sauna

Just returned to Helsinki after a week at the mökki (cottage). The theme of the week this year, as with last (and, I suspect, every visit to the mökki) was the sauna. Carrying wood to the sauna, getting the sauna ready, enjoying the glorious 90+ degrees of that little wooden room, planning the next trip to the sauna and, if you're me, dreading the obligatory dip into the freezing cold lake in between sauna visits.

Everyone at the cottage was very disappointed that the combination of strange weather plus rough water brought lots of algae to the shore making it impossible to 'cool off' in the lake every 10 minutes before returning to the blessedly warm embrace of the sauna. Me? I did a little happy dance. I never understood why the Finn's have to ruin a perfectly lovely experience by tossing themselves into baltic water in the first place.

Finland in June is, quite literally, the land of the midnight sun. These pictures were taken after the evening sauna at about 11:30pm.

Mikko using the elusive Finnish shower tree to bathe after the evening sauna


Me not enjoying the shower tree at all. Cold water. Very cold.


A Canadian and a Finn

the helsinki 's'

When I was a kid, I was painfully shy which, I assure you, I mean as more than a blithe euphemism for 'I was quiet' - I was PAINFULLY shy. I blushed when looked at, cringed when the centre of attention, and cried if required to speak to someone outside of my immediate family. I also had a lisp that may or may not have been that noticeable (or unusual for a seven year old) but I heard it as if through a megaphone whenever speaking the letter 's'. I remember being sent to a speech therapist when I was in grade 3. It was a short visit as she was upset that they'd wasted her time sending a student with a missing front tooth to learn to pronounce 'sssss'. She dismissed me, frustrated, telling me to come back when my tooth had grown in which I took personally, as a failure on my part. Stupid tooth.

I'm still the same person. Still practice my lines before making phone calls, get nervous meeting new people, encourage myself to participate in conversations at parties instead of hanging out by the bookcase checking out their collection but I've learned to manage it well. I've also learned to say the letter 's'. Both were difficult, but I did it.

So imagine my dismay to hear that the way I pronounce the letter 's' is very similar to what I'm told is the "Helsinki 'S'". Given that I'm unable to pronounce half of the other sounds in the Finnish language correctly, I'd normally be pleased to learn that I'm pronouncing something in a typically Finnish way but the Helsinki "S" isn't typically Finnish. It's limited to a segment of the Helsinki population referred to as "pissis", short for "pissaliisa" which translates literally as "Piss-Alice". Yeah.

The internet puts it as this: "pissis is a derogatory term for teenage girls dressing slatternly and acting in an obnoxious and uneducated manner". Years of childhood embarrassment and early adolescent vigilance to learn to pronounce the letter 's' such that I avoid drawing any attention to myself whatsoever and the result is an affiliation with the Finnish version of insipid valley girls dressed in tattered tights, short skirts, tube tops and smeared eye liner, sporting mussed up hair hanging around the railway station drunk out of their minds at 5pm on a Tuesday night. Great.

i wish i was kidding

I saw people wearing gloves this morning as I made my way home from the shala.

Sigh. That's all.

stuff

I realize that I've been writing about days filled with doing nothing and posting pictures showing me laying about doing more of nothing but, inexplicably, I feel as if I'm falling behind. In lieu of a proper (and likely infinitely boring) post, here's a visual update on Helsinki happenings instead...

There's been some big shot European football tournament thingy

Where I learned that pizza, fries, and pop are an international sporting event food phenomenon except here the pizza is topped with tuna, the fries look more like breakfast hashbrowns and the pop is more likely to be beer

There's been some biking

The affair between me and YU-lia continues. We're inseperable and I have to tell you - I think it's love.


There's been some random hot air balloon sightings

Where I was given pause to wonder about Torontonians; about whether, assuming we'd actually hop on our bikes for a leisurely ride along the shores of Lake Ontario after work in the first place, we'd stop and spend 1/2 an hour watching a hot air balloon fill with air and prepare for take off. I have a feeling we'd keep going, hell bent on enjoying our bike ride - dammit - or maybe that'd just be me.


There's been some beach sitting

Me sitting and staring at water. Surprise, surprise.


There's been some visiting

Where I learned that even the one year olds speak more languages than I do. Luckily for me, she forgave me for babbling gibberish at her and deigned to speak to me using the international language of "stuffed animals" (even though that's SO six-months old).

And there's been some decorating to acknowledge an earthday/environmental something or other



The strangeness of waking to find the Parliament steps covered in flowers was added to by the fact that they were Gerber Daisies - a flower I'm more accustomed to seeing in wedding bouquets and table centrepieces.

And there you have it. The weather is gorgeous, the days are long and life is good. Be well everyone. r.

20+ hours of sun and still so cold?

I didn't think it was bothering me, all this sun, after all, I'm the one my mother has always referred to as a "champion sleeper". Sleep is what I do and not much interferes with it, not fire alarms, not my cat pouncing all over me, and certainly not something as insignificant as daylight; so I've responded to all concerned inquiries about my sleeping and comments about how difficult most tourists find it to adjust to 20+ hours of sun with a smug "not me". Yeah. I've discovered a small addendum to that.

I don't have a problem falling asleep to what may look like a sunny afternoon when it is, in fact, 11pm at night but I am having a difficult time staying asleep. You know that feeling when you open your eyes to a much brighter day than normal and you have that full body start accompanied by a feeling of dread knowing you've slept in? I do that pretty much all night, every night from 3am onwards. I wake with a start, look to the window, see how bright it is, and groan because I've totally slept in and I'm going to be totally late and, oh God, what a pain before I realize that a) I'm on holiday, I have nothing to be late for and b) I'm in Finland in the summertime, it always looks like it's 1:00 in the afternoon out.

Last weekend was a visit to Turku where, in addition to marveling over a place where baking bread is a part of normal weekend preparations and trying to follow inside family jokes (in Finnish, no less ;) around the dinner table, we collected photo-evidence of the ridiculous amount of sunlight Finland hogs throughout the summer months.


8:30pm - The riverbank that runs through Turku is lined with restaurant boats, grassy shores and heaps of people engaging in what must be Finland's unofficial national pasttime: picnicking



9:00pm - At the pier engaging in my official personal pasttime: chilling out


10:30pm - On top of the hill, looking out over Turku


And, yes, I am sporting my spring coat and a scarf wrapped several times around my neck; although Finland hogs the majority of sunlight throughout the summer months, it seems that Canada is hogging all of the warmth.

postcards from finland

Julia is fine. I'm not sure how I managed to miss that the handle bars were facing the wrong direction but the person who parked their bike beside me didn't. As I was sitting upstairs bemoaning my 'broken' bike, they were noticing that the front wheel was facing backwards and spinning it around to face the right direction. That's it. Problem fixed. I smile to think of just how many of the things I interpret as 'problems' are also so easily fixed if I could stop bemoaning them and look at them with a more objective eye.

Yesterday the sun came out late in the afternoon and I walked for hours by the ocean enjoying the golden evening sun, watching the kayakers, and listening to the sounds of the city by the ocean. I came across two Canadian geese. REAL Canadian geese, regal with their long, graceful necks as opposed to the strange, squat little birds that have managed to usurp the name here. I was glad to see them, these birds from home, and I stopped to watch them for a while, thinking about how far they'd come. As I sat, a couple of ducks came right up to my feet quacking for food while the geese kept a respectful, safe distance, evaluating the situation from afar before deciding not to bother me - just like any good Canadian.

As I type I listen to a radio station from home streamed over the internet and keep pausing, surprised, when I'm told that it's 2.30am or 29degrees as I automatically look toward the window to confirm before remembering that I'm not there. I'm here.

Here is a good place to be. I toy with wondering why - because I'm on holiday? because the size of the city makes many things easier? because I've none of the responsibilities of home to attend to? because I 'get' people here in a way I don't 'get' people at home? because of the company? It's probably a combination of all of them but, to be honest, I don't spend too much time thinking about it. I've very much checked out and taken a mental as well as literal holiday this last week. It's been better than good.

And, below, an actual postcard from last Sunday: late morning, great yoga, sunny bike ride, and basking in the sun by Toolo Bay before headed to the nearby park for a rollercoaster ride. Perfect.

so close

I've had an almost perfect morning.

Sunny bike ride to the shala along quiet roads where I enjoyed the bright, new green of the trees and thought about how nice it would be if every trip into the city at home were this civilized. Long, slow, lazy yoga with only a bit of pain as opposed to the non-stop agonizing pain that has typified my practice these last few weeks. Without work to rush off to afterwards, I was able to sit and meditate for 20 minutes after my practice while the others slowly finished off theirs. Coffee in the sun while I caught up with the world online and thought about which route I wanted to take home - the scenic one or the quick one.

