Steps 1-3 (of 8)
Steps 4-5.5 (of 8)
“Sometimes you have to play a long time to be able to play like yourself”
~Miles Davis quotes
Miles was of course referring to playing an instrument. But I think his statement also holds true for any kind of play. For some of us, playing comes naturally, for others, it requires a bit more effort, a lesson in letting go. I’ve been in both situations, but with so many cumulative years of depression it’s easy to forget how to have fun, be playful and just kick back and go with the flow. One of the reasons I have a hard time recognizing my creativity is that for the most part, creative projects have come with deadlines and bottom lines and the pressure to perform was more often than not difficult to handle. Somewhere along the line, I forgot how to just let go and be creative just for the heck of it. I just don’t feel ‘safe’ embarking on a creative project unless there are clear guidelines or a specific use for the end result. The mosaic project I was working on yesterday is fun because it’s in the context of art therapy and takes place in the context of a well-appointed workshop and plenty of gentle kind encouragement. But otherwise the very idea of starting up any kind of project just terrifies me. I’ve spent lots of time and energy beating myself up over this state of affairs but what’s the point? Must go with the flow.
My visit to Oink Oink this weekend provided me with a temporary solution in the form of this colouring project. There’s very little actual creativity or skill involved—a very far cry from Miles Davis’ music. I’m not expecting it to lead anywhere (nor do I necessarily want it to), but somehow the process is deeply satisfying. This is the first of four images I’ve been working on tonight. The final step will be to add decorative details with a gold pen. I can hardly wait.
July 30, 2009
Child’s Play
July 29, 2009
Steps One and Two
This is my current arts & crafts project at the Day Hospital. I wish I had had my proper camera on hand, because these pictures don’t do the colours any justice. Wednesday mornings are dedicated to both a kitchen session and ceramics. The people in cooking prepare a lunch and desert for the whole group and at lunchtime we all sit around a very large table and share the meal together. I’m especially fond of the arts & crafts portion of it, not so much excited about cooking, but that’s okay because everybody chooses where they prefer to be. As for the meals, please don’t say anything to anyone, as I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings, but suffice it to say the that results tend to be rather uneven. Last week we had an Persian meal planned and organized by a woman from Iran and it was absolutely delicious, restaurant quality food. Sometimes things don’t go quite as planned, like the rainbow cake that failed to rise a couple of weeks ago, though we were all awed by the beautiful coloring or the cake which was done with subtle, soft colours, and ended up looking like a tie-dye project. Today was pasta with meatballs, coordinated by an Italian lady. The kitchen crew mixed up the quantities and made twice as much pasta as called for, so there wasn’t quite as much sauce as there should have been. Dessert was a walnut cake, a Greek woman’s parting gift before being discharged—it had large chunks of walnuts and was moistened with syrup. It was so delicious I had one huge piece then took two more home—one of which already got washed down with a glass of milk when I got here. I’ll be making this easy to prepare Clafoutis next week and will probably have to freeze the cherries till then (which means I get to do all that pitting, sans pitter, all by myself (yuck), but it’s a safe bet that things shouldn’t go wrong after that unless we forget it in the oven (not likely with so many of us suffering from high anxiety).
In the meantime, I’m feeling right in my elements in the workshop. It’s the first time I get to play with mosaics and I’m enjoying the process tremendously. The end product is meant to be a trivet—or a hotplate— and will measure 7.5” square (19 cm). We’re free to do anything we want during this session. Some people do wood-burning (I just want to know—but why?), you can do ceramics, for which they have glazes and an oven, there’s Bob the carpenter, a friendly volunteer who’s always on hand to help out with woodwork of any kind, like making shelves and benches, you can draw, you can paint, you can sew... you can make a bench weaved with rope, pretty much anything goes. Of course, I started out with a bit of online research, with the idea that I would produce tile work with a stunning mauresque design (a ‘simple’ moorish tile-work sample shown top left). Then I remembered that I always tend to reach for unattainable ideals and am inevitably disappointed with whatever I do come up with, so I scrapped that idea. There are several large containers filled with small tiles of all sorts, some of them sorted by shape and colour, many of them just thrown together pell-mell. My first step was to sift through the piles to find the more intestingly coloured tiles. I quickly realized I would not find enough tiles of any given colour to create a real pattern, so I simply laid them down randomly. Not having a chosen palette to work with, that became difficult so I started laying down some of the bountiful white tiles to create a kind of structure. At first I thought I’d create an added dimension by inserting large tiles here and there but that didn’t work for me. The next, and perhaps final step will be to build up the square to it’s final size, at which point I’ll probably want to tweak the colours before gluing and grouting down the whole thing. For the past two weeks now, I’ve been apprehensive about that tweaking step. That’s when my left brain usually kicks in and demands more order and structure, a logical organization following some kind of theory à la Kandinksy. Now that I think about it, that is the number one reason why I tend to leave projects unfinished, or rather why it is that I don’t make any attempts to start them at all, just to save me from having to battle those demons. But I think this time I’m in a safe place, so if that happens, I’ll remind myself “It’s just a bloody hotplate!” which hopefully will chase away that bitchy wanna-be Martha Stewart who sits there on my left lobe and insists on bossing me around.
Now she wants me to write: “Hope I didn’t bore you all with so many details. I swear I was going to write just a short blurb.”
But it is what it is and that’s all there is to it. Heh! :-)
What Would Have Hemingway Done?
Meet my neighbour Cece the Hemingway cat, a new friend of mine.
