salmon, soulmates and the meaning of life

I received a message from I. today saying only "the chinook salmon are running the Humber already, just thought you'd want to know". He didn't leave his name, but he didn't have to; other than myself, he's the only person I know who would actually care about something as mundane as fish swimming upstream.

Every year I look forward to the salmon run and every year I call/email people to let them know that it's 'that time' again with the degree of anticipation you might expect from something 'truly' exciting. Which, for me, the salmon run is. Which is why I absolutely love that I. thought to call. It's one of the many things that bridges our +30 year difference in age and makes him one of my most favourite people ever.

I love nothing more than sitting by the river, letting myself be awed by these fish. By their determination, tenacity, and unquestioning drive; if you think that's a lot to get from a fish then you need to get yourself to a river and watch. Watch the way they rest, gather their energy and then hurl themselves into the dam wall time and time again simply because that's what they do. Sometimes I'm inspired by their determination and others I despair over the futility of their struggle - so few actually make it. Which side I fall on can be an interesting gage of how I'm feeling about life that year.

Last year my friend K. and I sat by the river for hours alternating between talking and watching the salmon in silence. Several days later, I received this email from him: "ps. i've been thinking about those salmon and the question you asked 'how do they keep going through the defeat & the pain?' - i am sure they have lots of pain, and risk of life, and fear and many other things us humans find very discouraging. yet they keep going because it is their path. they are very inspiring - those fish".

It's true. They are inspiring. They'll be running for the next few weeks but particularly active next week leading up to Sunday's full moon, so, if you're in the GTA get yourself down to the Humber or the Credit River and let yourself be awed.

And, by the way, this year I'm inspired ;)

So, my friend made me cry yesterday. He didn't mean to but finding tears seems to be the one thing that's coming easy to me these days. He mentioned that he was wondering to himself whether or not I was "doing the work". This followed my comment that I felt like I was floundering but didn't feel like I was doing anything about it - that I forgot what I was supposed to do about it. When he commented that he noticed the same (about me) I felt like a failure which, in hindsight, seems like a strange initial reaction, but there it is. For all of my attempts to instill that sense of equilibrium that I so want to possess, it takes so little to chase it away, to send me into a panicked spin. I don't know anymore what 'doing the work' is. What that looks like. And it makes me feel ashamed. Aren't I supposed to know?

My tears often accompany confusion, anxiety, uncertainty; attached more to fear than sadness. I hate that I'm not sure what my 'calling' is anymore, I hate that I'm working so hard to apply myself when I'm not sure it's right for me, I hate that I'm pretty sure it is right for me but I'm afraid I'll suck at it so I'm throwing doubt up as a pre-emptive defense, I hate that I have one foot out of the country but am fighting to engage in life here too, and I hate not feeling grounded most of all. But then, I was thinking about all of these things last night and I decided to lighten up on myself.

I am groundless. I would say that the ground has been pulled from under me but, really, I kicked the ground away - quite happily . And I'm glad I did, I was sick of the old ground. I knew I needed change, that there was growth there and that it was really, really important that I make room for it. And I knew it would be hard at times and that I would feel like this at first because I jumped off a professional cliff, I jumped off a personal cliff and I don't know yet how the story ends. That's a lot for this girl to take on at once.

And do I need to mention that even as I type I'm smiling? That I'm shaking my head at myself because I know that in a few months I'll feel like an idiot for even posting this? That I know it'll pass, that this is exactly what I wanted out of this year? I feel like I do. Because no matter how many happy, inconsequential, chatty posts I publish, it's always the one kind of unhappy one that people seem to latch onto. Don't do that. This is good too.

note to self...

A bag of chocolate chips does not count as dinner.

And, no, the fact that they were actually carob chips, not chocolate chips, does not make them a health food. Nice try though.

Enjoy the upset stomach/sugar-rush-induced-insomnia combo. Sucker.

overheard at moonbeam cafe this weekend...

...two girls talking to each other about whether or not to pursue a research position this year with the one girl advising the other to go for it with the reasoning "...I mean, before you know it you wake up and you're 30...".

Yikes! I'm past the "before you know it you wake up and you're X" warning age? Someone should have told me. Or sent me the memo. Or whatever. Here I've been living under the impression that life just gets better each and every year.

Silly me ;)

reason #462 why i freaking love my country

Pope Benedict has had a busy week talking smack about Canada. It seems he's disappointed in our morals, values and politics. The headline of one newspaper informed me that the "Pope Slams Canada" while another, The Globe and Mail, quotes the Pope as berating Canadians for "excluding God from the public sphere" and tells us that "In the name of tolerance your country has had to endure the folly of the redefinition of spouse...". I had to read the articles a few times, I wanted to make sure I understood correctly, but I think I finally got it: the separation of the church and the state is a bad thing and tolerance is undesirable. Wait, no, I still don't get it. So what exactly is Canada doing wrong?

Despite the existence of recent (and self-indulgent) posts whining about my return home, the fact remains that I'm home because I like home. I like Canada and I'm incredibly proud to be Canadian - in large part for the very same reasons the Pope has 'slammed' us for. Separation of religion from politics, freedom of choice, the fostering of mutual respect by encouraging tolerance, call me a heathen, but I'm all for them.