I was starving so the quick route won and off I went. Riding a bike is still a novelty, doing so in a city that doesn't hate bikers is even more of a novelty and to be able to jet about on my bike on a day as gorgeous as today? Well, if I were in a movie, there would have a 'Paris in the Spring' type soundtrack accompanying my ride and a voice over narrating my happy thoughts "tra la la, here I am riding my bike home on this gorgeous sunny day, how very European of me, tra la la". Until I fell.

A full-on, sprawled on the road fall after my tire got caught in a streetcar track (same exact place as yesterday as matter of fact, but I didn't fall then). I haven't actually seen a local doing that yet so I think my cover is blown. As is my pride. I escaped without a scratch, which is good, but I broke Julia, which is bad. I'm pretty sure it's a fixable break but it's still a break and Julia is still my new novelty friend that I've only had for two days so I'm feeling a bit useless and sad. I'm not sure what the movie soundrack for my afternoon would sound like but I'm damn sure there aren't any "tra la la's" in my voice overs. So sad, this North American. I need to get my tra la la back.

me & the pink ride

I'm in Helsinki. Did I mention I that? I could have sworn that I did but emails from home bearing invitations and asking where I am make me suspect that this is one of those plans I made using my inside voice. Either that or this trip was on again/off again so many times that people lost track, heck, I lost track myself at times.

The flight was uneventful save for the fact that I forgot my carefully prepared bag of vegetables in my mother's car and had to settle for 12 hours of airplane-style vegetarian meals (read: white rice and bread rolls). You'd be amazed at just how many times I thought longingly of those vegetables and that one, perfect fuji apple perishing in my mother's back seat on the trip between Toronto and Helsinki. Vegetables + fruit make me very happy.

I arrived to a bright, sunny afternoon and am unlikely to see anything but as the sun currently rises at 4am, sets at 11pm and the days grow longer as the summer progresses to a point where I can expect only "a short moment where it's dark-ish". My yoga pass is purchased, my mobile set up, and some visiting has happened. The best part though? The best part is that my very own bike was waiting for me when I arrived. A pink and white bike with "Julia" scrolled along the side, however, since we're in Finland and they insist on doing things differently with this crazy language of theirs, that would be YU-lia not JU-lia as one might safely assume back in normal-language-land.

Not only is Julia the first bike I've owned in 17+years but she's the first pink thing I've owned in ever. She might also be the closest I'll ever come to my Nordic stereotype of quirky blonde women spriting about town on their bikes clad in striped socks and bjork-like eccentricities. I'm neither blond nor nordic, I can't quite pull off striped socks and will never bear bjork-like eccentricities; however, I have a bike. A pink one. Score one for the touristi.

it's nothing

So. Colour me surprised. It turns out my stomach does hold more than static, it holds something with a long name and many scary-sounding possibilities followed by a whole bunch of "we'll have to wait and see's". It's most definitely nothing at all...or it's something. No way of knowing so I've decided not to worry until I have a reason to worry.

The rub of it all though? The long named-something-that-could-be-nothing is essentially a result of this: even my body parts are trying to overachieve and, in doing so, just thoroughly mucking things up. Sigh. This realization is absolutely the theme of my year on all counts - mind, spirit and now body too. All this time I thought going full-on and working my a** off was a good thing when, really, I had it all wrong. All I've really accomplished is the completely idiotic act of driving myself to the point of breakdown (which I mean in more of a mechanical analogy than a psychological one). I'm pleased to be learning this now as opposed to later.

Nothing works quicker than my family grapevine. No sooner had I told one sister than the other was calling me with a thorough report on her research which was a blessing since, quite frankly, I don't want to know everything. Something she pointed out was that all of the things I should be doing regarding diet and exercise, I'm already doing and have been for years. Our bodies are just so amazing, they know what's best, know what they need, and will gently nudge us in the right direction - we just have to listen.

Not to go off on our collective Canadian mentality or anything but I have been thinking about this, about what it would be like if the message was to respect our body's wisdom, listen to our gut, trust our instincts instead of push through, work harder, do more and do it better. It makes me smile just to think of it - so kind.

renovations

This week during yoga I've been working on correcting my stance which has had a snowball effect on the rest of my practice, it feels very much like rebuilding each pose from the ground up (quite literally). This morning I was thinking about the parallell between what I'm doing with my practice - breaking it down to rebuild it in a stronger, healthier way - and what I'm doing with my life. Now that my Master's is done I'm toying with the question of what I want to be when I grow up all over again and, in doing so, revisiting questions about what's important, what I want my life to look like, what kind of people, energy, and values I want to invite in, and where I'm willing to compromise (or not).

So far, nothing that has come up even closely resembles working Monday to Friday, 9-5 for one organization. Split between several roles or organizations, maybe, but one? No. So I finally and officially resigned from my job and will explore other possibilities. First though, I'm taking a break, a sabbatical, a vacation, whatever you want to call it, what's important is that I'm going to do nothing. I came across a zen quote this week that matched my feelings about this coming summer perfectly, it said something like "A man cannot see his face in running water, only in still water can he find himself". I love it. For the next few months, I'm doing my best to stay still (even when I'm moving).

I'm going to ignore the guilty voice inside that says I'm being a suck, that everyone works hard and I should be no exception, that wonders who I think I am to whine so much about what a hard year this has been and I'm going to focus my overachieving tendencies on overachieving at doing absolutely nothing. If the last few days are anything to go by, I don't think it will take me too long to get the hang of things as I am, actually, really good at doing nothing it's just that I'm not very good at doing nothing in Toronto. A friend pointed out that I have two speeds: full on in Toronto or doing absolutely nothing on vacation somewhere else. I'm not sure I've ever learned to be in Toronto living a normal, every day life that didn't involve doing way too much. That was my intention for this summer, to find a more balanced way of being here, which may make the fact that I'll be posting from Finland next week a bit strange but that's the way things turned out.

Although I do feel a need to be in Toronto, let the dust settle and see what life wants to bring, there's a question mark elsewhere that also needs to be respected. It came to feel that, as much as I feel a drive to stay put (there's no other words for it), I also recognize that staying put would have been like leaving a chapter left unwritten, it would have been a premature decision and, I think, unforgiveable. So I'm off to explore doing nothing in Finland before returning to Toronto to transfer my Finnish doing nothing skills to life at home. One good thing for you, since I'm returning to the land of he-who-has-a-camera, I'll probably be able to talk less and show more.

oh f*ing hell

Just ran into the demon family from hell who live below me and they're pregnant again. Very, very pregnant. Their three year old still doesn't sleep through the night and hasn't learned to communicate beyond child-of-lucifer screeches which translates into three years of sleepless nights and cozy evenings punctuated by the sounds of horrible tantrums.

Sigh.

Love, love, love my apartment but I think it's time to move.

working hard for his money

I was at the specialist with the ultrasound-thingy-place today and it was a bit of a disappointment. I'm always excited to see pictures of my organs and stuff on screen and then disappointed when I see that, really, it's just a bunch of static punctuated by more static and I have no idea what I'm looking at (and it's in black and white, what's up with that ;). Today's session started a bit tense as the technician was irritated that I hadn't drunk enough water to see what she needed to see and she ignored my repeated defense that "I FOLLOWED the directions". I'm pretty sure she thought I was lying and the madder she got, the more defensive I got until eventually I wanted to pee right then and there because THAT would show her but I didn't because, you know, I'm not 5. In addition to learning that my abdomen, that place that I thought housed my stomach etc, is actually just home to static, I also learned that my body processes water very slowly - at least in the land of ultrasounds.

Worse than her irritation, though, was the procedure itself. I thought that ultrasounds were taken from the outside, a little cold jelly on the skin and a mouse-like thingy zips around and takes pictures - easy - so you can understand my confusion when she asked me if I was allergic to latex, and maybe you can understand my misgivings when she applied a giant-sized condom to a giant-sized thingy and told me "don't worry, he works hard for his money". Turns out, ultrasounds may also be taken from the inside. Live and learn.

Perhaps even worse than the hard working ultrasound thingy and the technician's irritation combined is the fact that not long after she stopped sniping and began doing her job, she suddenly got very, very nice. It made me nervous. It made me think that she saw something and decided that it wasn't good karma to be mean to a dying lady just because she didn't drink enough water. I think there should be a rule, if you start off mean, stay mean. Or, you know, you could just be nice in the first place, especially if you're about to assualt a poor unassuming young maiden where few have gone before with a giant camera-slash-dildo.

stuff

Last Friday I had dinner with a group of friends I've known since I was just a fledgling, 12 year old, bekasanahh. In my mind they're the girls I've known since high school, I think they always will be. For that reason, my first thought when A sent this picture was one of idle curiosity, as in "Hmm, who are those women I'm sitting with?". It only lasted a split second but, hey, look at that, if they're women now, I must be too.



