a perfect fit

Introducing... My first pair of tango shoes!



I had no idea what a difference it would make to dance in shoes made specifically for tango. They're wonderful. They're made of black laminated suede with a pewter leather trim. The leather is so amazingly soft it's hard to describe-- the phrase "soft as a baby's bottom" is accurate enough, but it doesn't carry enough panache to describe such sexy shoes. The leather sole glides over the dance floor like silk on silk. I thought I'd have to break them in, but ended up wearing them for five hours the first day I wore them (a tango intensive course) and didn't get a blister or so much as a tender spot, so I wore them for the five hours of the class the next day, too. If life fit me half as well as these shoes fit my feet, how grand that would be.

to know and be known

There is nothing sweeter than knowing and being known. For me, one of the sweetest ways I experience this is in the giving and receiving of gifts. Finding just the right thing to give at just the right time, and seeing it received with a soul-deep joy is truly wonderful. Being on the receiving end of that, the soul-deep joy end of that, is also sweet. Today I was blissfully on the receiving side of that kind of giving.

I am privileged to belong to a group of friends who believe that celebrating one's birthday is not a one-day affair. So it is that I was greeted this morning by balloons and a child-made "Happy Birthday!" banner fully a week before my actual birthday. Today was the day of my annual "Moaike's Babies' Birthday Brunch". This the third year of the tradition. Though several of my babies were missing for reasons of illness or relocation, six of the many children I've embraced as "my" special babies-- all of whom I've seen come into the world-- were present to shower me with cuddles and kisses, handmade cards, and enthusiasm for the celebratory waffles and cake! The presence of these little ones in my life is one of the most precious things I know.

The waffles were delicious, as always, with warm maple syrup, whipped cream and field berries. And the cake... the cake! My fabulous partner in fondant decorating prepared the most beautiful snowflake cake I could have imagined:








Yes, truly, it was that beautiful. It made my heart sing. All the more when I saw my little ones gathered around with fingers poised to sample the icing.

Eating cake after a meal of waffles is rather a lot like eating dessert after a meal of dessert, but the sweetness didn't stop there. My perceptive friends had decided to pool resources for a special gift for me. When I unwrapped a delicate package to discover tiny, hot pink, shiny high-heel shoe-shaped chocolates, I knew what was in the envelope...



They'd all pooled money toward the purchase of tango shoes! I love that my friends take pleasure in knowing that I take pleasure in tango, and I love that they figured out how to affirm that in a gift that is simultaneously extravagant and practical. Perfect.

It was a great way to launch into Birthday Week celebrations, that's for sure.

names

Today I was referred to as a writing buddy, a quilting buddy, a dance partner, Detail Girl, a student, a friend, an editor, and honorary family (that is to say, enough of a regular customer at Beau Photo to merit special invitation to use the "family" door instead of the front entrance). On any given day, I am also an artist, a daughter, a sister, Super Moaike, a cook, a liturgist, an entrepreneur, an advisor, a support person, a housekeeper, an accountant, a financial manager, an athlete, and a whole lot more. Life can be so rich.

rest

I have a safe and warm and quiet place to call home, and a comfortable bed to curl up in. I will not take for granted the beautiful fact of this provision. It's a simple and wonderful thing that my physical weariness and desire for rest is so easily and immediately tended to. Theoretically, at least. Having a warm and comfortable bed does not assure a good night's sleep, as I well know.

The same can be said of soul solace, I suppose. One can have what would appear to be the right ingredients for a restful soul, and still find oneself feeling restless and angst-ridden. I have faith, I have assurances for peace and provision, and still I strive and worry and let various fears get the better of me. "Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our souls are restless until they find their rest in thee," prayed St. Augustine. How grand it would be to wrap my soul up in a duvet of peace and certainty, to find a warm and comfortable solace and leave all angst and striving behind. Then a practical voice chips in with the observation that we don't really leave behind all angst and striving until our hearts stop beating. I'm tired and I'm ready for my bed tonight, but I'll be glad to get up in the morning and wear my body and brain out again another day. So also my soul is weary and longs for rest, but I'm glad for the opportunity to beat down my fears and seek peace and truth and beauty another day. I hope to run the risk of fatigue, disappointment and failure in all these endeavors for a good many years yet before settling in to my final resting place. Lord willing.

tube top tango

This video clip lifts my spirits every time I watch it. First and foremost, because it's what I aspire to in my own tango journey. I'm not as good as this dancer, though I had compliments from every lead I danced with at last Tuesday's milonga! My second reason for loving this glimpse of tango is because it's so human. In addition to documenting some lovely tango moves, it shows the adjust-the-strapless-dress-over-the-boobs move at least five times, once during the dance and five times in the last twenty seconds of the video. It's reminiscent of red-socks tango.

autumn bouquet

When I came out to my car tonight, parked in the alley behind a friend's home downtown, I found it covered in a delicate collage of tiny golden leaves. Having fallen with heavy rain earlier this evening, the leaves were glistening and wet, and laid out as artfully by nature as they might have been by, say, Matisse. The display was all the more beautiful when viewed from the interior. It was like looking up at a night sky of enormous golden stars. I felt like God had arranged an extravagant bouquet for me. It was lovely. It fairly broke my heart to have to put on the windshield wipers for the drive home.

this blog brought to you by the letter F

First of all, I'm delighted to report that in spite of my fear that my newfound sense of feeling better would be fleeting, I am still feeling well. It's been a week, now. It's still sort of a shock. May I never again take for granted the joy of being able to think clearly! Being able to focus on a task and follow it from start to finish is fabulous. If it weren't for the lingering fear that it won't last, I'd be positively giddy.

Before you think that all the words beginning with F in the last paragraph is what inspired the title to this blog, I'm going to share the F litany that's been running through my head when I contemplate things I'm thankful for.

FEET: One of my quirky depression symptoms is sore feet. They just ache. It's part and parcel of the I-don't-want-to-go-anywhere-or-do-anything angst thing, I guess. But I've been forcing myself out for an hour of seriously sweaty exercise on the seawall several times a week and it's paid off. Also, if you've been reading this blog at all lately, you'll know that tango has played a not insignificant role in my battle against depression. I am deeply thankful for my sturdy size ten feet and all they enable me to do. My feet were sore today, but only because yesterday I ran four kilometers, did an hour-long tango technique class and then danced for two and a half hours at a community milonga. I love my feet.

FRIENDS and FOOD: I have been richly blessed with friends who feed me. If it hadn't been for the left-overs and specially prepared food that my friends have shared with me over these last months, I'd have wasted away. Just yesterday a friend had me over for lunch and then sent me home with soup enough for at least twelve meals, a bin of organic salad greens, kale, camembert, cheddar, apples, crackers, chai spices, tomatoes, carrots, a cucumber, cashews, grapes, and a brand new frying pan, just because. She's a hero. It's so good to be so loved.

FAMILY: My parents live approximately well over five-thousand kilometres away from me. Still, we look out for each other. We call just to chat and to say things like, "Wouldn't it be lovely if we take a coffee break together?" or "We have a delicious pork roast in the oven. Wish you could join us!" My dad was away, curling, last weekend, so I called my mom every day, sometimes twice, to keep her company. That, in turn, kept me company. The big news is that for the second time since I moved to Vancouver in 1990, this year, my parents are coming for Christmas. I think of it every day.

myself

The best thing about today was that for the first time in ages I felt like myself. I've really missed that feeling.

supper club

In addition to tango, quilting, amazing friends, fabulous children, a wonderful family, and an appreciation for inutterable beauty, I am ever so pleased to have a Supper Club in my life.

