slick

I feel pretty darn resourceful just now. I wanted a martini but lacked both the will to go out for one and the means to make one. I had all the ingredients, but no shaker. In a moment of sheer inspiration (inspired by desperation, but inspired all the same), I leapt upon the idea that my travel coffee mug might do the trick. It did, indeed, do the trick. One shot of lemon vodka, the juice of one lemon, two teaspoons of sugar, six icecubes and some serious shaking later, I'm sipping a refreshing little taste of summer. Mmmm. Wait a minute! I just realized I forgot to add the Triple Sec. I might just have to make another one...

P.S. No, I did not drink it out of the travel mug.

storm

I was in or near tears most of the day today. It was a day that made me think about the essay I refer to in my side bar, Frederick Buechner's "Sprig of Hope" in The Hungering Dark. It's an essay that confirmed my soul's hunch at a time that the hunch needed confirming, at a pivotal time in my recovery from depression. The hunch? It's a sick world and life can be pretty miserable, chaotic, harsh, and very much NOT how it was meant to be and... there has to be hope.

The essay presents the story of Noah's Ark and not in any sillied up Sunday School version with matching plastic animals in primary colours and a cute plastic boat. No, it's about the world being corrupt, "filled with violence and pain and unlove." It's a story about overwhelming floods. "The waters came scudding in over forest and field, sliding in across kitchen floors and down cellar stairs, rising high about television aerials and the steeples of churches, and death was everywhere as death is always everywhere, men trapped alone as they are always trapped, always alone, in office or locker room, bedroom or bar, men grasping out for something solid and sure to keep themselves from drowning. Maybe the chaos was no greater than it has ever been. Only wetter."

And there they are on the ark, which, told in timeless terms, speaks of the reality that we're "all of us outward bound on a voyage for parts unknown." It's scary, but you're not alone in the middle of all that water and chaos and death. Even on the days, like today, when the pain that oozes from the chaos and evil is like water tipping over the gunwales of my own ark and I can't seem to bail fast enough.

And there's the dove and that freshly plucked olive leaf. "The dove stands there with her delicate, scarlet feet on the calluses of his upturned palm. His cheek just touches her breast so that he can feel the tiny panic of her heart. His eyes are closed, the lashes watery wet. One what he weeps with now is no longer anguish but wild and irrepresible hope. That is not the end of the story in Genesis, but maybe that is the end of it for most of us-- just a little sprig of hope help up against the end of the world." And the dove is me, breathless and worn out, looking for signs of life.

The evidence of the corruption of this world and the violence and evil that people perpetuate against people-- against their very sons and daughters, against brothers and sisters, against children and the vulnerable in society-- that evidence was piled high and deep around me today. The world is not as it was meant to be. And it makes me feel angry and sad and discouraged and powerless. And in the middle of all my anger and grief, another bit of evidence comes to light. It's the voice of one who bears the scars of the violence and the wrong-ness of this world and, miraculously, her voice speaks words of grace and courage. And who am I to rage against the waters when she who has been so deeply wronged has built a sturdy ark and is voyaging to her own "places unknown" with a grace I can only hope to share?

The last word from Buechner: "We must build our arks with love and ride out the storm with courage and know that the little sprig of green in the dove's mouth betokens a reality beyond the storm more precious than the likes of us can imagine."

Forgive me the long ramble. I just needed a reminder of all that.

show-n-tell

[If you click on the image, a larger version of the invitation will appear.]

safe

I get to come home to a safe place at night. I drive on (relatively) safe streets. I walk alone in my city-- morning, noon, and night-- and feel safe. I drink tapwater. I have access to an abundance of safe food. I know that there is always the possibility that someone or something will jeopardize my safety, but the risks are pretty slim in this part of the city, this part of the country, this part of the planet. I did nothing to deserve this. It's the least I can do to be aware and thankful.

salsa

First, a reminder to my blog readers that though I manage to post about something true and beautiful most every day, I'm still wading through a mountain of crap a lot of the time. Do assume that taking the time to set my focus on that which is lovely helps me stay sane. Do not assume I'm sane all day, every day-- not by any stretch of the imagination. I think that a reminder of the context, the I'm-still-walking-the-edge-a-lot-of-the-time context, might put more of a shine on today's two bright moments-- moments that might otherwise appear dull beyond belief.

