Truth and Beauty

happy

2008-04-14T23:35:00.000-07:00

It's true. Today I have been happy. I'm happy right now, in fact. Not just "not depressed." Happy. It's a beautiful thing. Wonderful. I am savouring it.

the illusion of adulthood

2008-03-27T09:47:00.000-07:00

I've noticed that a lot of people in my age group (the folk that have to check the 35-45 box on the surveys), experience angst related to the notion that by this age they should have everything-- or, at least more-- figured out. I have a better plan. It's all about making it up as you go along and cherishing the creativity in that.

My theory is that when you're a child, your need to feel safe/protected requires a belief that the adults in your world are capable people with all the answers. Adults are wont to disabuse children of this notion, never mind that they're not really feeling capable and full of answers themselves. They're willing to fake it-- because they grew up with the same notion, because they don't want to let down the kids, and sometimes because they like the power involved. So, we grow up with this seriously flawed expectation that adults know what they're doing-- a useful ruse, but highly inaccurate, and really unhelpful when you hit the age that you think is undeniably Adult. Better to let go of that, embrace the fact that life is about making educated guesses with authenticity and integrity and with a great deal of hope that it's all going to work out well, and believe that if you make mistakes and take wrong turns, God can work with it anyway.

It's about putting one foot in front of the other, taking risks, accepting failures, and remembering at all times that even if you screw up, God can make good use of any situation. Walking in the liberty of that is preferable by far to walking under the weight of Expectation.

Liberty. Creativity. Why choose angst with regard to unmet expectations over these lofty and beautiful notions?

pretty girl discount (PDG)

2008-03-19T21:33:00.000-07:00

"Pretty Girl Discount" is the phrase I use to refer to the times when good-looking people (generally women) get special treatment just because they're good-looking. Attractive people get better service, get little extras, get away with things that others don't. It's not fair. It is, however, the way of the world. It genuinely irritates justice-loving me, but I'm pragmatic enough to not get my knickers in a knot about it. It's not a behaviour I like, but it's a behaviour I understand. The real challenge for me, though, is that lately, from time to time, for the first time in my life, I seem to be on the receiving end of it. Egad!

How did this happen? I consider myself pretty ordinary looking. I've never been what you'd call a "looker", not model material. It took me years of therapy and personal mental and emotional work to get beyond the low self-esteem fostered by powerful forces in my childhood and youth, but I did manage to get beyond it, to get to a place of health and and an acceptance of my body, my looks, me. But Pretty Girl Discount was outside my experience.

Then....

I took up working out on the seawall pretty seriously (five or six hours a week, to maintain mental balance),

and changed my eating habits (depression and pneumonia knocked my appetite out for a month or so and then I adopted new habits-- eating less than my previous habitual consumption dictated),

and started going blonde (it's white or grey that's mixing in with my strawberry-blonde hair, but if everyone wants to see my hair as blonde, why not let them?),

and started wearing nothing but dresses and skirts with separates (I fell in love with Narcissist Design Company when I hit a fabulous a warehouse sale and it changed my wardrobe completely),

and took up tango (dancing 6 to 12 hours a week).

The culminating effect? In the words of my favourite tanguero, "You're tall and blonde and have a beautiful body, so of course you'll get a lot of attention on the dance floor." What!?!? The shocking thing is, I can't deny it. It's true. I'm tall. I'm blonde. I have a beautiful body. And I find myself regularly in a setting that is not shy about acknowledging this. There are men-- actual living, breathing men who think I'm "hot" (their word). Oh dear.

On the one hand, it's just delicious. I get asked to dance, asked out, flirted with. I turn heads. (What a bizarre sensation!) Shopping isn't the hell it once was. I wear a size 6 or 8 instead of a 12 or 14. All of this would have been a lot handier when I was 24, or even 32, but if I get a short run at it at 42, I'm not going to turn my back on it. I know it won't last.

On the other hand, it's uncomfortable. I get asked to dance, asked out, flirted with. The attention is not always welcome. I worry about being the object of jealousy, despised by the women who want desperately to dance but end up sitting on the sidelines waiting. I worry about being liked for what I look like rather than for who I am. I'd rather be judged for my generosity or intelligence than my figure. I don't like that when a particular gentleman gives me extra attention on the dance floor, my regular dance partners assume I'm "with" someone and no longer ask me to dance. I don't like it when a milonga turns into a competition (a.k.a. pissing contest) instead of a simple evening out with everyone looking to enjoy themselves. I don't like how behaviours change. How some get shy, some get bold, some get ridiculous.

It's all been a bit odd. Generally, I keep my head on my shoulders and just enjoy the fact that I'm at what is probably the highest fitness level of my life. I'm strong and healthy. I haven't had a cold all winter. Clothes fit me better and that makes it easier to face the world, somehow. I feel closer to the "je me sens bien dans ma peau" holy grail I've been seeking all my life. BUT relationships are just as complicated as ever, men are as confusing as ever, my spiritual life is as wracked with doubt as ever, my dreams feels as unattainable and as undeniable as ever, and I'm still not sure where I'm going or how I'm going to get there. Pretty Girl Discount doesn't make anything easier, it just changes the problems a bit; some are smaller, others are bigger, nothing much is clearer.

