Thursday, September 30, 2010
Rants and Dance
New law in Utah defines miscarriage as "criminal homicide," which would force women seeking abortions (not just abortion service facilities and doctors) to prove in court that their actions did not break laws and that they are not criminal murderers. I was shocked when I read this. Rant, rant, rant, Texas and Utah should secede and become their own horrid, backwards nation. No, that would be bad. They'd shoot anybody who accidentally stepped over their borders and probably start stoning women. Good old U S of A.
In other news, I've been searching for dance studios in Montreal who teach international Latin and ballroom for the intermediate dancer - and I've found one that looks fabulous. The instructors have impressive credentials and the studio is right next to the metro station. Can we spare the not insignificant funds it would take for me to have two lessons a week? I've discussed it with Caspian, and he knows how much I love dance. We're going to take a look at our finances again and see what extra we may have, and where we can potentially save even more. We've saved quite a bit moving up here, even with my career (and salary) change, and Caspian thinks we'll have more capital at our disposal than we expect.
After all, we barely eat out anymore and almost always cook healthy meals from simple, minimally-processed ingredients. We don't have car payments, gas to purchase or car insurance to buy. Our rent, while quite high, includes cable TV, hi-speed wireless internet, washer/dryer and cold water. Trash and recycling are both free; at our old apartment, we had to pay about $25/mo for those services. We live about three feet below ground, which keeps our apartment at a more even temperature. When it was hot outside, it was cool inside, and now that it's cold outside, it stays warm inside.
I don't go shopping anymore, or buy pointless items for my amusement. Almost every expense has a purpose, even if it's a pleasurable dessert together. We discovered a traditional Quebec dessert last night, tarte au sucre. Sugar pie. I was dubious, and then I took a bite.
The filling is so bad - brown sugar, cream, butter and vanilla, cooked to almost caramelly perfection. Caspian has eaten half of it in about 12 hours!
On Tuesday morning, I walked through the falling leaves and rain to a complimentary yoga lesson at a local studio. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I got! The instructor, Paul, was one of the best I've ever had, with a deep, soothing voice and a talent for beautiful chanting. I was challenged and refreshed and achieved, for the first time in ages, a particular mindfulness that comes with really applying oneself to yoga. My whole body felt effervescent.
In other news, I've been searching for dance studios in Montreal who teach international Latin and ballroom for the intermediate dancer - and I've found one that looks fabulous. The instructors have impressive credentials and the studio is right next to the metro station. Can we spare the not insignificant funds it would take for me to have two lessons a week? I've discussed it with Caspian, and he knows how much I love dance. We're going to take a look at our finances again and see what extra we may have, and where we can potentially save even more. We've saved quite a bit moving up here, even with my career (and salary) change, and Caspian thinks we'll have more capital at our disposal than we expect.
After all, we barely eat out anymore and almost always cook healthy meals from simple, minimally-processed ingredients. We don't have car payments, gas to purchase or car insurance to buy. Our rent, while quite high, includes cable TV, hi-speed wireless internet, washer/dryer and cold water. Trash and recycling are both free; at our old apartment, we had to pay about $25/mo for those services. We live about three feet below ground, which keeps our apartment at a more even temperature. When it was hot outside, it was cool inside, and now that it's cold outside, it stays warm inside.
I don't go shopping anymore, or buy pointless items for my amusement. Almost every expense has a purpose, even if it's a pleasurable dessert together. We discovered a traditional Quebec dessert last night, tarte au sucre. Sugar pie. I was dubious, and then I took a bite.
The filling is so bad - brown sugar, cream, butter and vanilla, cooked to almost caramelly perfection. Caspian has eaten half of it in about 12 hours!
On Tuesday morning, I walked through the falling leaves and rain to a complimentary yoga lesson at a local studio. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I got! The instructor, Paul, was one of the best I've ever had, with a deep, soothing voice and a talent for beautiful chanting. I was challenged and refreshed and achieved, for the first time in ages, a particular mindfulness that comes with really applying oneself to yoga. My whole body felt effervescent.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Responsibility = Suffering?
I am best friends with my sister, Natty, among a handful of privileged people. For quite awhile, she and I commiserated almost every day, exchanging stories of soul-sucking boredom, burdens and drama at our workplaces. Now... I'm feeling pretty damn guilty. We still chat throughout the day, but one huge thing has changed - I'm content. She is suffering, and I'm pretty much happy as a clam. I'm not sure what to say anymore to her woes. She used to say, "Oh, this and this and this is happening," and I'd reply, "Oh really! Well, this is happening to me!" And we'd understand each other and grow closer in our suffering.
When she describes the horrors she braves, I'm kind of at a loss. Am I a coward for enjoying the lack of the social and workload-related pressures a traditional career position entails? Am I being a lazy bum, reveling in my newfound freedoms, French classes, yoga sessions and city lifestyle? Am I a horrible person for cheering every morning because I don't have to wear a suit and drive for 30 minutes in heavy traffic both ways?
In other words... Is lack of responsibility a prerequisite for my own personal happiness?
BUT. My new position, that of teacher and mentor, has the potential to give me a lot more power than I had in my other, more lucrative, mind-numbingly boring position. With this new opportunity, I get to measure the impact I have upon other people every day - a huge contrast with my old position. It's likely that the future career moves of my clients could be altered by my work.
It's not like my old responsibilities were particularly interesting - or appreciated - or even utilized at my old workplace; projects I'd poured blood and sweat into were scrapped at the last moment by higher-ups who barely knew my name. My beautiful vocabulary and facility with the English language was dumbed-down by my superiors. My artistic flair was quashed by lumbering bureaucracy. I came to believe that the whole point of working hard was to suffer while completing it, and because of it. The anguish I felt at having my projects scrapped was full of self-righteous anger and moral indignation. Two things I totally hate.
I think the problem is my attitude about work. I associate responsibility with suffering and hard work with unpleasantness.
I'll have to wait to see if I'm happy in this new position, if I "work hard" and if I find it purposeful and fulfilling.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Stewards of the Earth
Over the last year or so, I've tried to change the way I live in a few ways to be a better steward of the earth. We aren't here to divide and conquer, nor to be "fruitful and multiply, fill and subdue the earth." The days necessitating these practices are long past and those concepts are obsolete. If we were to freely multiply, not only would we have masses more of suffering people in the world, but we'd overrun this gift we have and take it from our descendants.
Each of us is the earth's steward; "someone who manages property or other affairs for someone else," namely the other creatures of the planet and their descendants, and our own. This also touches on our responsibility to care for our bodies so that they too are efficient and less wasteful. I could go on and on about why this biblical worldview is poisonous, but I'll spare you and instead talk about these little changes while I sip a vodka cocktail.