Mi, to my left, is my sister-soulmate-friend who knows me inside and out as I do her. I forget when or why it started but we've referred to each other as "mi" for what seems like forever. She's me only better. In high school when the rest of us were reading "Sweet Valley High" books, following each other to the shopping mall, and doing everything we could to avoid being different, Mi was reading "Jude the Obscure", attending protests and peace marches, and quitting much needed part-time jobs because she'd discovered they were using wood from endangered trees or something along those lines.

As if that's not enough to garner my undying love, she's crazy fun. When I think of her, I think of this: she called me over to help her wash her new-old car inherited from her grandmother and, when I got there, she was sitting in a tiny bikini on her driveway, beer in hand, scraping the "Don't Drink And Drive" sticker off the bumper while her neighbours struggled between pretending not to notice and shaking their heads disapprovingly. She was 16, she shouldn't have been drinking and anything. Funny Mi.

In other news, yesterday's journal entry: "Sun today, lots of it, face lifted to the sky in thanks. Man entering the coffee shop as I exited offered a surprise 'Good Morning', it was nice. The parking lot attendant waved me through for free just as I was mentally lamenting the $10 parking fee. Came across a very lost, very recent arrival to Canada and walked him to the subway stop. Took ages to understand what he needed and then where he needed to go as he spoke almost no English. Reminded of just how hard people work to create a better life for themselves. I'm working hard too. Feeling like I'm re-building myself from the ground up and it's hard but I'm lucky, lucky, lucky and grateful for the opportunity to do this at this point in my life".

Nothing profound there, I know, but after spending the better part of the last few months wondering how I was going to get myself out of bed and through the day I can't explain my relief at noticing the sun, it seemed so dark for such a long time. I'm getting my mojo back.

by the way, i lied

This...

"It took 7 months, 4 official address changes, a ridiculous number of hours on hold, and a visit to 5 different postal offices scattered throughout Toronto but Canada Post has finally agreed to deliver mail to my house again."

...was not enough to get Canada Post to agree to deliver my mail. Updated tally is 8 months, 5 official address changes, an even more ridiculous number of hours on hold, a visit to 7 different postal offices and new conversations with 3 different managers.

Still no mail but there is change, they've also started marking mail sent in my name to my father's house "return to sender". Go Canada Post.

lets have bizarre celebrations

Lunch with a friend, an afternoon movie matinee, and reading real, live, oh-my-god fiction instead of research articles; that's right, I'm done my masters. Papers handed in last week and comprehensive exam written this morning - done. I spent the afternoon doing things I've been wanting to do for ages (above) and things I've needed to do for ages like 3 weeks worth of laundry, too many days worth of dishes, changing the linen, and putting out the garbage.

When I brought the garbage out I heard music, very loud classical music. I couldn't tell where it was coming from but it was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. I stayed outside for a while, leaning against a tree in this gorgeous spring evening letting the music wash over me; it was the first time in months that I've just...stood...and not felt guilty because there was something else I should be doing.

Luxurious. And strangely unsettling. I've gotten so used to the weight of the last few months that I almost miss it now that it's gone. I'm sure it won't take too long to get used to life as a non-stressed being. Besides, I'm already thinking about my PhD. Somebody stop me.

And the title, lets have bizarre celebrations? Hands down the best first line of any song, ever.

mmm..chocolate

The other day during an intake I asked a client, as we always do, about their drug use and they shared that they smoke 1/2 an ounce of marijuana a week.

Since I don't smoke and I don't do anything that involves numbers well, I have no idea how much that is is. Or if it's a problem. The closest reference point I could find to understand what 1/2 an ounce of pot looked like was to think back to the chocolate bar I'd eaten earlier that day which I'd noticed was 2 ounces.

That was the worst possible thing I could have done. For the rest of the session, all I could think was "mmm...chocolate..."

is it april 17 yet?

I left my job a year ago today. I wish I could say more about it, about what's changed, what I've learned, where I find myself, but I can't. It's wistful this feeling I have, this wishing I could know what I know but life is a blur and my head is spinning. After a year of feeling as if I'm running one step behind trying to keep up, nothing has had the chance to sink in. Not complaining. Just noticing. Noticing that I don't really know anything right now.

It's all done April 17. After that I plan to stay gainfully unemployed for four months to play, let it all sink in, and see what comes next. I think the real lessons of this year will be best found through hindsight and I can't wait for the space to process.

Random stuff:
-It took 7 months, 4 official address changes, a ridiculous number of hours on hold, and a visit to 5 different postal offices scattered throughout Toronto but Canada Post has finally agreed to deliver mail to my house again. Just in time for me to leave the country in a month.

-That someone or something comes easy does not mean that they require no effort. I learned that this week.

-My car died and I'm transit-bound. I've gotten so much work done on the hour long ride to and from work, it's been a blessing. I started driving again so I could go to the shala in the mornings but our lovely visiting Teacher is gone, the energy in the shala is empty, and home practice is exactly what I need. Plan to remain transit-bound for the remaining weeks.

-I had the nicest, most unexpected conversation with a visitor to Toronto this morning. I forgot how much, as a tourist, it means to have a real-live-actual conversation with a local, with someone outside of the tourist-service industry, and the warm impressions I've brought home with me as a result. I hope I did the same for her. She was sweet.

At this time last year I wrote of flip flops and sundresses. This year, not so much. Eat lots of chocolate and stay warm everyone :)

toronto updates its signage

I guess with the weather finally warming up, the city has had a chance to begin spring cleaning. I passed a new street sign today on my way from the shala to the coffee shop and I think it might just be my new most favourite thing ever.

It reads:

homeless sleeping
QUIET


I can already hear my father muttering to himself as he reads this and the indignation of living under Toronto's Liberal bleeding-heart-commie-pinko (did I forget anything dad ;) political rule comes rushing to the forefront of his mind.

Love. It.

why, oh why, does Hamilton keep calling me?

The book club that never reads was a huge amount of fun tonight. The one guy who always does read the book tried, as usual, to redirect the conversation to the pesky topic of the story at hand but he was outnumbered.

Instead we leapfrogged from topic to topic, falling into side conversations only to dovetail together again at a completely new, and seemingly random, point. Conversations are as likely to begin with statements like "I don't know how familiar you are with bigimpressivename's most recent archeological findings using carbon imprinting but..." as they are with "Well, it's like Richard Burton always said: 'Dick is not a name, it's an appendage'". Fun times.

I know this group because I used to work with some of them at one of my most favourite jobs ever. Tonight I got the inside scoop on an upcoming opening that I was encouraged to apply for. It's my dream job at my dream institution with my dream team. 16 hours per week in the late afternoons which leaves plenty of time for yoga and long, lazy mornings, working with a client group I'm experienced with, doing work that I like doing, and it's the perfect place and team to nurture me at this point in my career. Oh, and since it runs from September-April time off to travel is literally built into the job description.

The catch? The reason I left my 'most favourite job ever' was because of the distance, it's an hour drive from where I live.

We'll see. Maybe Hamilton isn't done with me yet.

spring

I wasn't sure about today.

It began as it does every morning with me pressing snooze, every four minutes for 20 minutes which, I know, makes no sense but that's not the point. The point is that this morning was different. It should have been a great morning since it followed the night that I slept more than three hours which, in itself, was a feat as sleep has eluded me lately; however, inbetween violently assaulting my alarm clock (who was really only trying to do his job, poor, misunderstood thing), instead of chasing after those precious extra minutes of sleep, I lay there moping. Oh, woe is me, another day. So much work to do, relationship confusion, job confusion, identity crisis; I simply can't face another day - quick, someone bring me my violin.

Sadly. I live alone and the cat that lives with me doesn't speak "whine" so, I got up. And damned if it isn't a freaking great day to be alive.

I dragged myself to yoga mentally preparing myself to defend my poor, fragile, woe-is-me-life-is-hard body from my uber-ashtangi teachers who tend toward aggressive in their adjustments but they denied me the opportunity to explain just how hard life has been lately by leaving me alone to practice in peace, interrupting me only once with the most gentle of adjustments. Practice felt good.

Work was punctuated by a series of family group emails bearing "spring has sprung" ditties initiated by my Grandmother who, in email land, we refer to as 'ima' (get it? ipod, ibook, ima...funny bunch, my family). I was stuck inside an institutional cement box so it could have been hailing frogs for all I knew but when I escaped at 3pm I discovered that it's true. Spring has sprung.