It’s late. I want to be in bed. Not under the covers mind you, because it’s too bloody hot in here, but laying on top with the fan sending moving air in my general direction. It’ll feel good to just shut my eyes for a few hours. This means I won’t be posting those pictures I’ve been mentioning, at least not tonight. That requires more work and time than I can put in right now. Another thing which is almost guaranteed is that I won’t be reading myself to sleep either, the way I usually like to do. I’ve been more or less on a ‘reading strike’ for the past couple of weeks. Not so much because I don’t want to read, quite the contrary. But for one thing, there are all kinds of other things I want to be doing, like working on my puzzle and starting up my Art Nouveau colouring project, to name just those two. Mainly though, it’s because I’ve decided I must read a book that was sent to me via the Early Reviewers program I participate in, and that I must read it now. Publishers choose to send books to those reviewers who actually post reviews about the books they’ve sent them. If you skip even one review, then you’re more or less put on the black list. Which is fair enough. This last book I got, called Annie’s Ghosts, talks about mental illness and a sibling who was carted off to the mental ward and declared dead or made to disappear and never having existed (not sure which). Written by the much younger sibling who was considered mentally well adjusted who of course eventually mangaged to put it all together. Sounds interesting, which is why I ordered it to begin with, but with all the stories about and around mental illness that I hear every day, plus my own daily struggles to find balance and some sense of order, I can’t begin to imagine why I thought I would want to read this book. I’ve tried to reach a compromise by telling myself I’d read just 50 to 100 pages and then choose to write my review based on that—or finish it, but I can’t motivate myself to even crack it open. It’s so frustrating because meanwhile, I’ve got hundreds of book (ok, maybe just many dozens...), excellent books that I’m highly motivated to read, just lying around collecting dust in the meantime.
To put everything into perspective: if that’s my biggest problem right now, then it must mean things are going pretty well for me. And after reflection, I can quietly say yes, I guess they are... but I’m afraid to actually believe it, because then, who knows when the other shoe will drop? :-O
Lovely mittens Cece! ;-)
p.s. Damn. Now it’s 1:55 a.m. and I just realized I wanted to talk about something different altogether, namely my fascinating new friend Friedrich whom I sometimes run into at a favourite café on Tuesday afternoons... another time.
July 27, 2009
A Girl’s Best Friend
I can’t stop looking at it. If you’re asking yourself “what is a girl’s best friend?” then you’ve probably never heard of Marilyn Monroe or the movie Gentlemen Prefer Blondes in which she sang a little song called Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend. I got my first pair of stud earrings with diamond dust particles on them about 5 years ago, and it felt like a rite of passage. Beyond the monetary value we place on them, diamonds have a truly therapeutic effect on me. I’ve managed to turn my mood around 180º on occasions when I was feeling low low low and ducked into a Tiffany’s, or a Cartier or Van Cleef & Arpels, where the mere action of the light being reflected of the diamond’s surface and hitting my eye seemed to instantly change my brain’s chemistry.
When I turned 35, it dawned on me that there was a very real possibility that I might never meet someone to spend my life with. Never get engaged. Never get that coveted diamond ring. So I promised myself that I would buy myself one at 40 to celebrate my independence as opposed to feeling depressed about being a premature old maid. Months before my birthday came around, I was feeling sorry for myself, about my current mental and emotional situation, about my temporary lack of ability to support myself, about countless other things, but also about the fact that the diamond ring seemed like a far-fetched idea, out of my league, something I wasn’t worthy of besides. I thought about my parents and of the fact that I haven’t seen either of them for many years now and that I should save my money for plane tickets. But the truth is, it’ll be a while before I can travel again. Even if I’m doing better, for now the prospect of it all; leaving my apartment and my cats behind; sharing cramped spaces with germ-carrying stranger, waking up in unfamiliar places and interacting in such intimate settings with my loved ones after decades of living alone fills with me with too much anxiety.
In I walked into Birks today (our Canadian version of Tiffany’s) with a confident stride and my heart set on giving an extravagant gift to my favourite person: me. The very fact that I can hold that thought without a trace of cynicism, coupled with the fact that I’ve managed to live through the past couple of years to even see 40 is quite an accomplishment, all things considered, and a passage well-worth commemorating with a meaningful piece of jewelry. I chose Birks because they have impeccable service and great warranties. For example I can return the ring within 90 days for full refund, no questions asked. I can also exchange my ring to upgrade whenever I like, and they offer free cleaning repairs and inspection for 5 years. More meaningful to me is the fact that they ensure that every diamond originates from ethical sources and suppliers. With my relatively small budget there were limited choices, but still, I managed to find a ring that seemed to make the clouds part with sounds of angel choirs singing in harmony for a moment. Very classic, it’s a three-stone ring with round-shaped diamonds which are cut so there are tremendous reflections which reveal the “locked fire hidden within the crystal”. As the store literature also says: “The classic three-stone diamond ring represents a tribute to your love, a celebration of the past, present and future. [...] Rich in symbolism, the three-stone diamond ring [is] the perfect anniversary or special occasion gift that expresses the timelessness of your love.” Perfect. Now all I have to do is find a church that will marry me to myself.
Pic by Smiler
July 26, 2009
Twist and Shout
This evening was filled with excitement, as indicated by the title which in this case refers to the Beatles song only very slightly. It started with a great booming light show of a thunderstorm which had both cats—usually pretty much blazé about such things—freaking out and ducking for cover. It was over in no time and I grabbed the recycling to take it to the curb when... click! The sound of me locking myself out. No phone, no keys obviously. I had made a tight schedule today and it DID NOT include locking myself out at 10:28 p.m. Get me a locksmith, quick. But... knock at a neighbour’s door this late? Lucky for me the rain was still on pause. I made my way through the alley, hopped over a fence and after some fumbling around, managed to break into my own place. I almost wish the neighbours had called the cops, but no. I managed to keep my brand new manicure intact so all’s well that ends well. But why am I writing all this? I’ve got loads of pics to show! AND I’ve got a curfew! I’ll post the Saturday series now and the Friday series tomorrow or later.