Know the origins of the products you buy. Today I bought 100% cotton yarn spun in Italy. Western nations are more likely to have implemented regulations that ensure that workplaces are humane, and harm to the environment is mitigated by good manufacturing practices. Unfortunately, a lot of companies from the United States will outsource to other less wealthy nations to take advantage of loose regulations. Also unfortunately, products from less-developed countries cost a lot less, too. But, if you can afford it, buy local.
Be self-reliant. For our house, I've made placemats, pillows, cloth napkins, washcloths, towels, etc.. It's not the realm of Laura Ingalls Wilder - it's just a great policy for the modern human. Gone are the days when I'd donate a pair of pants to Goodwill because seams were coming undone! If you can make it yourself and can afford to take the time to do it, go for it. You know who puts forth the effort and what environmental and workplace rules govern the "worker" (you) and the company, Myself, Inc. You also know what went into it, and you might get to learn new and totally awesome skills.
Try not to buy disposable products. We've been trying to buy unprocessed foods, which are inherently less packaged. We've completely stopped using paper towels and tissues, and instead use handmade napkins and dishcloths every day. All of our bread is made from minimally-processed ingredients by our Cuisinart breadmaker. Just put the ingredients in the pan and press Start. No processing, no packaging, and delightful bread.
Things I'd like to work on:
Giving handmade gifts. I could go to the mall and buy a made-in-China, prettily-packaged product from a name-brand store... Or I could work for a few hours of my time with less expensive but higher-quality materials to produce something unique and useful. It's a win-win situation.
Recycling. Yes yes yes we recycle! But here in Montreal, every single scrap of paper and plastic can be recycled, recycling is sorted by the city and is picked up on the curb in one bag just outside the front door. Recycling has never been easier, and I need to really work at making sure that every piece of plastic and paper we generate goes into that bag, even if the garbage can is a couple steps closer.
Taking shorter showers. My plan of action is to keep my showers to 10 minutes or less. I'm going to implement it tomorrow.
Washing dishes more efficiently. I hate washing dishes so I tend to wash them in bunches, keeping the hot water running to soak, scrub and rinse. Tomorrow I am going to buy a dishpan to save hot water, which we have to pay for.
Cutting down on the number of loads of laundry and relying on air drying for more clothes. I can't resist the dryer! It's kind of sad, and it's the most energy-guzzling appliance in the whole house. With a little bit of patience and some of that stuff that exists all around us and provides us freely with oxygen, my clothes can be dried without using all of that electricity. Air drying not only saves money by saving energy, it's also gentler on clothes, which can last longer. Man, I'm totally talking myself into looking around for a wooden drying rack ASAP.
Each of us is the earth's steward; "someone who manages property or other affairs for someone else," namely the other creatures of the planet and their descendants, and our own. This also touches on our responsibility to care for our bodies so that they too are efficient and less wasteful. I could go on and on about why this biblical worldview is poisonous, but I'll spare you and instead talk about these little changes while I sip a vodka cocktail.
Know the origins of the products you buy. Today I bought 100% cotton yarn spun in Italy. Western nations are more likely to have implemented regulations that ensure that workplaces are humane, and harm to the environment is mitigated by good manufacturing practices. Unfortunately, a lot of companies from the United States will outsource to other less wealthy nations to take advantage of loose regulations. Also unfortunately, products from less-developed countries cost a lot less, too. But, if you can afford it, buy local.
Be self-reliant. For our house, I've made placemats, pillows, cloth napkins, washcloths, towels, etc.. It's not the realm of Laura Ingalls Wilder - it's just a great policy for the modern human. Gone are the days when I'd donate a pair of pants to Goodwill because seams were coming undone! If you can make it yourself and can afford to take the time to do it, go for it. You know who puts forth the effort and what environmental and workplace rules govern the "worker" (you) and the company, Myself, Inc. You also know what went into it, and you might get to learn new and totally awesome skills.
Try not to buy disposable products. We've been trying to buy unprocessed foods, which are inherently less packaged. We've completely stopped using paper towels and tissues, and instead use handmade napkins and dishcloths every day. All of our bread is made from minimally-processed ingredients by our Cuisinart breadmaker. Just put the ingredients in the pan and press Start. No processing, no packaging, and delightful bread.
Things I'd like to work on:
Giving handmade gifts. I could go to the mall and buy a made-in-China, prettily-packaged product from a name-brand store... Or I could work for a few hours of my time with less expensive but higher-quality materials to produce something unique and useful. It's a win-win situation.
Recycling. Yes yes yes we recycle! But here in Montreal, every single scrap of paper and plastic can be recycled, recycling is sorted by the city and is picked up on the curb in one bag just outside the front door. Recycling has never been easier, and I need to really work at making sure that every piece of plastic and paper we generate goes into that bag, even if the garbage can is a couple steps closer.
Taking shorter showers. My plan of action is to keep my showers to 10 minutes or less. I'm going to implement it tomorrow.
Washing dishes more efficiently. I hate washing dishes so I tend to wash them in bunches, keeping the hot water running to soak, scrub and rinse. Tomorrow I am going to buy a dishpan to save hot water, which we have to pay for.
Cutting down on the number of loads of laundry and relying on air drying for more clothes. I can't resist the dryer! It's kind of sad, and it's the most energy-guzzling appliance in the whole house. With a little bit of patience and some of that stuff that exists all around us and provides us freely with oxygen, my clothes can be dried without using all of that electricity. Air drying not only saves money by saving energy, it's also gentler on clothes, which can last longer. Man, I'm totally talking myself into looking around for a wooden drying rack ASAP.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Happy People Write Boring Posts
It's true. I'd much rather read posts about other peoples' soul-searching, emo rants and insecure confessions. Recently, I've kept the emo rants and insecure confessions to a minimum, but simply because I have been so content. Kind of amazing, considering I don't have much of a purpose right now beyond gathering information and keeping house.
Nonetheless, I manage to stay pretty busy. I wake up early every morning, have coffee and eat breakfast. Then come chores, usually washing dirty dinner dishes (by hand, we don't have a dishwasher here), sweeping, mopping, laundry and tidying up. After that, it's productive activities that don't involve cleaning, like sewing, wandering around downtown, jogging, shopping for needed items (and fabric-shopping can take hours), studying Japanese and/or French and usually a few hours of reading. Then, it's coming up with something for dinner. I've been making a wide variety of dishes, almost always from scratch, without a food processor or blender to assist. I've been chopping up my own breadcrumbs from homemade bread, which takes an exhaustingly long time. Finding out ways to use all of the things in the refrigerator is an art, and I have been dabbling with success. After Caspian comes home and we eat, we usually goof off, run errands together (walk to the grocery store, the mall, etc.), play video games together, drink tea and read until bedtime.
