christmas for bookworms

I think our bodies are ill prepared to be sliced open, tampered with and sewn back together. Our collective unconscious just wasn't made for this, it's an experience that hits me at a purely primal level. This time, as with last, my response was to sequester myself in a soft corner of my apartment hidden under piles of blankets and sleep the experience away. Four days of sleep. My body needed deep, deep silence to be still and make sense of what had been done to it.

This being the case, I slept away most of the International Festival of Authors (otherwise known as Christmas for bookworms across the city) including an evening with one of my favourite authors, a woman I'd like to be when I grow up. I did get to the readings for the Very Big Prize on Saturday night. Sitting in the dark having gorgeous stories read to you - what could be better? Nothing, except perhaps this...

Before the readings started a friend was sharing a story about one of our most famous authors who was also the Father of one of the evening's nominees. It was a story about meeting a literary hero only to be disappointed, a story that might have included the word "asshole". Repeated many times. Loudly. As a prelude to introducing the (alleged) asshole's nominated son, the host noted that the (alleged) asshole himself (though she referred to him as 'one of our most beloved authors') was in attendance. When she asked him to stand and make himself known it was the man sitting directly in front of us who rose to his feet. Awesome.

Sleep and laughter, food for the well-stitched but slightly traumatized soul.

In related news. Today I finally started reading the book of one of last year's nominees and I'm absolutely and completely mesmerized by it. It's partly set in Cambodia, a country I loved so much that I left it three times only to turn around and fly right back the very next day. A part of me belonged there, this book transports me back. The Disappeared, read it.

fun : not fun

You know what's fun? Autumn hikes and waterfalls, being a passenger instead of the driver, scoring the last spot on the patio of the best bar ever, drinking champagne and dancing until 3am.






Know what's not fun? Surgery. Tomorrow. Very very minor but guaranteed to be very very painful. I is scared.

on moondays and cynicism

Friday morning, beginning at 4.30am and continuing until I gave in and got up, I kept waking with a start, noticing the light in the room and panicking before remembering it was a moonday and there was nowhere I *had* to be. My first such morning in months. Life has been busy and every minute so conscripted that instead of enjoying my time I was anxious about it, making mental note of the things I 'should' be doing, things ever so more important than sleeping. This irritated me so I hopped out bed and headed to the place where the cool kids play, wrapped myself in a big shawl and took up residence on their patio basking in the early autumn sun. Absolutely glorious.

In unrelated news, October has been such a monster of work that this Wednesday's surgery, which has had me terrified for months, has become the highlight of my month because I've scheduled the following day free from everything. One. Whole. Day. Woot.

Even more unrelated is that this weekend I was reminded of just how cynical a bitch I can be. I try to keep her quiet but sometimes...sometimes there's just SO much fodder, there's no keeping my inner snark down. Friday we attended the opening of a yoga studio and then a kirtan. Between the tentative trumpet player, the wobbly sufi singer, the passing of a rock to collect everyone's good energy (people held onto that rock for aaaaaages imbuing with with their every last good thought), to the kirtan singer's prolonged silence taking us to that 'uncomfortable' place after each song, to the repeated 'jai ma's', to the stopping the show to send a prayer to the emergency siren that passed by...oh, my inner bitch was busy. She was also funny but I forced myself to use my inside voice because each of those things is actually lovely on their own and I seemed to be the only eye-roller in the room. It was just one of those nights.

stocking up

Every year at this time I turn into some crazed, squirrel-like creature only instead of collecting food for the coming winter I'm clocking hours in the sun. As much as I love having four seasons, I don't exactly enjoy them all equally. Fall turns me into Forest Gump - walking and walking and walking...everywhere I can, as much as I can, for as long as I can before I retreat inside to wait out the winter months under many, many blankets.






It's our Thanksgiving weekend this weekend, there is a lot to be thankful for. The people I love are happy and healthy and I'm beyond blessed in this life. This weekend there are blue skies, 20 gorgeous degrees, and I'm flying off for a pranayama workshop with one of my favourite teachers before coming back for an afternoon date with one of my favourite people. Life is good and I am lucky. Happy Thanksgiving.

nuit blanche

Sunset to sunrise, 12 hours of art filling the streets of the city. Huge installations from around the world side by side with renegade installations not 'officially' part of the exhibit but always my favourites just by virtue of being there. Building facades turned into giant computer game screens, the invitation to come inside and write your 'dirty little secret' on a hot pink balloon (made sweeter by free cupcakes), jungle gyms for adults, impromptu parades, random music installations in random places, the guy with the megaphone approaching us in the crowd to loudly announce our award (best smile) before moving on to his next recipient...love love love this night.

Best of all though - walking through one of the city parks discussing my plan to suggest a campfire installation for next year. I was very excited about it, a bonfire with marshmallows and guitars in the middle of the city when we rounded the crest and what did we see? Oh yes we did. Bob Dylan sing-a-longs, marshmallows and all...