right in this moment

i walked to aloulette lake today. i hadn’t been since last march. we drove and you helped me film my little art project. i remember after we went for diner food and split a milkshake. all summer i think i avoided going because the drive and hike reminded me of you.

then today in the stillness of the crisp winter air the silence didn’t seem as loud. i heard children laughing on the beach collecting rocks. my ipod played this song and i let myself grieve fully for the first time.

my warm tear stung cold cheeks.

but it’s all right. i’m all right.

time staggers on

I’m standing at a cross walk waiting for the light to turn green. A double-decker bus races past. I catch my reflection in the window.

How has it been four years.

I look taller.

Thinner.

Happier.

Less sad eyes.

Yet more reasons to be sad. How does that work?

The light turns green. I walk quickly into the underground. The dust of the day hits my face, I slide my card across the sensor, as though I’ve done this a thousand times. Maybe that’s why people always ask me for directions – I look like I know where I’m headed.

I hop on the train after descending the 78 steps to the platform. My stop comes quickly and before I know it I’m climbing the steps back up to the light.

She’s waiting for me at the cafe. If we were to press rewind, it would have been the other way around. She is early. This makes me smile.

Bear hugs are exchanged.

Five minutes into our walk to the pub, she exclaims, “It doesn’t feel like any time has passed!”

I know.

Yet, it has.

Not in her or I’s connection, but in that reflection I saw in the bus window.

It showcases itself in the tiny details.

I can keep my eyes happy, even if I’m sad, as my heart itself knows happiness. This has only come through the comfort of being truly loved.

I know I’m worth it, and I didn’t know this before.

I know it’s not my fault for things beyond my control.

And in the million other different ways he changed me.

***

Today you learned?

lift

No better feeling than after 36 hours of travel crawling into your own bed, fresh from a shower.

I’m not even bothered by wet hair on the pillow. I’m sure I will pass out shortly, although my mind knows its 3am, my body is still at noon.

Very thankful I was able to take two weeks away and travel to places I’ve never been. Even more thankful I have this weekend to adjust to the time difference and process a few other things before I head back to work.

Something you’ve been thankful for recently?

in the radio’s hot sun

I’m back home after my week away, and I ended the trip off with a very full weekend in Phoenix, visiting a good friend.

Sadly, I didn’t take as many photographs as I thought I would. I’ll blame the heat and all the walking we did. Here are a few though.

First stop upon arrival, Uranus Recording studios. This was a sign I just liked out front. I wish I had taken a photograph of the bathroom – every artist who records there leaves a message on the wall. But I was distracted by all the shiny objects.

Craziness in the art store. Unfortunately, this cool little art shop is closing. I loved this mural on the wall.

Normally, the food porn picture is taken before the meal, but this shows you how much we enjoyed it. Chakra 4 Herb & Tea House in Phoenix. The best tomato and avocado humus I have ever had! I can’t even recall the other kinds, because that one was so good. Served with pita and raw veg.

Comic-Con was taking place over the weekend in Phoenix, so when we were out Friday night we saw some great costumes, and some unidentifiable ones. Perfect night for wandering, and for having dinner next to a window, for people watching.

Phoenix and the surroundings areas had some wonderful street art. However, I saw most of it whilst we were driving, so didn’t snap any photos. Here’s one from downtown though. Once I stopped to take it, two other people did. The power of suggestion.

We also made it to the Musical Instrument Museum (or The MIM), which was truly overwhelming. Instruments from nearly every country in the world. It was also a great lesson in geography. I was a little disappointed that there wasn’t more interpretation to go along with the instruments, and that the only piece from Canada was the fiddle.

It was a wonderful end to a brilliant week off. Many thanks to my host.

It also made me realize how far away the closest people in my life are. I only get to see my parents once or twice a year. On my birthday, I was lucky enough to chat over Skype with a few friends overseas and in Toronto, but when technology causes a fuss, you understand it’s not so easy to just nip around the corner for a cuppa as it once was.

I also think that is one of the reasons I didn’t take so many photographs on this trip. I was less concerned about capturing the moment and just focused on being in it.

Twas a whirlwind ride in the desert, and I look forward to next time.

i can see the words you’re screaming in the frost

one of the first things i did in my university dorm room was hang coloured twinkle lights from the ceiling.

to this day, some of my favourite memories are of that year. mostly in the winter when we’d gather on the window sill, or huddle into my tiny single bed and look out at the freshly fallen snow, talking well into the wee hours of the morning about nothing and everything. ours was the biggest room, so it was a natural gathering place. a room with a view.

whenever it’s the first snowfall of the year, i think about that year and midnight snowball fights. too drunk, or happy, to feel the cold night air. time stood still in the silence of it all.

i think that’s what i miss the most, the silence. the silence you can only appreciate when you’re being loud.

now everything is loud, but through external forces.

work. expectations. the grocery list. bills. life.

it gets so loud, piling worlds on top of each other, not to mention the promises.

i want the silence to scream through.

even then, i’m not sure you’d listen.

hurry up, we’re dreaming

What’s the first creative moment you remember?

She asked, leaning forward clasping her hands under her chin, a bemused smile stretched across her lips.

I kept seeing the Cheshire Cat and envisioned a fluffy tail dancing in the background.