Oink Oink is this fantastic toy store just up the hill from me in Westmount. I’ve walked in front of it so many many times, always telling myself I should go in and treat my inner child. For some reason I kept putting it off (for 11 years!), but yesterday after my mani/pedi I decided to treat myself some more and finally went on my long-awaited discovery tour. It was exciting. I almost started skipping around the aisles, but managed to contain myself. They were very nice and let me take pics. I wished I’d brought my real camera, but somehow the camera phone made it more innocuous so none of the parent shoppers got freaked out. Of course, I could’t resist buying some great stuff to play with. Plenty to be happy about. Well ok, almost THIS happy (just don’t tell anyone):
The pics:
A low budget advertising campaign.
The loot.
Clairefontaine notebooks. Way nicer than when I was a kid. Liked both. Got the blue.
LOVE the hippo. There’s a blanket and pillow inside. Good for travel maybe? :-)
Proof that pigs really do fly.
Pigs galore. Could these help me save up a little? Pink tutu piglet was very charming.
Big piece puzzles for little kids...
and smaller pieces for bigger kids. This one is now occupying my dining room table.
More beautiful notebooks. 100% recycled too. Oops, forgot to get one of those...
I did NOT forget to pick up my Uglydoll keychain. Got Abima (click to view him and his bio).
Gorgeous print. Soooooo wanted the handbag. But. Must. Resist. Ergo, the notebook (see above).
Colouring projects—perfect for a blocked artist— I got the Art Nouveau kit for now. Should be fun!
All pics by Smiler. Taken with my iPhone camera phone.
Mimi Says: More Cherries Please!
I should count my blessings. This clip (thanks to Jonas for the link) reminds me of Mimi in many ways, only no matter how excited she gets, my Mumu manages to leave the drapes intact and doesn’t knock stuff down—like invaluable antique lamps and such—(knock on wood). If it weren’t for the all that intense shedding I’d say she really is the perfect cat. Otherwise, I have load of pics on hand for a show and tell session about the last couple of days, which turned out to be quite lovely and fun-filled days actually. Just please don’t tell anyone I enjoyed myself for so long because I don’t want to jinx it. In any case, that post will have to wait till another day. I promised myself I’d try to get to bed early-ish tonight.
Gotta get to the grocery store in the a.m. tomorrow before they run out of cherries altogether. I called the manager tonight to ask whether they’ll be carrying them for a while longer and he said I should get there asap if I want to get my share because they’re almost out. No kidding. They’ve been on special at 99¢ a pound this week! Can you believe it? I’ve been eating cherries like they’re going out of style. Now I need to get a whole new big batch so I can bake some delectable dessert to share at “school” on Wednesday, when we have arts & crafts and cooking sessions followed by a collective lunch when we eat whatever has been prepared by the cooks for the day. I like Wednesdays. Other than arts & crafts, one of my other favourite things happens to be baking. Which I am no longer allowed to do unless it’s to share the results with other people—if I want to keep my voluptuous enough as it is figure. I’ll be hitting my many cookbooks for inspiration tomorrow. Something easy and simple but mind blowing à la Jamie Oliver-type-thing. Cherry pie? Cherry-Appricot Cobbler? Cherry Soufflé? Cherry Clafoutis? Cherry torte? Cherry-Almond Triffle? As long as it’s made with fresh cherries and real butter or cream or whatever, I doubt I’ll go wrong whatever I choose to make.
July 25, 2009
Knowing: Deep-Fried, Syrrupy Sweet
There’s something deeply satisfying about watching a really bad thriller on a Friday night. If it’s starring some miscast kooky actor like Nicolas Cage, all the better. If it can’t decide whether it’s a thriller, sci-fi, family drama, or a potential horror movie, the over the top histrionics reach comedy-movie levels and become worth watching for their own sake when the plot becomes too nauseating. If it were any other day of the week, I’d say that Knowing, the movie, really sucks. Not to mention that it requires so much suspension of disbelief that I doubt most adults can do all the necessary mental acrobatics—I know I wasn’t terribly limber in that area tonight—so this movie which presents yet another doomsday scenario, really creepy old houses and blonde men in black coats ended up being unintentionally funny. It’s a good B movie for us big kids who like deep-fried, syrrupy sweet and drenched in ketchup junky-pop culture once in a while.
July 24, 2009
Doggy Lust
Too bad I forgot their names, because these two little guys made my day today. I think Boxer puppies are my favourite puppies of all. Somehow they make me think of little human babies. Something about their awkward little muscular bodies and soft colouring maybe. Since I’m in a doggy lust phase, and since I can’t have a dog right now—because Fritz would probably lose it for good (at least, that’s my excuse)—nearly every time I see a cute dog on the street I stop by and pet it and ask what his or her name is and occasionally take quick pic too. Dog owners are a very agreeable bunch, and they never seem to mind this, especially when admiring fans like me shower them with compliments about how adorable and sweet and likeable their favourite four legged child is. The Dachshund didn’t come out right. He was all motion and he would have been great on video. You’ll just have to take my word for it that he was a very sweet and enthusiastic little morsel. Even when he peed himself from excitement, somehow, that made him all the more endearing. The up side of dogs being merely passing acquaintances is I never have to clean up their messes.