Today's great moments: doing my dishes and making salsa. Clearing my kitchen of dirty dishes felt inordinately satisfying today given that I'd not managed my daily discipline of clearing the sink for a few days. Making salsa felt inordinately satisfying because I have been feeling like I've been badly neglecting self-care on the home front (see dishes note, above) but discovered that I happened to have all the ingredients on hand to make a kick-ass salsa. I'd gotten an impromptu burrito dinner invitation and was asked to bring salsa. Not only were my friends impressed with what I pulled together, but I got a little reminder that I'm not as far off my rocker as I'd thought. I mean, really, how bad can it be when you can outdo even Martha Stewart (so say my friends) with a mean home-made salsa?

stuck

I had a four hour photo shoot today, of a three year old's birthday party. I don't cover a lot of kid's parties professionally, but I've been there for every birthday party this little girl has ever had. I took pictures of her the day she was born and at a few other points in her young life. This year they'd originally planned the party for a date that I was unavailable, so they switched the date. I could say that this is flattering, but it's more than that. These are people who put their confidence in me four years ago, when I wasn't even sure I could call myself a professional photographer. They have photos that I've taken hanging throughout their house, in the homes of friends and family, and on their screensavers. They count on me to capture the story of their little girl's growth. When I left this afternoon, the mother said, "You know you're stuck with us, right?!" It's an honour.

sweet solitude

I had a second meeting today with a man I hope never to see again. Our time together was brief, marked by anxiety and a feeling of overwhelm. When he parted this morning, I felt confident and joyous about sleeping alone tonight. The guy? Sammy, the Orkin Pest Control inspector. Alone? His inspection of my bedroom uncovered no bedbugs. Hallelujah! No dead bugs, no live bugs, no bugs. What sweet news it was! Of course, he couldn't guarantee that there aren't beasties in the walls waiting for another party, but I'm resting on the effectiveness of the diotomaceous earth which I have dusted in every nook and cranny of the room. I'm looking forward to crawling under the covers tonight without so much as a phantom bedbug for company.

satisfaction

The feeling of satisfaction is lovely. Today I went to my photo lab with an order for eight hundred and twenty four prints. For one customer. No kidding! Clearly they were very satisfied with what I did for them as their photographer. This, in turn, is very satisfying for me. Win, win.

lamb stew

I made the most delicious stew today. I prepared it lovingly for my friend Ian who was celebrating his birthday with a potluck supper for friends. It got rave reviews at the party and was quite easy to prepare. You'll find the recipe at http://www.foodtv.ca/recipes/recipedetails.aspx?dishid=3015.



I used half as much lamb as the recipe indicated, but the flavour was so rich, I think the meat-to-vegetable proportion was perfect. I took the meat off the bones after 1.5 hours in the oven, chopped it, and mixed it in with the vegetables for the rest of the roasting time. It roasted for 1.5 hours at 350 degrees and another hour at 250 degrees. Other variations: I added a chopped sweet potato, used half tinned and half fresh tomatoes, used a bit of rice wine vinegar instead of wine, and sprinkled crumbled feta cheese and fresh basil on top and put it under the broiler for a few minutes before serving. I served it with wholewheat couscous. It was perfect. I think the ingredient that made it particularly perfect was the finely chopped fresh rosemary. Thank you, Jamie Oliver!

hockey pants of the heart

Spend some time with me and eventually you'll hear me blurt out what's become my personal motto: Aim high, fall hard. I usually say it half-jokingly, but it's too true to laugh off entirely. It's my modus operandi. I think, muse, calculate, ponder, and evaluate, set my sights and then, LEAP! I decide on a lofty goal and give it my best, my all. Sometimes I am rewarded with great joy-- like when I land the jump and find my risk-taking rewarded with, for example, a great vocation-- and sometimes the reward is just painful.

I'm trying to break this aim-high-fall-hard M.O. in the dating realm, an area where the reward is, more often than not, a broken heart. Years ago my dear friend, J, cautioned me to wear "the hockey pants of the heart." I'd just learned how to snowboard with the benefit of extra-padding in the hockey pants I wore over my snow pants. J drew my attention to the potential benefit of such 'padding' in matters of the heart. The advice is several years old, but I think I might finally be getting the hang of it. Today, in a conversation I did NOT initiate, a guy I've seen a few times in the last month (Spark Guy) wanted to talk about expectations, to make sure we were on the same page. We were. We're seeing other people, taking it slow, getting to know one another, not rushing into anything. It was oddly satisfying to find that I'd managed to keep my heart from leaping head over heels in spite of the great attraction. I'm a bit proud of myself, actually. And yet...

