dodgy yoga neigbourhoods

This morning I headed to the shala earlier than usual. Really early. Still dark. Still quite cold. Cut through the ally and, in doing so, interrupted someone in the midst of enjoying their early morning crack hit.

On my way to nightclass (also in a shala) I picked up a prostitute. Unintentionally. I'd swerved over to the curb and jammed my brakes to come to a full stop. I guess it looked like I was stopping for no apparent reason other than to perhaps begin a little business but, really, I'd missed my turn and was waiting for traffic to clear so I could pull a u-turn. Surprised the hell of me when she leaned down to peer into my window - surprised the hell out of her when she saw a young (ok, young-ish ;) girl staring back.

Almost scored the sweetest parking spot outside of class but was beaten to it by a street person who guessed my intentions and raced in to take ownership with his shopping cart full of all his worldly belongings. Truthfully, there was room for both of us but he was having a raging argument with absolutely no one that I could see so I figured I'd leave him (them?) to it.

On my way back to my car after my class I passed through another ally and interrupted another person mid crack hit. This guy had company. They were arguing. I didn't stop to figure out about what.

Other than noticing the strange symmetry of my day ended just as it began, I noticed for the first time that my yoga studios seem to be located in dodgy parts of town.
Or maybe it's just Toronto.

reclaiming myspace

Yesterday for the first time in what has been a busy few weeks, I had the entire day to myself. I spent it yoyo-ing from working to distract myself from thinking and thinking to distract myself from working. Clearly I didn't want to be doing either, so I took myself out for a long walk by the lake.

The afternoon sun changed quickly; at times shining bright to highlight the gorgeous red, gold and yellow fall colours and at others hiding behind heavy, dark storm clouds. My thoughts followed a similar pattern as I thought about the last few weeks and alternated between creating a mock list of how to breakup with someone (note: refusing to admit you're breaking up even as you hop on a plane to leave the continent or never saying goodbye are *not* on that list) and feeling blue about how things went down.

It's been three weeks since we last talked. Three weeks since the boy said he wanted a life together, three weeks since he talked about coming here in January, and three weeks since he took it all back, admitting that the idea scared him.

It's been three weeks since I put an end to the back and forth and left him my mobile number with the request not to call until/if he knew what he wanted. Three weeks since he refused to say goodbye and instead ended our phone call with a promise to call about January. It's been three weeks and he hasn't called.

As the days passed my sadness was accompanied by a growing realization that he wasn't even going to say goodbye, let alone call, let alone visit, and something began to shift. Maybe what hasn't been clear throughout these last few months is that I can handle a breakup, what I can't handle is this non-breakup. It took me a long time to clue in to the fact that I need to judge by action - not by words. And so after three weeks of non-action, I began to change. I began to think less about what he didn't want and more about what I wanted.

I do want that unique, wonderful person but I also want to be in love with someone who loves me back. I want to be with someone who is brave enough to speak the truth, even when it's painful. I want to be with someone who knows themself enough to take a chance and who trusts themself enough to know that they'll be just fine if they fail. I want to be with someone who includes me in their plans because they want me there, not because I remind them that I want to be there. And I want to be with someone who leaves me with no doubt that they love me. After three weeks I've begun to allow room for the possibility that those two things, wanting him and wanting the list that follows, may not be one and the same.

As I walked, I gave these thoughts space to settle in my mind and I thought about where I am right now: in Toronto, living in my old apartment, back at my old job. I began to feel anxious about whether I was moving backwards but it was less a real feeling than it was trying a feeling on for size to see if it fit. It didn't.

I'm not anxious and I haven't moved backwards. Things are a million times different than what they were at this time last year - and they're good. I think the anxiety came from knowing that they're good enough for now, but not for long. I thought about some of the things I'd been looking forward to this year: living in a different country, learning a new language, the challenge of establishing myself somewhere else, and beginning a life with my partner. With the exception of that last point, all of those are things I can control. I can still change countries, learn a new language, rise to the challenge of establishing myself somewhere else. And I will.