July 21, 2009
In their Words
«Le meilleur moyen d'éviter la propagande, les mensonges, les faussetés,
c'est de cesser de lire.» ~ Alice Parizeau, Romancière canadienne
“The best way to avoid propaganda, lies and falsehoods it to stop reading.”
~ Alice Parizeau, Canadian writer
I’d rather put up with more propaganda, lies and falsehoods. The key is to develop the ability to recognize them for what they are so they lose their ability to mislead us.
July 20, 2009
Father and Son
After you press “play”, press on the “HD” button on lower right for better quality image.
Thanks to Pini
July 19, 2009
Birthday Cake, Part 2
A couple of months ago, K was telling me all about this incredible lemon cake she’d made and how even her family and friends who didn’t usually like lemon cake just couldn’t get enough of it. So I asked her what any normal person would—I asked her would she make it for me as my birthday cake. Being a good and loving friend, she said yes. She had family obligations last week, but I knew I could count on her to come through eventually and yesterday was the day. She lives out in the suburbs so I got over my usual distaste for taking buses and discovered that the 191 takes me from my door straight to hers in just 30 minutes.
On the menu were lobster rolls made from freshly cooked live lobsters, potato salad, a bottle of Masi rosé wine I’d brought, and the famous cake of course, accompanied by a desert wine brought by J, another friend of K’s. While J & K were boiling and pounding the lobsters to submission I enjoyed a swim in the pool to work up an appetite (had I participated in the lobster preparations, I’m not sure I’d have had an appetite to speak of). The meal was delicious. The lobster rolls were augmented with arugula and cheese. The cake was scrumptious and tasted deceptively light and airy, thought it was made with several tubs of mascarpone. Delicious. Then before we knew it, it was already midnight and we were all getting drowsy—to think all of us used to party till the small hours of the morning!—and K accompanied me to the bus stop just a short block away. It was a truly enjoyable day in more ways than one. My only regret as I stepped onto the bus was refusing to take home more than two pieces of cake when K was about to fill up a giant tuperware container for me. But you just can’t keep your figure and eat all that cake too.
Quick One
Just got back from spending a lovely afternoon at my friend K’s. Am filled to the gills with delicious stuff and about to fall flat on my face from fatigue and wine, so will fill in details next time I’m awake.
‘night!
July 18, 2009
In their Words
The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.
It is the source of all art and science.
~Albert Einstein
July 17, 2009
My Old Friend C
Lovely dinner with my old friend C tonight. We’re the same age and have known each other for over 22 years. Back in the day we’d hang out at the coolest clubs then go for a bite to eat at equally cool eateries and flirt with life’s possibilities. She’s as friendly and thoughtful as ever, she looks great as ever, her routine remains unchanged with daily swimming at 6:20 a.m., which keeps her toned and slender. She has plenty of style and always looks well put together. She’s never flashy or obvious, but your know the jewels are the real deal, the watch is the kind people get mugged for, and the handbag has been copied all over the world and happens to look much like the version I bought, only hers has a plaque on it engraved with the designer’s name. As a 40th birthday gift, her loving husband of almost 20 years surprised her with a trip to Paris this winter, while their three attractive children remained at home with their grandmother. There are yearly family trips to an almost deserted Caribbean island to visit the grandparents, who set up residence there some years ago. There is a beautiful weekend chalet up north designed by her husband and decorated with style and to which I’ve been invited many times to spend weekends hiking, canoeing and swimming. I’ve always found reasons not to go, feeling like I don’t belong to their world—why would they want the likes of neurotic & depressed old me over there? How I’ve wanted to hate C over the years. But it’s just not possible—she happens to be a very sweet, very likeable girl. How I’ve yearned to be just like C. But I guess I just happen to be a different creature altogether. What’s really funny is that while I’m feeling sorry for myself, I know there are people who feel much the same way when they compare themselves to me—we’re always somebody else’s C.
July 15, 2009
Little Things
Cooking class: the makings of a Rainbow Cake
Shadows: a rare commodity this summer—you need sunshine to see them.
My brand-new red shoes: got them last year but had nowhere to wear them to until now.
And where were those red shoes headed to? Why, Holt Renfrew’s of course, and straight to the Jo Malone counter. Again? Again. I’ve already gone though 1/4 of my body lotion and I wanted to get a few more samples so I can start testing and planning what fragrance I should go with next to mix in with those I’ve started with. Apparently, this happens a lot to people who discover Jo Malone: they just get hooked and keep getting other scents to mix together to get truly unique fragrances. I walked away from there with well over a dozen samples. I was also instructed to only use the lotion on arms and legs only—I was going for the full body experience but at that rate I’ll have to buy a bottle every month. I felt like I should buy something what with all those samples and the time it took to prepare them, but H, the lovely Jo Malone lady said I should wait till their next promotion when they’ll be handing out gifts with every purchase. Sounds like a plan.
Otherwise, I found out today that my fresh morning pink grapefruit juice (with oranges)—one of the the most important parts of my morning ritual—may be slowly killing me. Seriously. Apparently grapefruits can have a dangerous interaction with certain medications. I’d never heard about this before today or even imagined such a thing could be possible. Other citrus fruit are fine somehow. Go figure. They’ll look into my file ASAP and let me know if I need to make changes. I guess if need be I’ll just switch to fresh pure orange juice, but it just won’t be the same, so here’s hoping I can keep grapefruits on the menu. But seriously... death by grapefruit juice?? That’s just too ridiculous.