Is it possible that by ditching "aim high, fall hard" I might not be aiming high enough? In my desire to give up the roller coaster ride-- the euphoria and the crash, the butterflies and the tears, the romance and the heartache-- am I settling? Dare I hope that I can someday have my feet planted firmly on the ground AND have my head in the clouds?

Good questions. For the moment, though, I think I want to bask in the satisfaction of the serious, heartfelt, honest, tender and strangely non-emotional conversation I had today with Spark Guy. We'd just spent over two hours walking and running and playing on the tidal flats at the Spanish Banks. We perched on a beached log, sitting face to face, sometimes holding hands. Among other things, he said that he finds my self-confidence seriously attractive. The tide was coming in.

the 'to do' list

Tonight, I caught myself panicking at the thought of a pretty intense list of things to do, my list of things to do, my very long list of things to do. I could feel the anxiety rise in my gut. Not a great feeling. Then I reminded myself that it's a great list, really. It's MY list, the one I get to create because I work for myself. It's a list of tasks that are creative and challenging and relational and valuable. And on top of all that, ticking off the items on the list means ticking off bills that are paid. How great is that? I'm making a living doing something I love. It's a bit of a miracle, really. Never mind that from time to time I feel compelled to add "try not to cry" to the list, it's still la great list.

So, as I ready for bed, I send up a prayer that the joy in all that the list represents will overpower the fear of the list, and a prayer for rest and confidence and a one-thing-at-a-time approach to get me through the day, and the list, tomorrow.

generosity

I think the character quality I admire most is that of generosity. I don't believe it's a particularly natural quality. Anyone who's ever seen toddlers at play has, no doubt, seen that sharing does not come easily to wee humans. The toddlers are pretty up front about not wanting to share. Adults are more subtle, but no less selfish, I dare say.

There are the obvious opportunities for generosity-- typically around matters of money. Tipping for instance. On my date on Friday, the topic came up and we were both reassured by the fact that we both believe in generous tipping. And then there's tithing, charitable giving, spare change to a panhandler, and so on. But what of other areas of generosity? Time. Affection. Attention. Love. Care of others. Care of self.

And what about the other end of generosity? How good am I at receiving the generosity of another? Do I perceive and/or fear that there are strings attached? Can I accept a gift freely and innocently? Is my own generosity tainted by expectation? Having received of another's generosity, do I then come to expect continued generosity? Does generosity have to be personally costly to be valued?

Blather, blather, blah. I honestly did set out to remark on how I appreciate the quality of being generous, not to yammer on about the potentially complex undercurrents of generosity. Like a lot of things, in its purest form, generosity is true and beautiful, and, in its human expression, it's less than that. Alas.

100

This is my 100th post. It's a bit like watching the odometer spin. I suppose it does represent some distance covered. It's been helpful to my soul to take the time every (or most every) day to consider something true and beautiful. Though I'm still pretty shy about it and not many folk know about it, it's also turned into a lovely way to connect with some beautiful people. So, today, I'm thankful for my blog.

I do need to add, however, that I also took great pleasure in my time with the Grade 6/7 class today. I felt like Santa, showing them the fruit of all their labours in the form of the collaborative posters for their Living Inquiry (see "sweet" entry, 25 April, for background). One after the other, their eyes lit up, their mouths opened in smiles of awe, and then the flood. My favourite comment came from a little guy who hasn't hit his growth spurt yet, but wants to be cool, like any kid his age. He just stammered, "It's, it's, it's it's...." and then, in the sweetest soprano voice, "It's beautiful," with a look of pure satisfaction. It was sweet, sweet, sweet.

And, having hinted yesterday at the pleasure of anticipation of another date with Mr. Spark, I will report that we had a lovely time. It was splendid, in fact. It's getting harder to not take it too seriously.

choice

I can't decide on a truth and beauty moment for the day. It was a good day, full of lovely interactions with lovely people. My kitchen is clean. I have fresh vegetables in the fridge. It was sunny and there was a strong breeze, so I could enjoy the brightness without my apartment getting too hot. A good friend got really good news about her career. I spent two hours with new clients, a couple overjoyed that their long years of longing will soon bring a baby into their arms. I saw a chocolate lab puppy in the park. I expect to see Mr. Spark again tomorrow. I have a lot of work to do, but don't feel overwhelmed.

