greeted her, and then asked what had brought her (and her cat) into the office.

in her broken english, and with just the tiniest hint of heartbreaking optimism, the woman explained that the cat “lose LOTS of weight, very thin, very thin.” she added, “no eat, no move, no poo.” and then, to my mom and me (because we’d been watching), “very old. she very old. 22!”

that’s when i really felt tears welling. even now, just typing it. because i knew what was happening, and i knew that cat was dying, and i didn’t know if the woman bringing her in was ready for the prognosis she’d be getting shortly. i mean, she probably knew something was very wrong, but there was something in her demeanor that made it seem like she was still hopeful. which, of course, just made my heart sink further. in that instant, i saw their life together and knew that it would likely soon be over.

kyle, meanwhile, kept trembling.

we were called into the exam room and, unsurprisingly, kyle refused to exit the carrier. the vet literally had to turn the carrier up on its end to “dump” kyle out the open door. she laughed and said, “I DON’T BLAME HIM! I WOULDN’T WANNA COME OUT EITHER IF I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA BE TORTURED!” (did i mention she has a loud voice? because she does.)

as soon as he was out of the carrier, all kyle wanted to do was go back inside it. long gone were his days as an inquisitive, friendly patient. now? a literal scaredy cat. but the vet wrangled him into her arms for the once-over. i’m pleased to report that he didn’t bite her or even try to – he was actually rather pleasant with her, even as she pried open his jaw to scrape a big chunk of tartar off one of his back teeth. i thought for SURE that would end in tears, but no. he behaved. she clipped his rear claws without incident, weighed him (he’s maintaining his target weight), checked his heart rate (which was only slightly elevated, so she said, “HE’S NOT AS SCARED AS HE WANTS YOU TO THINK HE IS! HE’S JUST A GOOD ACTOR!”) and then peered into his eyes and told us he has the very early beginnings of cataracts in one of his peepers. but, said the vet, we needn’t worry because “HE’S NOT DRIVING OR READING OR FLYING A PLANE, SO IT WON’T BOTHER HIM AT ALL!”

then she pulled out his rabies vaccine, plunked the needle in his hip and, only when she finished, did he manifest his stress vocally by hissing at her. she laughed. “IT’S OKAY! I’D HISS, TOO, IF SOMEBODY STUCK A NEEDLE IN MY BUM!”

the second i put the carrier back on the exam table and opened its door, kyle scooted inside. i could practically hear him sigh with relief when i closed the door, looked in and said, “who’s a good boy! who’s going home now!”

when we went back into the waiting room, the older woman and her ailing cat were still there. they went into an exam room while mom was paying for kyle’s visit. from behind the closed door, i could hear the vet speaking to the woman in very sombre, decidedly more subdued tones. she remarked at how much weight the cat had lost, and how listless she seemed. she explained that the woman’s cat had a very large tumour in its intestines, that she likely wouldn’t survive any anesthetic needed to operate and that the chances of surgery being successful were almost zero. i could feel tears welling in my eyes, and i couldn’t get out of there fast enough once kyle’s bill had been settled. i didn’t want to see the woman coming out with her cat... or, worse, without it.

i think this is also a big reason why i don’t have a cat of my own. this wasn’t even my cat dying, and i was ready to burst into tears. and i don’t even want to think about what it will be like when kyle isn’t here anymore. when we got home, my mom started to talk about the older woman, and asked me if i’d heard what the vet had been saying to her. i said, “yes, but i don’t wanna talk about it...” because i was thisclose to crying and knew that one more word about the poor, sickly cat would unleash the tears. pun intended, btw.

i put the carrier on the floor and opened the door. kyle walked out and seemed a little shocked that this visit to the vet didn’t end with him staying overnight or losing toes. he wandered around, a little out of sorts, and was very clingy. so i picked him up and hugged him and kissed him until he wanted down.

and, when i put him down, he turned around and hissed at me. which i found very funny.

aww, fattie. always so grouchy! i know it was just a residual hiss, because he almost never does that. so it was okay.

i’m just very glad he’s healthy. and home. and still here.

meditation

* watering the plants

* dusting the blinds

* counting receipts

* stirring spaghetti

* riding the subway

* vacuuming the living room

* walking

* folding clothes

* raking the yard

* sitting

* a good hug

* shoveling snow

* brushing mr. poo

* writing

* making cookies

* looking at the stars

* listening

* cake

when diversification leads to homogeny

bath & body works has started selling... clothes.

clothes.

?!

it’s true.

the store known for its lotions and body washes and assorted beauty products is now selling “sleepwear” and “loungewear.” robes, pyjamas, boxer shorts, slippers and the like.

at BATH & BODY WORKS.

what’s next? snacks?!

like other specialized chains before them (specifically, restaurants and food vendors), B&BW has apparently bought into the notion that, in order to succeed, they must expand their inventory and diversify their offerings. the same way starbucks started selling sandwiches, or swiss chalet added stir-fry dishes to their renowned rotisserie-chicken menu, or the fact that – if you’re the kind of brave soul who’d dare – you can actually order a steak at the olive garden.

why?

what’s the point of eschewing that for which you’re known in a bid to please all of the people all of the time? why not master one thing and kick ass at it, instead of spreading your resources thin? why diversify when specificity is actually much more universal?

for the love of pete... why sell clothes at bath & body works?!

the same thing goes for people, i think. too often, we try to quash that which is different in a bid for more sameness. we hide what makes us special so that we can feel like we fit in better... be it in society or, more tragically, within ourselves. go out into the world and look at the people you encounter – how many have the same type of jeans, or shoes, or bags, or haircuts, or gadgets, or catchphrases? lots. and it only makes the world more boring, not more interesting.

i don’t know about you, but i find the odd one out to be much more appealing and exciting than the person who’s the same as everybody else. i’m drawn to people who are different, who have embraced their uniqueness... whatever that may be. maybe they’re geeky, or artsy, or quirky, or super-smart, or super-talented, or just really really love cake. but they happily fly whatever freak flag they call their own, and i think that's awesome.

so, while we wait for old navy to start selling ice cream, or for furniture to be widely available at HMV, or for krispy kreme to introduce a line of salads, please embrace that within you which is rare. special. different. that part of you that makes you you.

own it and love it and share it.

think of what a cool, colourful world it would be if we all did.

the wall

i’m on day 27 of the plan, and i think i’m hitting the proverbial wall. that wall that marathon runners hit well into the race, when they know the finish line is looming but their body starts to shut down. the question becomes whether to push themselves through it, or to give up, reach for a gatorade and collapse in a heap by the curb.

only, in this case, it’s my brain saying, “um... how’s about we just sit down and call it a day? because i’m tapped, man.” (my brain, you see, is a hippie.) and for tonight, as far as writing something pithy or profound goes, i’m inclined to concede.

maybe it's because i've run out of things to say, or maybe it's because i'm tired but, several times today, i tried to sit down to write an entry and each time i wound up scrapping whatever lame, square peg i was trying to jam into the round of hole of a blog slot. nothing was working. everything sounded boring or stupid or completely directionless (this actual post included). ah well.

ironically, one of the other writing projects i’m working on right now involves the concept of circles, and that’s a bit like what i feel i like i’m doing with this entry: spinning my wheels. going in circles.

hitting the wall.