As I walked home I was thinking about the articles and how glad I was to be a 'recovering Catholic' so I could disagree with the Pope without the nuisance of worrying about damning my soul to eternal hell when I was interrupted by an elderly woman. She greeted me by commenting on what a lovely morning it was before assuring me that "there is a healing coming". She wasn't entirely sure when but knew it would be sometime in 2008 and asked me to "spread the word" before she reassured me (repeatedly) that Pope Benedict would care for us all.

I don't know how she knew what I was thinking about but I didn't have the heart to tell her that I didn't think Canada was at the top of the Pope's 'to be rescued' list. She'll see a paper sooner or later.

even street santa got cleaned up

Although the film festival just began today, preparation for the madding crowds began weeks ago with restaurants undergoing last minute renovations, store windows dressed as their most sophisticated, cool, hip selves and freshly cleaned streets sporting new plants. I passed through Yorkville today, the centre of film fest activities, and was amazed at the number of very carefully dressed people very carefully lounging so as to see and be seen. The beautiful people were out in full force.

Street santa is the guy who hangs out in Yorkville dressed only in red sweatshorts and a red santa hat - regardless of the season. He's occasionally belligerent, prone to lying across the sidewalk or getting way up in your personal space while haranguing you for change. Loudly. More often though he's in good humour as he bounces through Yorkville singing or drops to perform an impressive set of pushups, the better to attract your spare change.

I saw him today but almost didn't recognize him; the santa hat and shorts had been replaced with a suit. A beat up, run down, been around the block more than a few times suit but, still, a suit. Looks like the 'see and be seen' gods that wrap their carefully manicured hand around Toronto at this time of year managed to extend their reach to the panhandlers as well. Who knew?

note to self:

Half a tub of peanut butter does not count as dinner. Even if you mix it with honey first.

the picture, big and small

A few postings back when I mentioned that I was having a 'wee bit of a hard time' I was being positive, it was more of a whole lot of a hard time. While things are definitely looking up, there's no doubt about it, North America and I are going through a rough patch in our relationship. There's a certain 'essence de North American urban jungle' that I'm having a hard time relaxing back into. Silly things like the article in Saturday's paper emphasizing the importance of finding just the right lunchbox for your pre-schooler and traffic jams that stretch a 10 block trip into 1.5 hours, things I used to shrug off as the cost of big-city life, now cause me to roll my eyes like a petulant 12 year old while blowing my bangs in disdain as if to say 'I can't even believe I have to be here'.

Yeah, ok, it's ridiculous to lump an entire continent into my complaint; but you know those stereotypical things people say about North America? Those are the ones getting to me. I don't feel like I belong yet. But that's just the big picture I'm talking about; on a smaller scale, day-to-day life in Toronto, I'm doing good.

My friend D. and I always spend our first visit after one of my trips at the lake skipping stones while we catch each other up on the months that have passed (and he mocks my attempts to skip stones). Today was our afternoon by the lake. The drive to the beach brought me along the lakeshore, packed with people waiting for the labour day airshow to begin, past Dempster's bread factory where, if you time it right, you're immersed in the scent of baked bread, and down Queen Street East where rollerbladers, bikers, baby carriages and dogs reign supreme - not cars.

At the beach the boardwalk was busy, the volleyball nets in full use, and the dog parks full of happy, wet dogs. The 'rock balancing guy' was there, as he has been for as long as I can remember, building his field of tall rock formations, playing his digereedoo and explaining to the tourists that this IS his job. He's one of my favourite Torontonians, summers wouldn't be the same without him. The rock labyrinth has been reinstalled in the sand by the water; after making our way to the centre to leave our offerings we headed to the monkey bars where we swung upside down for far longer than is advisable and talked about how much easier it was to 'hang' when we were younger (and lighter ;)

So, yeah, the very 'North American-ness' of life has been kicking my ass but it's nothing that a few hours spent watching the dogs play in the park or swinging upside down from the monkey bars can't fix.

mermaid cooking

The movie "Mermaids" was on tv recently. Most remember that movie because Cher was in it, or because of that strange scene where a teenaged Winona Ryder licked the leather coat of the guy she was crushing on, or because it also starred a young Christina Ricci. My sister and I remember it because it caused us no end of angst. In the movie Cher, the eccentric mother, never actually cooked a meal, she just prepared finger foods and called it dinner. When the movie first came out, virtually everyone my sister and I knew called us to tell us that they thought of us as soon as they saw it. By us I mean my mother, my sister & myself.

Not that I'm saying anything about my mother's cooking or anything; we ate, we were healthy and we were happy. But, you know, lets just say there were some similarities (purely hypothetical, of course). That could shed light on the fact that I can prepare a mean hummous but can't find my way through a soup recipe. It may also explain why my sister, who stayed in my apartment while I was away, left me a cupboard fully stocked with:

-1 can flaked tomato & basil tuna
-3 cans flaked lemon & pepper tuna
-3 cans flaked chicken
-1 can ackee in brine
-2 cans bamboo shoot strips.

Not withstanding the fact that I'm a vegetarian, what exactly does one DO with so much flaked meat?