In sum, Pretty Girl Discount isn't all I thought it was.

time and tango

2008-03-17T22:19:00.000-07:00

I've been living in a different time zone for a while. Technically speaking I'm still operating on Pacific Standard Time like everyone else in Vancouver, but there's been a shift in my experience of it. Even though there are twenty-four hours in the day and sixty minutes in every hour and sixty seconds in every minute (and why 60 and not something even and metric like 100?), time expands and contracts for me in ways that are entirely independent of the rotation of the planet around the sun.

I work. A lot. I had two days off in all of February. Two so far this month. I worked twelve to sixteen hours a day for a couple of weeks. I take the time to work out pretty much every day, and I remember to eat, but for the rest, the working hours fly by. When you're trying to be hyper-productive, the passage of time seems more intense. The tick-tock rhythm of an hour is replaced with a more pressing stacatto rhythm, an urgent pace, pressing, pressing, pressing. It's exhausting.

The thing that saved me in these past weeks was tango. In spite of the long work hours, I only missed two milongas in the last month or so. Tango creates a place, a space where time strangely expands for me. Fatigue falls away, and even though my body is moving to the lilting strains of the bandoneon, it's as if time stands still. (The irony there is, of course, that however luscious it is, tango music like any music is as markedly bound by time as the hands of a clock.) Maybe it's because tango music weaves together all that is tragic and all that is beautiful about love and life, so that the polar opposites balance each other and thus generate a poignant inertia. Maybe it's because I'm so utterly possessed by my body when I dance that my brain, accustomed as it is to being in charge, has to slip into neutral, like a manual transmission, just to avoid stripping the gears and the net result is a feeling of timelessness. Or maybe I'm just so desperate for a break that my mind plays tricks on me so that my few hours on the dance floor feel like a grand get-away to Buenos Aires. Honestly, I don't much care why tango twists my perception of time, I'm just glad it does. I don't understand phosphorescence either, but that doesn't bother me.

I know a couple of people who refuse to give me any sympathy for being tired because they know that I'm still going out to dance in spite of the long work hours. They don't get why I'd choose tango over sleep when I'm so tired. I know it doesn't make sense, but I also know that if my life were defined solely by working hours and time spent unconscious, I might just as well throw in the towel. I need truth and beauty in my life. I love my work, but there's got to be more. Thank God for tango.

A picture's worth a thousand words. See if time doesn't stand still for you when you watch this.

And, yes, while I don't look anywhere near that polished and my boléos are less dramatic and I don't have red shoes (yet) and the spotlight is never on me nor is the lighting ever that dramatic, I can do this. And, yes, it's that delicious. (Especially when I dance with Lucio or The Russian. Sigh.)

sharing

2008-02-16T08:16:00.000-08:00

I have been vividly reminded these past weeks of how blessed I am with quality friendships. I am SO not alone. I find life hard often, but I have such loving and tender support. I regret that I do not always see it embracing me; lies of loneliness are awfully effective.

I identify with the ancient Hebrew symbolism of water-- vast and stormy oceans of water-- signifying chaos. I long for still waters, a calm blue bay, but my voyage often leaves me feeling adrift and storm-tossed. But I'm not alone in the boat. My friends journey with me, sometimes offering me care that I don't even know I need until it's offered.

I don't have time to explore this further this morning, but will come back to it, I think, to fortify my sense of companionship in this crazy thing called life. In the meantime, thank you my friends for the times you know me better than I know myself, for the times you force me to challenge my views, for the grace with which you love me.

rapunzel

2008-02-11T10:27:00.001-08:00

I just had a lovely conversation with one of my favourite three year-olds. She's got one of the most vivid and consistent imaginations of anyone I know. She can maintain presence as a cartoon character for days on end, never slipping up and referring to herself by her real name. These days she spends a lot of time as Super Why, a character on a PBS early learning show. In Super Why's world my name is not Moaike but Rapunzel, which I rather like, in spite of the drama and horror of the Grimm Brothers' fairy tale. I, Rapunzel, just got a phone call from Super Why in which she explained, "Super Why's alter ego is Wyatt." "Alter ego," she said! Her vocabulary knocks my socks off. Her imagination knocks my socks off. Her joy in life knocks my socks off. I think, today, I'm going to try for a happy version of Rapunzel, I'll have neither witch nor prince climbing into my castle to complicate my day as I'll keep my hair tucked neatly in place for a bit of tower time. Just me and my art/work.

forgiveness

2008-02-10T22:34:00.001-08:00

Forgiveness as a concept is very, very simple. In practice it's ridiculously complex. I think it's no accident that the prayer for forgiveness comes right after the prayer for bread in the Lord's Prayer. I think if I had an ample supply of bread and forgiveness, I'd be set for the journey. Thinking of the Lord's Prayer, I wonder if I'm alone in thinking that it's not just a prayer request to be forgiven for our myriad shortcomings, it's also a plea for ample stores of forgiveness to dish out to those who hurt us.