In the evenings, sometimes I go out with Caspian and his friends and their significant others - who are all pretty great. There are Americans, Norwegians, Australians, New Zealanders, Ukrainians and others. Sometimes I have French class with many of these same people. On the weekends, there is always a Saturday morning breakfast crowd of friends at 10am, and we usually go.
Life seems to be pretty good right now. Simple, but good. The apartment is always spotless, dinner is usually delicious and between 6 and 7pm, and I am almost always chipper and affectionate. There are niggling feelings of guilt that I am not working to help other people at the moment, guilt that I am not contributing - but I am, a little, in other ways. I now have the time to make sure we have awesome (and cheaper) things to eat at home so we don't waste money eating out (and this has been a huge waste in the past). I have time to make awesome things to wear, so I don't waste money buying crappily-made, cookie-cutter name brand clothes - and I'm learning at the same time. You'd be surprised how cerebral and mathematical sewing is. And the whole happy-and-not-moody thing? Everything is so much easier when both spousal units (ha) are engaged, happy and investing in the relationship. This is extremely important for us, since it's entirely possible that it will be just us two for the rest of our lives. Mine and Caspian's relationship is the reason for the marriage.
Orientation for my new job has been postponed, as the company is looking to hire a native English speaker who also speaks fluent Russian; a scarcity here in Montreal, I'm sure. They haven't found anybody that they're satisfied with yet, and because they want to fill a particular number of positions and then train us all together to save time and money, I've simply been waiting. I'm hopeful that once I begin teaching, I will find more fulfillment. Very few things are more fun than helping other people be successful.
Maybe after that, I will be able to afford piano and/or dance lessons again...?
The one missing thing that I should add is more socialization. For an almost-extrovert, it's baffling to me how completely comfortable I am doing everything alone. It's cognition, not instinct, that stops me and says "hey Shinseiko, you haven't talked to anybody face-to-face other than Caspian in four days." Doh. I want a close relationship, now, without having to go through all of the steps that it takes for two people to become thoroughly acquainted to the point where they can sit around and do nothing together.
People get together and talk to make sense of life as a group. Fellowship and the sharing of experiences is one of the defining features of the human race. I often wonder why I don't crave it.
Nonetheless, I manage to stay pretty busy. I wake up early every morning, have coffee and eat breakfast. Then come chores, usually washing dirty dinner dishes (by hand, we don't have a dishwasher here), sweeping, mopping, laundry and tidying up. After that, it's productive activities that don't involve cleaning, like sewing, wandering around downtown, jogging, shopping for needed items (and fabric-shopping can take hours), studying Japanese and/or French and usually a few hours of reading. Then, it's coming up with something for dinner. I've been making a wide variety of dishes, almost always from scratch, without a food processor or blender to assist. I've been chopping up my own breadcrumbs from homemade bread, which takes an exhaustingly long time. Finding out ways to use all of the things in the refrigerator is an art, and I have been dabbling with success. After Caspian comes home and we eat, we usually goof off, run errands together (walk to the grocery store, the mall, etc.), play video games together, drink tea and read until bedtime.
In the evenings, sometimes I go out with Caspian and his friends and their significant others - who are all pretty great. There are Americans, Norwegians, Australians, New Zealanders, Ukrainians and others. Sometimes I have French class with many of these same people. On the weekends, there is always a Saturday morning breakfast crowd of friends at 10am, and we usually go.
Life seems to be pretty good right now. Simple, but good. The apartment is always spotless, dinner is usually delicious and between 6 and 7pm, and I am almost always chipper and affectionate. There are niggling feelings of guilt that I am not working to help other people at the moment, guilt that I am not contributing - but I am, a little, in other ways. I now have the time to make sure we have awesome (and cheaper) things to eat at home so we don't waste money eating out (and this has been a huge waste in the past). I have time to make awesome things to wear, so I don't waste money buying crappily-made, cookie-cutter name brand clothes - and I'm learning at the same time. You'd be surprised how cerebral and mathematical sewing is. And the whole happy-and-not-moody thing? Everything is so much easier when both spousal units (ha) are engaged, happy and investing in the relationship. This is extremely important for us, since it's entirely possible that it will be just us two for the rest of our lives. Mine and Caspian's relationship is the reason for the marriage.
Orientation for my new job has been postponed, as the company is looking to hire a native English speaker who also speaks fluent Russian; a scarcity here in Montreal, I'm sure. They haven't found anybody that they're satisfied with yet, and because they want to fill a particular number of positions and then train us all together to save time and money, I've simply been waiting. I'm hopeful that once I begin teaching, I will find more fulfillment. Very few things are more fun than helping other people be successful.
Maybe after that, I will be able to afford piano and/or dance lessons again...?
The one missing thing that I should add is more socialization. For an almost-extrovert, it's baffling to me how completely comfortable I am doing everything alone. It's cognition, not instinct, that stops me and says "hey Shinseiko, you haven't talked to anybody face-to-face other than Caspian in four days." Doh. I want a close relationship, now, without having to go through all of the steps that it takes for two people to become thoroughly acquainted to the point where they can sit around and do nothing together.
People get together and talk to make sense of life as a group. Fellowship and the sharing of experiences is one of the defining features of the human race. I often wonder why I don't crave it.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Littles, French and Bathrobe Coats
Kiska and Jesper, our little polar opposites. You can tell by their poses that Kiska (white) is the shy, OCD one and Jesper (orange) is the sunny, gregarious one. Kiska suspects something, as evidenced by her little peeking eye. They are snoozing on a wool rug hand-woven by my gramma 30 years ago.
I wish we had French class every day. When I first came to Montreal, French sounded absolutely bizarre to me, especially after 5 years of Japanese. I took three years of Latin, one year of ancient Greek and one year of French in high school, but it's been so long since the French that it was like a completely new language. After encountering it constantly for the past month (has it been that long?!?), not only am I used to French, but it is comprehensible - if spoken relatively slowly. The sounds of French make sense now and fit nicely into little categories, whereas before, there seemed to be a bazillion different sounds.
I finished my bathrobe coat this morning! It's not really a bathrobe, but it's voluminous, falls to my ankles and has a cowl-neck collar, which gives it a sort of decadent, bathroby flair. Very nice, and all of that wool herringbone will be so warm and cozy this fall!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Satisfied
It's fall equinox [at the equator, far away from where I am] and in true spirit of the season, I have made a simple stew with beef, potatoes, onions, carrots, crimini mushrooms and a clove of garlic. I am a happy, happy being today. Everything satisfies me, which is unusual because I am by nature a dissatisfied person. Once I accomplish or acquire something, I get about 10 minutes' (or an insignificant amount of time) worth of pure satisfaction, which begins to pale and shred soon after. My life is a constant battle of bettering, of changing my perceptions and of gaining more, more, more information.