Maybe its spring, maybe its the sleep, maybe its any number of things but I feel alive with possibilities. My job, my apartment, my plans for the summer - all up in the air and, at this moment at least, I'm loving it. I feel free and open and constricted by the few plans that I do have. With the exception of the fact that the one person I'd like to spend time with isn't here, I'd be very happy to hang around Toronto, visiting, yoga-ing, minimal amounts of working, and maximum amounts of chilling for the summer. But then, this will be my last chunk of free time until next April so I also feel the call to take advantage of it and go somewhere far away. Having the option to choose is delicious.

I type from my mom's patio. The ravine to my left gives me the sound of the running river and calling birds and I sit, coat-free, squinting through my sunglasses while the late afternoon sun keeps me warm. Soon I'll leave to join the bookclub that never reads the books for the first time since November and I can't wait to see everyone.

Happy spring to you all :)

subway

The man across from me talks loudly to himself and the woman sitting beside him moves to sit next to me. Music escapes her headphones and works their way into my consciousness, pulling me from reading these words, which I love so much I've revisited the book several times over the past few years:

"I recommend it, by the way - pond watching - as therapy. There is something about water, even if you have no particular interest in the life forms within it. It is the medium we came from, after all. We were all rocked by water at our beginnings" Mary Lawson, Crow Lake.

A couple has occupied the seats to my left for several stops. They haven't exchanged a word or made eye contact with one another since boarding. I wonder whether they are soulmate compatible or alienated and dispassionate in their silence. I think the latter but then he leans over to brush a stray piece of hair from her cheek in what I assume to be a tender gesture. For some reason I'm relieved - they are connected. She looks down to watch his actions but doesn't turn towards him or acknowledge his gesture in any way and I return to interpreting their silence as distant. Her lack of engagement with him makes me dislike her.

The conductor admonishes those waiting on the platform to let riders off before trying to board. Two times. Its funny. He tries a new tactic, reminding us that we might find it easier to board if we would make use of more than one door instead of all trying to crowd in through the same one. But we're already on board and mid-tunnel. This is funny too. He must be having a very looong day down here in the dark tunnels and I hope his shift passes quickly for him.

ok, follow your bliss, you win

I don't know who wrote the poem that follows but its been drawn to my attention several times recently and, each time, I've resisted posting it. After it made its way to my attention again today, I give up. It wants to be read and I see beauty and strength in these words.

Energy Flows Where Attention Goes

Go out and live. Break your heart with too much caring, and gather around you the knowledge that you can survive. Risk it all to do what you love, and know that you are strong enough to go on, win or lose.

If you wait for the moment when everything is ready, you will never begin. And if you spend your whole life waiting for the storm, you’ll never enjoy the sunshine.

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. When you have exhausted all possibilities, remember this — you haven’t.

Every adversity, every failure, every heartache carries with it the seed of an equal or greater benefit. It also has the potential to open your eyes and your heart.

Far away in the sunshine are my highest inspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see the beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.

It’s not what you are, but what you don’t become that hurts.

Follow Your Bliss

I love it most for the first and the last lines. The first because a year ago I promised myself that I would go out and live, I'd give up what I was content with to rediscover what I love, and I would love someone fearlessly. It's been terrifying. There has been adversity, heartache and failure but there has also been an opening of eyes, heart and inspiration - they've just been slower to follow and I've been impatient. So, there is that. The other reason I love the first lines so much? I've been more than a bit sucky through it all, It doesn't hurt to be reminded that I'm strong when the scaredy-cat inside of me is quaking in her boots.

And I've never heard the sentiment of the last lines expressed in quite this way: "It's not what you are, but what you don't become that hurts". I've thought a lot about this and, I'm not not so sure I agree, but I've really enjoyed the food for thought.

making room

March 21, 2007

Spring equinox today. Does that mean something? Is it a "time" for something? Should I be concluding, honouring, or manifesting in some way? Given that it's spring, a time for new life and for rebirth, I'm going to manifest.

I manifest inspiration, enthusiasm, opportunity, options, possibilities, lightness, and joy. New doors will open. Options will arise. Support will be there. A new life will begin.

I'm strangely excited by it. I say strangely because life is full of endings right now; some expected, some unexpected, some unwanted. There is sadness, loss and disappointment. There is also fear. I'm scared. There's no escape from the uncertainty of the future, no escape from the fact that I don't know what I'm doing. I'm without a plan. So it feels strange to be excited; strange, confusing and wrong all at the same time. Should I be excited when I'm so scared? And sad? And when I know nothing for certain? Am I allowed to feel excitement as well?

Although this post is full of questions, I'm not looking for anyone to give me answers. I have my own and, for those still pending, there's a sense of acceptance that's been missing as of late. Things will come. They already are.

Last week I was telling someone of my thoughts of redacting my resignation and returning to my old job. I liked it well enough, loved some parts of it, it paid the bills, required little effort - why not? Still, as I outlined my reasons we both knew that the main reason was because it was a sure thing and I'm way freaked out by not knowing what comes next professionally. His response was "don't be conservative". Simple, but good.

Quotes about "living fearlessly", poems titled "follow your bliss", career possibilities all find their way to me; new connections are popping out of the woodwork and old ones are rearing their heads to say hello.

Inspiration, support, options and possibilities are there. Maybe I just had to stop obssessing over the endings to allow room for the beginnings.

ekah

I originally titled this post 'my sister is brilliant' but I have two sisters who are each brilliant and who each bring me such gifts that that didn't seem right. This post, though, is about my younger sister, Ekah.

I emailed her this morning asking for a poem and she complied. I forgot the power her words have to bring me to tears - so poignant; hopeful and heartbreaking at the same time. Again I'm reminded that she writes better than I think she will ever let herself know. I know I've mentioned that in other posts, but whenever I read one of her poems, see the pictures she's created, feel the energy she brings, I wish that I could pull her, just for a minute, from herself so she could see what I see.


She's an ugly girl, that wants to be pretty
She's a pretty girl, with ugly ways
She's clean for you
because she got dirty

took extra care
to look untouched.

She knows you love her, but stand alone
so she rebels in private
and meets you on sundays

She's a smart, dumb girl
that wants too much
but won't get enough.

She uses your head
because hers is too hard.

She's a cop out
that puts too much in

She's all over when you're gone
but goes back to where you found her.

She ripped herself off, by turning you on

She takes baths by candle
but gets dirty so fast

She gave too much
but not enough
on purpose.

She's wide wide wide
closed.

hell hath no fury like a wet cat

Long ago, when the cat first moved in, someone sent me a comic strip that said "God gave us dogs to remind us to get outside and cats to remind us to sit and enjoy the moment". Tonight, after a day which may best be remembered as "the day I could do nothing right", I did both.

When I got home from work the cat, sensing my mood, disposed of his usual tear up and down the length of the apartment and sat on my lap, purring, while we watched the light change. After a while of that, with some self-pity thrown in for good (bad?) measure, I roused myself and headed to my sister's to take her dog for a walk in the park. Chevy ran ecstatic circles around me while I rediscovered the smell of earth, the sound of my shoes squelching in deep mud puddles, and the pink sky of sunset framed by the forest instead of city buildings.

I also met George who greeted me by wrapping his jaws around my right thigh. Any other time, that might be the prelude to a damn fun night but George was a dog. A very big dog who his owner introduced as a "real mr. grumpy-boots" which, I suppose, is more positive than introducing him as "rabid". A hug from my sister, a phone call from my cousin, a deep breath of spring in the air, and the pure, unadulterated joy of dogs running in the park helped make the events of "the day I could do nothing right" melt away.

I also discovered something that the comic strip forgot to mention: nothing, and I mean absolutely NOTHING, can top the sight of a cat falling into a bathtub full of water. That shit is gold.

all that you can't leave behind

In two completely unrelated events, last week began with hospital tests and ended with a funeral. With the combination of the two so close together, I have death on my mind. And life. I've been thinking about what makes a good life, what I'd like to see when I look back at the end of it all.

Seeing those gathered to honour L. at the service, looking at the pictures strewn across several bristol boards, pictures where she was rarely alone, instead always surrounded by loved ones, listening to messages from her Grandchildren about the shared gift of baking or gardening; it occurred to me - this is what it is all about.

It's about love. About the family I build, the lives I touch, the gifts I share. It's about what I leave behind.

So. What do I want to leave behind?

like butterflies dancing across my back

OK. Permission granted to roll your eyes all you want, I know I did, but remember, I didn't ask for it; the words popped completely without encouragement into my mind this morning when I was being adjusted by my teacher's mother (herself a yogi and teacher for 30+ years): "like butterflies dancing across my back". Having spent most of last night awake, waiting for the death grip of a sugar rush to leave my very tired body (note to self: it doesn't take half the pan to 'test' the brownies you baked to bring to work), I chalked the butterfly imagery up to exhaustion. Then it happened again. Another adjustment and there they were, the words themselves dancing across my mind in this crazy, pink cursive script. And I'm not even a pink-cursive-script-liking kind of person. Uber-ashtangi, muscle wrenching adjustments my ass! Those were the most gentle, powerful adjustments ever. I'm inspired.