Today, my heart compelled me to extend forgiveness to someone who'd hurt me quite profoundly. I knew it was the right thing to do, to lay out the offense for consideration, to call a spade a spade, to accept an apology, forgive and move on. The problem is, the act of forgiving, speaking the words, is no magic bullet. I'm still feeling the pain of the wound. Quite frankly, it's pissing me off that the remorse I saw when discussing the injury, the remorse that prompted my forgiveness, is no longer in evidence. It's bugging me that the forgiven party is moving on as if the offense had never taken place. Never mind that I'm still bruised and bleeding. I want him to feel bad, to experience a profound and debilitating chagrin for at least as long as my own feelings are hurt. All this, of course, has nothing to do with true forgiveness.

My mom once told me a story of how, when I was about five years old, I'd been naughty, caught, and chastised for my bad behaviour. It was explained to me that I needed to say I was sorry to be forgiven. I had a perfect-- a perfectly juvenile, but perfect all the same-- understanding of forgiveness. You say, "I'm sorry," and then you're forgiven, the slate is wiped clean, you get to start over. This is what my church taught me about forgiveness, certainly about the Godly sort of forgiveness. So, I said I was sorry and I meant it! Who wouldn't want to start over? My mom's tale continues with the incredulity she felt when after supper that same night I suggested we all go to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream cone. This was a very, very rare treat in our home and my mom was appalled that after being naughty I should dare suggest such a thing. I think that was the day I learned that forgiveness wasn't what I thought it was.

Today's experience brought that story to mind and I realized I've lost my juvenile innocence with regard to forgiveness. I told the one who offended against me that he was forgiven. It was the right thing to do. I meant it. But where's the balm in that for me? If I still desire that he feel bad about hurting me, have I really forgiven him? It upsets me that I want him to feel pain, too. That's hardly part of the generosity of spirit that I long to live in.

If anyone out there has some wisdom for me on this point, I'd be glad to hear it. I know I'm forgetting something key to forgiveness that used to make sense... Though I think it's quite possible that forgiveness, in fact, doesn't really make sense in any human understanding of the notion. And I feel light years away from the capacity for anything resembling divine forgiveness. Lord have mercy.

ten things

2008-02-08T22:40:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling distinctly melancholy and decided blog-therapy is very much in order tonight. I've neglected the spiritual discipline of nightly posts for a month now. It's been challenging month. I wonder if I'd feel less scattered and ungrounded just now if I'd been keeping up with it. In an effort to get my head and heart back in the truth-and-beauty mode, here are ten things I noticed this week:

1. a cormorant drying her wings in the wind, her dark silhouette with outstretched wings against the grey waters of English Bay
2. a bald eagle, king of all his green and watery kingdom
3. a baby smiling at her reflection in the mirror
4. the timely, encouraging words of a new friend
5. a hand patting my back through a minor coughing fit
6. the taste of fresh blueberry cinnamon buns
7. the satisfaction of a job well done, skills recognized, vocation affirmed
8. lingering morning conversations between kindred spirits
9. good news of the impending visit of a dear friend
10. three successful volcadas executed in a single song while dancing tango

And now I'm going to bed. Early. In the hope that some rest will bring refreshment not only to my body but to my soul.

jalapeño maple syrup

2008-01-09T23:20:00.000-08:00

Today's truth and beauty moment is a tribute to W. I could never have imagined the flavour combination I was privileged to savour this evening. W not only imagined it, but did a test run on it this afternoon and a meal fit for kings tonight. [They'd have to be kings that appreciate deep fried crispy bits and the nuanced but fiery influences of peppers, but I'd dare say such an appreciation should be a prerequisite for royalty.]

When W greeted me at the door with the announcement that we'd be having fried chicken and waffles for supper, I was a little baffled. Only W could pull this one off. Now W's deep fried chicken is amazing-- injected as it is with spices and buttermilk, with the thickest, crispiest, crustiest coating I've ever bitten into. But with a waffle accompaniment? Well. Not just any waffles. (My mouth is watering as I recall the experience now.) These were cornmeal cheddar chipotle waffles and if you want to make the crispiest, most flavourful savoury waffle possible, beg him for the recipe (which he, of course, made up this afternoon). Top this delicacy with hot maple syrup that's been infused with fresh jalapeño and brace yourself for waffle ecstasy. Too good to be true, too hard to adequately describe.

Mmmmmmmmm. Thanks, W. You're the best.

2008

2008-01-01T21:06:00.000-08:00

"Happy New Year!" greetings pass between friends, family, lovers and strangers, today. It's a day of great optimism. No one knows what lies ahead, but all hopes are for happiness. "Hope you can cope with 2008!" doesn't have the same ring to it. Many folk I know are glad that 2007 now lies thoroughly, fully, and irretrievably in the past. It was a very hard year for me, very hard. But it was also undeniably rich...