It's a good thing that I'm not particularly materials-oriented when it comes to the whole bettering thing. That's an expensive slippery slope. I was going somewhere with this, but I've lost my train of thought because it smells so freaking good in this house.
So, today I am satisfied with my body, with my wardrobe, with the forms and functions of the things in my life, with my husband, with my state of mind, with the simple things that I've done today and the little funny adventures I've gotten myself into. I think I'm going to stew awhile in this simple satisfaction while I have it. Maybe I'll get some seasoning out of it.
It's a good thing that I'm not particularly materials-oriented when it comes to the whole bettering thing. That's an expensive slippery slope. I was going somewhere with this, but I've lost my train of thought because it smells so freaking good in this house.
So, today I am satisfied with my body, with my wardrobe, with the forms and functions of the things in my life, with my husband, with my state of mind, with the simple things that I've done today and the little funny adventures I've gotten myself into. I think I'm going to stew awhile in this simple satisfaction while I have it. Maybe I'll get some seasoning out of it.
The Fabled Jumping Pot of Ville-Marie
After a jog and my chores, I headed out to the mall with my iPod in my pocket to buy a stock pot to make beef stew in. We have the beef and the veggies, but we lack a pot big enough and I didn't find one yesterday during my travels.
I looked at the selection of pots, chose one, and took it (and a butter dish) to the checkout line. I was totally jamming to my music, standing there idly, when the pot suddenly jumps out of my hands and hits the floor with a tremendous racket. I winced, picked it up, dusted it off, and no harm done. Got a couple stares, but nobody yelled expletives at me or burst into tears, so I was quite unfazed.
Finally it was my turn. The cashier said bonjour, took my pot, scanned it, and immediately dropped it and the lid, which bounced off of each other multiple times before coming to rest on the floor. I picked them up sheepishly while the little old lady next in line snickered at me behind the gigantic pile of sponges she was holding. They were unharmed, so we bagged them and I left.
I headed to the grocery store (which is inside the mall) to buy buillon de boeuf and some milk. The cashier scanned my items and put them in a bag while the bagger guy took my big bag containing the pot (which contained the butter dish) while I situated my wallet, purse and grocery bag. Without warning, the bag leapt from his hands, scattering the pot and the butter dish far and wide and sending the lid flying at least 10 feet! We retrieved the pieces and returned them to their bag, making sure there were no dents and no holes in the bag. I left the grocery store, but the pot managed to wallop itself on a metal post with a clang as I walked away. I spanked its steel bottom through the bag.
Groceries and other items in tow, I reinserted my headphones and turned up the dubstep. I sauntered casually and quite cutely (I thought) through the mall, almost making it to the door to the outside, when that obstreperous pot flitted from me and hit an old lady pushing a walker smack in the butt! Unable to contain myself, I burst out laughing and she glared at me with the considerable power of a venerable elder. I wilted a little bit, but kept my smirk on all the way home. The pot now sits on the stove, waiting to make stew!
I looked at the selection of pots, chose one, and took it (and a butter dish) to the checkout line. I was totally jamming to my music, standing there idly, when the pot suddenly jumps out of my hands and hits the floor with a tremendous racket. I winced, picked it up, dusted it off, and no harm done. Got a couple stares, but nobody yelled expletives at me or burst into tears, so I was quite unfazed.
Finally it was my turn. The cashier said bonjour, took my pot, scanned it, and immediately dropped it and the lid, which bounced off of each other multiple times before coming to rest on the floor. I picked them up sheepishly while the little old lady next in line snickered at me behind the gigantic pile of sponges she was holding. They were unharmed, so we bagged them and I left.
I headed to the grocery store (which is inside the mall) to buy buillon de boeuf and some milk. The cashier scanned my items and put them in a bag while the bagger guy took my big bag containing the pot (which contained the butter dish) while I situated my wallet, purse and grocery bag. Without warning, the bag leapt from his hands, scattering the pot and the butter dish far and wide and sending the lid flying at least 10 feet! We retrieved the pieces and returned them to their bag, making sure there were no dents and no holes in the bag. I left the grocery store, but the pot managed to wallop itself on a metal post with a clang as I walked away. I spanked its steel bottom through the bag.
Groceries and other items in tow, I reinserted my headphones and turned up the dubstep. I sauntered casually and quite cutely (I thought) through the mall, almost making it to the door to the outside, when that obstreperous pot flitted from me and hit an old lady pushing a walker smack in the butt! Unable to contain myself, I burst out laughing and she glared at me with the considerable power of a venerable elder. I wilted a little bit, but kept my smirk on all the way home. The pot now sits on the stove, waiting to make stew!
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Musings on Beliefs and Stuff
I think it's understandable that some of the religious fear agnostics and atheists. After all, it's difficult to predict the moves of one who does not subscribe to a familiar and clearly delineated moral and ethical code and adhere to it under penalty of damnation, with incentives like eternal life and reunion with one's deceased loved ones. Operating in the anguishing environment of absolute free choice, outside the circles of protection that religion affords, atheists and agnostics are not accountable to anybody except themselves and believe the same of everybody else, devout or not.
I was raised in a vaguely Christian environment by extremely ethical, thoughtful and loving parents with liberal beliefs. There is a lot of openness between my mother and I, and no squeamishness. My father and I are very similar - moody and analytical. I consider him a philosopher. I love both of them so deeply.
My education was secular after preschool and until high school, when I attended a Catholic school. It was a surprisingly liberal place, as Catholic schools go, and I was taught secular and religious topics equally. I wasn't particularly stifled, but I didn't develop very much in a philosophical sense; I just did what I was told and said that I believed what I was taught, while inside, I was ambivalent and self-centered. Not a period of my life when I was particularly insightful, brave, intelligent or passionate, but I've always been a late bloomer. I did, however, thoroughly appreciate beauty, even then. I think that's the one thing that has always remained close to my heart.
By beauty, I mean love and nature and cunning words and altruism. Human creations that convey concepts that somehow reach beyond human capacity to touch something else. Nature, which universally defies my ability to comprehend it beyond a certain point on my personal understandability continuum, the point beyond which I feel god, or the gods, or the deities or Something. A million times I've said to myself, "it's all in your head" and "you've just found the limit of your intelligence," and it very well may be so, which is fine. I accept that possibility while I simultaneously and hopefully feel that it's not so simple. There's no thinking there, no logic, no goals or self-interest, just a little sparkling feeling that has always been with me.