I began to think about my future, one that didn't include the boy, and I was sad but I also began to dream. I let my imagination get bigger than my sadness and I remembered that as different as today is from this time last year, next year will be different from this time today. I'm not anxious about where I am now, I'm enjoying it, and I'm beginning to understand this year for what it could be: a year to dream, search, explore and set the stage for future adventures. I realized that I'm exactly where I need to be, both the good and the bad, and then I turned to corner to find these words spray painted to the ground:

Yeah, I know it's an advertisement but what a perfect, wonderful, awesome moment to stumble upon an advertisement for a stupid website. I kept walking, making my way to the lake where I watched the sun set to my right


and the moon rise to my left


and for the for the first time in a long time I felt that myspace was truly not a bad space to be.

Autobiography in Five Chapters

A poem taken from 'The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying'

Autobiography in Five Chapters
I

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost ... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.

II

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place
but, it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in ... it's a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

IV

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

V

I walk down another street.

- Portia Nelson

if you don't have anything nice to say...

Kind of quiet around these parts lately huh? I know. But I also know that listening to someone moan about their bruised heart loses its charm fairly quickly so I promised myself I wouldn't write another word about being sad or the breakup. At the same time, I couldn't stand the thought of pretending I'm fine and writing about fluffy things so I chose not to write at all because I'm still working on the fine part of things.

I know, I KNOW it's been ages and I should get over it already. Believe me. I'm working on it. It's been slow going. I have no framework for how to handle being on the receiving end of a break up and even less of an idea on how to do it with someone who talks about love and a life together in one breath but then retreats with the next. It was so lovely to believe the first breath that it took me a few weeks to realize that there even was a second breath - that there was only talk with no action. I get it now. It sucks. I'm sad.

The boy stuff aside, life is actually really wonderful right now. It's just that in the middle of all those wonderful moments are the moments when someone asks me how I am, or asks about the boy, or when I think of something I'd like to tell him and realize that I can't. We don't talk anymore. Those moments happen a lot too. And when they come, they take my breath clean away and knock me on my ass with the force of how sad I still am about it all. They make me feel like I'm not centred and calm or grounded at all and they make me question whether this dream life I live is really so dreamy, whether I can ever get over the missing pieces.

People tell me it's better this way, that if someone really wanted to be with me they might try to be in the same country as me (heh), and friends are trying to send me off on dates with friends. Yeah. I totally get it. But I've never dated anyone just because I was single. I date because I met someone fantastic. Its hard to get over that my fantastic someone looked at the same relationship I was looking at and, instead of seeing it as something great, something to hold on to, he decided he could do without it and walked away.

I have been waiting for that phone call that takes it all back and getting sadder as each day passes without it. Still, at the same as I'm hopeful I'm not a total idiot. I know it's time to move on. We tried (or at least one of us did - ahem), it didn't work out, and I can't wish the whole situation away (tried that ;) so, it's time to really let go. I expect that I'll feel sadder for a bit longer while I release my grip on things working out but soon enough my sadness will bottom out and I'll have nowhere to go but happy.

In the meantime, no writing about fluff but no more writing about bruised hearts either. Instead, some pictures to fill the time while we wait for the bottom to fall out. Like this one from my thanksgiving hike


Or this one of the cute dog on the subway last weekend

Or this one of Mannix and his forbidden love


Or this random downtown picture

Or this self-portrait of a blurry me taken the day I bought my camera

last, perfect kayak trip of the season

chevy didn't come kayaking but she's just too cute to exclude

tuesday

First ayurvedic class tonight. 7pm - the golden hour. The sun sinks slowly behind old Victorian houses, the sky is gold and the trees glow. The Instructor talks his tales of beauty, his words turn my world on its ear. It is soul-ful to be this in love with ideas again. To fall in love with life all over again.

Behind him the window opens to the early autumn evening framing the stage for the squirrels who leap, twirl, and soar through the trees in a joyful dance. They act how I feel. Happy. Happy. Happy.

just a usual monday morning

Walking to the shala in the early morning light; stars still visible, streetlights glowing softly, I almost missed it. Almost walked right by without even noticing. But then I passed a picture so large and blatant - it was impossible to miss.