We're a lively group of ten gourmands who get together every couple of months to share a meal the likes of which none of us can afford. The idea is to prepare a sumptuous meal for a fraction of the cost of a five-star restaurant meal. We rotate, in pairs, through a rota where one pair brings appetizers (and a bottle of wine), another pair does mains (and hosts), another pair prepares dessert (and brings a bottle of wine) and the two remaining pairs bring two bottles of wine each. (You can see we're careful to organize things so we have enough wine to lubricate a lengthy night out.) Though we did have a white-trash-Christmas meal once, generally it's all about gourmet cooking.

The pair hosting and preparing the main course decides on the theme for the night. Dreaming up culinary fantasies around the themes is great fun, definitely part of the pleasure of the whole enterprise. Themes can be as sophisticated and precise as they can be silly and broad. Here is the content of the email we came up with to announce the theme for our November meal:

We have set the theme for next month's supper club! To commemorate my (sufficient) recovery from going squirrelly this summer, and to acknowledge that it's probably a bit nuts to attempt to prepare and plate a gourmet dinner for ten within the confines of M's six foot kitchen, the theme for our November 24th Supper Club dining extravaganza is: Going Squirrelly. That's right, we're all going NUTS.

We hasten to remind everyone of Supper Club Rule #1: No internal organs or road kill will be served. In fact, no squirrel will be served, neither in appetizer, main, or dessert courses. Our fantasy boyfriends are deeply chagrined that their hunting expertise will not be called on. They'll get over it.



You may, however, want to check out the University of Waterloo Math Club newsletter (http://www.mathnews.uwaterloo.ca/Issues/mn8700/sql.php) to read up on the hunting and preparing of squirrel-- for information purposes only. Refer also-- again, for information purposes only-- to the Joy of Cooking, page 515. Warning: The Rombauer sisters employ graphics that are, well, pretty graphic-- not for the faint of heart.

You may also want to ask M about the conspiracy for Squirrel World Domination. You laugh?!? See below for photographic evidence of the uncanny abilities of these haute-couture rodents.



Right, well... Back to the subject at hand. You've gathered (ha, ha) by now that the theme is truly nutty. For a complete list of qualifying nuts, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_culinary_nuts

M and I have conferred with the experts and agree that pine nuts may also be considered a nutty ingredient for the purposes of culinary genius, in spite of the fact that they are merely nut-like gymnosperm seeds. We mustn't discriminate against the gymnosperm.

See you on the 24th! M will send directions prior to the grand event. Please do keep in mind space restrictions when planning your contribution to this nutty event.

shining interludes

I've had a rough time of it, lately, but there have been some shining moments. I am consistently astounded by how great it feels to dance. Yesterday's emotional and physical challenges would normally have kept me home cocooning for the night-- and I did limit the night's agenda by missing a birthday party-- but I felt I ought to push myself to get on the dance floor. Last night's milonga was a costumed affair, so I put on my rhinestone-studded false eyelashes, draped ridiculous amounts of jewelry around my neck, picked up my dancing shoes and headed out as Rhinestone Barbie.

They say a picture's worth a thousand words. Here are a thousand words on how I feel about tango these days:



I've been encouraged to add another detail from last night's milonga...

I had several short conversations with a Russian gentleman between sets of dancing. After some conversation about his background he asked me what my cultural background is. "I'm first generation Canadian," I said, "Born of Dutch immigrants."

"You don't look Dutch," he replied.

"Well, I might not look Dutch in this," I said, gesturing grandly at my glittery get-up, "But you should see me milk a cow."

I don't know where that came from, but he about fell off his chair laughing.

red socks

When you learn something new, you have to be willing to make mistakes and look ridiculous. It's part of learning, testing the waters, and it requires equal parts bravery and humilty. Take language acquisition, for instance. I can speak French fluently now, but I still recall vividly the dinner party where I was soundly mocked for inadvertently exchanging the word "champignon" for "champion" thereby rendering a compliment about how someone looked like a champion on the tennis courts an unintendended insult by suggesting they looked like a mushroom playing tennis. You get the picture.

Kids have to do this all the time. They learn new skills incessantly. I don't think adults give them the credit they deserve for being so brave, over and over again. If we adults could muster half the courage and persistence of a toddler learning to walk, for instance, for some of the new tasks we face, we'd rock our world off its axis.

Of course, there are kids who are rattled by the demands of learning new things-- these are the kids who want to get everything right immediately, to be perfectly capable, instantaneously. It's rough on them. Especially as there often isn't much modeling going on among the adults in their world around how to cope when learning something new isn't going smoothly. They don't see adults colouring outside the lines in the colouring books, or spilling milk from the jug when they pour, or not making it to the toilet on time. We want our kids to be patient with themselves and laugh off the silly mistakes they make when they're learning, but how many times do they see us do that?

I'm having to be that kind of patient with myself on several fronts. This has been the year of trying new things for me-- making fresh efforts on the dating scene, learning to quilt, and learning to tango. Though I had no intention of taking on anything else new, I'm also having to come up with new ways of dealing with depression and stress. It has not been a comfortable year. It's been a year of applying the slightly cynical motto, "Aim high! Fall hard!" I think I'm managing alright. I'm much better at not taking dating too seriously, for instance, and am reassured by the fact that even a bad date might generate good material for the novel writing project I've got on the back burner. Quilting mistakes are greeted with a sigh, a seam ripper, and a second attempt to get it right. I'm very, very good at not taking myself too seriously with tango...

I danced for three hours this evening, with back-to-back classes. This gave me MUCH more opportunity to lunge, lurch, and stumble about as I work my way toward looking sexy and accomplished on the dance floor. What's more, as my fabulous Fluevog shoes are too sticky for the dance floor, the instructor gave me bright red socks to wear over the front of my shoes so that I could pivot and execute turns more smoothly. My pivots took a dramatic turn for the better, but I looked absurd beyond words. Tango is supposed to look like this:


And this:


Picture, if you dare, these dancers with the toes of their shoes covered in what resembles mini hand-knitted slippers. I had to ask the instructor to tell my dance partner to stop laughing at me. People stared. Never mind that my pivots never looked better and I was finally able to do moves that had been impossible before. Me? I laughed. It was hilarious. It was much easier to make mistakes and laugh wearing those ridiculous red socks than when I looked every bit the part of a "real" dancer. (I laughed without the socks, too, just louder with the socks.)

I had to give the red socks back to the instructor at the end of the night. Tomorrow I plan to buy my own pair of red socks, to put on anytime I'm taking myself too seriously. I will, however, pay a cobbler to glue suede liners to the bottom of my Fluevogs. There are limits.

the graceful execution of productivity

If I'd tried to plan a schedule ahead of time for everything I did today, I would have been stressed. If I'd written a list, I probably wouldn't have slept well last night, anticipating the tension of fitting everything in, meeting deadlines, meeting expectations. On paper, it would have looked impossible, the kind of day only a hyper overachiever could complete. But I did it, gracefully.

I've been making a serious effort these days to walk in grace rather than walk under the weight of expectations. Though I felt the pull of anxiety slightly on a few occasions today (moments when I thought I should be in hyper-productivity mode, like the bad old days) for the most part I think I got the hang of walking in grace. The very cool thing was that I still managed to meet some important expectations (my own and those of others), and while I still have an enormous to-do list, I chipped away at it in a fairly reasonable fashion, rolling from one task to another like someone who knows what they're doing. I'd like to remember today as a day when I managed to get in a pretty good practice run at being sensibly, gracefully productive.