July 14, 2009
I’m Good For It Now
I had a fun meeting with my banker today. Incongruous, I know. I was pretty anxious about seeing him since we’d booked the date. The agenda was to look over my meager investments to make sure I was getting optimal returns. I thought that was an excuse for him to give me a lecture about all the spending I’ve been doing on my credit margin while still being out of the job market. Well I needn’t have worried at all. He’s been my banker for some 15 years, but I knew him 20 years ago in an altogether different capacity, when we were both working at a cool little gay bar, him a waiter and me as a barmaid. He was gay and proud then—as he still is now—and was going through my LUG faze (figure it out for yourself). Apparently the first time he saw me I was wearing a turtleneck catsuit and doing my thing on the dancefloor. When he said that to me I was stunned that he’d remember that, especially since I had completely forgotten about that. The very idea that I once had the guts to wear a catsuit is hard to fathom, but then again, I WAS just only 21 and fearless back then.
We spent the better part of our meeting talking about things like our mutual love of perfume; comparing our favourite scents from Jo Malone’s line, and all about his latest restylane and bottox treatments. Incidentally we looked over my investments and he offered to put in a request for a credit card for me, which I was almost certain would be refused as it has been for the past 4 years now. There was no talk about taking away my credit margin or having to reduce my spending. We were having so much fun just chatting that at one point I realized we’d been at it for well over an hour. When I asked him how come he had so much time to devote to me in his busy schedule he said “I always make sure not to book anyone after you”. Talk about VIP treatment. He hadn’t seen me in almost 2 years and had expected to see an obese version of me dressed in rags with greasy hair plastering my face—something he’s seen with other customers of his who are mostly actors and the normally attractive type. By comparison apparently I looked amazing. For some reason, compliments coming from a gay man have always meant more to me, so I have to admit it felt good. Every time I see him I think about how lucky I am to have him in my life. He’s gotten me out of some pretty big pickles over the years asking nothing in return (except a promise to pay off my loans).
At one point in the middle of some light chit-chat, C looked over at his screen, then looked at me with a dramatic expression on his face and said “Oh. My. God. You. Won’t Believe It!” What? He jumped out of his chair and started doing a victory dance involving lots of hopping up and down, screaming “YOU’VE BEEN APPROVED FOR A CREDIT CARD!!! You’re finally in the clear!!! You’re a real person again!!!” I hopped and danced along with him. Finally I’m a pariah no more. I guess you had to be there, but the joy was palpable. It’s the best feeling knowing that old friends still continue caring about me even when I’ve given so little signs of life. For that I’m truly grateful.
July 13, 2009
Peonies
Light is a rare commodity in these parts this summer. We’ve been getting so much rain—one downpour after another. This bunch of peonies was a lucky find this past weekend since the season is usually over by then. I thought they deserved to be immortalized while they’re at their peak. I hope I did them justice considering the limitations.
Photo by Smiler using a Canon Rebel XTi
July 12, 2009
Later
Now Playing: Air - Playground Love
My guests came despite the rain. My neighbour J was blown away by the fact that I was serving real champagne as opposed to some cheap bubbly. Seems to me if you’re going to serve champagne then you might as well serve the best, even if it means going further into debt, right? You only live once. It was nice to drink such a nice champagne with people who really appreciated it, as opposed to taking it for granted. I’ve been around that kind of crowd and they just kill half the fun with that attitude.
Beth brought me a drawing as requested. I had told her that was the price of admission. She drew a gorgeous bouquet of roses which seemed much too sophisticated coming from a 7-year old. There was a bunch of peonies in a vase on the table. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw them at market today. Usually by the time my birthday rolls around they’ve been long gone and forgotten. So I got two bunches. They smell... well I just wish I could bottle that scent. It defies description but it’s one of the most gorgeous things to experience. We ate the charlotte aux fruits which was quite delicious and also light. Most of us had seconds—Beth and I had thirds—that’s because we know no shame. I made sure to keep a nice big portion for my breakfast tomorrow. Once a year the morning of July 12th I have a large serving of cake with a tall cold glass of milk. It’s a little tradition of mine. I look forward to that more than any other part of my birthday. Go figure.
Once we’d knocked back all the champagne and I’d set Beth up with drawing materials, we realized it was time to scoot out—D and I had agreed to go to the movies this evening, which was actually a big deal for me since I hadn’t gone to the cinema in ages. The movie itself I can’t recommend. It was Public Enemies with Johnny Depp, who plays the role of the famous gangster John Dillinger. The movie had all the elements that I usually very much enjoy; it’s set in the 30’s, there’s cops against gangsters; it takes place during the great depression; there’s plenty of drama, but somehow it all fell flat. There wasn’t much to the script and the image quality bothered me so much that it distracted me from whatever action was going on. D didn’t see what I was talking about, but as an art director having seen tens (or hundreds?) of thousands of photographs I guess I’ve developed an eye and it’s not something I can just shut down whenever is convenient. Still, I loved this outing at the movies. It felt like a special treat. Who says I’m hard to please?
Home. I poured myself a giant serving of Grand Marnier on the rocks. Another thing I got at the liquor store today. I don’t keep that stuff around too often because I tend to go through it in no time. I suppose I’ll have a massive headache tomorrow, but that’s alright. Not like I have to be anywhere. And besides, a breakfast of cake and milk should take care of whatever ails me. I must say I’m feeling quite content right now. I look at Mimi sleeping over on the other couch—she usually starts rolling on her back and making eyes at me when I get up to get ready for bed, and just that little gesture on her part—so eager for her dose of affection—really melts my heart. Life would be mighty different without my kitty cats, so I’m awfully grateful they are with me. And I was also glad to have human company this evening. It made a difference between thinking I’m just a dejected and lonely freak and feeling like I’m a member of society, able to share the good times along with the bad. What more can I ask for? Well winning the lottery wouldn’t be too bad, but I’m not exactly counting on it.