I looked around the room and everyone seemed to be staring at the same invisible spot. Equally stumped by the question.

My first memory is certainly not my first creative moment. Although there is something poetic about running away from home at the age of three and having your Grandmother chase you with a wooden spoon. I made it all the way to the railway tracks, at least 10 blocks away from our house before I was dragged back and to the hospital, where my brother had just been born.

The first time I wrote that story out in full detail, was the first time I knew I wanted to be a writer.

Does that count?

Or would it be the first time I made art on my own; ceramic finger puppets. The most practical thing ever. Way better than a pet rock. Although equally dense.

Or what about the made up figure skating routines, the first play I performed in.

The, the…

This is going to take some time. I’ll get back to you.

What about you, what’s the first creative moment you remember?

i’d rather visit you in my head

When I was a teenager and in a melancholy state and listening to music (mainly certain songs on repeat), I would take to sitting on the floor, sandwiched between my bed and the stereo in the corner of my room. To be closer to the repeat button, or to rewind the tape, of course. Also because it was the closest I could get to recreating a blanket fort at that age.

All throughout university when in that state, I’d take to stretching myself across my unmade bed, staring up at the ceiling, desperately wishing the cracks would spell out the answers. They never could, mind you.

Today, having moved into less run down housing, I am no longer forced to just one room, can play the music as loud as I want, and there are no cracks in the ceilings to distract me with. Thus, I have taken to occupying my couch in my living room, wrapped nicely in a warm blanket (same blanket that occupied the previous beds), and with nothing to focus on, I merely close my eyes, or scribble in a notebook if the mood fits.

What got me thinking of where and how I listen to music was putting on the new Dum Dum Girls album Only in Dreams, specifically the song Coming Down. Maybe it was the overcast slight chance of rain weather and the steam hitting my face from my fresh cup of tea on my desk, but I suddenly wanted to be on my couch, eyes closed, music filling the house. Not because I wanted to be sad, but because I was and I needed to get that out, if only for a bit.

Our listening is so mobile today, which is blessing and a curse. I think sometimes I need to be reminded to digest an album like a book, with no other distractions. To let the music envelope, and do its magic. Even though I’m partial to the music in the car, the albums that really stick out to me in my mind are always the ones I took the time to be with one on one. You know those albums that you played so much you had to get another copy. Or the ones you put on and then followed along with the lyrics in the booklet.

Yeah, those.

I don’t re-read any of my favourite books whilst computing or doing other chores. Good music needs a captive audience too.

Where do you do your best listening?

Coming Down – Dum Dum Girls

eject

She pops onto Skype and sends a waving emoticon at me through a chat window.

I hit the video call button, as it seems repetitive to send another one back.

Hi (waves).

Hi (waves).

Hello.

Hey.

She’s laying down on her couch, wrapped in a Hudson’s Bay blanket. Sick, she tells me. She nods to my blanket cape. Migraine, I say. Collective sigh. Updates on life in the last few weeks since I’ve seen her. I ask her how the weight of her ring feels. She laughs, weird.

She shows me pictures of the wedding, which I was at, but can’t seem to recall all that clearly even though it was only a few weeks ago. Everything looks different airbrushed. She tells me she is submitting them to a magazine called Real Life Weddings, or somewhat. I bite my tongue about to make sarcastic comment on the name of the magazine. She, however, can see through my “poker face” and tells me to go ahead.

I tell her about the job I almost applied for earlier in the day, and we make a pro/con list about contract work and moving. Had this conversation been taking place 5 years ago the outcome would have been different, but even in my restless state, I can feel the roots starting to poke through. I want a bigger reason to jump ship besides just the money. Yet if you’re planning on moving back East anyway, what’s stopping your from taking a contract job in the city over now?

Nothing. Everything. Because at the end of that contract it would mean I’d really have to move back.

And?

And.

I just don’t know, is this it?

the fourth, the fifth

someone’s practising piano in the apartment close to mine.

i can hear it muffled through the window. they are playing the same piece. i get up to open the window to hear it better, and also to let some cool air. the temperature gauge reads 17C (62F) but it feels at least 10 degrees warmer. i’m sticking to my sheets in a thin nightshirt.

instead of hearing the piano better i’m just greeted with street noise. i turn off the light on my bedside table, as though  the dark will somehow make it easier to listen. i can now hear a voice singing along to the piano. although it sounds like it’s coming from across the way, the piano above me. i jump out of bed and stumble through the dark and open up the sliding door to my balcony in an attempt to locate the source. definitely one person, not two.

so i sit, on an upside down milk crate, in my pj’s clutching a mug of water under the leaves of the cherry tree to listen to the rest of their practice. i feel a bit like an intruder, but it’s just so peaceful on the moss-covered balcony, chords floating through the still night air. any noise from the streets below seems muffled from the sound of the piano and the rustling of the leaves.

and everyone seems so close, but so far away.

bladeless

Don’t pretend you haven’t done this before.

It’s warm on the second floor of the museum, if I had a fan like this I just might be inclined.

It’s funny, I have a phobia towards most fans (which is why I covet these), but it’s mainly towards ceiling fans. I find them incredible unnerving, and can’t even fathom sleeping with one overhead. Helicopters scare the crap out of me as well.

I’m cool with windmills though. Probably because they are extremely out of reach.

Do you have any phobias?