In my battle against depression and long recovery from various griefs, I found myself in the company of tremendously supportive friends-- friends who listened, spoke, held out hope for me, and fed me. I found my own strength again, my health, my self. It's a grand thing to find oneself capable of clear thinking after so many long months tangled in the foggy veil of melancholia.

In 2007 I succeeded in achieving two long held goals: I learned to quilt and I learned to tango. Taking up quilt design gave me permission to play with texture and colour in a fresh way. Tango has also been a huge hit with my creative spirit. My cerebral inclinations have to get out of the way as the music grabs me by the heart strings and propels me about. In tango, my soul has feet and my, how she loves to dance, my soul!

In spite of the many emotional and physical challenges of the year, my business stayed afloat and even managed to grow and extend in new directions. Yes, I work very hard to make that happen, but it also feels like a major miracle. I often feel like my photography business is like the widow's flour jar and cruet of oil, in the story of I Kings 17, where "The jar of flour shall not be finished and the cruet of oil shall remain undiminished 'til the time when Yahweh again has replenished the face of the ground with rain." I may live in drought times, but I lack for nothing.

So, the recipe for surviving this past year, for me, included the bountiful support of friends and family and medical professionals, quilting, tango, and an unwavering conviction that I wish to continue to be self-employed as a photographer. This blog also helped me along, too, particularly in the early part of 2007. Forcing myself to focus on something true and beautiful every day was an important spiritual and mental discipline. There are gaps in postings. The earlier gaps were due to the interference of despair. In the last month or so, the gaps were due to the fact that I didn't feel like I should make every positive moment posting a reference to tango.

In the despair times of this past year, I leaned on another, more old-fashioned version of blogging: the journal. I kept a "best version of myself" journal in which the best version of me wrote letters of encouragement and understanding to the basket case version of me. It looks like this:

The letters sound something like this, "Dear Sandra- I know you've been having a hard time lately. I'm sorry I've not been there for you in the way you've needed me. I'd like you to know that I'm going to make a special effort to take better care of you. I need to ask you, for your part, to silence the guilt that might rise up when I try to put you first. Don't worry, you can still give and be generous to others, pour yourself out even, but for a little while, you need to really watch it. I've noticed you're scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to coping resources and we've really got to tend to that first. For starters, go to bed. Sleep. Don't set the alarm. Tomorrow is a big day, but worrying about all the details right now isn't going to help anything. Be the lotus flower that closes her bloom at sun set. Now is the time to rest." She's quite sensible, the best version of me.

The cover art is of a phoenix and a red lotus. If I had to choose a mythical symbol for myself, I would choose the phoenix as I have, more than once, pulled myself out of the ashes of depression to fly again. The symbolism of the lotus really helped me through the summer. According to the Lalitavistara (a Buddhist sutra), "The spirit of the best of [men] is spotless, like the lotus in the muddy water which does not adhere to it." In Christian symbolism, the lotus means "to rise above adversity." Deep in the murky waters of adversity, I prayed that I might reach for the light with my slender green stem, nourished somehow by the muck, inspired to reach for the light beyond the darkness, to someday, somehow blossom above the waters, white and full and warm in the sunlight.

I don't make New Year's Resolutions, really. I attempt to live well daily. Still, I think it's right to declare that my strongest hope is to BLOOM in 2008.

a perfect fit

2007-12-15T10:39:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-01T22:22:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-20T23:32:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-18T22:35:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-16T08:37:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-15T22:56:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-14T21:58:00.001-08:00

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

2007-11-07T23:24:00.001-08:00

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

2007-10-30T22:59:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-28T12:26:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-14T22:02:00.001-07:00

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

2007-10-13T22:56:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-12T22:02:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-11T22:51:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-09T22:55:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-08T09:46:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-24T23:11:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-08T22:45:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-06T23:26:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-27T22:26:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-26T21:54:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-26T00:18:00.001-07:00

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

2007-08-23T17:08:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-19T23:09:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-15T23:40:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-14T22:04:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-14T21:48:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-04T22:03:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-25T22:34:00.001-07:00

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

2007-07-24T22:29:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-23T22:35:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-22T23:18:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-21T22:33:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-18T22:30:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-17T23:38:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-10T21:19:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-08T17:36:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-04T22:54:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-06-28T21:05:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-06-26T20:55:00.001-07:00

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

2007-06-24T22:01:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-21T23:10:00.000-07:00

"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

2007-06-20T22:52:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-19T22:52:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-18T21:33:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-17T16:58:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-16T23:25:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-15T13:31:00.000-07:00

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?

grief

2007-06-09T15:57:00.001-07:00

You may have noticed that I've not been doing very well at posting every day for the last couple of weeks. This is because I have not been doing very well for the last couple of weeks. I believe that setting my focus on a moment of truth and beauty as a daily discipline is worthwhile, helpful, inspiring. But I also believe there are times when life is so hard, and my heart is so heavy, that even though I know not all is bad and even though I know there is beauty in the middle of all the tough stuff, sometimes my fingers are made of lead and my heart is just a bucket of rusted nails and nothing can make me sit down at the computer to write something lovely. Sometimes the unlovely stuff wins. I hate that.