Often, something specific jumps out over the rest, but today was just a gentle and lovely day. All of these simple things bring a measure of joy to my heart. I cried today too, but was also able to share the reason for the tears with a friend who, I think, understood. So even the tears felt right and good.

For all this, I'm thankful.

fluevog beauty

If you know me, you know that I hate to shop. You also know that if I do shop, I'm extremely picky and I want what I buy to last forever. You know that putting this all together in the footwear department means that I shop at John Fluevog's every couple of years or so. Today was the day. I bought two pairs of dress shoes. Two! I find great justification in the fact that this is my first dress shoe purchase in well over a decade. I'm ever so pleased.

I got the Lucille...




Only mine are black (and bigger than this photo would suggest):



And in a moment of gleeful indulgence (and thankfulness for an AMAZING sale), also picked up the Harlow:



Yes, they really are that sexy. Yes, they may spend most of their life in my closet-- but I feel like more of a woman for having them. And, yes, I know how shallow that sounds. Please know that this is likely to be the ONLY 'truth and beauty' post related in any way to shopping. I just couldn't help myself...

summer nights

I took a walk tonight along the seawall and it felt like summer. It was warm enough to be out without a jacket. The water was calm and the lights of the city streamed out from the shore in long, lazy, neon ribbons. There were enough people out that it didn't feel like a secret that summer's here and the place to be at night is the waterfront, but it wasn't crowded or loud. I walked with a girlfriend who's also giving the dating thing a go and we commiserated over dating pitfalls, communication challenges, and the shocking lack of punctuation and equally shocking profusion of text message short cuts in online profiles. (Curses upon the LOL!) The conversation was easy and comfortable. We listened and laughed and watched the world go by-- puppies, young lovers, old lovers, cyclists holding hands. It felt like a two hour holiday.

spark

I was in a bit of an altered state last night and completely forgot about the blog. I had a date yesterday. It started at three in the afternoon and ended at ten at night. All that was planned was coffee and a game of Scrabble at the beach, so it was an unexpectedly long time together. It was lovely. The time flew by. There was spark. This hasn't happened in so long it was a bit disorienting. Okay, a lot disorienting. But in a good way.

I am not confident that anything will come of it, but I'm so thankful to have a reminder of that feeling. I need to mark it down-- How good it is to be with someone with whom there is mutual attraction, to feel special, to feel beautiful, to feel that electric potential, to feel completely at ease.

Strangely (for me), I'm not finding it too hard to 'hold it lightly'. I don't know what will come of it and I'm choosing not to worry it to death. For the moment, I'm just deeply glad for the encouragement. It's a hopeful little spark.

moaike's sea shore

I apologize for the grumpiness in my latest posts. I'm going to try make more of an effort to stick to the original intent of the blog and try not to bring so much of my angst into it.

Today's best moment:

Playing with R on the beach down the street from my place. We chased eachother in the sand, made up converations between the seagulls, looked for octopus and sea stars and dolphins, watched a kite sailing high in the sky, wondered at all the sailboats in the Bay, and climbed a 'mountain'. It was sunny, but the wind was cool, and we were both cold and tired after a couple of hours. She let me carry her home, cuddling the whole way, so we'd both be warmer. She calls Sunset Beach, "Moaike's Sea Shore." I love that.

fragmented

It's been a disorientingly odd and full day. I'm suddenly reminded of The Princess Bride and the journey trough the swamp inhabited by Rhodents of Unusual Size. Today felt like I was walking a tightrope in the forest with all the R-O-U-Ses and it was a wobby tightrope indeed.

On the one hand, there was the satisfaction of knowing the Living Inquiry project poster layout is done. On the other hand, once I retrieve the posters from the photo lab, the exhibit still needs to be laid out and mounted at the gallery (though I'm only a support person on that front, not the lead). I'm experiencing a now-but-not-yet restlessness on that front. I'm edgy, uneasy at some level.