I don't believe in heaven or hell. I don't believe that there is a list of rules extant that guarantee life beyond death or a relationship with the divine. I don't believe that a deity interacts with our lives on a daily basis. I ascribe all miracles either to chance, nature, or to humans' abilities and ever-changing, ever-complex perceptions. I don't thank anybody or anything for anything I have accomplished, experienced or known. If I believe that the people around me are particularly gifted and beautiful, I have somehow attracted them to me, or my perceptions (which are based on my experiences, genetics and the endless comparisons we all make every day to make sense out of existence) make them appear to be so. Maybe I have displayed a smidge or two of beauty or genius myself, as arrogant as it feels to write it - and I'm going to write it because it's true.
After all, I don't particularly deserve any of it in the same way that crack babies don't deserve their fates. I have never seen the concept of "fairness" anywhere beyond preschool. The world is not a gentle place, and I am not a gentle person.
All I believe in is now, nature, love and soul. The mysterious force that connects the atoms together, mothers to their young, the barn owl to its lifelong mate. The reason why the cedar clenches the rocks in its great feet and strives toward the sun, why viruses are impelled to multiply. Now is the only thing I know I have. It is anguishing, to suspect to the depths that you'll never again see the people you've bid goodbye to forever, but it makes life, connection, pleasure, pain, experience and joy that much more valuable. It makes everybody else's - every other thing's - life valuable to you. This is where religions often fail. If you're in, you're loved. If you're out, you're Other.
I have an uncanny knack for being dramatic even when I'm not around anybody. Maybe since I lack it in real life, I gots ta make it up in my own brain. Have fake arguments with myself. Pretend like I'm actually torn between one thing and another for the sake of thought convection.
I was just reading the blog of a friend in undergrad who is probably one of the most liquid, vivid, messed-up people I have ever known. Every relationship she has is fraught with pits and traps and characterized by burning, undying love, the kind that melts your soul into a different shape when you encounter it. I both admire and pity her ever-changing core. It has to be vastly upsetting to be so deeply in flux. She's like a crucible full of molten metal, while I'm more like a lake - mercurial on the surface, but calm in the depths. I might sink a few ships, but this girl will burn you to cinders.
I was raised in a vaguely Christian environment by extremely ethical, thoughtful and loving parents with liberal beliefs. There is a lot of openness between my mother and I, and no squeamishness. My father and I are very similar - moody and analytical. I consider him a philosopher. I love both of them so deeply.
My education was secular after preschool and until high school, when I attended a Catholic school. It was a surprisingly liberal place, as Catholic schools go, and I was taught secular and religious topics equally. I wasn't particularly stifled, but I didn't develop very much in a philosophical sense; I just did what I was told and said that I believed what I was taught, while inside, I was ambivalent and self-centered. Not a period of my life when I was particularly insightful, brave, intelligent or passionate, but I've always been a late bloomer. I did, however, thoroughly appreciate beauty, even then. I think that's the one thing that has always remained close to my heart.
By beauty, I mean love and nature and cunning words and altruism. Human creations that convey concepts that somehow reach beyond human capacity to touch something else. Nature, which universally defies my ability to comprehend it beyond a certain point on my personal understandability continuum, the point beyond which I feel god, or the gods, or the deities or Something. A million times I've said to myself, "it's all in your head" and "you've just found the limit of your intelligence," and it very well may be so, which is fine. I accept that possibility while I simultaneously and hopefully feel that it's not so simple. There's no thinking there, no logic, no goals or self-interest, just a little sparkling feeling that has always been with me.
I don't believe in heaven or hell. I don't believe that there is a list of rules extant that guarantee life beyond death or a relationship with the divine. I don't believe that a deity interacts with our lives on a daily basis. I ascribe all miracles either to chance, nature, or to humans' abilities and ever-changing, ever-complex perceptions. I don't thank anybody or anything for anything I have accomplished, experienced or known. If I believe that the people around me are particularly gifted and beautiful, I have somehow attracted them to me, or my perceptions (which are based on my experiences, genetics and the endless comparisons we all make every day to make sense out of existence) make them appear to be so. Maybe I have displayed a smidge or two of beauty or genius myself, as arrogant as it feels to write it - and I'm going to write it because it's true.
After all, I don't particularly deserve any of it in the same way that crack babies don't deserve their fates. I have never seen the concept of "fairness" anywhere beyond preschool. The world is not a gentle place, and I am not a gentle person.
All I believe in is now, nature, love and soul. The mysterious force that connects the atoms together, mothers to their young, the barn owl to its lifelong mate. The reason why the cedar clenches the rocks in its great feet and strives toward the sun, why viruses are impelled to multiply. Now is the only thing I know I have. It is anguishing, to suspect to the depths that you'll never again see the people you've bid goodbye to forever, but it makes life, connection, pleasure, pain, experience and joy that much more valuable. It makes everybody else's - every other thing's - life valuable to you. This is where religions often fail. If you're in, you're loved. If you're out, you're Other.
I have an uncanny knack for being dramatic even when I'm not around anybody. Maybe since I lack it in real life, I gots ta make it up in my own brain. Have fake arguments with myself. Pretend like I'm actually torn between one thing and another for the sake of thought convection.
I was just reading the blog of a friend in undergrad who is probably one of the most liquid, vivid, messed-up people I have ever known. Every relationship she has is fraught with pits and traps and characterized by burning, undying love, the kind that melts your soul into a different shape when you encounter it. I both admire and pity her ever-changing core. It has to be vastly upsetting to be so deeply in flux. She's like a crucible full of molten metal, while I'm more like a lake - mercurial on the surface, but calm in the depths. I might sink a few ships, but this girl will burn you to cinders.
The 2nd Happiest City in the World
I had forgotten that my city is beringed with mountains until I jogged southeast and then west... And then huffed and puffed up the residential flanks of Mont Royal, one of the ritzier parts of town. The grade was probably 35% at some points; I felt like I was in a V8 commercial, jogging slanted, while the world remained level. I could have probably walked up the mountain faster than I was jogging, but I kept on, seeing black spots and barely hearing my iPod, until I could go no further, and then I turned around and was shocked!
Beyond the tiered verandas of all of the multi-million dollar homes I'd just labored past without even glancing at, was the city, and then the mountains! I can't believe I'd forgotten that just on the edge of the horizon is the wilderness. The sky was almost the purple color of a violet and a 60-degree wind blasted into my face and sent the branches of the cedars, elms, blue spruces and beeches waving. I was surprised and happy to be there on that cursed hill, sweating and breathless and delighted. The city doesn't go on for miles, the business and shopping districts end abruptly at shaded side side streets lined with stately stone houses. The blue spruces are there waiting for my hungry eyes, just at the top of the hill.
Maybe I should exert myself with more diligence in other areas of my life, if I'm to be rewarded like that.
Yeah, so I think that in my hermitness I have succeeded in pretty much pruning away those relationships that aren't absolutely necessary for my existence. Well, moving to another country makes it damn easy, but still. There are a few people (and I can count them on one hand) that sparkle among the gloom of normal humans that I should do anything to keep in my life, but they are slipping away, too. Maybe I should help everything along, cut all of those extraneous ties that keep my gossipy side slightly entertained, totally stop all contact with everyone except the people that I know will come and walk along beside me when I need a friend.