At that, a deep-rooted Fear pipes up with, "Yeah, but you'll never finish your to-do list without putting in a few 18-hour work days, starting yesterday!" It's hard to be okay with the looming lists and the risk of disappointing expectations. My apartment is still in a total tip and I have clients waiting for orders and proofs. I worry that the walking-in-grace thing is going to backfire and my fears will be realized. But the lesson of last week was that my perception of what others expect of me is generally pretty off. So, I'll keep practicing walking in grace and hope that the fear that speaks against this grace will lose its strength. God give me the courage to walk in grace.

passion begets confidence

Today I was given the opportunity to converse about Living Inquiry and the passion I have for visual awareness and expression.
The conversation took the form of a business meeting that became as much a meeting of hearts as a meeting of minds. I did not struggle to find the words to express my passion, nor did I shrink in the certain knowledge that my academic credentials are limited in this field. I spoke about what I know to be true about what happens when individuals are given a nudge in the direction of Awareness and are given the tools they need to creatively express what they learn within that awareness. I felt the fires fanned within me, igniting anew my deep passion for the power of images to communicate. The long and the short of it was a confirmation of an invitation for me to offer a workshop-- in collaboration with UBC and the Vancouver Art Gallery-- to teach teachers, to ignite this passion in them and equip them to equip others. I feel so encouraged.

thankfulness

When you're tired and hungry and know you should eat but don't feel like cooking, it's just so beautiful to have yummy leftovers in the fridge.

When you need a pick-me-up on the night a tango class is offered and you're the only beginner who shows up so you have one-on-one instruction for the whole hour, it's a beautiful thing.

When you paid too much for a bra that turns out to have defective stitching such that it starts to fall apart and you bring it back to the shop where you bought it almost three months after the fact and they give you a brand new replacement bra without any hassle, that is sweet, sweet, sweet.

When you listen to your gut and stop to ask the little old lady you just passed on the sidewalk if she needs help and she says, "Yes, I could use an arm," and you offer your arm and start walking and she says, "I'll ask for the leg later," and you both laugh at the joke as you're walking, it's a good thing.

When you offer a simple compliment to a stranger in the elevator-- "That's a great colour on you"-- and she doesn't just smile and nod but instead replies with, "I was just thinking what a beautiful woman you are," and you get the chance to wonder if she meant that because she thought you were beautiful your compliment to her has more credibility or if by sharing your thoughts out loud you just gave her permission to make your day, either way, it's lovely.

When you're tired and you get to crawl into a warm and comfortable bed and then sleep until you wake up and you don't need to set an alarm for anything, that's unspeakably delicious.

rainy day walk in the woods

I finished my last quilt project for the "Colour From the Heart" class I've been taking. The exercise was to choose an inspiration (or "subject") fabric to serve as the starting point for the colour selection for the principle design. This inspiration fabric would, in turn, serve as a border fabric. The fabric I chose reminded me of a rainy day walk in the woods, specifically in the woods by my childhood home on the St. Lawrence River.

The photos don't do it justice at all, but they give you some idea. While there's a symmetry to the larger design, the smaller details are asymmetric. Typically nine patches use two colours in a checkerboard pattern-- I chose to create nine-patches with seven to nine different fabrics. Moreover, no two nine-patches are alike. I worked very hard on this project and I love it. It has a texture and character that speaks to the quiet earthiness of this very special place, a place that no longer exists except in my heart's memory.



The course instructor commented that the quilt seems, "so full of hope." In the midst of all the subdued earthy colours are little flecks of light which she called, "persistent." So be it.

little things

It's been a rough month-- evidenced by the fact that I posted very, very rarely in September. I believe things are picking up, the veil of grief is lifting, and I'm going to try again to post more regularly.

Even in the midst of the bleakness of the last few months, I have tried to keep an eye to moments of truth and beauty. I've also tried to keep my heart tuned to appreciating the simple, little things that can make a big difference on any given day. I've been working on a list. Everything on the list requires action-- a small, personal investment in making that difference. They're all little things, and the difference they can make in a day is more about paying attention to the gentle contribution to sanity they make than it is about the action itself.

1. Taking out the stinky garbage.
2. Making a cup of tea.
3. Taking a hot bath.
4. Stopping to smell the fresh lavender on the corner of Nicola and Beach.
5. Interrupting my seawall workout to pet the dogs.
6. Filling the fruit basket.
7. Doing the dishes.

It looks pretty mundane, typed up like that. But it's a "to do" list that's made a difference for me. Removing things like taking out the garbage and doing the dishes from the "tedious household tasks" list and putting them on the "self-care and personal nurture" list is a great shift in perspective. And giving myself a mandate to relax and do things that are good for me (tea, lavender, dogs, baths) is important right now. It reminds me of the saying, "Don't hurry, don't worry, and don't forget to smell the roses."

low tide

I have developed a special love for walking the tidal flats of Spanish Banks at low tide. There's something about how profoundly the landscape changes, and how the ebb and flow of the tide is simultaneously powerful and gentle. And I love the space that opens up, the vast expanse of smooth, gently ridged flatlands-- there for the walking. It's great thinking space, great breathing space.

Still, the weight in my soul is so great that even in the expanse of the tidal flats today I could not take a deep breath. I haven't been able to take a deep breath for weeks. It's been one of the most tortured months in recent memory. While I have had some moments when I feel like myself, mostly I feel like I'm made of chalk and styrofoam. And my chalk bones ache as I push and push against the veil of tears that threatens to smother me.

And yet.

And yet, in the walking and talking on the tidal flats today-- with the help and inspiration of friend and mentor, K-- I caught a glimpse of release from this prison. In the walking and the talking, in the midst of the mud and the running tide, I floundered and flailed my way into something that feels like a great insight. It's something I have only the slimmest hold on right now. I feel like my fingers have brushed the silver thread of a promising light but I haven't got a good enough grasp of the thread to pull myself closer to the light. Yet. I think I know what direction I have to reach in. It's about expectation. And grace.

I hope I can say more about this in the coming days. I thought it best to write down, to let it be known (if only to myself on future reference) that, at least, I caught a glimpse of liberty today. Maybe tomorrow I can breathe again. Or soon, anyway.

flip-flop-flap

I was doing my seawall workout this morning, being completely ignored by a gaggle of grazing Canadian geese. They were completely oblivious to my actions, true city birds, entirely unruffled by my presence. They were, however, very much in tune with their leader. The scattering of geese on the grass and upon the paved path seemed entirely random to me, but upon the signal of a single "Honk!" they took their positions as if a choreographer was directing each bird. They shuffled into formation and marched in one direction, gathering on the paved path, stepping left-right-left to another part of the recreation area, in a perfect line. One honk, and then the flip-flop-flap sound of sixty webbed feet shuffling along the sandy sidewalk. I closed my eyes to take in the sound of it. It was remarkable. Such gentle but sure purpose, wholly shared by a gaggle of thirty individuals, instigated by one word. Remarkable.

cake therapy

It's been a while since I've posted. It's been a while since I've felt like myself. That's not to say I haven't have some lovely glimmers of happiness over the last couple of weeks, but the clouds have been pretty dense and the tears very close to the surface (or burbling over) much of the time. But I'm coping and that's worth noting. And I've had some lovely positive experiences, and that's worth celebrating. Tonight I'm compelled to share how beautifully helpful it's been to be creative in a completely different realm than my work-a-day creativity. It's all about cake.