The uneasiness may also be from coming off a week of 15 hour work days. With the poster design work behind me, I'd hoped for a solid night sleep last night, but woke early instead, feeling unrested. I had a relatively unscheduled day ahead of me, but I felt like I spun my wheels between phone calls, emails, dishes, cleaning, errands, repeat errands, plans made, plans cancelled, messages to guys/dates I don't need to see again and other, related disappointments I won't detail here. I also got my hair cut. My stylist tried something different to manage the thickness--she's cut deep layers into the middle thickness of my hair, so even there I'm fragmented.

ALL day, through the randomness and busyness, my heart was heavy again with the sorrow over the imminent move of my sweet R and her family, and there were tears in spite of my recent resolution to be brave and supportive about it. I saw the girls yesterday and it was all I could do not to cry the whole time. I was hyper-attentive to every detail, hungry to stock my memory bank with every look and freckle.

So it's been THAT kind of day. The good outweighs the bad, but my extreme fatigue forces the scales to tip in the other direction. So, on the seeking Truth and Beauty front, what's to be said?

I smelled a peony this morning, multicoloured and elegant. I also smelled lilac though there wasn't a lilac bush in sight. The rhododendrons are in boom everywhere. I have everything I need. I think I'd better tuck myself in now with the memory of that burgundy and white peony. "Better days ahead, sweetheart," my mom would say, "Better days ahead.

love it or lose it

Today, I was invited to be on a panel of entrepreneurs who could speak to ups and downs of self-employment, for students who are in the current run of the self-employement course I took last year. Among other things, I said that they'd better really love what they're doing because being self-employed means hard work and long hours. I know what I'm talking about...

I sat at my computer for a solid fifteen hours yesterday, and another twelve today. My back and my left shoulder are killing me, I'm not getting nearly enough sleep, and I may never actually view "Italian for Beginners" which I rented last week. Working this hard at anything else would be excruciating. As it is, however, apart from the aches and pains, I'm loving it. I'm creating beautiful posters for the kids I've been working with all year. It's taking FAR longer than I imagined but it's so rich a process, I can't resent the time. If I weren't under deadline to do seven days' work in three, I'd be in heaven. If I didn't love it so much, I'd surely have lost it by now.

healing

I went to church this morning feeling weighed down by the long day's work ahead of me. I usually try to keep Sundays work-free, but there was just SO much to do before deadline, I knew I'd have to push through it today. I expected I'd likely work until ten or eleven, for the fourth night this week. I wasn't feeling particularly hard-done-by, just pragmatic. Tired, but pragmatic.

I'd missed the last two Sundays at St. Paul's and consequently did not know that today's service included a fairly lengthy healing litany and annointing. It took me by surprise. It may have been how my priest presented it or it may just be how my ears perceived it, but when the invitation was given for annointing it sounded imperative, like everyone should be lining up. I didn't even really think about it all that much when I rose from the pew with my friends, and walked toward Markus, my priest. With every step, the weight of the day became more and more pressing, and the weight of countless other worries joined in, and I felt exhausted to the marrow of my bones. I had tears in my eyes by the time I reached Markus. He just looked at me and didn't say anything for an eternity measuring about three seconds. He just stood their, all in white, with a look of calm on his face. "Courage. And wisdom," I said. And he took my head in his hands, marked a cross on my forehead with ointment, and prayed. I couldn't tell you what he said if my life depended on it, but I won't soon forget the warmth of his hands on my head or the warmth of the tears as they flowed.

When I got home, I ate left overs. I took a nap. I had a long phone visit with my parents. I went ahead with a Scrabble date instead of cancelling in favour of work. I called friends who invited me over for dinner and let me do three loads of laundry at their place while we watched old episodes of Grey's Anatomy. I took a day off and feel SO good about it. It felt like the wise thing to do, the courageous thing. I suspect that for a lot of people, taking a day off and choosing not to worry about work isn't so much an act of courage but is just a healthy way of life. Though I know I'm far better at it than I used to be, it's still more familiar for me to walk the path of pragmatic martyrdom than to choose a path that's healthy, balanced, restful. Which is why I feel thankful for the prayers of my friend, my brother, my priest, and for his hands and that warmth.

Courage. And wisdom. Here's hoping.

choices

It's late. So late, it's already tomorrow. And even though I had another long day and the same awaits me tomorrow, I feel I need to report that I think I've turned a corner. I've been grief-struck over the imminent departure of my friends. While I can't say that the prospect hurts any less, I think I've come to terms with it.