This inspired me too: "The seeds of some trees are so tightly compacted within their protective covering that only the intense heat of a forest fire can free them, allowing them to sprout". Out of fire comes life. Love. That.

And, for the record, if any of you are wondering whether I've noticed what inspires you - I have. Scaredy-cat resigned from my job post = nothing, boobs and blowjob posts = comments.

Filthy readers ;)

hyvaa shittia

I'm almost loathe to write about this morning in case anyone chooses to make mountains out of what was a supercool experience; but I'm so excited that I'll brave the threat of pop-psychoanalysis anyway.

I met with my meditation teacher this morning and, after sitting for some time, we were talking, not surprisingly, about meditation. About the push and pull for attention, the mind's need to follow sounds...memories...stories...anything to occupy itself and provide distraction from the very simple state of being fully present - just me, right here, right now. He caught onto something in the way I was describing my experience with the morning's meditation, he noticed judging in my speech. In return he seemed genuinely puzzled and was talking about the possibility of NOT judging meditation as 'performance' (that kind of misses the mark) but to use it as an opportunity to just notice. Notice what comes up, the 'good' and the 'bad', and welcome it all equally - without commenting, judging, or applying value. Of course, I know this. I know it a million, trillion times over but, damn, its hard.

As he was talking about not following thoughts, not judging, just being me, right here, right now. A voice popped into my head; a questioning, tentative voice asking "But what if you don't like who you are?" and, of course, it wasn't entirely a hypothetical question, what I meant was "But what if I don't like who I am?". Wow. Where did that come from?

On many different levels, I really don't think I'm all that bad but I guess there's that core, that doubting, that questioning of myself, my worthiness, my goodness; that's there too just beneath the surface, spinning madly to attach to thoughts, sounds, memories, stories, even criticisms and judgements...whatever it takes to keep from peeking behind the curtain and considering the fact that there is that part of me that wonders if I'm good enough - and suspects that I'm not.

That sneaking little suspicion seems to be popping up now more than ever and, given all the changes and uncertainty in my life, it makes perfect sense. Without those external things to latch onto by way of defining myself, I'm just left with me. And, please, don't get me wrong - I don't think that's such a bad place to be; my ego is pretty healthy. Usually my teacher doesn't say much but today was different; today he contradicted me. He stated that he didn't really buy that I believed that, that I didn't like myself, he thought that it was just a 'safe', comfortable place for my mind to go. I think we were both right. I know this may not sound like such a big insight to you but, for me, it's like a light went on in a corner of a room that I didn't even know was there; I'm super excited.

As we talked I felt the inanity of it and had this wish to be a fly on a wall, to witness our conversation and watch as he made his third separate attempt to explain the various alternates to self criticism or judging. It was like being being oriented to a world that I really didn't have the social background to integrate myself into on my own. Even at the time I could see the humour of it as I stopped him to clarify for the millionth time "Ok...so, wait...when I think X I should just accept it? Let it be there without buying into it? Without attaching to it?"...long pause..."Really?".

Hmm. Interesting idea Dr. Meditation ;)

who? me?

I was talking to one of my favourite people in the entire world today and, as is the case with all our conversations, after we hung up the phone I sat lost in thought, letting snippets of our conversation float to the surface before drifting away. We have the oddest synchronicity, he and I. He's my spiritual twin, my mirror, and he has the habit of saying exactly what I need to hear. I often feel like I've exhaled whatever it was I needed to release or relax into after we've talked. It's perfect.

Today he was talking about his 3 year old daughter, how he's noticed that she will not do things if told - pushed - to do them but that if left alone and given space, she'll do it of her own accord. Yeah. I know that that's not news, that you've probably observed that with other beings in your life, but it was exactly what I needed to hear today.

I'm pushing the universe on a million different levels to reveal what it has in store for me. There are too many unknowns in my future which feel all too real because I 'officially' resigned from my job yesterday. I'm scared and I'm pushing. My incessant, constant, scratching need. to. know. is pushing, pushing, pushing in this hopeless, impossible game that I can't possibly win. I know it, I know I can't push things to reveal themselves before their time but, in my fear, I forget.

It was good to be reminded by K. today. Every time I replay his words in my mind I get this kind of abashed, embarassed grin on my face and feel that pushy part of me look around with mock innocence as if to say "Who me? Pushing?" with lips pursed in a too-casual whistle. Yeah, you, pushing - I see you.

It's good to have mirrors.

you mean that's NOT the best thing ever?

Many, many years ago when I was working on my undergrad degree I participated in a PhD research study in exchange for course credit. Since the study explored the connection between depression and dependency, we were asked to complete a questionnaire about our experience with depression, our social network, who we turn to for support/advice, our ability to make independent decisions etc. before being selected (or not) to participate. We received class credit just for completing the questionnaire so I considered it an easy grade - I was surprised when they called me to participate.

It turns out they wanted me to join the 'other' group, the control or comparison group because my scores for 'dependency on others' was so low. As in the lowest he'd seen. Ever. I remember that because he repeated it over and over. Each time he marveled at my low dependency scores I responded with a kind of 'aw, shucks' duck of my head, a little embarrassed at his outrageous flattery.

It wasn't until several years later that I realized that he may not necessarily have been paying me a compliment.

the difference between a teacher and a Teacher

I practiced beside a visiting student at the shala this morning. She clearly had a practice she was comfortable with and each time my Teacher made a suggestion or tried to adjust her she stopped him by saying "I can't".

As I watched Matt respond to this time and time again with the same level of quiet patience and faith I realized something: a Teacher responds to "I can't" by asking you to try - not "because they said so" or to prove them right but to give you the opportunity to prove yourself wrong.

ever done this?

Take a blank piece of paper, divide it into a table with 9 columns and 21 rows. Enter the following questions into the headers of the 9 columns: activity, when was the last time you did this?, free or costs $?, alone or with someone else?, planned or spontaneous?, job related?, involving physical risk?, fast or slow paced?, does it feed your mind/body/or spirit?. Brainstorm 20 things you love to do and enter them into the "things" column in each of the 20 remaining rows, complete the remaining columns for each of the items you recorded.

I'd completely forgotten about this exercise until I came upon a completed chart while I was looking through old books trying to find some paper today (paper which, by the way, was useless once I'd found it because I couldn't find a working pen. In this entire apartment, not one working pen. I'm a student and I write, how is that possible?). Because I have such an overwhelming amount of work to do, I was happy to procrastinate by giving it another go. Although I didn't do it with the intention of comparing it to the one I'd done a few years ago, it was interesting to look at two together. Some changes, some not at all.

The first thing I noticed was how absolutely blessed I am, that a majority of the "things I love to do" are a part of my daily life. 8 of the 20 things recorded were things I'd engaged in within the last 24 hours, 5 others were things I'd done within the last 2 weeks, and 3 others within the last 2 months. The only real hold-outs were the things I do outdoors which I missed this year since I was away all summer. Other changes: more 'planned' than 'spontaneous' this time, life's just gotten really busy, more things need to be planned; a few more 'with someone else' than 'alone' but still, the things I love to do most are overwhelmingly things I do alone - or in the company of others but with no need to talk; almost everything I love to do is free (good thing); and a couple of work-related activities snuck onto the list where before there were none, a life where "things I love to do" are a part of my job? Say it ain't so ;)

I also found a few other exercises I'd completed which I won't bore you with but the bottom line is this: I'm living the life I always wanted. Lucky, I am, but I also know that I'm living the life I've always wanted because I created it. I worked hard, made choices that scared the crap out of me, and took risks. And so, what now? I'm coming up on a time of closure, of finishing one chapter with many paths beginning to make themselves available to me and doors opening before I've even started knocking. Today I realized that before I start running towards every opportunity that presents itself, maybe I need to step back and take a more conscious approach, to at least start considering what comes next in this life that I've always wanted.

And..uh..in case you noticed the categories I didn't summarize? Yeah. Things involving physical risk? None. Fast paced or slow? All slow. I'm as boring now as I was a few years ago ;)

the great christmas boob-off

For the doubters out there, a photo of the boob-off mentioned a few posts ago (what? boobs & bras are not the topic of Christmas morning conversations in your homes?).

The clear winner would have been my mother but you'll have to take my word for it, she declined to participate in our reindeer games. And she wouldn't forward me a picture with her in it. Instead, I offer you my sisters and I.