Riding on the inspiration of a dear friend, I've ventured into the wonderful world of fondant icing. My travelling companion in this fair land is the fabulously creative J, at whose side I've spent hours playing with colour and shape and texture and creating playful works of edible art. Our first venture was a fairy cake:



With fairies such as this wee star-gazer, whom we named Violet:



Then we moved on to bug/garden cupcakes, with characters like this:



Can you see how therapeutic this can be? It's play-dough for adults. There is, of course, extra pleasure in knowing what delight will rise in the eyes and appetites of the little ones for whom we make the cakes. This spring we made a Tea Party cake:



I was particularly proud of the cucumber sandwiches. Yes, that's all icing.



Last week, we branched out to serve adult (albeit playful adult) tastes with a daisy wedding anniversary cake:



All the more satisfying when it elicited this response:



But tonight's decorating venture really takes the cake. Tonight we laughed so hard at the results of our handiwork that it was abundantly clear that we were both delighted with the whimsy we were able to participate in and desperate for a laugh. First, the scene... A tranquil garden, peaceful green, playful pink...



And into this Garden of Tranquility.... Enter Felix, the Snail, the Party Dude.



In the spirit of the five year old for whose party this was created, we thought it fitting that Felix (the birthday girl simply ADORES snails) took a pre-emptive sample of the birthday cake. It was especially fun to "nibble" into the cake and affix enough buttercream icing and chocolate cake crumbs to make Felix look joyfully guilty.



"Who me? What cake?"

Laughter really is the best medicine.

beautiful absence

I had a conversation yesterday with a friend about how quickly we forget being sick once we're feeling better, how quickly we go back to taking our health for granted. I'm over the pneumonia that plagued me a few weeks ago, but I'm not saying hourly prayers of thanks for the fact that I'm no longer coughing up a lung with every other breath. Instead, I breathe in and out and don't pay much attention to the miracle that this action represents. This is less the case with depression. Though it may be because it's still lingering to some extent, I do stand in awe at the fact that it's lifted and I'm enjoying life again and I am deeply thankful for the relief, moment by moment. I'm aware of its continued presence like I might be aware of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe-- it's there, it's sticky and unpleasant, but I can still walk. I don't feel maimed by depression right now. My soul is no longer made of lead. I can breathe.

I've worked hard at beating it back. Very hard. And I've had great support from several corners. I'm thankful for the courage to fight, the tools I've been given, the tools I've earned and honed and mastered (some of the time, anyway), and the grace. Ah, yes, the grace. Gracious meals, gracious counsel, gracious TLC, gracious time, gracious space. But sneaking around the corner of all this courage and effort and grace comes the nagging fear that the black dogs of depression will come marauding at the door of my soul again, and I fear they'll come before I've had time to build up my resources for another fight.

This is how I walk with gum stuck to my shoe, with the awareness that depression is still there, always there, though not always dominant. I would prefer to live without this sticky awareness. I would prefer to fly with the wind beneath my wings rather than stumble about all gummed up and muddled by gravity. But there's an awfully good chance that I'd forget to be thankful for the moments of joy, for the moments when I'm acutely and profoundly aware of the beautiful absence of intolerable pain.

Billy's swatch

I had a distinctly lovely Truth and Beauty moment at church this morning. It was unrelated to the liturgy or sermon or readings or music or any of the usual sources of spiritual inspiration on a Sunday morning, but it was no less profound for me. It came in the form of a handmade jewel, a gem whose colour and texture and source struck me as deeply beautiful. This is the handiwork of my dear friend, Billy:



Now you think you're seeing a wee knitted swatch, but to me it's a testament to resourcefulness, dedication, creativity, and sensual pleasure. It's made of soy silk yarn, yarn which Billy spun by hand. He used fibres that are produced from tofu manufacturing waste. Tofu never looked so good! Then he died the freshly spun yarn using lime KoolAid™ and his microwave. To test his efforts, he then knitted this swatch, using the smallest knitting needles you can find (2mm, US size 0, UK size 14). The swatch is about 2.5 by 3 inches in size. For three weeks, Billy carried around this fabulous jewel of a swatch to show off to friends who- like me- appreciate such things.

It blew me away that this was:
a) tofu
b) so lovingly made entirely from scratch
c) both delicate and strong
d) soft as a baby's bottom
e) the colour of the early green of the rice paddies of Viet Nam

I don't particularly like the term "eye candy" but this may be a fitting expression for how I felt about this delicately crafted piece. It made me hungry, somehow. I wanted to be wrapped head to toe in it, to swim in the jewel green of it, to hold it and behold it without interruption. Billy was sufficiently pleased with my adulation that he offered me the swatch. Actually, I asked if I could have it. "What will you do with it?" he asked. "Put it in my prayer alcove, I think, and write about it on my Truth and Beauty blog." That clinched it. Now it's yours to enjoy as well. Treasure the little things.

tango

It was a long, rich, full day today...

I got to participate in the third birthday of one of my favourite little friends, the inimitable S. I have dozens of photos of her with the biggest, widest, roundest grin you can imagine spread across her gorgeous face. She immersed herself so fully in the event it was inspiring. Every "Happy Birthday" wish was responded to with, "Happy Birthday to you, too!" What a bright light she is.



My work was also particularly rewarding today. It occurred to me that I bring a lot of doula spirit into my photography work-- coming alongside, bringing encouragement and confidence, making connections, pouring my heart into what I do. I got to work with a lovely family today, with a lively toddler and a five-week old baby. There was some worry about how the photos may turn out given the rambunctiousness of the toddler and the various needs of the newborn. I was able to reassure them at the time, but I can hardly wait to show them how truly beautiful they were in the midst of all the apparent challenges of the day.

And, tonight, I got to tango. Yup. Tango.



I'd resolved to learn to tango many years ago, but never took the essential first steps. Recently, I found a friend interested in tango. He and I start lessons in a couple of weeks. Because of my expressed interest in lessons, I received an invitation to a "milonga" (dance) tonight. My friend couldn't make it, so I went by myself. I'd been advised to just watch as the tango isn't something you can just wing on the spot, but there were too many eager, willing, and gracious gentlemen present to leave me on the sidelines. It was wonderful. I came home hot, sweaty, and happy. I hope my smile was a bit more demure than that of my three-year old friend at her party this morning, but inside I was grinning like a fool, a very happy fool.



[I didn't look like this, but this is pretty much how I felt.]

one-a-day plus beauty

Seven ten truth-and-beauty notes for this week:

Quilting A: Playing with fabric.



I'm still loving my quilting lessons. I particularly like the "web" stage when I begin sewing all the carefully laid out pieces and they form this fabulously vivid landscape, little, regular hillocks of colour. Delightful.

Quilting B: Playing with colour.



This quilt came from a lesson where we had to pull colours out of a piece of artwork to create a geometric design. I picked the painting of a faerie garden from a card I received a decade ago and had framed for sentimental reasons. Once I got started I was dismayed that I was making, essentially, a black and green quilt, but in the end it came together. It's really growing on me now.


Airport Transfers

On Tuesday I brought the mother of a friend of mine to the airport, playing surrogate daughter for the morning. Tonight I pick up a friend who's been away for two weeks to tend to all the details surrounding the death of her mother. I love being part of the seemingly chaotic but deeply ordered web of connections that happen at airports. It's why I love how the movie "Love Actually" opens, too.

Green Things

I've been loving the little bit of garden tending that comes with the house-sitting gig I've had for the last several weeks. Growing things is good for the soul.

Ziggy

I have lost one of my greatest playmates, sweet and gleeful R who now lives on the other coast of this vast continent. But I've also gained an exhuberant friend recently in the form of Ziggy, the labradoodle dog adopted by dear friends of mine. Ziggy has the spirit of the toddler charging through his veins and watching him play is a delight through and through.