I don't like that I've spent most of my life walking close to the edge, teetering on the tipping point between feeling good and feeling lost and sad and overwhelmed, but mostly I'm pretty proud of how good I've gotten at beating the black dogs of depression from the door. I've discovered lately, though, that depression has a cousin named grief and she's a nasty piece of work. I have tools for the battle depression, but no real strategy for grief. Depression is a lot about perspective, fixing your focus, keeping your mind from doing the Dance Macabre at every turn. But grief strikes when circumstances beyond your control shift your world, and it doesn't much matter from what angle you view the situation, it looks the same-- something is gone, something that gave you joy now gives you pain, what was is no longer, full stop.

Time, they tell me, I need time. The way I see it, with all these layers of loss weighing me down, I need to build muscle, first to carry the loss and then to cast it off. Does time build muscle? Do I just keep thowing at grief the things I throw at depression and hope for the best? Is grief the hysterical toddler of the emotional life and I just have to let her scream it out until she falls, exhausted, into sleep? Sigh. Probably.

zomig

2007-06-06T23:04:00.001-07:00

I haven't had a migraine for several months, but have been doing battle for two days with the latest most evil manifestation of head pain. I suppose the first point is that I am currently thankful for the migraine-free period I didn't fully appreciate until now. The second point is that yesterday I got some relief from my favourite selective 5-hydroxytryptamine 1 (5-HT 1B/1D) receptor agonist, zolmitriptan. It's nickname is Zomig and we're friends. I just took another one and hope it affords me some relief and a good night's sleep. Zomig does a little dance with my intracranial blood vessels (including the arterio-venous anastamoses) and the sensory nerves of the trigeminal system. Basically, it fights against the cranial vessel constriction and inhibits pro-inflammatory neuropeptide release. Inflammatory neoropeptide release is a real pain, but kind of fun to say out loud. Here's hoping sweet Zomig is getting to work even now.

brief and belated

2007-06-06T08:43:00.000-07:00

I've been working hard to keep my head above water for the last few days. Even though the discipline of making a truth-and-beauty blog entry is part of my sanity strategy, even that was too much for me. With extreme work hours, devastating news from a few directions, high expectations, hormonal fluxuations and threatening migraines, I'm maxed. I've been feeling like I'm at the end of my rope, running out of steam, burning out, falling apart-- all at the same time. Interestingly enough, I'm not depressed. Though I'm not sure how 'interesting' it is for me to discover that I can experience the same kind of sickness symptoms-- in mind, body and soul-- for completely different reasons. I conclude that it's not very interesting at all.

Here are my brief and belated truth-and-beauty notes for the last few days:

Sunday, June 3: An unexpected visit from my sweet R, complete with enormous hug and extended cuddle.

Monday, June 4: A friend called me because she was sure I'd understand what she's going through right now. I did. And she understood me and what I'm going through. It's good to be understood. If you're treadiing water in the middle of the ocean and are afraid of drowning, it's good to have someone to talk to, to hold out hope with you.

Tuesday, June 5: The Living Inquiry exhibit was a huge success. The kids were thrilled, their parents were pleased and proud, guests were amazed and impressed, and I made some great connections to further that part of my work.

dreams

2007-06-02T23:55:00.001-07:00

A quick note on a select moment of truth and beauty, after a very, very long day. I shot a wedding today-- hard work, long hours, harsh light, but with lovely people. Covering a wedding means constantly being in tune with the people involved, with the choices they make in putting together a special day. It means putting myself in the shoes of the couple and their family, to tell their unique story. Apart from making sure I'm hydrated and my blood sugar doesn't dip too low-- and even that is about being of good service to others-- my thoughts are not on me much at all. But I have to say, I got choked up during the reception when the groom said his toast: "I'm so happy. The day has been better than I could have imagined. I have married the woman of my dreams and I look forward to spending the rest of my life with her." He was so deeply sincere. There were tears in his eyes as he spoke. Tears rose in my own eyes, and a crazy mix of awe and desire rose in my heart. It feels like a miracle for a person to feel that way about another person. It was good to see evidence of that kind of love.

sherry

2007-06-01T22:37:00.000-07:00

I got a sherry education from a sommelier friend this evening. I've never been a sherry fan, but that's just because I never knew that to make it work you need the right combination of flavours surrounding the experience of the sip. It's not unlike the interplay of salt, lemon, and tequila, and yet... well... let's just say it's a little more sophisticated than the tequila shooter experience.