Someone had torn the pages from a porn magazine and carefully placed them, one at a time, under the windshield wiper of every single car parked along Queen Street. I walked to the shala accompanied by the sight of large, naked, juicy bottoms - and other assorted bits - greeting me every few feet.

Dozens and dozens of cars. You have to admire that kind of dedication.

Love it.

sigh

Drove downtown to meet up with friends tonight. Parked on a side street where I didn't bother buying a parking ticket since it was 8.57pm and parking is free after 9.00pm - I figured the odds on getting a parking ticket in the three minutes before parking became free were slim to nonexistent.

Yeah. I know. If you live in Toronto you're rolling your eyes and thinking I'm an idiot. You're right.

Sure enough, when I returned to my car I found a bright yellow parking ticket time stamped 8.59pm waiting for me. Someone out there can sleep at night knowing that they issued a $30.00 ticket just one minute before parking became free? That's $10.00 a minute!

I guess everyone has to earn a living somehow.

Sigh.

stuff

Today I had free time before my assisting shift so I wandered in and out of some stores trying things on. One saleslady, who had been very helpful, said something to me on my way out the door. While my first instinct was to assume I'd heard her incorrectly, the strange way she scrunched her face and waved her hands with such flourish made me think that she just might have said what I thought she said. Still, I asked her to repeat it. I was right.

"Be a DIVA" she whispered, emphasis on the "DIVA", with the same scrunched face and madly waving hands. Right. Me. A diva. Good call.

I much preferred the way the baby in the stroller, who passed by my car just as I unlocked the doors, chanted "on" "off" "on" as the lights blinked on and off. Cute.

Other sounds from this September day:
-my co-workers telling me to "have a good weekend". On a Wednesday. Hee, my first 4 day weekend :)
-my knees, hips, elbows cracking every time I moved to adjust someone in yoga tonight. Not sure that's the best promo for a committed yoga practice
-'Smokin' in the Boysroom' by Motley Crue on the radio. Just so you know, I never, not once, thought Motley Crue was cool even when they sort of were
-the song of crickets drowning out the sound of traffic as I sat by the lake tonight looking at the water. Calm. So calm.

Not heard but remembered: you used to reach over and hold my hand during savasana. That was nice.

because

Did you ever wonder why I waited until after we ended to dye my hair? It must have seemed strange. Through all of the months of your "wondering" how I would look with red hair I did nothing and yet the week after you left I emerged a redhead. Ever wonder why?

It's because I always wanted red hair. What I didn't want was the feeling that I'd be better if I were different, that I wasn't good enough as is. That's it. Simple. I wanted to be ok whether I was a styled redhead or a style-challenged blond. What do those things matter anyway? They're just part of the shell. There were things I would have changed about you, you know, you weren't perfect for me. But those small, stupid things - who cares? I wonder what I was doing committing myself to someone who wanted me to be different.

I learned a lot and it definitely bears noting that not all lessons were of the painful kind. So many wonderful things. I learned that I can share my space with someone in a way that is seamless and really like it, I learned that it's great going to bed and waking up laughing with someone, I learned that I can love, I learned that I can commit, and I learned lots of dirty words that no English speaker will ever recognize.

But I do think about that a lot, why I thought it was ok to be with someone who wanted me to change.

blessings

Last week I assisted a yoga class for the first of what is now my regular weekly shift. People filed out of the room thanking me for my help as I stayed behind talking with the teacher and a few other students before grabbing my bike helmet and heading outside for what would be a long, meandering ride home in the gorgeous evening air. The whole time I struggled with the sneaking feeling of being lucky. Incredibly, blessedly lucky.

Life has thrown surprises my way, as it does. There are a few things that, although they hold the most personal meaning, haven't yet found their place in my life as I assumed they would but, in many respects, I'm living the life I always wanted.

I'm pretty sure that a couple of years ago I looked at the assistants, wondered how they got the position, wondered if I'd ever be able to drop into Marichasana C with ease, wished I could be more a part of the yoga community, and even wished I had a bike to ride home. I'm pretty sure I thought those things and last week as I was biking home I couldn't ignore the feeling that I am incredibly lucky because I'm living that life.