July 11, 2009
40: The Year of Creativity
Quick quick, before they get here. That is if they do make it here at all because it’s been raining cats and dogs in the last couple of hours. I should know because I walked home from the nail salon in the pounding rain after treating myself to a mani/pedi. It was only a ten minute walk or so, but it was raining so hard my umbrella was practically useless. It did keep my head dry but by the time I got home I had to peel off my soaked clothes—5 more minutes outside and my underwear would have been soaked through as well. That makes me think of a day I remember as one of the most fun times I had with my mum when we decided to go into a particularly nice neighborhood to look for a house we wanted to buy—even though we couldn’t afford to buy one—and the pounding rain that came on suddenly didn’t deter us from pursuing our search. But that’s another story altogether. For today, I know my guests are keen on having a piece of cake, but it remains to be seen whether they’re willing to get themselves wet for it.
I made it to market just before noon today, early enough so that they still had an impressive selection of cakes at the local bakery. Chocolate-raspberry cake or lemon pie? Or how about chocolate-hazelnut? Or raspberry-lemon cake? At that moment I truly wished someone else but me were buying the cake because making a choice seemed impossible. So I compromised: I took photos of all my choices and then bought another cake I hadn’t even noticed yet: a Charlotte aux fruits. Very appetizing. I’d already gone by the wine store to pick up a couple more bottles of Lancyre, my favorite rosé wine lately, but when I got the cake I thought perhaps a nice bubbly might be more appropriate for a 40th birthday. Not something you celebrate every day what with ringing in a new decade and all. While I was at it, I decided to go all out and got a bottle of Veuve Cliquot Rosé. Because I’m worth it.
My guests are my neighbours J and her daughter B, whom I’d invited to share last year’s birthday cake, and I’ve also invited D, someone I met at the program with whom I’ve been sharing my daily walks back home. I didn’t have the courage to call any of my old friends. So be it. I haven’t decided whether I’m up to braving the rain again to try to find candles for my cake. I might just make a wish without. I’m sure that works too.
Numerologically speaking: 4+0=4, which stands for Creation. Awesome. I can certainly use more creativity in my life.
... Doorbell ringing, looks like my guests are making it here after all. Gotta run.
Pics by Smiler
July 10, 2009
39
Now playing:
I’m in a reflective mood tonight. There is just one hour left before I leave my 30’s behind and embark on my 5th decade. There’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t stop the progress of time, and no matter how foreign the concept of life is to me sometimes, I can’t evade the laws of gravity and physics. I didn’t see this year go by. It happened in a flash. Probably has something to do with me sleeping through the better part of it. Then again, anytime the question of my age came up this year, instead of stating the simple fact: “I’m 39” I usually got into this whole game of “why don’t you try to guess?” and get a real kick when most people answered anything from “barely 20” to “early 30’s at most”. Yes, that was a nice ego boost. I liked being in my 30’s. I felt that no matter how challenging things got, I was finally more or less equipped to deal with whatever got thrown my way, while still being considered young and filled with possibilities. At times, this year has felt like one long mourning session for the decade that I liked best and which felt most like “me” (so far).
But now that my 39th year is about to come to an end, I can’t help but look back on it and try to figure out what it was all about. My 39th year was about resilience. I learned that no matter how bad things got, my survival instincts always won out, even if at times it meant sleeping for days on end to evade the painful thoughts that plagued me every minute of every day. I learned that even though I can be my worst enemy, I also happen to be the person I most enjoy spending time with, which in turn helped me tap into a pool of self-confidence I wouldn’t have known was there otherwise. I learned that though the path of least resistance is often the best way to move forward, putting in even the most minimal of efforts brings you that much further. I learned that I could give up my ambitions but still keep all my options open. I learned that if you ask for help, it will come in one form or another. I learned to ask for help (no small thing, believe me). I learned to make a truce with my body long enough to get into a bathing suit and enjoy a hot summer day in a body of water. I learned that no matter how selfish I can be, I really do want to help others and when I do, I really do feel like a better person for it. I learned a lot of things. In fact, it’ll probably take me the whole of the next decade to distill it all. Which is fine. Not like I have any other plans for now.
In terms of numerology, 39 has a couple of meanings:
The number 3 according to some interpretations stands for: Communication/interaction. Neutrality.
The number 9: Highest level of change.
3+9=12 1+2=3 (see above for interpretation)
Sounds just about right. The way I see it, neutrality is a good thing. It’s the closest thing to balance I’ve ever known so far... and from there one can go just about anywhere. As for change, I know from an intellectual standpoint that there has been lots of it but it will take me a while to recognize it since most of it has come very gradually and very very slowly.
We have a French show here every New Year’s Eve called Bye Bye. It’s a review of the year from a political, cultural and popular standpoint presented in the form of humorous skits. I don’t know exactly what my Bye Bye would look like, but I’m almost sure it would be painfully funny. And wouldn’t you know it, painfully funny’s a good thing in my book.
Pic: Spherical Planetary Nebula Abell 39
July 9, 2009
Gratitude
I don’t think I’ve said this “out loud” before. Mostly you all hear me bitch and moan but I should say that I’m actually very grateful to be part of the day program. Goodness knows just getting there in the morning is plenty challenging and that it all gets overwhelming with so much to take in. I don’t see myself making much progress so far, but just the fact that I have a reason to shower, get dressed and get out of the house every day is doing me good, that much I know. All the rest, like getting back to being a functional member of society, well that will come in due time I guess.