People naturally come and go, and social networking prevents that whole going thing from happening.
Sherlock Holmes would only think about subjects that were essential to his work and passions, and totally ignored everything else to maximize his brain's efficiency. I guess if there are people "in my life" that inspire negative emotions like jealousy, irritation, anger, and the like in me, they should be ousted ASAP even if my masochistic little intrigue-loving lobe guards them, poisonous little sweets.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Thoughts for a Saturday Morning
Sometimes I feel like this is all a dream, or a vacation or something. Usually, I am contented and don't think about it, and time passes in my contentedness as I go about my everyday activities. But occasionally I stop and think about where I am and what I'm doing now, and about how different it is from where I was and what I was doing (and what I was planning on doing), and realize that in the back recesses of my mind I'm expecting it to come to an end like all vacations must... But it's not a vacation and not a dream.
No commuting, except for the tele- variety. My work is done in my little home here, and I don't have to fight traffic for 40 minutes to get to a place where I despise spending my time. No, I get to be here, getting paid to learn and do one of the things that I most enjoy.
No cars. We walk everywhere. Yesterday morning, I walked for one hour to visit J at my favorite fabric store, Colabrijai, and then another hour to get home (and J plied me with free things!). Caspian and I walked in the beautiful fall weather to meet our friends for our usual Saturday morning breakfast. He walks to work, I walk to the grocery store, everything is just a few steps away and I don't have to rely on oil products to acquire the things I need and reach my destinations.
No United States. I am tired of my home country, weary of its bigness (a la SUVs, corporate power, all-you-can-eat buffets and rampant obesity) and its littleness (conservative politics, forced ignorance). I am bored of its homogeneity. I would never raise a child in an environment where the Texas School Board has the influence to dictate what textbook publishers include in public school curricula, where Christian patriarchs run for political office and win, where women struggle to have the freedom to control their own bodies. The rich don't take care of the poor and disadvantaged, but instead hoard their extra wealth and invest it in foreign markets that have looser rules. Every day now, I hear so many languages and dialects and see so many races and ages and vocations, and they all mix together on the same streets. I have free French lessons on Monday and Wednesday evenings for two hours each, and I am so stoked about the possibility of being trilingual.
I found my Social Insurance Number card in the mail today and am now eligible to receive public health care. Canada is providing for me. I have time now to do the things that I love, and can now feasibly create all of my own clothes for a fraction of the price of name brand clothing. Not only that, but it fits me better and I can choose from a kaleidoscope of fabrics and textures and colors that aren't available in the market... And no sweatshop labor is involved. I have the time and energy to both be content and revel in my contentedness. There is no dread in my day, no significant worrying, no feelings of harried guilt or loss. Things don't feel like they are slipping away, as they did only 1.5 months ago. I am young and beautiful and accomplished...
And maybe now I can finally be happy?
No commuting, except for the tele- variety. My work is done in my little home here, and I don't have to fight traffic for 40 minutes to get to a place where I despise spending my time. No, I get to be here, getting paid to learn and do one of the things that I most enjoy.
No cars. We walk everywhere. Yesterday morning, I walked for one hour to visit J at my favorite fabric store, Colabrijai, and then another hour to get home (and J plied me with free things!). Caspian and I walked in the beautiful fall weather to meet our friends for our usual Saturday morning breakfast. He walks to work, I walk to the grocery store, everything is just a few steps away and I don't have to rely on oil products to acquire the things I need and reach my destinations.
No United States. I am tired of my home country, weary of its bigness (a la SUVs, corporate power, all-you-can-eat buffets and rampant obesity) and its littleness (conservative politics, forced ignorance). I am bored of its homogeneity. I would never raise a child in an environment where the Texas School Board has the influence to dictate what textbook publishers include in public school curricula, where Christian patriarchs run for political office and win, where women struggle to have the freedom to control their own bodies. The rich don't take care of the poor and disadvantaged, but instead hoard their extra wealth and invest it in foreign markets that have looser rules. Every day now, I hear so many languages and dialects and see so many races and ages and vocations, and they all mix together on the same streets. I have free French lessons on Monday and Wednesday evenings for two hours each, and I am so stoked about the possibility of being trilingual.
I found my Social Insurance Number card in the mail today and am now eligible to receive public health care. Canada is providing for me. I have time now to do the things that I love, and can now feasibly create all of my own clothes for a fraction of the price of name brand clothing. Not only that, but it fits me better and I can choose from a kaleidoscope of fabrics and textures and colors that aren't available in the market... And no sweatshop labor is involved. I have the time and energy to both be content and revel in my contentedness. There is no dread in my day, no significant worrying, no feelings of harried guilt or loss. Things don't feel like they are slipping away, as they did only 1.5 months ago. I am young and beautiful and accomplished...
And maybe now I can finally be happy?
Friday, September 17, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
In Which I Ramble About Clothes
I am freezing here at the kitchen table in two sweatshirts, pajama pants, knee-highs (ha!) and Acorn slippers. It's 55 degrees outside and not much warmer inside. I'd better get a move on and finish hemming those curtains before the heat gets turned on by our landlord, M.
Unfortunately, I have other sewing projects going! I finished my beautiful jersey top this morning before lunch. Did I mention how lovely it is? Walking down the streets of Montreal today wearing it with my Ciao Bella low heels, flashy crystal studs and my hair coiffed, I felt like a million bucks - mostly because nobody was wearing anything so unique and lovely. It is form-fitting and slinky with 3/4 length sleeves, a ruched, crossed-over v-neck bodice with an off-center twist at the natural waist, where it splits to an asymmetrical, close-draping tunic bottom almost to my knees.
The styles right now are both great and detestable. I love the skinny jeans look with flats and heels, but I hate, hate, hate bubbly, shapeless tops and high-waisted, high-water pants and skirts. I digress. I should probably have Caspian take a picture of me modeling my masterpiece tomorrow. It's my best work yet, I think, although the sleeve seams were iffy, but I blame that on the fabric's bad behavior. So... Guess where I traipsed off to this afternoon? Why, the fabric store, of course!
I bought 3.20 meters of a marvelous cream 100% merino herringbone jacketing... Not for $20/m. Not for $15, $10 or even $8, but $2.99/m! I am going to make a calf-length belted jacket out of it in time for October winds. I also bought some more of that synthetic knit, since I know how to handle it now, printed with a modern pattern of blues and creams. That was a little bit more expensive, even with the discount I get with my membership. Interestingly, I was at the fabric store at the same time that crowds of middle-twenties-hipster-chicks-who-sew converged upon the premises. Many of them had dreads, and most of them were wearing items featuring mismatched buttons and waif-like ragged hems. I pretty much felt like Audrey Hepburn, but my self-confidence sunk a little bit when I failed at French.