I spoke with my parents about it yesterday-- getting the perspective of immigrants who left all their family and friends behind for the promise of another kind of life. It just so happens that they heard many of the things I was saying about my friends' departure when they made plans to leave for Canada over fifty years ago. There are generations and generations of pioneers who've struck out on a new path in spite of the objections of loved ones. It happens all the time. I can't even deny that it's my own story. While talking to my devoted parents, I realized that for all my love for them, I pretty much followed in their footsteps when I put over 5000 kilometres between us for what I thought were good reasons when I moved to Vancouver over sixteen years ago. I don't love them any less for all the distance. They know that. I know that.

I also realized that I have many relationships that span many miles and these relationships are precious and true and beautiful. I don't want to add anything to the long-distance love list, but if I have to, I can, tears and all.

And, ultimately, I realized today that I have a choice to make here: either be miserable because of a loss, or make an effort to celebrate what my friends think is a good move for themselves and their family. Choosing to be miserable is rarely a good idea. I'm going to make the effort, to be brave, to trust that the bonds of love will stretch the distance between wherever my feet are planted on this earth and wherever my friends plant their feet. I wish I could see every little developmental step that my little R and E make in their lives, but that's a privilege I have to leave to their parents, hard as that is. I have to trust that my wanting to be there counts for something, in spite of the distance. And I pray to keep close to my heart the sense of gratitude for the time we have shared in such close quarters. It's been beautiful.

the vinyl cafe

I'm working late tonight. I usually work in silence, but it was a loooooong day at the computer today and, except for my morning workout, I've been in my apartment all day. Even introvert-moi needs a bit of company on a day like that, so I listened to the playoff game in Anaheim (too bad about the Canuck loss), and a bit of Q with Jian Ghomeshi (I love that guy's name), and then discovered that the CBC airs the Vinyl Cafe after the eleven o'clock news on Thursdays. This is a great little discovery. I like hanging out with Stuart Maclean on the weekend, but I didn't know I could get a mid-week fix. This could become a serious relationship. What's that, Stuart? You want to play me the Great Lake Swimmers? Yeah, great, I like those guys...

resilience

I got bad news today. I knew it was coming (see my January 31 entry at http://espressopronto.blogspot.com/2007/01/grief.html) but didn't manage to brace myself sufficiently. I've got some very, very, very difficult good-byes ahead of me and my heart is broken. I made every effort to get my mind off the sorrow today, but my eyes kept flooding with tears. I pushed through work, put myself through a hard workout, and even brought in tried-and-true culinary therapy-- fixing supper for friends and picking a new and somewhat challenging recipe-- to distract myself. But everything had an edge.

At the end of this grey day, the question nagging at me is: Is there grace in the fact that life goes on? Everything is different now that I know that my beloved friends (and particulary my darling R and her sweet sister E) are leaving me, but so much is the same. I don't want it to be the same-- the way you don't want the world to be the same after someone dies, or tragedy befalls, or your heart is broken for any one of a thousand reasons. But in spite of the fact that my heart is weeping, I can't deny that I did manage to be at least somewhat productive at work and I did fix a rather amazing Moroccan Chicken Tagine. What do you do with that? Is it all bad if you can still taste the flavours of Morocco? Essentially-- and yes, I dare say it is essential-- the human heart is a resilient thing. I reluctantly conclude that I will manage to carry on, carrying the pain of loss with me, given to tears and weeping from time to time, but carrying on all the same.

re: toast

Tonight's blog brought to you by Saint C:



"This chair, in the shade for most of the day, has your name on it. You have to move the roses off the side table, but when you do, there is plenty of room for a big mug of steaming tea and a plate of whole wheat toast that is dripping with butter and slathered with honey from Tina and Thomas’s bees. T & T’s bees collect pollen from wildflowers in the Los Gatos creek region of the San Francisco Bay area. Pretty soon you will be lying in this chair and reading a book or sketching or sleeping or writing and you will let the cares of the world slip away through the little holes and down into the lawn beneath you."

I'll be in this chair in June, but the promise of it brought a bit of gentle light into the present moment. What sweetness, anticipation. What kindness, the timely words of a friend.