In case you're too kind to make the obvious observation yourself, I'll say it for you: an undershirt Rebecca? I know, I know, no competition but, really, I threw in the towel on that game years ago. Besides, just look at my sisters; Laura with her plucky determination to just. keep. bra'ing no matter how much we tease her in all of her a-cup gloriousness and Ekah with her engineer-like mastery of the complex mechanics of it all. Who could compete?

Well played ladies, well played.

beeeeeep

Last Sunday my older sister had me and my younger sister (yeah, I'm the middle child; spare me the long, drawn out "ohhh's" of comprehension) over for dinner. In between yelling to be heard and screaming with laughter I remember thinking that I would love to be able to recount this story...or that story...but I can't. If I tried to transcribe our conversation it would look something like this "Beep beep beeeeeeep BEEEP beeep" because, you see, most of our conversations are like that. We make the Sex in the City characters sound like ladies at a church luncheon.

At one point we were one-upping each other on just how much we love Grandma; as in, "I love Grandma so much that...." and, as much as I do love my Grandmother, I lost. When it comes to out-grossing each other with imaginary things we'd do, I'm no match for my sisters. My older sister put me off spaghetti and raisins FOR LIFE because of her descriptions of what they 'really' were over the dinner table when we were kids and my younger sister? She's a gross-out master. Both of them, they're pro's.

I've been thinking about our Sunday dinner, the pictures my mother sent of Christmas today, an email from my father that I'd saved and, in the spirit of the game, I'd like to pass this message on to my family: I love you so much that I'd swim naked and covered in leeches across the ocean while tailed by boatloads of hollering yahoos to crawl on my hands and knees across a desert covered in shards of glass just to get to the other side to do unspeakable things to both the men AND the donkeys that accompanied me to prove my love to you.

But I hope I never have to.

The front page of yesterday's newspaper carried a picture of Greenland. A green Greenland as opposed to an ice-capped Greenland which, I gather, is normally the case. The picture was to support an article about global warming and, I'm not necessarily a fan of melting ice caps and all the rest of it, but everytime I think back to the picture I can't help but think "Awww, it's so pretty!". Global warming: stable climate, no; pretty scenery, maybe.

On the topic of the temperature, I stopped into a hardware store to buy a thermometer yesterday so I could prove to my landlord that I live in an icebox. I've been meaning to track the temperature in my apartment since last winter so I was feeling very pleased with myself for actually getting around to buying a thermometer when I noticed that every one of them bore a different temperature - sometimes varying by more than 10degrees. If they're all thermometers, measuring the same temperature, in the same store just centimetres away from each other, shouldn't they all reflect the same measurement? I ended up leaving without one (although my sister later said I should have bought the one with the lowest temperature and used that to talk to my landlord. Good point).

And, finally, I absolutely swear that my horoscope in todays paper is the exact same one that I've read before. The earth's climate, thermometers, and now my horoscope - can nothing be trusted ;)

my office

Today at work I was trying to explain just how horrible it is to be me, in Toronto, in the winter. That I feel like I spend 99% of my life in absolute poverty of warmth. Instead of the sympathetic noises I was expecting I was met with the mocking reply of "Eaaasy Gables"; as in Anne of Green Gables the melodramatic storybook character who is never bummed, she's in the "depths of despair", and she doesn't have a good friend, she has a "bosom buddy". Mocked.

I should have known better. I should have known to turn to my family first for sympathy and understanding because, although they are absolute masters of mockery, at least they understand me while they're making fun of me. Must be something in that 'blood is thicker than water' stuff. Or maybe its just that my sisters and I were all raised under the same 'too cheap to turn on the heat' regime because my sister and I had the following conversation earlier this evening (with no prompting from me, mind you)

Sister: "I'm so cold my hands are shaking. I swear my landlord is ripping me off, it's freezing in here"
Me: [Some kind of commiseration about crappy, heat-sucking landlords]
Sister: "I swear, the only place I'm warm is in the bath"
Me: "ME TOO, I get home from work and head straight to the bath" [accessorised with splish splashing sound effects to emphasize that that was my exact location as we were speaking]

Yeah. I was in the bath.

Here's too much information (and an unwanted visual) for you: if you're talking to me or reading an email sent after 6pm, chances are they were sent from my cozy, oh-so-happy, perch in my bathtub. Where it's warm. Because that's how it goes. I get home from work, turn on the bath, feed the cat, gather my dinner/books/etc and retreat to the tub where I stay until its time to go to bed (at which point my electric blanket takes over). It's kind of like my home office.

Which got me thinking. Remember The Fonz from Happy Days? Remember how he used to call the bathroom at Al's Diner his "office" and he would order Potsy or Ralph to "Come into my office" all tough-like when he wanted to talk to them? And remember how we thought The Fonz was so very dreamy until we happened to catch the show in reruns as adults and realized that The Fonz wasn't dreamy, he was an aging mechanic who really shouldn't have been hanging out with high school kids and definitely shouldn't have been dating them. Seems like every woman my age had the same Fonz realization at some point in time - that the dreamy tough guy was really just a dirty old man in a leather coat. Now there's a life lesson.

If you want to discuss, you can reach me in my office.

initiated

Today I was counselling someone I've seen for a few sessions and, as she talked, something began to rise to the surface. Something really, really deep and buried and huge. Something that I don't think either of us were expecting. I really felt for her and this journey she was about to embark on, sometimes we have to let ourself feel worse before we can feel better (or as Rumi has, much more eloquently, said "the cure for pain is in the pain").

As I realized what she was starting to realize I looked at her with complete empathy and thought "Wow. She really should talk to a professional to deal with this". And then I caught myself - that's me - I'm the professional she's coming to to deal with this!

Ever quick to worry about my skills as a therapist, I'm pretty sure that the only reason I'm not freaking out more about this is that just about every Counsellor I've talked to or read about has commented on having the very same thought process during their early years as a therapist. Guess I've passed that part of the initiation.

Bookmouse

Yesterday at the bookstore I saw a teensy, tiny grey mouse running frantically through the bookstacks and I had a giggle at the thought that finally, after all these years of being called one, I had seen a real, live, honest-to-god bookmouse.

Then I remembered that the term was "bookworm", not "bookmouse", and I felt a bit cheated.

Pollyanna

Driving in this city can be kind of stressful (easy Finland, easy ;) so, provided I have nowhere pressing to be, the one hour bus ride home sometimes emerges as the nicest part of my day. I think about stuff, catch up on phone calls, journal, read, do homework, it's lovely. Today was an interesting ride.

A woman loudly, and with a great deal of anger, made sweeping, derogatory comments about people with my skin colour. For the entire ride. It was awkward. It was also interesting timing; her comments filtered through while I was reading about Buddhist meditation, about choosing to pause to check in with the emotions our knee-jerk responses want to protect before following through on them. I struggled with that tonight as the angry voice forced its way into my thoughts.

The bus ride to and from the university has become a time for searching, questioning thoughts; not exactly the kind of frivolous daydreaming I expected. This is the same bus where, very often, no one will sit beside me. The bus may be packed with people standing in the aisles but the seat beside me? Empty. The entire process of getting home each night has become an incubator for long, internal discourses about race, privilege, discrimination, socio-economic status, appearances, assumptions, fate, you name it.

Tonight I also thought about the clients we'd seen for intake that day. About the fact that no matter what kind of complaints I can fabricate about my parents, my upbringing, my siblings; no one abused me, no one forced themselves on me, no one let/encouraged their friends/partners to force themselves on me. And by 'force themelves' I mean have sex. I thought about the way in which the choice of just one person to abuse the trust and power given to them by a child can impact entire generations of a family. And I thought about the people who are coming in to talk about their experiences and the bravery and courage it must take to choose to deal with it. I'm not so sure I wouldn't stick with repression and denial.

As I write this, I feel a bit silly. I know bad things happen. I know racism exists. I know people live through all kinds of horrible abuses. And I know that some of those people include those in my very close circle - that there are no exceptions. I guess its just that when no one will sit next to me on a bus it hurts my feelings, and it makes me think about assumptions that may be made and the systems in place that support them. When I talk to my third person in a row explaining what their parent/sibling/babysitter/grandparent did to them with a straight face and matter of fact voice it feels very real and I'm again humbled by the absolute grace of fortune bestowed upon me.

meow

Whenever he sees bags being packed, my cat becomes a twitchy, skittering little creature that, quite frankly, is irritating to have around. For that reason, it's always a relief when, having confirmed that he is seeing correctly, there ARE bags being packed, he goes into hiding from what he assumes comes next - getting tossed in the car to be passed off onto a well meaning friend for a few weeks.