It starts with a beautiful green olive. Pull the flesh from the pit and savour the saltiness. Then bite into a roasted, blanched, salted almond or two. Savour the texture, the smooth, rich flavour and, again, the saltiness. Then and only then, put to your lips a glass of Gonzalez Byass Apostoles Muy Viejo Palo Cortado Sherry. (Yes, it's quite a mouthful in more ways than one!) Never have you tasted the like.

Other delightful pairings I had the privilege of sampling this evening: Yorkshire Stilton on baguette drizzled with fireweed honey (ecstacy!), duck rillettes served with dried pear compote, terrine of lamb, pistachio and olive served with celeriac remoulade. If you're interested in the recipes, you'll need to buy this book:

All this magnificent fare tasted better yet in the company of the chef, the winemaker, a lovely friend, a cute server, and a flight of Joie wines (Riesling, Noble Blend, Rosé). It was a great finale to a hard, hard week.

slick

2007-05-31T20:37:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-30T22:27:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-29T23:45:00.001-07:00

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

safe

2007-05-28T22:44:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-27T23:02:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-26T22:37:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-25T23:33:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-24T23:51:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-23T23:32:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-22T22:04:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-21T23:07:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-20T22:29:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-18T23:30:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-17T22:01:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-16T14:11:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-15T22:29:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-14T16:18:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-12T23:35:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-11T23:48:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-08T23:57:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-06T23:35:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-05T00:00:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-03T23:08:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-02T22:58:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-01T22:41:00.000-07:00

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.

Kensington

2007-04-30T23:35:00.000-07:00

My dream home is at its most enchanting right now. The Kensington Apartments are at the corner of Beach and Nicola, right down the street, so it's easy to keep an eye on things until I come up with the 3.8 million it costs for a three bedroom apartment. It was built in 1912 and is loaded with character-- high ceilings, classic wood trim, gorgeous recessed balconies. Right now the cherry trees at the entrance are loaded with heavy, full bouquets of blossoms. The vintage street lights that illuminate the main doors make the blossoms look like low lying clouds. There's a park bench at the entrance and if it weren't so late, I'd have taken the time to sit a while, to take in the fragrance of the flowers, the delicate scattering of petals on the tiled steps, the warm light and plush red carpet of the lobby. It's truly delicious. Lingering at the entrance, under all those blossoms, savours strongly of Paris in the springtime. I'm an extremely practical gal, but I can't help but give in to a bit of fantasy real estate shopping outside the Kensington. I don't think it's quite right to call it lust or longing, it's just an appreciation of a beautiful thing.

toast

2007-04-29T23:43:00.000-07:00

There are days when I feel like too little butter on too much toast. It's been a week of days like that this past week. I've pushed too hard. Even I can see that. So, the question for tonight is, can I still be thankful for the toast?

bits

2007-04-27T23:42:00.000-07:00

I felt pretty fragmented today. Fragile. Strained. Exhausted. And even so, I can name several bits and pieces that brought light into the day. So, today I offer thanks for (in no particular order): lilacs, leftovers, lemons, chirping cats, chance meetings, new food (kolachys), old friends, dreams, tap dancing, sequins, cheesy musicals, harmony, lint rollers, coffee beans, permit only parking, free lipstick, milk. Amen.

green

2007-04-26T22:18:00.000-07:00

The thing I love most about spring is the green. Not just any green, the FIRST green. The first green of spring is the freshest, brightest, most eager green you've ever seen. Even in Vancouver where there's green all year 'round, at this time of year I'm blown away by those first young leaves on the deciduous trees. The symphony of blossoming fruit trees on virtually all of Vancouver's streets is impressive, but its beauty is surpassed by the bold elegance of those young green leaves. Each leaf is slim and fragile in its newborn state, but the collective effect of all this new life is breathtaking and vast.

I think a lot of people take it for granted, as if it weren't a miracle of nature that this particular shade of green only appears for a matter of hours in the early spring. (They grow so fast, these eager little ones!) It makes me want to stop the seawall pedestrians in their tracks saying, "Look! Look! That green wasn't there yesteday! Do you see? Isn't it amazing? It's everywhere! All those little green leaves!" I'd be glad to be judged a lunatic if even one person REALLY noticed the colour.

I saw this green in January once. It was 2001 and I'd just arrived in Viet Nam. The rice shoots were just coming up in the paddy fields. It felt like home.

sweet

2007-04-25T21:44:00.000-07:00

I have the privilege of working with a class of eleven and twelve year olds as their "artist in residence". It's been an interesting journey for me-- trying to inspire heartfelt creativity, all the while fully aware that creativity is not something that can be manufactured. It's not as simple as, "Take child, add drawing lesson, see child make art." So I listen a lot, and try to show the students the beauty of their world, try to get them to tune their eyes to the art of life, and I try to give them tools with which they can both explore and express their vision of the world. Some eagerly grasp every tool I hand them, others clasp their arms across their chests in resistance, and others just baffle me.

