dusk dances

Cold weather arrived this weekend. Saturday afternoon was just cold enough to demand gloves and brilliantly sunny enough to demand we be outside to enjoy it. Happiness is an afternoon at the beach.

sunday

Saturday night started with the symphony and ended with chocolate martinis; moving from calm beauty to laughing chaos. The night didn't bring me home until 4am, so Sunday morning started a lot later than usual.

Sleeping in, silent coffee in cozy couches, yoga, more coffee before heading out to wander the streets with cameras in hand, rainy day pictures, quick stops in Chinatown sweet shops to load up on treats, more wandering in pursuit of wall murals before ducking into another coffee shop, a long conversation with a very drunk man named 'Laslo' who was also very hard to extricate ourselves from, getting lost in time in a bookshop and heading back home to curl up under blankets with good books. There's a lot going on and changes quickly approaching, Sunday was a good day.

saturday

Saturday was a whole lot of perfectly perfect nothing. Taught an early class then went home to change for brunch which didn't end up happening. I meant to go, I'd been looking forward to it, but then I got cozy curled up on the couch, and the floor, and the pillows and the afternoon moved along without me actually leaving my flat.

I can't remember the last time I stayed at home doing nothing but reading and daydreaming. I think it might have been when I was in India. Heaven.

tourists are funny

Taking a picture of some guy taking a picture of some people...

christmas for bookworms

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

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

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

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

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

fun : not fun

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






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

on moondays and cynicism

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

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

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

stocking up

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






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

nuit blanche

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

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

word on the street

'Word on the Street' festival today, like Christmas in September for slightly nerdish bookworms like me. My first time at the festival happened by accident, I was newly licensed and still in high school just starting to make the drive into the big city in search of something...anything other than the coffee shop/pool hall mind-numbing monotony of the suburbs. When I was a kid, I read - a lot. My version of getting in trouble was being yelled at for checking out too many books from the library at one time. There was nothing cool about it, no bookclubs to join, and no one to talk to because playing pool (actually, watching the boys play pool, but that's a different story), smoking, bush parties were all kinds of cool but reading? Not cool.

At the time, finding the coolest street in Toronto closed to celebrate books, and to find the street packed with people who seemed like the kind of people I'd like to know, was a revelation. A good one. I look forward to it every year the way some might a real holiday. I don't usually buy anything but I love being there, wandering around, watching the crowds and getting slightly giddy at the sheer number of people there all for the love of books. People still read, all is not lost.


"Magician at work", he hoodwinked a little boy's parents into putting $20 under his pillow tonight because "Put this piece of paper beneath your pillow and if magic actually exists - and it does - you'll wake up to find the paper replaced by $20". Funny.

Not sure what the pig had to do with it all but cute...


Not sure who these guys were supposed to be but they were kind of creepy...


Taking the Philosopher's Walk shortcut back up through the city

last month/this month

dude!

Sometimes I imagine that if Kai could talk at more than a 1.5 year old level it would be one long stream of "Dude, WTF?!?". I don't think us big people make all that much sense a good deal of the time...

dogs like poutine too

The energy surrounding that doorway was so absolutely filled with longing to be inside that even I started gravitating towards the door and I don't eat poutine.

the spit

When a series of cairns appeared on the Spit at the foot of the city a few years ago, they were a mystery. Tibetan prayer flags, painted rocks, wire sculptures and driftwood lined paths; it was a crazy, hidden garden beside the lake where junk became art and the city seemed very far away. A newspaper located and interviewed the creator, he started building there during a period of grief, drawn to the area because he felt it had healing energy. There's no path to the garden but I think that those who need to find it do. Slowly, over a period of time, others have added their creations until it's grown to this amazing jumble of sculptures, paintings, quotes and all around awesomeness. Something magical this way grows.












On a totally unrelated note, I've decided to start being a baby - a great big baby. Feel like crying? Cry. Feel like laughing? Laugh. Want to say something? Say it. I was talking to a friend on the phone while stuck in the most infuriating traffic jam after a very long day. Her daughter had a complete and total meltdown while we were talking; it came in, took over, and passed in a matter of minutes and it was exactly how I was feeling. By the time we hung up her daughter was over it and onto something completely new, I was still frustrated but pretending I wasn't. What a waste of energy it is this nonsense of 'holding it together'.

hours and hours

The news keeps talking about the "extreme heat alert" we are under. Cautions about air quality and sun exposure, tips on how to stay cool during this supposedly insufferable time, it's been going on for days and it's getting irritating because I'm pretty sure that this phenomena we call "extreme heat alert" used to just be called "summer". It's hot, it's gorgeous, I'm in heaven.

Last weekend was another cottage weekend. Hours and hours spent staring at the water. So relaxing even the dog got in on the 'zenning out and staring off into space' action...or non-action as the case may be.

friday

Practiced, assisted, and basked in the sun over coffee before heading south to hang with my favourite boy. Beach time, nephew time, hammock time.







I couldn't wait to get on the mat this morning. Thinking about my practice. Growth in India, restrictions at home, chafing a bit. That's all.

jump

happiness is...

Cottage behind, stars above, lake ahead, best friends to my left and right, a bonfire in the middle and love all around.

7 hours in the Bangalore airport?

Sure. Why not...







We were talking about airports over breakfast, my contribution to the conversation was how much I loved them. The transition, that period of being inbetween, of being somewhere but nowhere, the movement, the possibility, the endings and beginnings, I love being in the middle of it all. Good thing, my flight out of Bangalore was delayed, I arrived at 2am to find that my flight had been delayed until 8.30. Between my book, writing, music, daydreaming and people watching the time passed quickly.

It's a three+ hour drive to the airport from Mysore, my driver made it in just over two. He picked me up at midnight, yawned uncontrollably and eventually nodded off waking up only to my increasingly loud stammers of "um..um..UM...WHAT THE FUCK" as I watched the headlights of a large truck bear down on us. He'd drifted into oncoming traffic.

So, yeah, sitting for seven hours in the airport versus what might have happened? Absolutely. Yes please.

a day

A practice that didn't hurt so much I wanted to cry, my first in quite some time. Breakfast in the city at Indra Cafe where after weeks of smiles over dosas I finally broke the mean cashier man down and we're now fast friends. A tailor made skirt that actually turned out beautifully. Philosopher Narasimhan was pure magical gorgeosity today, perfection. A latte in town at Coffee Day talking to my favourite waiter followed by a rickshaw ride back home with a driver who actually offered to use the meter (insert *gasp* here). Practice with Bharath followed by a conversation where he indulged my questions about the meaning of life and all that it contains. Fruit dinner, candy of the Gods, with a smoothie at Anu's for dessert and a fix of my 'family away from home'.

People have started leaving, lots of departures over these last few days. Warm goodbyes, long hugs, certainty that paths will cross again. My turn comes soon. I'm going to miss the myriad of people who make up my days here, the waiters who take care to make sure I'm not put in the inappropriate situation of sitting with a lone man, Raju the rickshaw driver who is very protective of where I go when and whether I'll be safe, the teachers who are so tireless in answering my silly questions, the people of Gokulam and the yogis themselves, there are many layers of community here that I'll miss dearly when I leave. In the meantime, I'm here and I am happy.