Sweet Peas

Also part of the house-sitting gig has been the pleasure of picking sweet peas. They are as sweet in fragrance as they are in visual appeal. And sweeter yet when they bring a smile to the face of the one receiving a sweet pea posie. It's been great to be able to share the floral bounty.



Space

Tomorrow I will return to my little West End nest which I hope to love again as I remember loving, once upon a time. It's been delicious to have a beautiful five-bedroom house to call home for the last weeks. It took no time at all to get used to the spacious hallways, landings, skylights, gardens, the dining (=sewing) room, etc. My whole apartment is about the size of the kitchen of this house. May I be as truly thankful for my own little space as I've been for the fabulous big space so graciously provided when I needed room to breathe.

rain

I love the rain. Sure, in Vancouver there have been times when even I'll admit a break would be nice after forty days and forty nights of rain, but for the most part you won't hear me complain about the rain. The day started grey and drizzly today, but it cleared in the afternoon and was beautifully sunny when I went out for dinner with friends. It was highly unexpected, then, to hear the rain pattering against the skylight this evening-- steady, strong, nourishing. The sound of rain against windows is a heavenly lullaby to me. I hope it's still raining when I crawl under the covers tonight.

of life and berry picking

I went blackberry picking today.

The best part of it was the company I had with me: three magnificent kids who were so thrilled about the activity-- about the berry picking and berry eating and about the horses riding by, and about the boats and the log booms and the waves on the Fraser River-- that the afternoon was punctuated by their repeated shrieks of joy and sheer excitement. Even the size, colour, and quantity of horse manure was exciting to them. Berry stained fingers and purple tongues and glee. What fun!

Then there's the taste of sun-warmed berry juice exploding from the plump lobes of the ripest, roundest blackberries. It's hard to describe that flavour. Impossible to reproduce. It's the taste of August and summer and deep purple sunshine.

And then, along the lines of "the moral of the story is...", is the realization that for the satisfaction of the taste of those sun-warmed, plump, juicy berries, one has to risk being torn to shreds by the unforgiving ever-so-protective thorns of the blackberry brambles upon which these juicy treats grow. And the ripest, plumpest berries are always the ones just out of reach-- the ones you have to lean into the brambles for, reaching so high that bramble thorns press into your arms and legs, drawing sacrificial blood. You have to really want to taste sweetness to go for those berries, to lean in, to reach, to risk the wounds.

"I've almost got it! Have your bucket ready, N," I say.

"But you're BLEEDING!" she cries

"I may be bleeding, but I've got the best berry yet!"

"Mommy, she's BLEEDING."

"I won't be deterred. Do you know the word deterred?"

"No."

"I may be bleeding, but it's not going to stop me from going for the best berries."

As in blackberry picking, so also in life. May I always reach for the best and be undeterred by the thorny and painful complications that hinder my reach.

backyard picnics

Today's truth and beauty gold star goes to the P family and the Backyard Picnic. In the company of good friends, with hotdogs with all the trimmings, grilled corn-on-the-cob with lime & spice rub, tomato-basil salad, and a shared bottle of Joie rosé, it's a little taste of heaven. I don't think it would have been quite as delicious without the unabashed joy expressed by the P children. The only camera I had with me this evening was on my laptop-- but I hope these pix give a bit of a glimpse of a lovely evening.









The evening ended with a goodbye giggle from wee E. Her mom asked the baby, still giggling, "Are you helping Moaike get her joie tank filled?" You betcha.

hugs

I should have blogged yesterday. I've let myself off the hook with regard to publishing something EVERY day this summer, though I still try to be mindful of moments of truth and beauty daily. Yesterday started with the messy and uncomfortable sensations of depression-- feeling like my bones are made of styrofoam and every synapse under the surface of my skin is pulling me under the veil of tears. It's a shitty feeling. Time to pull out the big guns. I went on a mission to collect hugs. You can't always count on finding someone on a street corner on a FREE HUGS campaign (if you don't know about the campaign, go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4) so sometimes you have to take things into your own hands, or arms as the case may be. It's times like these that I'm deeply, deeply thankful for the kids in my life. They give the most exuberant hugs. I found most of the M family in the park near Trout Lake and when G saw me, even before I'd stated my mission, he called out my name and came running into my arms. Sweetness. The other children willingly wrapped their arms about me, their mother gave me not only a hug, but a plum freshly picked from the tree in their yard. Again, sweetness. By the end of the day, I'd gathered my arms around three more hugs, one brief baby cuddle and a series of enthusiastic, doggy licks from a large, slobbery dog. The therapeutic value of such signs of affection is enormous.

flying

I discovered a new tool for staying in the present moment: kite flying.

I flew a kite for the first time with the M family a few months ago, which was a great introduction, but today I flew a huge kite with two lines. The friend who taught me was very patient as I learned how responsive the kite was to pulling on and releasing the tethers. We went to the tidal flats off the Spanish Banks at low tide and flew the kite over the shallow water-- as far away as we could get from the waders also enjoying the beach, to reduce the chance of me maiming anyone with my spectacularly torpedo-like crashes. My friend, R, graciously fetched the kite from the water every time I sent it hurtling into the sea. He taught me to fly with my body rather than with my eyes, really FEELING the wind pull on the left and right wings of the kite, rather than responding to what I saw (by which time it's often too late). It took my full attention. What a sweet, spiritual discipline it was, to think of nothing but the force of the wind and the sensation of flying. It was grand.

sharing

It was good, today, to talk with the friends who'd moved away, to share in the time of transition they're in, to hear their voices, to know that while much is very, very different, some things are the same.

It was good, today, to meet with a small group of my peers, to share ideas for business success, to support and encourage one another, to share the load.

It was good, today, to share time with a friend who needed support and encouragement to make some personal shopping decisions. "This is just what I needed, someone to help me decide." It was good to see confidence blossom.

It was good, today, to pray for a friend struggling with a mystery illness, and to pray for his family struggling in their own way with this scary unknown. Praying is many things, but it certainly a tool of connection, a way of sharing with others the joys and sorrows of life's journey.

It was good, today, to share.

moonlight and memory

With the rain of the last several days, I've missed seeing the moon. Tonight she is bright in the sky, a gently gilded milky moon. I always take a bit of comfort from the fact that this same moon shone down over my faraway friends and family to the east this very night, and will continue on her course until she's embraced the whole of the planet. It makes the world feel a more comprehensible size. It puts to mind all that we share here on this big, blue marble. I love that moonlight belongs to no one and everyone. It's a beautiful thing.

I love the timelessness of moonlight, I love the 'sameness' of this moon. She is every bit the same moon tonight as she was thirty years ago when my mother and I gave in to her invitation to bask in the moonlight, when we exchanged pyjamas for swimming suits late one hot summer's night. What an invitation that can be, all silent and silver, when she spills her abundance of light over the midnight waters of the St. Lawrence! She crafts a shimmering, shifting mosaic, a band of light puckered and rippled and cut like diamonds by the velvet black of the waves. What a glorious feeling it is, to pull one's arms through the water and the light. Yes. It's a beautiful thing.

false positive

I had the last test today to confirm that the positive mammogram result I got last month was a false positive. The ultrasound technician was very reassuring and there will be a good report from the radiologist in a day or two.

We put together our tests for breast cancer in order to detect the disease at its most treatable, early stages. It's valuable information, so women subject themselves to the painful poking and prodding, hoping to find relief from the terrifying "what if" of breast cancer. There's a high rate of false positives in the basic screening, so every positive result is examined carefully, scrutinized from every angle, subjected to analysis beside other, more sophisticated tests. The doctors and radiologists and technicians are obliged to assume the worst and seek the best-- this is the motivation for the investigation. "We must be very, very sure," they say.