We're working on a big final project right now and it involves doing one-on-one consults with each student. It's been great to see how the students have taken what they've learned about the art of seeing and put together presentations of amazing concepts with both text and visual components. In most cases, they've followed instructions about their "field notes" and reflections, done "mind maps", and applied the art lessons judiciously to come up with their final project. And then there's the guy who could be the Baffle poster child. He's the one who showed little sign of paying attention in class over the past few months, the one who didn't finish the preparatory exercises, the one who seemed incapable of filling in the blanks on the most open-ended "idea organizer" going. And his final project is amazing. During the one-on-one consult yesterday, I felt compelled to tell him that even though he didn't complete any of the assignments leading up to the final project, there was clear evidence in his presentation that he grasped every aspect of the preparatory exercises and the result was top notch. I think this shocked him. I'm pretty sure that as a kid who doesn't generally follow the rules and is therefore, generally, in trouble, being given credit in spite of breaking the rules is a rare thing indeed.

Most of the time, there's no way to know what effect your words have had on a person. You can offer a compliment but it might end up being deflected off the shield of a wounded heart. Or, you can speak words of encouragement but they won't be heard over the inner din of self-defeating thinking. But you carry on giving compliments and encouragement in the hope that sometimes the words will hit home. I found out today that my comment yesterday hit home. My Baffle poster child was so proud that he told his mom, and his mom was so proud that she told his teacher, and his teacher was so proud that she told me. In the words of my cool-dude-twelve-year-old-break-the-rules-artist-extraordinaire, "Sweet!"

Joie

2007-04-24T22:33:00.000-07:00

I've indulged and it feels great. I opened a beautiful bottle of wine just for me. It's wine I'd typically save for a special occasion, but today the fact that it's Tuesday is special enough. It's Joie wine and I needed a little joie in the day. Don't worry, I'm not drinking the whole thing in one go-- I have a Vacu-vin™ to seal it up for further consumption on another day. I think that's a big part of the indulgence, actually-- the fact that by opening the bottle for just me I'm committing to having the same kind of delicious treat several times in the coming days. It's the gift that keeps on giving. It makes me feel special somehow, valued, worthy of a fine bouquet. It's quite possible that the pleasure from the sipping of a fine wine alone is really just a placebo effect. The pleasure may come from the simple act of doing something kind and generous for myself. Either way, it works for me. La Chaim!

walking wounded

2007-04-23T23:14:00.000-07:00

Today I had a reminder of the pain in my ankle that I used to live with every day. I was out doing my bootcamp work out with a friend and she recommended a new-to-me position from which to do standing lunges. With the first lunge, I had a shooting pain through my bad ankle. It was a scar-tissue-impeded-mobility body scream and it really shocked me. The beautiful thing about the the pain was that it was a shock. Having experienced that kind of pain with everyday movement for so long, it was very familiar to me, but I hadn't felt it for a very, very long time. With the sting of pain still shooting through my ankle, I felt a certain joyful wonder that it had been SO LONG since I'd experienced that sensation. I paid extra attention to my ankle through the rest of my workout, but I only half expected to be as lame as I would have been if the same thing had happened a couple of years ago. My ankle is swollen right now, but I am not lame.

I carry the scars of three surgeries on that ankle. Doctors said it was "too good to fuse and too bad to use." I've had to give up snowboarding and badminton, but I can do a lot more than the doctors ever imagined I could, after years of careful rehabilitation and trial and error. (Today's workout move falls into the "error" category.) My tattoo tells a story similar to that of the scars on my ankle. It's a tattoo of an olive branch, symbol of hope, over my spleen, the seat of melancholy. I chose the symbolism as a mark of recovery from depression. Both markings speak of pain and both inspire hope. The scars on my ankle remind me to care for my body, the tattoo over my spleen reminds me to care for my soul. In both cases, there's a frailty I need to be aware of, and-- thanks be to God-- in both cases there's a remarkable amount of healing to cherish.

liberty

2007-04-22T22:14:00.000-07:00

Many of my favourite people are under four feet tall. Don't get me wrong, I deeply cherish the relationships I have with adults, but the kids in my life have a particular knack for bringing light and life to my heart. I got to spend significant time today, in four different settings, with eight of my most beloved children. They're all kids I've known from their first breaths, which is something right there. They're so refreshing to be with! Here's a quick list of five things I appreciated in 'my' kids today:

1. What you see is what you get. If they're happy, they smile, if they're sad, they cry. They can move from one state of mind to the other in the blink of an eye, without feeling remotely disconnected.

2. They're curious about their world. They like to poke and prod and test things, as if life is a great big smorgasbord and it's an obligation to at least lick everything the cook prepared.

3. They see no problem with eating strawberries and olives at the same time. Really, why not? Social conventions haven't been etched into their behaviour yet.

4. They certainly glow when they know they've pleased you, but it's not their driving force. Their driving force is, well, whatever strikes them in the moment. They move from the thought "I wonder..." to action, at lightspeed. Over the course of the day, I could have documented a thousand such movements. What else could explain coming across a three and a half year old attempting to brush her teeth with a pink plastic comb?