I almost wrote about it. I penned the entry in my mind, toyed with how I would explain the experience but then deliberately chose not to. I've been so attached to being sad and so focused on what is missing that I consciously chose not to write about what was right. It's as if I carry the idea that admitting happiness negates my sadness. That acknowledging the parts of my life that are exactly as I want them to be takes away from my disappointment over what is not. And I'm not willing to go let go of my sadness yet - it feels so very real.

So I chose not to write. But then it happened again tonight. The same blessed feeling, and it seems childish not to acknowledge what is going well simply because of my attachment to what is missing. I'm both. I'm living the life I always wanted and I'm sad over those absent pieces.

It's a new thought for me - that I can be both - and it's confusing. It's confusing to grieve the end of something but, at the same time, be able to find a place of contentment and it's confusing to mourn the loss of a life I was so excited about but, at the same time, find happiness in the life I have. Just this morning I wrote about my longing for what is lost and now I'm writing about living the life I always wanted? Which is real? Am I crying or am I calm? Am I in the depths of despair or am I hopeful? Am I lost or am I found?

I feel like I have to choose one or the other. I am sad, disappointed, and a bit lost at the moment but I've let it overshadow all other aspects of my life. I don't like endings, particularly those I didn't think I wanted, and the sadness that accompanies this ending may stay with me for a very long time - but I'm also content with what is.

It is possible to be both. As the days go by I find myself increasingly willing and able to make room for happiness. Life is good, even when it's not.

attachments and figments of my imagination

This morning I added a few extra poses to my practice for no real reason other than that they felt good. As I lay back, enjoying the stretch, I thought about how this would never have been permitted in my old shala. I miss practicing there. Miss the discipline coupled with a deep respect for tradition.

After explaining, for the 800th time, that I have two torn hamstrings and wasn't going deeper into the pose deliberately, I thought about the Helsinki shala where I only had to tell one person, once, that I was working with an injury before all of the teachers knew. I miss the warm, yellow room with its creaking floor, community, and the sound of ujayii breathing enveloping me.

I thought about why I was in Helsinki in the first place and stopped my practice for a minute, surprised by a longing for everything to be like it used to be. Just go back to the way it was.

People keep saying that I sound good. Better. I don't know what to say in return. I'm not sick, not recovering from the flu. I've just been feeling sad. I've also been feeling happy, light, depressed, relieved, angry, wry, cynical, optimistic, and excited - often all in the space of just half an hour. Probably not so different from each of you, albeit each for our own reasons. While sadness and confusion do lurk beneath the surface waiting to rear their heads, I know they'll fade with time, they already are. This is a time of transition and transitions are hard on me.

Breaking up is a transition, redefining what we are to each other is a transition, and the loss of what I thought my life in the immediate future would be like is a transition. I was really excited to live in a new city. To struggle with a new language and see how it would feel to make the foreign familiar. I was excited about that. Now I'm in Toronto returning to my old job and that's exciting too for entirely different reasons, I'm just surprised. And confused. It's like someone took the gameboard of my life, changed the pieces around and plunked me back down in the centre to scramble while I process changes I didn't ask for in the first place.

This morning I just wanted things to be what they used to be. Back in the old shala practicing mysore in the company of the yoga girls, a flight booked to colder climates, and fanciful dreams of a perfect, easy yogi life with my best friend dancing in my head. I longed for things to go back, oh, six months. Maybe seven.

But six or seven months ago the shala was oppressive and downright mean, the future of colder climates already uncertain, and the dreams I had of a perfect yogi life were mine alone - what good are dreams for two when they belong to only one? Six or seven months ago things weren't what I remember them as being. I know that. I know I'm attached to something that is a figment of my imagination, but I kind of wish I could just go back anyway.

I think the hardest part of this transition is learning to be honest with myself about what really was and what I imagined into being.

meh

What do you get when you pair a cold, rainy day with a bored human, a cranky cat, and a borrowed digital camera? Well, seeing as all I wanted was a picture of the cat and I together, the answer could have been fairly simple but, this being me and all, it was anything but.