But, I breezed through the front door in high-spirits clutching my purchases, and discovered that I was offered the position that I interviewed for last week!
Unfortunately, I have other sewing projects going! I finished my beautiful jersey top this morning before lunch. Did I mention how lovely it is? Walking down the streets of Montreal today wearing it with my Ciao Bella low heels, flashy crystal studs and my hair coiffed, I felt like a million bucks - mostly because nobody was wearing anything so unique and lovely. It is form-fitting and slinky with 3/4 length sleeves, a ruched, crossed-over v-neck bodice with an off-center twist at the natural waist, where it splits to an asymmetrical, close-draping tunic bottom almost to my knees.
The styles right now are both great and detestable. I love the skinny jeans look with flats and heels, but I hate, hate, hate bubbly, shapeless tops and high-waisted, high-water pants and skirts. I digress. I should probably have Caspian take a picture of me modeling my masterpiece tomorrow. It's my best work yet, I think, although the sleeve seams were iffy, but I blame that on the fabric's bad behavior. So... Guess where I traipsed off to this afternoon? Why, the fabric store, of course!
I bought 3.20 meters of a marvelous cream 100% merino herringbone jacketing... Not for $20/m. Not for $15, $10 or even $8, but $2.99/m! I am going to make a calf-length belted jacket out of it in time for October winds. I also bought some more of that synthetic knit, since I know how to handle it now, printed with a modern pattern of blues and creams. That was a little bit more expensive, even with the discount I get with my membership. Interestingly, I was at the fabric store at the same time that crowds of middle-twenties-hipster-chicks-who-sew converged upon the premises. Many of them had dreads, and most of them were wearing items featuring mismatched buttons and waif-like ragged hems. I pretty much felt like Audrey Hepburn, but my self-confidence sunk a little bit when I failed at French.
But, I breezed through the front door in high-spirits clutching my purchases, and discovered that I was offered the position that I interviewed for last week!
SQUEEEEEE!!!
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Knits Knits Knits
I walked in the pouring rain (why? why is it always in the pouring rain?) yesterday to the chain fabric store (as opposed to the non-chain one I visited last week). To my chagrin and personal shame, it was a French-only store. I feel, and not for any reason other than self-criticism, like a second-class citizen because I don't speak French. Anyway! So, I went to this store, browsed for an hour, and found a pattern for a beautiful wrap top that I immediately wanted to make. I chose possibly the most difficult fabric in the entire universe to work with: A gorgeously draping polyester knit. I have very limited experience working with knits, but I like a challenge.
At the checkout, I tried my Visa. No dice - it's always a gamble with an international card. I was buying four things - my fabric, the pattern, three ballpoint needles (to facilitate the sewing of the knit, I hoped) and a year's membership to the store's club (for $15 CAD). Despite the heavy discounts I received via the membership (I got both the pattern and the fabric half-off and spent $16 on both combined), I didn't have enough cash, so I had to put down the needles. So, I ended up causing a ruckus and miming things to the cashier, who spoke very basic English. I don't get embarrassed very easily, but the combination of being an inept communicator (which in my twisted mind questions my intellect) and the payment problems pretty much had me on the edge.
Dejected, I wandered through the rain, splashing through puddles, wending my way among the stylish and cute, a short blonde girl who had taken a self-generated blow to her confidence WHO ALSO LACKED BALLPOINT NEEDLES! Could it be any worse?
This morning I am going to go get a Canadian bank account! Gaaah.
At the checkout, I tried my Visa. No dice - it's always a gamble with an international card. I was buying four things - my fabric, the pattern, three ballpoint needles (to facilitate the sewing of the knit, I hoped) and a year's membership to the store's club (for $15 CAD). Despite the heavy discounts I received via the membership (I got both the pattern and the fabric half-off and spent $16 on both combined), I didn't have enough cash, so I had to put down the needles. So, I ended up causing a ruckus and miming things to the cashier, who spoke very basic English. I don't get embarrassed very easily, but the combination of being an inept communicator (which in my twisted mind questions my intellect) and the payment problems pretty much had me on the edge.
Dejected, I wandered through the rain, splashing through puddles, wending my way among the stylish and cute, a short blonde girl who had taken a self-generated blow to her confidence WHO ALSO LACKED BALLPOINT NEEDLES! Could it be any worse?
This morning I am going to go get a Canadian bank account! Gaaah.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
The Beautiful City
Several interesting things have gone down over the past several days, and I'm inclined to document them here. ::takes deep breath::
I walked 2 hours to and from the best, most awesome fabric store in Montreal on Thursday, in the pouring, 55 degree rain... Wearing jogging shorts! It was pretty epic, and I was soaked to the skin when I got home after what turned out to be a 3-hour expedition. I think I was the only person who wasn't fleeing in terror from the rain on Rue Sherbrooke, but only because I wasn't wearing expensive slacks or a cropped wool jacket or whatever. The owner of the fabric shop was a genuine, kind-hearted and philosophic person, and I enjoyed chatting and laughing with him during my 1.5-hour browse... I was very thorough and took note of every bolt of fabric.
And of course, when I got home, I immediately started measuring, cutting and piecing the pillows. I managed to purchase beautiful black and red brocade for... $8 a meter in length, but much wider in width! I bought two meters and made four 18-inch square pillows with envelope backs, which now reside on our bed. Earlier in the week, I hemmed most of the curtains in the apartment to make sure that the heaters don't light them on fire, and I've been itching to sew more.
Friday involved a loooong jog. I was feeling passive-aggressive and played jogging bowling - which is when one jogs directly through large knots of people just for the heck of it, especially those containing people that look especially snooty, self-important or irritating in some other way. I also managed to find some beautiful nooks and crannies. Places where the soil smells exactly how it smells in my grandmother's garden of 20 years ago, where the grass looks like velour, where huge sentinels of evergreen trees that I don't recognize have stood guard for 40, 50, 60 years. I was refreshed and rejuvenated and inclined to see the city in a much more positive light.
That evening, I walked to Caspian's building, where I met up with him and a huge crowd of his colleagues, and we walked 45 minutes to the quays and boarded a yacht. We cruised up and down the St. Lawrence, eating tapas and drinking martinis and Chambly, for about 1.5 hours. I was quite entertained! There were several bars positioned strategically at different levels of the yacht, a formal dining room, a dance floor - and most mind-boggling of all, all foods and drinks were on the company tab. The whole place was thumping to samba and house. Apparently it isn't illegal to smoke marijuana here, or at least not particularly enforced, because I have seen tons of people walking crowded city streets smoking joints, as well as on this yacht.