5. They come up with the most elaborate and most simple ways to entertain themselves. Like this morning. I went to church with the P family, for the second installment in E's dedication service. With all due respect for the service and reverent words spoken, I got the biggest kick out of watching S (2.5yo) repeatedly jump off the front kneeling step, stopping after each leap to see if the quarters in her pockets had also leapt to liberty, and chasing down the quarters if they had. It was a one-person, self-propelled treasure hunt, and every jump was a surprise.

6. Continuing in reference to the sanctuary-kneeler-quarter-bounce-hide-and-seek game, I love that little S was not only completely absorbed in play for ages, she was oblivious to the fact that the entire congregation was watching her. It's not so much that she was "in her own world" -- I think she was well aware of her setting-- but it just didn't matter that others were watching. They could have joined in, or ignored her, anything would have been fine with her.

Thanks, my little friends, for demonstrating a liberty in the world that I can only aspire to!

dedication

2007-04-22T00:10:00.000-07:00

She was God's all along, but today we had a service to declare that we agree to the terms.

From the liturgy I prepared for the dedication:

Within this gathering, we embody the different circles of care that surround Eleanor-- parents, family, godparents, friends, community. We may desire these circles of care to form walls that protect the treasure that is Eleanor from every harm and danger, but we recognize that Eleanor’s path will take her beyond these walls, to places and relationships beyond those represented here.

So it is that we come together to remind ourselves that as we care for Eleanor and walk alongside her as she grows, we need to focus our eyes and hearts on a God whose centre is everywhere and circumference nowhere. For by putting our trust in a God that knows no boundaries, our own circles of care are transformed, no longer walls but a beautiful blend of concentric circles-- overlapping, radiating, and expanding—in a reflection of God’s vast and eternal love for Eleanor and for each of us.

In the service of dedication, we put ourselves in the centre of God’s care and in that centre we both hold and release Eleanor. We pray for wisdom in our care for her and pray that she may grow to have a vision that is wide and a centre that is true.

heaven

2007-04-20T22:14:00.000-07:00

It is a good thing to see a person loved and supported. This evening, a dozen adults gathered together to celebrate the life of a six year old. She had decided against having a party with little girl friends in favour of a party with "the adults that love me." We were invited to tell N what we appreciate about her as part of the gift giving time. It was very moving indeed to see that while we all notice and appreciate many of the same things, we each have special memories and particular things that we appreciate, given the uniquenss of our individual relationships with N. She listened patiently and attentively-- I think 'basking' might be the right word for it. The love in the room was palpable.

I'm quite confident we made a quality memory tonight. It was the kind of night you keep talking about, year after year. The love, the laughter, the ladybird stickers on every lapel (thanks to a four year old designer gal), the birthday crackers, the Tea Party theme cake-- It was all so perfect and real and ordinary and magical. The fresh, home-smoked salmon deserves special mention. Thanks to the collaborative effort of friends and neighbours, we all feasted on the most amazing smoked salmon I have ever eaten. I think, in fact, that the salmon tipped the whole thing over into the realm of 'a foretaste of heaven'. Yes, it was a glorious night. Thank heaven for the continued feasting made possible by memories of nights such as this.

tea party

2007-04-19T23:44:00.000-07:00

Clearly, the theme this week is PLAY! After a long day at the computer, this evening I had the privilege of helping with the creation of a N's official birthday cake. This is the third birhday cake that J and I have put together and we're like kids in a candy store when we're at play in the land of fondant icing. Really. It's that exciting. Hey, I even got to make fake cucumber sandwiches tonight! J decided to make a tea party themed cake and this is what we came up with:

Yup. Those are cucumber sandwiches worthy of any classic tea party, along with petit-fours, chocolate truffles, and pink petal cupcakes. What six year old would not be pleased? What joy it is to have fun bringing another person joy. It doesn't get much better than that.

cornucopia

2007-04-18T22:51:00.000-07:00

The horn of plenty...

A great morning workout-- Outdoors, birds singing, in the company of a good friend.

The feeling of satisfaction that comes from ticking off a bunch of little items from the 'to do' list-- Sometimes ticking of lots of little things can be just as satisfying as accomplishing one big thing.

Sunshine and cherry blossoms-- All the city is in bloom right now and it was all under God's spotlight today. Blue skies & blossoms everywhere.

Playtime in the park-- I was so inspired by my delightful soul friend, R, that I actually got down on the ground to roll on the grass a bit, for the sheer pleasure of feeling the grass tickle my skin and revelling in all that spring green. It was hardly the adult thing to do, but it looked like too much fun to risk resisting!

A sliver of a moon-- I love it when the moon is so slender in the sky you'd hardly recognize it as the moon at all. It's just the most perfect curve in all the world, glowing against the thousand shades of blue of a twilight sky. Glorious. All the better, I viewed this exquisite moon and twilight sky from the vantage point of a backyard hot tub.

Amen.