Today he was right, there were bags being packed, but it had nothing to do with him - my Finnish touristi was leaving. I think if the cat had realized that he would have panicked even further because this visitor, this beacon of light from across the ocean, he did something never before experienced in this apartment - he PLAYED with Mannix. Red dot game, play fighting, falling for the old 'cat under the rug' trick - oh - it was glorious. And now he's gone.

Another thing this visitor did? He talked to Mannix and Mannix talked back. Great conversations were had, very long conversations were had, and my cautions that the cat would get used to this and I'd be left with a fuzzy, white ball of meowing irritation when the touristi departed? Those cautions were ignored. And now we're alone, just me and the cat. And some meowing. Lots and lots and lots of meowing.

Thanks Mikko. By the way, the cat says meow.

nyc photos

Having been teased by my sisters for my tendency to visit NYC, the city that never sleeps, to do exactly that - sleep - accompanying my touristi there on his North American tour could have been disastrous. But it wasn't. Luckily he joined me in my penchant to ignore NYC nightlife in favour of exploring NYC early-morning-yoga-life.

While Mikko was astounded by the questions put to him by US Customs, I was nearly brought to tears by the customs officer who threatened me with court for failing to declare my morning coffee under section 11a on the customs form - yeah - I'm serious. The trauma of being "educated" by the VERY mean American Customs man was quickly eradicated by the cutest observation, coming one hour into our visit, when my Finnish touristi noted that "I've never been in a place with so many Americans all at once".

We were joined in our yoga-bum tour by Leo who came up from DC and, so, there we were a Canadian, a Finn and an American-Russian in the big apple. Some walking was done, some yoga studios were visited, some pictures were taken. You can see them here.

toronto pics

I love Toronto and think it's one of the best places to live as is, seeing it through a tourists eyes has made me appreciate it even more.

Mikko's Toronto pictures below (with more to come)...

Toronto pics

stuff

So, there was a vacation in Helsinki. That was nice.

Then a quick stopover in Cambridge to visit the lovely Reena where I gained a new appreciation for poor ex-boyfriend G., a Cambridge alumni that I tormented mercilessly for his love of all things Cambridge. Hmm. I stand corrected. If I'd studied there I too would wear my scarf, not walk on the grass, and agree to whatever other nonsense those very smart Cambridge people prescribed. Luckily I fulfilled the necessary tourist requirement of observing out loud that Cambridge "looks just like a Harry Potter movie" within the first hour of my visit so I was permitted to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening.

Then I snuck back to Canada to surprise my family with the only present I could afford to give this poverty-stricken-student Christmas: ME. My return ticket was for December 24th, not December 26th as I'd led everyone to believe, which resulted in months of guilt tripping over my missing ANOTHER Christmas at home. The only thing that pulled me through was the knowledge that I would be home for Christmas and they'd feel like asses for the abuse they'd heaped upon me - well, that and the anticipation of surprising them Christmas morning. I ambushed them while they were opening their stockings in the family room and, finally after 30-odd years of Christmas celebrations, we had an honest-to-god movie moment. It was great.

The rest of Christmas day was wonderful. Some presents were exchanged. Some siblings' physiques were mocked (with love, with love). Some siblings drank buckets of champagne while others were mocked for bringing their own soy milk and taking vitamins (*ahem*).

And now it's over. Sort of. There's a Finn touristi in Toronto and tomorrow we're off to NYC. There's some fun to come yet.

no one likes an office party

Friday night I attended an office Christmas party where I discovered that a dislike of office social events, including Christmas parties, seems to be an international phenomenon. I think I was the only person present that didn't desperately wish I were somewhere else, mainly because I don't live here - I don't have anywhere else to be.

We met at the office for appetizers, champagne and a visit from Santa who, in addition to distributing presents and regaling us with a story about his flu, put me on the spot by asking me whether I knew where Santa was from. This presented a bit of a problem. I figured that it was a world-wide given that Santa lives in the North Pole but it seems the Finns have this idea that Santa is, in fact, from Lapland. Poor, deluded Finns. However, I'm a visitor here so I deferred to the Lapland Santa idea as best I could. I trust Santa won't hold it against me when it comes time for the distribution of presents.

After the appetizers which included gloggi (mulled wine), bread cheese (finnish specialty), joulutortut (Christmas plum tarts), and reindeer meat (didn't try that) we left for the surprise event of the evening which turned out to be a play. In Finnish. Which I don't speak. Between whispered translations and great acting I understood enough of the play to enjoy it (think I enjoyed it more than the rest of the group, actually). A posh dinner followed the play where I confirmed another international phenomenon: people love talking about their kids. Which was a relief since dinner lasted for hours, without children to talk about my small talk skills would have been seriously taxed after the first 1/2 hour.

I'd imagined people arguing in their taxis about who had to sit beside the English girl. Not because their English wasn't up to it but because, lets face it, Christmas parties suck enough as it is without the added complication of making small talk in your second (or third) language. I shouldn't have worried, everyone was very nice. Well, nice in that Finnish more-reserved-than-Canadians-even kind of way (and when one is not thought to be in any way, shape, or form criticizing the Finnish habit of putting babies outside for their naps ;), that is.

I am thankful to that same Finnish reserve for one thing though: no one pointed out that "kulkuset" (bells), my one Finnish Christmas word that I proudly say as often as possible, is also slang for "testicles" - something that my Finnish tutor neglected to tell me (*ahem*). I don't have a camera so there are no pictures from the party but below is a picture from the very pretty shopping street (not its official name ;) in downtown Helsinki

Happy holidays everyone

fazer chocolates

Last night during a prolonged bout of insomnia I finally got up to check the clock. It was 2.50am. Instead of being irritated that I was awake at that time, my first thought was "Phew, only 3 hours until I can have chocolate".

Think it's time I cut back on the Fazer ;)

www.fazermakeiset.fi

om sweet home

I fell this morning during yoga. A full on, whole body smack down that was as loud as it was embarrassing, except I wasn't too embarrassed - I love it when I fall. Yoga, skiing, rockclimbing, whatever - falling, to me, means that I'm trying something, taking a risk. At least, that's what it usually means. This morning it just meant that I was feeling damn lazy.

A few days ago someone observed that I was trying too hard during yoga which is pretty much the single-worst thing anyone could ever say to me. Off the mat, I do try hard; this is something I've realized, in particular, over the last few months. Whenever I'm close to finishing a journal I read through it to see what's been happening. Reading this journal, one of the things that struck me was that, as difficult a fall as it was, it was multiplied many times over by how judgmental and intolerant and critical I was of myself. I was very much my own worst enemy. I thought my practice was exempt from this.

Yoga has always been that one space where I don't try too hard, where not only can I give myself permission to suck but I can feel compassion for myself in that place as well. At least that's how it's been in the past, at some point over the last few months, things changed. Yoga became work. Maybe its the injuries, maybe its being back with my uber-ashtangi teachers, maybe it's that my mind this fall was so hard to face that I retreated to the physical. Probably a combination of all three.

I remember reading an article where the author wrote that in times of sadness she had to crawl to her mat and that just being there was painful. It is. On the mat it's just you and your thoughts. There were times this fall where I really didn't think I could bear to bring myself to practice. On those days I made it my mission to just show up, that's all I asked of myself was just to be there. In hindsight, I think that I allowed myself to retreat from my thoughts by focusing only on the physical. Practicing at my shala made this easy, there can be a lack of compassion to dogmatic ashtanga yoga and my shala is nothing if not dogmatic. Modifications, sitting longer in one pose, allowing a compassionate practice wasn't really encouraged and that worked for me just fine.

Thing is, I'm out of that space now and I'm feeling the lack of balance in my practice. I think it's time to begin cultivating my home practice again, I miss the intimacy that comes with practicing alone.

Seeing as it's raining out and I've been quiet for a while, figured now is as good a time as any for an update from Helsinki. Problem is, there's not much to update. Unless you actually care about long, glorious yoga practices, hours spent languishing over coffee and daydreams and sleep...so much sleep. Yeah, I know, you don't care but me? I'm freaking thrilled.

Today I was asked how I like Helsinki in December. I like it just fine. In fact, I'm loving it. But I can't tell whether it's because of Helsinki or because each time I've been here I've been on holiday and, God knows, I love me a holiday. Morning yoga is followed by half an hour of relaxation and meditation which is pretty much the polar opposite of Toronto mornings which find me desperately cramming one foot into my workclothes whispering "shit, shit, shit" before running to the subway and stressing out for the duration of the ride while calculating just how late I'm going to be. So is sleeping 8 hours a night; I could get used to that.