I looked at the statistics and told myself it was likely a false positive. I couldn't entirely shake off the possibility, but it loomed fairly distantly most of the time. The morning of that first "we must be very, very sure" test, it occured to me in a BIG way that I might not be on the lucky side of the statistics. The "what if" of cancer took on a lot of very scary implications. Some weeks and four tests later, everyone is satisfied that the mass they suspected is not a mass at all. I do not have breast cancer. They're sure that it's now time for good news.

Thinking about the "false positive" thing tonight, I found myself wishing there were a test for the other falsely assumed facts in my life. What if it were possible to nip in the bud every hurtful lie that ever entered my mind, dismissing it before it takes hold and feels like fact, like "the way it is"? How grand it would be if I could identify every unfounded pseudo-fact that ever felt like truth, if I could plainly see-- like a dark shadow on an x-ray-- every lie that has ever undermined my health or confidence. What if I could name it, expose it, and then boldly declare, "This is a false positive! You were so damn sure that this was true, but it's NOT!"? How many false assumptions would crumble to dust?

May I have the diligence and wisdom to ferret out the truth, to scrutinize and chuck the lies. May I be very, very sure.

thrive

Many months ago, I embraced the word "thrive" as my watch word, my theme for the year. If anyone asked me to sum up my life's desire in one word, right now that would be the word.

I've spent more time striving than thriving lately-- striving against the grief and depression that undermine even the slimmest sense of thriving. The thing is, there's no other way to move toward thriving except by effort. It just may be that striving and thriving are one in the same thing. It might be that the surest sign of a thriving life is the very presence of striving.

Thriving doesn't mean resting on your laurels or snoozing in the lap of abundance. Thriving is active, dynamic, vivid, energetic. It's about aiming high and moving forward. And who's to say that the underground, covered-in-muck, broken and cracked efforts of the tiniest seed, sprouting forth and seeking light isn't every bit as strong an indication of a vigourous existence than the later, showier signs of leaves, blossoms, or fruit.

So, I'm going to make an effort to reframe my "striving", to think of it a foundational thriving. I'm going to try to give myself more credit for my dimly lit, underground efforts to break through the muck. I'm not basking in the sunshine yet, but I'm heading in the right direction.

eleven things

Things I appreciated today:

1. Cotton sheets.
2. Strong coffee, homemade muffins.
3. Clean guinea pig cage, happy guinea pig.
4. The comfort of friendship, honest conversation, shared wonder at opportunities, shared fear of the unknown.
5. Knowing I'm not the only one who's scared and lonely sometimes.
6. Customer Service that doesn't frustrate or infuriate, but which actually serves.
7. Rio Grande lasagne, lovingly made, lovingly shared, joyously consumed.
9. Having choices.
10. Tears.

Why tears? Because sometimes the best option is just to let the tears fall. Better yet if you have enough presence of mind to dare to hope that with the tears falls a measure of the sorrow.

11. Daring to hope.

rain

After weeks of delicous, unrelenting sunshine, the last couple of days have been rainy. Yesterday, the sun broke through in the late afternoon, but today it was well and truly grey all day. I was so thankful for the rain. Under doctor's orders to rest, it was easier to do so on a grey, quiet day, with the sound of rainfall like a lullaby echoing through my day.

rest

If you know, deep down, that the thing you need to do, the thing you most need to make a priority, is to rest, just do it. Rest. I've been giving my need to slow things down lip service lately, but my days are as full and I've not been getting any extra time with my feet up. Today, I was diagnosed with pneumonia. Now I HAVE to slow down. I think it would have been better to slow down without the pneumonia bonus.

salmon love

I was embraced today. It was not an ordinary hug (though I'm all in favour of such embraces as well) this was a nurturing, caring, practical, yummy embrace of several meals and an abundance of treats. W&J showed up at my door tonight not only with a fabulous bbq salmon dinner for us to share, but also with burrito fixings, two meals of chili, cheese, prociutto, apricot-hazlenut bars, hobnob cookies, avocado-black bean dip, tortilla chips, and a big box of fresh vegetables. This is motherlove-- the sort of thing my mother would do for her worn out daughter if she had the chance. I guess it would be more aptly named "otherlove" in this case, and how deeply thankful I am for the top notch others in my life. Greater even than their culinary generosity is the assurance that these friends heard my grief, understood my depression, and knew how to undergird the friend who is far more comfortable on the other side of the giving equation. They are so good to me.

sweet peas, grace and Jane Austen

While I do not feel much further along on the journey of recovery from loss, I must be making some progress as the impulse to blog feels stronger today. There are, after all, moments of truth and beauty that should not go unnoted.

I am staying in a spacious home, and there are gardens. Yesterday, I picked sweet peas and lavender and I made two darling pink and purple posies, for me. Tomorrow I may pick lettuce and raspberries.

This morning, I knelt at the healing alter in my church and a friend laid his hands firmly on my shoulders and prayed for grace. He used a lot of words, but I was a bit like the dog, Ginger, in the Far Side cartoon whose owner is talking to her eloquently but all the dog hears is, "Blah, blah, blah, Ginger... Blah, blah, blah, Ginger. There I knelt, dumbfounded by grief, and all I could hear was, "Blah, blah, blah, GRACE... Blah, blah, blah.... GRACE."

This afternoon, I read Jane Austen for four hours straight, stopping only for tea and crackers with mango and ginger stilton.

dis/place

I have been distinctly out of sorts for some time now. So much for daily entries on the "Truth and Beauty" front. There have been many, many tears. One of the more dominant feelings is that of displacement. I feel like I've lost an anchor, lost my moorings, and the seas are stormy.

It was a good day to get a love letter. It's from my Tante Geb, from Holland. Ironically, it was sent to my old address, so the person who most encouraged me today in the ways of love doesn't even know my current address. Some impulse (thanks be to God) led the tenant at my old apartment to see if I had another local address. She found me on the internet and called. I picked up the letter tonight. It's in Dutch and in the ever so tidy but not entirely legible handwriting of an eighty-five year old, so I can't decipher everything, but the gist of it is that she loved my contribution to her memory book (which she cannot read with dry eyes) and she loves me. More specifically, (rough translation) "Darling Sandra, I hope you know that there is always a place for you here." It felt so, so good to read that today. I may not know what I'm doing, who I am or where I'm going, but someone loves me anyway. And if I really need to get away from it all, I will be welcomed with open arms, by my magnificent great aunt, on the other side of the planet. I know there are other people who love me, people who'd take me in and care for me, but the out-of-the-blue-ness of my aunt's letter feels special somehow. I needed that kind of special today.

epitome? me?

I stayed up late last night (early this morning) preparing a DVD slideshow for the students I worked with in West Vancouver, my Living Inquiry students. I wanted to give them something lasting to remember this year's work so I burned a DVD for each student. Burning twenty-five DVDs might seem a tedious task, but it wasn't really that bad-- it was a chance to spend a bit more time with each wonderful child, thinking of the pleasure they'd take in watching the disk now or ten years from now. It was fun to wonder what would become of each one, imagining how Living Inquiry had influenced their view of the world. I did not expect that I'd come home today with twenty-five Living Inquiry mementos of my own...