July 8, 2009
Quote of the Day
Faire demi-tour, c’est une mauvaise manière de poursuivre un voyage.
~ Per Olof Sundman, Académicien et romancier suédois
Retracing one’s steps is a poor way of pursuing a journey.
~ Per Olof Sundman, Swedish academic and writer
I should know a thing or two about that...
Pic: “The Road Home to Reykjavik” by Stuck in Customs, Fickr
Quote of the Day
Quand la loi redevient celle de la jungle, c’est un honneur que d’être déclaré hors-la-loi.
~ Hervé Bazin, Romancier français
When the law regresses back to the law of the jungle, it’s a great honour
to be declared an outlaw. ~ Hervé Bazin, French writer
July 7, 2009
Stuff that Drives Me Crazy
I'm just about to go to bed and I’m so upset right now I just had to take a couple of moments to write about it so I can calm down and hopefully not be plagued by nightmares all night. I left the t.v. on after my show on HBO and a documentary started just a few minutes ago. They haven’t even gotten into the “meat” of the subject (so to speak, and the irony of the expression is beyond being funny right now) yet, as they were just introducing what the documentary was going to be dealing with. It’s called “Death on a Factory Farm” which gives you an idea that it’s going to be pretty hard core. This guy sets out to work undercover at a pig farm where an employee has placed a call to an animal rights group to complain about the especially cruel treatment that the pigs are getting on this farm and his mission is to film and record their cruel practices so that the people running the farm can be brought to justice. I just got to the point where they show the sows being kept in these tiny enclosures that don’t allow for any movement and where they have to drop themselves down if they need to lie down, and are forced to stay there for the entire duration of the gestation. I’ve already heard about this. I know many farm animals get treated this way but actually seeing it is a whole other story. I usually try to avoid seeing this kind of documentary because it just upsets me too much. I imagine this kind of movie would be hard to see for most people (other than the farmers of course) but when you love animals the way I do and “animals are people too” in your way of thinking, it really hurts. I had to switch it off at that point because just seeing those poor creatures being treated like concentration camp victims (except they get to eat—are often actually force-fed) and seeing them looking so miserable and so terribly abused was more than I could take, especially since I knew things were only going to get much worse from there on. Who needs to watch horror movies when there’s this real stuff going on right on our farmlands? I don’t get it. I know there’s incredible justice in this world being committed every single moment of every single day and I try to help out a little as best I can, but every time I see these stories about animals suffering I’m just reduced to a puddle of tears and just feel so helpless. And knowing how helpless I feel, I can only imagine just how miserable these creatures who can’t speak for themselves must be. I say let us stupid humans kill each other off, fine; the planet would be better off without us. But we have no right to take down the animals along with us. I definitely need to find some way to help make a difference. But somehow donating another buck-a-day or whatever doesn’t seem to be enough! Not much I can do right this moment, but at least, thanks for reading and if this encourages you to take any sort of action to help bring relief to other suffering souls, be they human, animal or extra-terrestial, then many blessings to you.
That’s my little unedited rant tonight just before bed.
Now I lay me down to sleep...
July 6, 2009
Gorgeousness
Most of the above images were taken from the following article. If you can’t be bothered to read it, no worries, the images alone speak for themselves. But how will you ever know for sure what they are? Are they galaxies? Are they jellyfish? Are they images of brains on LSD? I’ll tell you: photographer Mark Mawson creates these beautiful images by dropping paint in water and photographs them in the ensuing seconds. Interpreting the resulting images is entirely up to you.
Pics by Mark Mawson Barcroft Media
July 5, 2009
Strawberry Fields Don’t Last Forever
Yay! Good for me! Even though I didn’t manage to get up before noon today or do most of the things I promised myself I’d do, I did get out to market today, and although by then most merchants were packing it up, I managed to get beef brochettes marinated in orange, curried deboned chicken thighs and pecan-smothered porc loin for the barbecue. Then from the specialty shop, a balsamic vinegar at half the price, twice the quantity than the one I usually get, same quality, and organic to boot. All I had to do was mention I wanted a more economical alternative. The last stop was the strawberry stand where they were liquidating their last remaining crates at discount prices. It’s been this way all of my life, but somehow I’m always shocked when just about a week before my birthday they declare local strawberry season all but over. It always seems to come much too soon. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. It made no sense to buy a small basket since the half crate came out so much cheaper. But what am I going to do with all those strawberries? I wondered. There aren’t enough to make jam, but too many for just my breakfast cereal... I know, I’ll go on a strawberry diet and just have strawberries with every meal, snack and dessert. All stawberries, all the time.
I was cleaning a handful of the beautiful ripe berries just a short while ago. A snack to accompany a glass of lovely Masi rosé wine which I’ve stocked up to hopefully last the summer. I get into a special zone whenever the water is running and for some reason I got to thinking that my life would have been so so very much better had I been born three weeks earlier, as I was originally supposed to. For one thing, I probably wouldn’t be chronically late for everything all of the time. I’d be a Gemini instead of Cancer and probably more outgoing, more willing to take risks, less of an introvert, among other things. There would be bunches of Peonies—my favourite flowers—everywhere to wake up to on the day of my birthday. And strawberry season would just barely be getting started. Beginnings are always so much more encouraging than endings, don’t you think? Shoulda Woulda Coulda. I can’t exactly blame myself for being born 3 weeks late, can I? Not like I was lazy or unmotivated right from the womb, was I? And not like I can go back and fix it either (I’m sure my mother wouldn’t be thrilled to go over the whole exercise again—but just think! Three weeks less of dragging my unborn self around in scorching weather!).