Helsinki temperatures have been well above zero since I've arrived (there goes another 'Baltic' stereotype) offering the perfect weather for wandering aimlessly looking at 'stuff'. It's light by 9am, completely dark by 4pm, and the hours in between hold a grey, slightly overcast look that lead me to consistently assume that it's 4.30pm - even when it's only 10am. I had wondered whether I would find the darkness depressing, it's not. In fact, it's strangely comforting.

The early evenings bring an almost forced hibernation, like nature knows we've had a long year and conspires to get us inside somewhere warm and cozy where there's nothing to do but relax (and, God knows, I love me some relaxing :). And they grey days? They're difficult to explain, they're...soft. Kind of like the edge has been taken off so that sharp corners and bright lights give way to slightly fuzzy city streets lit with dozens upon dozens of twinkling, white Christmas lights. You see? Cozy.

Still raining though but my time at the cafe has been pushed to it's limits. I'm off. Happy Wednesday everyone.

smart AND cute!

I dropped the cat off at a friend's tonight for a stay at his version of Disney Land: a house with multiple floors connected by actual, oh-my-god, STAIRS. As my sister puts it, the cat acts like he's in 'Nam half the time as it is skittering around corners and hiding under rugs for waiting for just the right moment to unleash his assault but, let's face it, the options in my apartment are limited. Now with a whole three weeks and three glorious floors to play with, the options are endless. I don't even think he cared when I dropped him off, he was too busy running up...and down...and up...and down...

Although he ends up having fun wherever he is (or so I'm assured), transporting him is no fun whatsoever. After one horrific ride that I'm positive left me more traumatized than him, I gave up on cat carriers. Say what you want - I don't care - you've never been stuck in a car with the yeowling, mournful mess that is the cat in a cat carrier. So, he gets free reign to roam the car, sit on my lap, whatever. It's all good.

Tonight as I was flying down the highway at 140km/hr I heard something...then I felt something...it was wind, but from where? Turns out, the cat managed to place his cute little kitty-cat paw on the 'down' button for the back window and had succeeded in getting the damn thing all the way down before I could figure out what the heck was happening. Scary as it was, I couldn't help being kind of proud of him for figuring out how to work the window - smart little guy :)

This would be the same night that I developed a more intimate understanding of just how useful highway shoulders are and that I learned about child-proof window locks. Damn good ideas, both of them.

by the way

Since posting about the "Don't worry, Be happy" busker I've heard from a whole bunch of TTC riding folks all of whom knew exactly who I was talking about. It's official: "Don't worry, Be happy" IS the only song he ever sings.

My shala has moved and I'm back to taking the busker-free bus so I'm pretty sure this will be the last time you'll have to read the words "Don't worry, Be happy" on this blog and the last time I'll have to type them which is a good thing, the words have developed the power to irritate me through the very act of typing them alone.

But, while we're at it, it's Monday and it's cold; be kind to yourself today and don't worry, be happy ;)

home sweet home

My mother & two sisters came over yesterday to help me move a dresser and left 3 hours later having filled several bags full of 'stuff' for goodwill, convinced me to stick a "free" sign on my couch and leave it on the street corner (it was gone within 2 hours) and reorganized my living room, front room and bedroom. Wow.

The harbinger of what was to come was my mother's question, "What can I do?", while we were waiting for my sisters. I was in the middle of making oatmeal raisin cookies and I looked at her, confused, how many people does she think it takes to make cookies? Turns out, she meant what can she do around the apartment because it was "pretty cluttered". Or maybe she said "messy". I forget. But I was concerned because, with the exception of the Saturday papers and the usual odds and ends hanging about, my apartment was waaaaay more organized than usual. At least I thought so.

I was wrong. Apparently my apartment was 'cluttered', 'messy', and full of 'India-yoga bullshit'. When my sisters arrived the three of them transpired into a whirling dervish of activity. I don't know how else to explain it - they just moved and moved and moved while my contribution was limited to standing, confused or trailing aimlessly behind them offering oatmeal raisin cookies. Well, that, and defending burnt-out lightbulbs (who notices that kind of stuff?), non-existent dishtowels (who uses those?), and explaining why I really, absolutely, can't possibly dispose of anymore books (I NEED every book I currently have. Or, you know, I might one day).

The general consensus when we (ok, they) were done was "there, now you can breathe". Part of me wanted to go on the defensive but I couldn't, it was true. It's not that I'm a slob (shut up), it's more that when it comes to aesthetics - I just don't get it. I like looking nice, I like my surroundings to look nice but I don't have that eye that tells me what to do to make that happen. Just tell me what to wear or how to organize my apartment and I'm happy.

Lucky for me, every other person in my family has that eye and they were generous with their Saturday mornings (thanks guys :). My new and improved living room with one less couch is so much lighter, the hallway more spacious without the additional bookcase and my room is absolutely perfect now that I've cleared out the extra dresser. I didn't want to leave the apartment this morning. I just wanted to stay home and enjoy it. But I dragged myself to yoga. And that. freaking. sucked.

I don't write about yoga often, there are no words, but lately, it sucks. My wrists hurt so chataranga (like a push up) kills, my ankles are sore so upward dogs/lotus positions kill and my hamstring tears are back in full effect so every single other pose kills as well. It has for the last few weeks and today was just enough. I left the room to cry my big, self-pitying alligator tears in private. So frustrating. And I know it's my head, not my body, but life is settled - I'm settled - so why the head stuff now? Whatever.

All I know is that all I really wanted was to be back in my airy, gorgeous apartment with music playing, cat cuddling, and tea brewing which is exactly what I'm doing. And it's perfect.

the key to a traditional christmas

8am Wednesday morning found me running around my apartment tossing cushions aside, scrambling through coat pockets, and standing idly in the middle of each room, perplexed. I couldn't find my keys anywhere. I missed two buses while I was busy crawling around on the floor looking under couches and I was beginning to get a bit frantic. It really wasn't a good day to be late and I never lock my door anyway so half way through my search I figured 'screw it - I'll just drive' and I would have but I COULDN'T FIND MY KEYS.

Finally, in a last ditch effort, I opened my front door to look outside and, there they were - my keys - still hanging in the keyhole where I'd left them the night before. They jingled happily at me as I opened the door wider to take in what else I'd left in the hallway: my hamper full of clean laundry and several bags of groceries. Apparently I was REALLY tired Tuesday night. As relieved as I was to find everything safe and sound I was a bit peeved; really, keys in the door, grocery bags and folded laundry waiting outside - would it really have killed someone to let themselves in and do me the good turn of putting some things away? What does a girl have to do to get some help ;)

I'm leaving for holidays in less than a week. The full on sprint that has characterized life over the last few months will carry on right up until Thursday night when I head to the airport. This will be the second year in a row that I'll miss Christmas, a fact that my sisters are trying to turn into some kind of 'get out of jail free card' by hinting that, since I don't have to be there, they're going to skip it too.

In an attempt to assuage their sisterly rage I let them in on a little secret I've been carrying for 2 months: I've arranged for a surprise to be delivered to my mom's house Christmas morning. Although I shared this with them in two completely separate conversations, the first words out of both of their mouths when I told them there was going to be a surprise were the exact same: "Is it a stripper?".

Yes girls. I've arranged for a stripper to be delivered to mom's house Christmas morning. After all, what would the holiday be without the time-tested, traditional favourite Christmas stripping elves?

don't worry, be happy

My obsession with the "Don't worry, Be happy" busker continues.

On Saturday as I walked up the stairs of a subway stop on a completely different line from usual I was met with the familiar notes of "Don't worry, Be happy". It was him.

It truly is the only song he sings.

scaredy cat

So. I've been busy. I quite literally have more work to do than hours in the day to do it and it shows. My apartment is a living diary of what I've eaten, worn and read over the last two weeks: newspapers scattered; half-read books tucked away in random corners; yoga clothes hung over doors, cupboards and chairbacks to dry; sweaters and scarves discarded here and there; plates, glasses, coffee cups and take away containers left to sit wherever I happened to be while I was eating. It's gross.

If incessant meowing, licking and running madly up and down the hall are anything to go by, my cat thinks so too. At least, that's what I thought he was trying to say. Ok, I also thought that he might be feeling a bit ignored but figured that, like a good night's sleep, he'd have to hold for a few more days until I get through this crunch. He disagreed. And he was pissed.

After my failure to translate non-stop meowling into "pay attention to me please" he decided to send his message a different way; he went *ahem* number two in the middle of the living room floor. I think the message this time was "pay attention to me NOW". I've been told that cats, normally fastidiously clean, will do things like this when they're angry. That may be so, but not my f'ing cat!

Suffice it to say, he got my attention, but I doubt it was the kind he was hoping for; I kind of lost the plot. We've since made up but it might just be a miracle if the little guy dares to go to the washroom ANYWHERE ever again.