I don't get it. Given that the cat's preferred activity 99% of the time is standing on my chest, nose pressed to mine while meowing incessantly, a happy cat-human portrait shouldn't have been too challenging. Instead, I got this



and this



and this


I wouldn't exactly call it fun but it was most definitely fuuunny. With all the meowing and flying fur, you would have thought I was making him eat the camera, not sit for it.

I'm not bored anymore but he's super pissed. See the second picture? His red eyes? That has nothing to do with the camera, it's because he really IS that evil.

Meh.

quotes

This morning's paper carried an article about Richard Bradshaw, the former General Director of the Canadian Opera Company who passed on last week. I've had a mini-crush on him since 1995 when I discovered him at the outdoor opera series held at the Harbourfront each August.

I'd just returned from my first overseas trip and was experiencing the kind of world weary despair best experienced by 20-somethings freshly returned from their first European adventure. I was stuck in the backwaters of North America, alienated from my friends who'd managed just fine in my six month absence, and depressed by the fact that nothing had changed. Well, nothing except for my knowledge that EVERYTHING was SO much better in Europe. Grasping for something 'cultural' to do, I read about the outdoor opera series, got dressed in my favourite, purchased-in-Barcelona dress and headed downtown.

It was lovely. Richard Bradshaw was charming and witty and made me enjoy opera. He also, with each wave of his conductor's baton, helped me fall back in love with Toronto. I've had a soft spot for him ever since. I'm sorry to hear that he's passed on. The article quoted him as saying: "The only irresponsible option in art is to avoid taking risks". Love that. And don't think the sentiment is limited to art, I think it transfers every bit as well to life.

In the same newspaper I read another quote which I've heard in varying terms for years without ever knowing that the original source was Mark Twain:
"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bow lines, sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

This quote is one of the truths I return to when I'm trying to make a decision - will I regret NOT having done this in 20 years? If the answer is 'Yes', I do it. If the answer is 'I don't know' I give it time. 'I don't know' usually has fear beneath it - fear of the outcomes, the fall out, making a mistake - and fear has a short life span. If I give it time, the answer comes.

Which leads me to the last 2 years. I took the biggest risk I'd ever taken. I fell in love. Maybe not a big deal to some but for me it would have been far less terrifying to do just about anything else. Falling in love was hard. And it didn't have the fairytale ending I was so sure it should have had. And I'm so, horribly, all-encompassing sad about that. Not depressed, not unhappy, just sad. The kind of sadness I didn't realize it was possible to contain in one body. The kind of sadness that I didn't know could co-exist with happiness, excitement, laughter, release and a sense of freedom - because I'm those things too, there's just a sense of sadness lurking beneath it all. I don't want this. I'm not quite sure how I am containing it. But I am.

I am and I have no regrets. In 20 years I'm not going to have to wonder what would have happened if I'd tried harder. I'm not going to have to wonder what would have happened if I'd gotten on that plane to Finland. I'm not going to have to wonder why I let my fears get in the way of what could have been a beautiful partnership. So yeah, I'm sad and I don't wish for this ending - but I don't have to wonder and I'll never have to regret what I didn't do.

I'm also clearer. Clearer that there is no "but" to real love and understanding that soon I'll stop hoping this isn't really happening and just accept that it happened. I'll be sad until sadness runs it's course and I embrace what life has in store for me next. Through it all, I'll never have to wonder "What if...". There is no what if. I didn't let fear rule my choices.

Which leads me to my last quote of the day, this one from Eleanor Roosevelt:
"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this. I can take the next thing that comes along'. You must do the thing you think you cannot do".

philosophy girl

I was really hoping to write this morning. Was hoping that the act of putting pen to paper would help me clarify this mood. This feeling that something is missing - that I'm missing something. Not a person, a...something. A lesson? A sign? An opportunity? I don't know. I kind of like this foggy, daydreaming feeling but I'd also hoped that the feeling of my pen scratching through the pages of my journal would part the cobwebs of my mind and help me see the missing something.