It was the "wrap session" for the year, the last hour of school for the class, many of whom will move on to high school next fall. It was pretty emotional. We watched the slideshow together and congratulated eachother on our Living Inquiry work. Then everyone had a chance to talk about how they felt about the year coming to a close. Living Inquiry came up as a favourite for a lot of the kids. How rewarding! After the talking stick had made its way around the sharing circle, I was presented with a thank-you card (most of them handmade) from each student, and a Spa Utopia gift certificate. I'm sure I'll enjoy the spa, but the many positive comments the students made in their cards are, by far, the richer gift:

"Living Inquiry has been the best school experience so far this year. I don't think I did anything more meaningful, fun, or peaceful this year."

"When I met with you to look over my work, your questions and comments pushed my creativity level and made my work a lot more meaningful and original."

"Living Inquiry has probably been one of the things that made me realize my actions, and how dumb and unthoughtful they can be. I know you're not the main teacher, but you've proven that the most reflective thing can make a difference."

"You are a big inspiration to me and my peers. I admire your passion towards us (as students) and your thoughts and wonders about our world that we are living in each and every day. I really hope that I get to enjoy this course with you next year and be surrounded with your great energy once again."

"You have changed me. You have changed us. With your passion, your curiosity, your wisdom, you are the epitome of Living Inquiry. And I will always remember. Always."


For someone who's been feeling rather like the epitome of basket cases lately, this was all mighty encouraging.

Enough?

It was a tough day, but I managed to enjoy the promise and pride of a class of Grade Seven students on the occasion of their official promotion to high school at their graduation ceremony today. I also pulled it together enough to enjoy an outdoor prenatal photo session with a new client, in the lush greenery of the Baden-Powell Trail today. And I enjoyed another (perhaps the last?) round of hide-and-seek with my beloved R and E.

I'm not doing well at bashing through the Wall of Dread to let the memory of California sunshine flood into the stresses and griefs I found waiting for me upon my return. Still, I'll keep trying.

enough

Today was my last full day away. We (C, G, and I) drove down the coast to Carmel, spent a few hours at the beach in Los Lobos National Park, took a mini-hike in the same park, and then went to Monterey for dinner at an all-American diner complete with stars-and-stripes flag toothpicks. It was a great day, with loads of fresh air and sunshine, great company, and time to play. I was barefoot on the beach, walking in the surf, feeling the wind against my skin. Perfect.

I'm particularly proud of myself for beating back end-of-holiday dread this morning. This is the dread that often shortens my holidays by a full day or two. I woke up this morning feeling anxious about all that faces me when I get back, all that I've put on hold for the last week and a half, the to-do list I have to launch into. The analogy that comes to mind is the oft repeated scene in the old TV series, 'Get Smart', when Agent 99 and Agent 86 get caught in a room that, like a giant trash compactor, slowly but determinedly closes in on them. This morning I felt that wall coming closer and closer, threatening to crush the potential pleasure of my last day here under the weight of the work and obligations and responsibilities that wait for me. I decided it was time for a major effort to embrace the Sacrament of the Present Moment, and stay in California today rather than wander the dark, worry-rideen corridors of my mind and miss out on all the great scenery. Thanks be to God, I did it. Like I said, it was a great day.

On the drive home, having watched the sun set over the velvet hills of Northern California, feeling the effects of all that fresh air and sunshine, and enjoying a conversation with my friend of many years, we ended up talking about how I'm not really ready to go home and she's not really ready for me to go. We decided this was the best way for it to be-- certainly better than either of us feeling like I'd overstayed my welcome. Earlier in the drive, we'd talked a bit about Spark Guy and how, even if things never really develop for me in that relationship, it is somehow enough to know that there are guys out there that I can still connect with at that level. In the same way, even though I have to end this vacation far sooner than I'd like, even though I don't feel fully restored and ready to take on the world again, it's somehow enough to have had this fabulous interlude. My time here has been a reminder of what it feels like to not rush about, to savour a relaxed hour, to not be the one making all the decisions, to skip the endless "to do" lists for a little while. More would be good. More would be great. But knowing that I had this time, with this friend, in this place, is also enough to keep me going for a while.

I'm going to press back that wall of dread. I want to bash a sledgehammer through that wall and let some of this relaxation and delicious pause seep into my post-holiday life. I'm adding this to the goals of building a buffer zone, finding time for writing, and being round again. Who knows? I pushed the wall of dread back today. Maybe I can do it tomorrow, too. I really only have to push it back one moment at a time. That's enough.

the eyes of the heart

"Our whole business in this life," wrote Saint Augustine, "is to restore to health the eye of the heart whereby God may be seen."

That's all for tonight. It's enough, don't you think?

the valley of the heart's delight

Before Silicon Valley was known as Silicon Valley, it was known as the Valley of the Heart's Delight. It was a reference to the agricultural abundance of the area. The region bears the fruits of another kind of abundance now, but it still has heart. I've had the privilege of seeing some of its heart in the Charles Street Community Gardens lately-- neighbours helping neighbours, everyone coming together around the joys and challenges of organic gardening in the city. C and I spent most of the day today in the gardens, transforming an ordinary, grey garden shed into a testament to the area's past and the community garden's present. Using the label graphics of vintage produce crates as our guide, we're painting enourmous fruits and vegetables on all sides of the shed, top to bottom. It's a big task and we're both pretty excited about it. It's a small, personal contribution to the greening of the city, bringing a little more "heart's delight" to the Valley. I'm trusting some of the bright delight will rub off on me. At the very least, I came to the end of the day today tired, hungry, happy, and covered with daubs and splatters of every colour under the sun.

[I hope to post a photo of the finished product when we're done.]

map node

You know how there are good kinds of tired? Like when you've done a hard day of physical labour and you know you've given your all, for example. I was reminded today of another good kind of tired that doesn't involve physical labour at all. It's the kind of tired you get when you've been on a road trip... It's a hot day, so the windows are down and your hair blows around like crazy and you feel like putting your feet up on the dashboard, just because you can. You're with a good friend that you don't get to see much and it's just the two of you and you talk and talk and talk, over the sound of the wind whipping around in the car. And the dry, rugged hills of Northern California flash by as you adjust your visor to block the sun which seems to dance around you as the road twists and turns. And you play with the air vents to get the cooler air to your hot spots, just so. You pull over to take photos of the feeble little clusters of baby grapes that will one day be served up as wine in pretentious tasting rooms, and the whole things seems simultaneously simple and ludicrous. You stop for lunch at a fabulous little restaurant where you get to sit under enormous canvas umbrellas and feel the breeze come up the Napa Valley to cool your body, just right, like God's directing the air vents just for you. And you eat yummy food and drink Pinot Blanc and laugh when the wind whips the linen napkin off your lap, and smile when the handsome waiter brings another napkin almost before the first one hits the ground. And you're full of good things, like memories and dreams and friendship and grilled asparagus and prociutto. And your friend is also relaxed and full and tired-- which is a feeling more intoxicating than the single glass of Pinot Blanc consumed with lunch-- so relaxed that her tongue trips a bit and the 'm' and the 'n' change places so that she declares she's in map node, not nap mode and you both laugh like it's the funniest thing you've ever heard. Yup. That's a good kind of tired.

glimmers

I did not have to rush today. Sure there were things to do, and even trains to catch, but there was lots of time. I think that was the most beautiful thing about today: Not only was there enough time, but I was aware that there was enough time. I strolled. Walking determinedly (my usual M.O.) gets me places, but strolling is a far more luxuriant way to go.