Yeh. So what’s the point? Where am I going with all this? Well, not to the Jazz festival, that’s for sure, even though an old friend contacted me today to suggest we go together this evening. But oh! the crowds! And oh! The commotion! No, I’m much better off right here on my balcony sipping my wine and popping one of the last local strawberries of 2009 into my mouth.
Let me take you down, cause I’m going to
Strawberry fields
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about
Strawberry fields forever
July 4, 2009
Count Me in With the Poodle
During our goal-setting session on Friday, one of the things I determined was that this weekend I wanted to be up by 12 noon at the latest. I did pretty well today, in large part due to my dad who decided to call me just a minute or two after my alarm clock rang and just before I’d had time to fall back into a deep sleep again. I had to really fight the urge to fall back asleep when I was up but by around 3 o’clock, I couldn’t stand it anymore and had to go lie down for a “short” nap, which turned out to be 5 hours long.
This is nothing new. *The sleep thing* is something I’ve been dealing with for the better part of my life. But now that I’m in treatment and that we’re running tests to evaluate my overall health, I’ve decided to make the sleep thing my priority. I had a talk yesterday with the head shrink—a very nice man who is open to discussion and encourages patients to think for themselves and contribute to both diagnosing and resolving problems—very rare qualities for a shrink. I told him about my bout of Mono when I was 3 and how the fatigue I can experience most days feels very similar to what I experienced back then. I had mentioned this to other doctors over the years but so far they had all dismissed the idea before I’d even gotten all the words out of my mouth. This time, Doctor F was willing to consider my theory that since I had Mono so young, maybe some neurological pathways or chemical reactions in my brain were affected by the illness and left me with permanent chronic fatigue symptoms associated with the “kissing disease”.
I’ve started doing a little bit of research online. At first I wanted to find out whether there is such a thing as “sleep addiction”. It seems not. What very little information I was able to glean was from message boards and forums such as the one I found on sleepnet.com where back in May 2000 “blue” had this response about whether it was possible to have a sleep addiction: “Certainly people may seek escape in sleep, but would a normal (even addiction-prone) person actually be able to BE asleep as often as all that?”. The answer of course is no, as anyone who has ever tried to fall asleep on cue can attest. Why it is I hadn’t done any research on this issue before, I really can’t say, but my guess is I was probably just too tired. Just a cursory look at Sleep Disorders on Wikipedia gives me hope that maybe there is a diagnosis for my condition: Narcolepsy doesn’t sound like such a stretch from what I’ve gathered so far. In and of itself, a diagnosis is pretty useless, but for me it might mean 3 things: 1) there just might be a way to “treat” my problem (though I get the feeling probably not) 2) I’ll finally have scientific proof that I don’t sleep so much purely as a form of escapism. And most importantly: 3) I’ll be able to put to rest my concern that I’m just a lazy, good for nothing motherfucker (no offense mom).
July 2, 2009
Quote of the Day
Il y a toujours mille raisons pour s’enfermer. Sortir est beaucoup plus difficile.
Claudie Gallay, Ecrivain française
There are always a thousand reasons to stay locked in. Getting out it much more difficult.
Claudie Gallay, French Author
Now there’s a quote I could have come up with myself...
July 1, 2009
Celebrating
July 1st is our day to be gay and proud to be Canadian. Not that we’re all gay. Not that we’re all proud either. In my case, I’m pretty glad to be Canadian though I wouldn’t mind a dual citizenship. With the U.S. say, or any European country which is part of the EU, or Australia for that matter. Our Canadian passport does get us into places pretty easily. There was a time pre-9/11 that you could just flash your passport real quick and they’d wave you in without even looking into it. Canada doesn’t piss too many people off from a global perspective—we’re even seen as “good guys” in parts of the world where our neigbouring U.S. of A isn’t always welcome. But then a whole lot of people in the world have no idea where Canada actually is (“Is it an American State?” “Is it close to Alaska?”) but that’s fine by me. If they can’t locate us on a map then they can’t send nuclear missiles our way either.
Here in Quebec, most French Canadian citizens wouldn’t be caught dead celebrating an “Anglo” holiday, so instead we have Moving Day. That’s when the whole city is flooded with moving trucks and the already warm temperature soars up a few more notches. Beer sales are just as swift as they are in the rest of Canada. You find those who weren’t quick enough to reserve a moving service carrying stuff with any means available, sometimes on their backs. It’s the funniest thing seeing people struggle and huff and puff on a hot day to move a giant piece of junk which ought to be left in the garbage pile. Judging by the mounds of junk piled up on the streets on July 2nd, it’s fair to assume that people only discover the true value of their possessions (or lack thereof) when they have to haul them around. Moving Day is beer and pizza day since everything is closed down for the holiday, which is fine since beer and pizza is all you really want after an exhausting day of hauling all the junk you decided you can’t part with. There is always more of it than you could have possibly imagined.
Apparently, moving day is also a big day for the SPCA and other animal shelters, since many pet owners just “forget” to bring their pets along with them to their new locations. Probably because they have so many other things to think about on such a busy busy day? What with all those Canada Day beers? And countless boxes to haul around? Not to mention having to keep track of the movers so they don’t break anything? Right? I think these people, i.e. people who are capable of just “forgetting” Fido or Whiskers or Gertrude the turtle should be shot, or at the very least have their kids (or someone of equal value) taken away from them as they are obviously unfit to take care of other living beings. But we’re not going into all that because we’re keeping this post light and happy, since it’s a celebration today, right? Right. Happy Canada Day!