But I can't write.

I'm in my favourite coffee shop with the awesome coffee, free wireless, funky music and wide open doors as opposed to the dreaded air conditioning. Usually its a refuge. Usually I sit, wrapped in the fuzzy arms of the blue armchair in the corner with my legs tucked under me, and I daydream, or write, or read undisturbed for hours. Today it's different.

Today I'm sitting across from philosophy girl. Philosophy girl really wants to be noticed. She really wants us to know that she's immensely hung over from the bottle of wine she had for dinner last night. She really wants us to know that it 'ruins' her life that there's no wine store in her neighbourhood. And she really, REALLY wants us to know that she's working on her PhD in philosophy.

She rattles on about paradigms, about how the "difference between here and there is time", about "we're living in the 'ought' - who decides what 'ought' is?". I remember that feeling. Of being in my early 20's, of being exposed to new ideas, of how exciting it was and how I really thought that I was the first one ever to hear these things, to think these things. I was insufferable too. So listening to this woman would be endearing if it were'nt so freaking annoying.

I would stop listening but she projects so much, it's difficult to. Instead, I'm listening. And mocking. Yes, very enlightened of me. But if you were here, you'd understand how difficult it is to resist the urge to mock.

Her favourite topic this morning is how if someone can't explain their philosophy or their thesis to the 'average' person of 'average' intelligence, then they don't really understand their philosophy themselves. She lectures at length on the idea, however, when her companion manages to get a word in edgewise to ask her about her thesis she retreats quickly with mumbled comments about it being 'complicated' to explain and loud complaints about red wine and how hung over she is.

Ok. I take it back. It is kind of endearing. Cute, earnest, seeking little philosophy girl.

most inappropriate inspirational quote ever

This was forwarded to me today by someone who, for reasons I'm afraid to put too much thought into (you'll understand when you read the quote), thought of me when they read it:

"The faint of heart never get to screw a wildcat. Go out and live, do things that you are afraid of, and then let go of the outcome".

Let the record show that I have never, not once, even contemplated screwing a wildcat.

Back from a few days of silence and solitude at the cottage where I divided my time between wading in the creek and sitting in 'my' tree out back. What could be more magical than sitting in the calm, wise, enduring embrace of a tree? That a small creek bubbles merrily along just below where I like to sit makes it that much better. It was nice.

It was particularly nice because the morning before I left my mind was full of all kinds of happiness, anger, curiosity, mischief, sadness, quiet, noise, calm and hyperactivity all in the space of seconds. One feeling being replaced by another before I could even register the first. The monkey mind was active.

As I practiced this morning I was thinking about what a difference a month makes. I started thinking about it because I was so. very. tired. The teacher training intensive in July didn't allot time for a personal practice and, although my practice grew in many ways during that month, my stamina for a vinyasa practice is gone. So. This morning as I dragged my sopping, exhausted, winded self through the last quarter of my practice I thought about what a difference that month has made to my stamina.

Then I started thinking about all the other things that have changed in the span of four short weeks. This time last month I had only just returned home, was still in teacher training, still in a relationship, still had a tourist staying with me, was still unemployed, still planning to leave Toronto, still had blond-ish hair, had never assisted anyone in a yoga class, and didn't even know that a lovely cottage lay in my future. This month, of course, none of the above holds true. And next month? Who knows.

By this time in September I'll have already returned to work and I'll have a new tourist staying with me but the rest of it? No idea. Some ideas. Lots of excitement. But no real, make a plan idea. Think I'm finally settling into the fact that this is the way I like it best.

stupid mouse man

Sound the alarms, someone in the building has seen a mouse. My landlord lives for emergencies such as these. He brought a pest control team through today, less than 24 hours after the enemy sighting.

I spent the morning at home wanting to be here when they came through; in part to make sure my landlord didn't nose around too much and in part to gloat that there have been no mouse sightings in my apartment thanks to my lovely kitty-cat roommate. That last bit was particularly important as the cat has been a bone of contention with my landlord since day one. The snide comments and references to evicting me were only silenced when I forwarded section 10.4 of the landlord tenant act which states that you cannot evict a tenant for having a companion pet such as a cat or dog. Needless to say, I was happy to be present to wave my mouse-free flag and point out the benefits of having a four legged roommate.