If that were not lovely enough, I also met a fine man today, a good man, a lovely man. My friend, C, recommended I meet with her friend, Scott, to converse about our mutual dating experience. The goal was to spark anew my writing fervour, to get back on track with the novel that's been sitting on the back burner for almost a year now. Mission accomplished. My fingers are fairly itching to get back to it. This is as much because Scott shared helpful male insight and some great material as because we also talked frankly and passionately about following dreams and pursuing our passions. He helped me remember that I loved writing and love writing still and I feel motivated to make sure that becomes part of my working routines. Like building the buffer zone and carving off the edges, I'm not entirely sure how I'll add writing time, but it's still a worthy goal. It would be most honest to add that I left the meeting with Scott enthusiastic about getting back to my writing, and also a little sad that Scott is not currently single. He really is lovely.

I also finished reading the Italy section of Eat, Pray, Love. Elizabeth Gilbert gained twenty-three pounds enjoying Italy, so you can guess there was a lot of food prose to enjoy. This is part of her concluding comments on the Italian portion of the tale:

"It was in a bathtub back in New York, reading Italian words aloud from a dictionary, that I first started mending my soul. My life had gone to bits and I was so unrecognizable to myself that I probably couldn't have picked me out of a police lineup. But I felt a glimmer of happiness when I started studying Italian, and when you sense a faint potentiality for happiness after such dark times you must grab onto the ankles of that happiness and not let go until it drags you face-first out of the dirt-- this is not selfishness, but obligation. You were given life; it is your duty (and also your entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight."

Seek truth. Seek beauty.

of Italy and feeling round

I started a book today, at the recommendation of the friend I'm visiting. It's "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. I'd picked it up a couple of months ago at Book Warehouse, but put it back on the shelf in favour of something else which appealed more at the time. But now Eat, Pray, Love is in my hands again and I'm getting into it.

First of all, spending part of a lazy Sunday afternoon, on holidays, taking time to read for pleasure feels great. It's just icing on the cake if the book is also enjoyable, which this is proving to be, so far. The first clue that I'd like the writer and her writing comes in the Introduction where she writes, "Looking for Truth is not some kind of spazzy free-for-all, not even during this, the great age of the spazzy free-for-all." Excellent point, not high-brow, but casually eloquent all the same. The next clue that this is right up my alley lies in the fact that the first third of the book takes place largely in Italy. Elizabeth Gilbert writes about her experience of living there for four months, which she does because she's "drawn to the idea of living for a while in a culture where pleasure and beauty are revered." It's taking me and my imagination back to my time in Italy in 2004. That was a truly delicious time in so many ways. I came back from that holiday feeling "round"-- I felt like my crazy edges had fallen off, I felt full, ripe, lovely. Could the memory of a fabulous holiday, mediated by the writing of a kindred spirit also seeking Truth, have the same effect on my weary soul? It can't hurt.

I'll get back to my reading now, but will leave you with this little tidbit. It's the concluding sentence in a short chapter on God: "In the end, what I have come to believe about God is simple. It's like this-- I used to have this really great dog. She came from the pound. She was a mixture of about ten different breeds, but seemed to have inherited the finest features of them all. She was brown. When people asked me 'What kind of dog is that?' I would always give the same answer: 'She's a brown dog.' Similarly, when the question is raised, 'What kind of God do you believe in?' my answer is easy: 'I believe in a magnificent God.'"

lighten up

I don't feel any closer to figuring out how to build in an appropriate buffer zone between me and the edge of sanity, but I was reminded today of a lesson I learned long ago. In the intense and soul-wrenching search for a meaningful path of peace through the chaos of life, it's very important to not take oneself too seriously. The motto, Seek Truth got me much of the way through the throes of depression, but I wouldn't have made it all the way out of the pit in any meaningful way without adding a second motto: Lighten up.

I've had the privilege of hanging out quite a bit with a delightful almost-six year old over the last couple of days. The delightfulness of this small human being is shattered from time to time with what is usually referred to as "melt-downs"-- moments when she rails against the world as only a child can, with a gusto that seems to summon the angst (and volume) of a thousand wronged opera stars in the throes of badly-acted death scenes. It's big, dramatic, heartfelt, and hard to watch. It's particularly hard to watch because all you really want to say is, "Chill, kid. This is really not that big a deal." But to the child in the maelstrom of a bona fide melt-down,it IS that big a deal. Never mind that it's all about a banana served in pieces instead of served whole, or the difference between brushing teeth with the Dora toothbrush instead of the Shrek toothbrush. Clearly, taking things too seriously can really take a toll-- on yourself and on others.

So, I'm going to try to embrace "lighten up" more diligently in the coming days. I think it might be important for The Greening.

P.S. In the interest of lightening up, please take a moment to visit www.wierdconverter.com, if only to discover just how much Jennifer Aniston weighs in spider monkeys instead of pounds. I know that's more about not taking Jennifer Aniston seriously than it is about not taking yourself too seriously, but do it anyway.

the greening

Everyone needs to take a step back once in a while-- to gain a fresh perspective, to pull one's rubber boots out of the sucking mud and walk for a while on solid ground. It's important to be able to do this on a regular basis, amidst the quotidian demands we all have to deal with, by taking a walk, carving out an hour to journal, meeting a trusted friend to debrief. But I've found that when things are particularly mucky, it's useful (maybe even necessary) to involve ferries or planes in the "stepping back" process. By God's good grace I planned a trip to California long before I guessed I'd need that kind of a step back. Having been more than a little neglectful in posting daily of late, I will make an effort to do this again, to keep myself focused on what I hope will be a greening process or sorts.

Entry One:

On the morning of the day I flew to California, I took the time to walk the tidal flats with a wise friend. It was a particularly low tide (lowest at 11:11) and it's something we do together when we can. Over the course of our mud flats conversation, I had a revelation: It's not enough to cope, you have to build in a buffer. Let me try to explain.

In the early spring, I was coasting along with a demanding work schedule, but still felt reasonably confident about adding the demands of dating to the mix. I felt good about it for the most part, and was congratulating myself on being able to cope with the mental, physical and emotional demands of it all. I was swimming along, treading water at times, keeping my head above water in the swimming pool of my own choices. Hah! I was unknowingly suffering under the illusion of control. I had fabricated a swimming pool reality for myself, forgetting that I live in a great big ocean, where I control neither the tides nor the winds nor the waves. So, when the circumstances of grief and loss rose up around me unexpectedly, it wasn't enough that I was capable of keeping my head above water in the swimming pool of my delusion, telling my self, "I'm an excellent swimmer." I'm like Dustin Hoffman's Rainman, having never driven beyond the confines of his own driveway, telling his brother, "I'm an excellent driver." Tragedy makes the best comedy. Alas.

Only the fool (that's me!) believes that life is fair. While I don't think we should live in a constant state of paranoia, it's hardly appropriate to foster the illusion that life won't propel us into the pull of a random rip tide from time to time. It's what you don't expect that will kill you. The child's cry of "It's not fair!" doesn't hold any weight in the adult world. "Right, it's not fair. Deal with it." This is where the buffer comes in.

I'm going to leave behind the swimming/ocean analogy. Stand with me on the cliff overlooking the sea. The view is spectacular. The wind is coming up strong from the sea and it holds you up so that you can lean into it and feel supported and strong. It's invigorating, standing so close to the edge. Suddenly the there's a random gust of wind from the other direction. It's unexpected, except for the fact that it's the very thing that happens in that sort of setting. Get it? You'd better not be standing too close to the edge or you'd be tumbling into the rocks below. Better to be slammed down on the cliff top, belly down but with solid ground beneath you, where you can still take in the view and live to tell about that nasty gust of wind.

So. On to the question of what that buffer looks like in the real world. I've spent a lot of time living at the edge. It's practically comfortable. It's certainly familiar. I like being able to congratulate myself for living at the edge and not tumbling off into the abyss. I feel somewhat heroic about that at times. What does someone like me have to do to build in a buffer?