Then the stupid mouse man came and pointed his flashlight under my sink to point out mouse droppings before swinging the flashlight to the bowl of nearby cat food and stating that mice like cat food. My landlord followed him around the apartment repeating that over and over - "So, they like the cat food huh? Isn't that interesting." No. It's not interesting. And it sounds highly unlikely. A mouse is going to scrabble it's way over the edges of a smooth porcelain bowl to immerse itself in food enjoyed by one of its predators? I don't believe it.

The damage done, the stupid mouse man left behind a couple of poison-filled boxes and assurances that the mice won't die in the house, they'll eat the poison and leave the house in search of water to die a slow agonizing death outside.

I threw the poison boxes away after they left. Shhhh...don't tell anyone....



How could you not love this face?

nothing and something

People keep asking me what I'm going to do in September. When I share that I've agreed to return to my old position on a part-time basis, the next question is what I'm going to do with the other days. I don't know.

No idea. Zip. Zero. Nothing.

I'm the only one from my yoga teacher training program who hasn't already sought out teaching opportunities. Partly because I don't feel ready to lead a class yet and partly because I don't want to. While I don't exactly know what I want to do with my free days this fall, I do know that they involve doing a whole lot of nothing. I also know that it will all make sense in hindsight. There's something in store.

This weekend I assisted my first yoga class. It was a sunset class held in the beaches and it was perfect. I parked my car just off the highway and rollerbladed to the outdoor pavilion where the class was held. Mats were arranged to face the lake, small candles were placed here and there. Practice took place with the magic of the lake in front of us, the sound of people enjoying the summer evening around us and the beauty of the sunset above us. After the practice people stopped to say thank you which surprised and humbled me. I should have thanked them.

After practice I rollerbladed in the darkness back to my car stopping several times to look at the stars, stare the the lake, and check out the recent creations of 'rock balancing guy'. It was perfect.

easy

I've been thinking about the 'easy' joke. The one we repeated over and over, the one about how easy I was. The word with its high school implications made us laugh while, at the same time, it was always said with a touch of surprise. Things were easy between us, we slipped into being together so seamlessly that it was strange but great.

I've been thinking about it and I've decided that you were easy too. You were easy to scare away.

The first time I told you that I was having doubts and needed you to be the strong one, you ended it. The first time I told you I needed distance, you retreated without even trying. The first time I gave in and gave up on us, you didn't even pretend to step forward and pick up the slack. When things stopped being easy between us, you very easily threw in the towel, very easily gave up, very easily decided it wasn't worth fighting for.

You were easy.

Thing is, you were also easy to predict. Before you left you filled the air with talk of things not being over, of wondering what it would be like to live in Toronto, of being confused, but even as you talked I knew. I knew it was over because I knew you wouldn't work for it. It'd been the way of things between us since we got together, I just ignored it. I ignored that it was easy for you to retreat and give up because I didn't want to give us up.

Lately I've been angry with you. Angry that you were so easy to scare away and that you don't care to fight but, really, I'm just angry with myself. I should have let things be easy myself and stopped trying so hard ages ago.

That's easy to see now.

bandaids and chocolate

Today I asked the person I love to stop contacting me. If it's going to hurt, it may as well really hurt so I can feel it, grieve it, process it, and move on. Ripping the bandaid off quickly as opposed to slowly and all that.

As with all procedures for the faint of heart - or the big babies - I'm pairing the choice to really hurt all at once (instead of the long, slow, chatty email kind of hurt) with chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate to sugarcoat the fact that this is actually happening, that this is actually a breakup - period.

This sucks. Here's to crappy choices and great chocolate.

every silver lining has a touch of grey

Paul McCartney did it. Alanis Morissette did it. David Bowie did it. Heck, even Bob Dylan did it. But the Greatful Dead?

It seems inherently wrong to hear “The Best of of the Greatful Dead” piping through Starbucks’ soundsystem.

“Touch of Grey” is playing. Good song. Good timing too, it reminds me of a high school friend who has been on my mind lately. We used to borrow her parents car to “go to the movies” which in high school code translated to “sneak across the boarder to go to a dead show”.

Every time we heard this song my friend would howl with laughter & tell me that it reminded her of my family. Not because we needed a silver lining or because we were pessimistic enough to think that every silver lining had a touch of grey. Nope.

It was because of the line “the dog has not been fed in years…”.

crap

Having just accepted an offer to return to my old job on a part-time basis, this morning I received an email from a woman I love, at an organization I love, doing a job I thought I could love, asking if I was still interested in a position there.

My gut says not to take it. The timing isn't right. I want to save my energy for other things. My profession insn't supposed to be my focus right now. In going back to my old job, I'm afraid I'm pigeonholing myself even further than I already am. That's my main interest in the new job possibility at this point in time - to keep the door open - as opposed to a geniune desire to enter a new field at this point.

Hmm. I think I already know my answer.

fluffy black dustbunnies

There was a dog in the shala this morning. A tiny, black toy poodle only a few months old and so small that he was shorter than the length of my foot. I know this because he came over to attack it a couple of times.

He was too young to practice so instead of showing us humans what upward and downward dog are really about, he darted around the studio finding all kinds of fascinating things everywhere he looked. Fast little thing. One minute I was in downward dog and the next minute a small black dustbunny was racing towards me only instead of brushing past me, it stopped to lick me.

The dustbunny lives. It was awesome fun.

Note to self: add puppy-watching to swinging on swings, climbing trees and wading in a lake/river to that list of things that lift my soul.

you don't get to know

I'm doing better today.

My bike and I zipped around the city, the city I no longer have to leave, enjoying the bare streets with the cool breeze taking the edge off the hot sun. My bike took me to my new, favourite coffee shop before heading to Fresh for lunch on the patio where I enjoyed a perfect, solitary meal and didn't feel sad once. Not even when I noticed that I was sitting at the same table we'd sat at our last time there. That was after you told me that you loved me but didn't love me enough and I was still bewildered, struggling to understand the "but".

Even though all these weeks later I still don't understand it, I'm doing better today. But you don't get to know that. Maybe it's childish, maybe it's vengeful, maybe it's just plain mean but you don't get to know that I'm doing ok. You lost that right when you decided you couldn't say "I love you" without tacking "but" onto the end. There is no "but" to real love. Don't you know that? So, you don't get to know that at this very moment, I'm doing just fine.

You'll transform "I'm doing better today" to "I'm doing better - period" and you're going to feel better, relieved. You'll never know that I hyperventilated the first night I walked back into the apartment and felt the emptiness of the places you weren't. You'll never know that now I doubt my judgement and wonder how I got us so wrong. You'll never know that tonight while making dinner I remembered the last time I made corn, how I'd put it on the table and then pretended to need the washroom so I could cry in private. And you'll never know that I was hit with a wall of sadness, completely overwhelmed, last night when I walked past the man singing in the video store and realized it had only been one week since you and I walked past and smiled together at him singing away.

You'll never know those things. Instead, you'll feel relieved that you no longer have to feel like the 'bad guy' and that you can forget the confusion of "I love you...but" and return to your remote, untouchable ways. After two weeks of swallowing my sadness, my confusion, to help you through yours, I don't feel like making it easy for you anymore. You're not getting off the hook that easily this time.

I'm doing better today but you don't get to know that.

home?

Head is spinning. Sunny apartment with shiny wooden floors, early morning walk to the subway, streets bare, sun bright, conversations in English everywhere. This is home - this is home? It's both a feeling and a question. Despite the familiarity and love of this place that I know to be home, it feels empty.

The trip through Heathrow was a nightmare, the flight home not much better, and arrivals made far, far worse when half the plane discovered our luggage had been left in London. Home at 8pm Toronto time, 1am UK time, 3am Finland time...I'm not sure which time my body thinks I'm on. Think it'll take a few days for the dust to settle.

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 :)