When we came back, the party continued at a chartered terrace, but Caspian and I left soon after, tired and hungry and worn-out (and very tipsy). And we walked home, which took at least 45 minutes. I'm going to get rail-thin with all of this walking and jogging! I've lost about 6 lbs. since I arrived almost three weeks ago.
We were up early this morning, and we walked to our favorite breakfast joint, meeting up with friends there. I ate three massive slices of vanilla and nutmeg-seasoned French toast with pure Quebec maple syrup. That plate in front of me was one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen. It was a marvelous day, cool and calm and utterly clear. We were so full that we didn't need to eat until dinner, when we cooked beef stroganoff with portobello mushrooms and white wine, and invited one of our friends (who is also a neighbor) over. We sat down to dinner, and Kiska ventured forth, not realizing that there was a stranger in the house. She sauntered around, meowing and asking for pets - even looking into our guest's face and meowing! - until she finally noticed his presence and ran away! We ate and drank the rest of the wine before heading to J's place and watching Le Pacte des loups.
Chronicle complete. Now, bedtime.
I walked 2 hours to and from the best, most awesome fabric store in Montreal on Thursday, in the pouring, 55 degree rain... Wearing jogging shorts! It was pretty epic, and I was soaked to the skin when I got home after what turned out to be a 3-hour expedition. I think I was the only person who wasn't fleeing in terror from the rain on Rue Sherbrooke, but only because I wasn't wearing expensive slacks or a cropped wool jacket or whatever. The owner of the fabric shop was a genuine, kind-hearted and philosophic person, and I enjoyed chatting and laughing with him during my 1.5-hour browse... I was very thorough and took note of every bolt of fabric.
And of course, when I got home, I immediately started measuring, cutting and piecing the pillows. I managed to purchase beautiful black and red brocade for... $8 a meter in length, but much wider in width! I bought two meters and made four 18-inch square pillows with envelope backs, which now reside on our bed. Earlier in the week, I hemmed most of the curtains in the apartment to make sure that the heaters don't light them on fire, and I've been itching to sew more.
Friday involved a loooong jog. I was feeling passive-aggressive and played jogging bowling - which is when one jogs directly through large knots of people just for the heck of it, especially those containing people that look especially snooty, self-important or irritating in some other way. I also managed to find some beautiful nooks and crannies. Places where the soil smells exactly how it smells in my grandmother's garden of 20 years ago, where the grass looks like velour, where huge sentinels of evergreen trees that I don't recognize have stood guard for 40, 50, 60 years. I was refreshed and rejuvenated and inclined to see the city in a much more positive light.
That evening, I walked to Caspian's building, where I met up with him and a huge crowd of his colleagues, and we walked 45 minutes to the quays and boarded a yacht. We cruised up and down the St. Lawrence, eating tapas and drinking martinis and Chambly, for about 1.5 hours. I was quite entertained! There were several bars positioned strategically at different levels of the yacht, a formal dining room, a dance floor - and most mind-boggling of all, all foods and drinks were on the company tab. The whole place was thumping to samba and house. Apparently it isn't illegal to smoke marijuana here, or at least not particularly enforced, because I have seen tons of people walking crowded city streets smoking joints, as well as on this yacht.
When we came back, the party continued at a chartered terrace, but Caspian and I left soon after, tired and hungry and worn-out (and very tipsy). And we walked home, which took at least 45 minutes. I'm going to get rail-thin with all of this walking and jogging! I've lost about 6 lbs. since I arrived almost three weeks ago.
We were up early this morning, and we walked to our favorite breakfast joint, meeting up with friends there. I ate three massive slices of vanilla and nutmeg-seasoned French toast with pure Quebec maple syrup. That plate in front of me was one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen. It was a marvelous day, cool and calm and utterly clear. We were so full that we didn't need to eat until dinner, when we cooked beef stroganoff with portobello mushrooms and white wine, and invited one of our friends (who is also a neighbor) over. We sat down to dinner, and Kiska ventured forth, not realizing that there was a stranger in the house. She sauntered around, meowing and asking for pets - even looking into our guest's face and meowing! - until she finally noticed his presence and ran away! We ate and drank the rest of the wine before heading to J's place and watching Le Pacte des loups.
Chronicle complete. Now, bedtime.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Waxing Poetic
I feel so lucky tonight, so grateful for everything. For this beautiful place we have to live in, where candles glow and my slim, beautiful husband reclines on the couch chortling as he watches Wipe Out. For the peach-mango green tea that steams beside my netbook, in a Morris & Co. porcelain cup. For all of this time I have to spend learning to know (and maybe even like, or love?) this city. For this gray day and the thunderstorms that ruminate over Montreal, Lachute and Saint-Jerome.
For the opportunities that have fallen at my feet, unasked for. I try so hard not to regret making the choices I've made, because they all led me here to this more enlightened place. I may not have taken complete advantage of every opportunity, or applied myself completely to each one. So maybe I didn't go to Harvard after grad school to get my PhD. I'm not famous, or recognized by some arbitrary but powerful authority for my beauty, cunning, intelligence, wit or creativity. But I am a thinking, wondering, breathing creature, and maybe that's all that matters.
I'm grateful that I'm not working at that place anymore, selling my soul to boredom in the form of a huge, ticking, industrial clock. I feel so free and encouraged and loved. Constrained, but in a healthy, illuminating way. We have enough money. And suddenly I have enough time.
I need to be more courageous. I consider myself a "nature person," mostly because I can ignore my nature while submerged in nature. I'm not confronted with my faults; seems like only other people can bring those out in me. The reason why the city worries me is because those faults, and the faults of my race, come up and slap me in the face every day - and sometimes they're all I can see.
My in-person interview was this morning. I walked, clad in black suit, black pumps, Celtic hair clasp and my dignity, 30 minutes to Sherbrooke Ouest. I passed the Hermes and Dior shops and the graceful, aging businessmen in their light wool sport coats and silly, pointy Italian shoes. And I rocked the interview. I'll know whether or not I received the position at the end of the week, possibly the beginning of next week, and then I'll tell you more about it and not wax poetic quite so much.
For the opportunities that have fallen at my feet, unasked for. I try so hard not to regret making the choices I've made, because they all led me here to this more enlightened place. I may not have taken complete advantage of every opportunity, or applied myself completely to each one. So maybe I didn't go to Harvard after grad school to get my PhD. I'm not famous, or recognized by some arbitrary but powerful authority for my beauty, cunning, intelligence, wit or creativity. But I am a thinking, wondering, breathing creature, and maybe that's all that matters.
I'm grateful that I'm not working at that place anymore, selling my soul to boredom in the form of a huge, ticking, industrial clock. I feel so free and encouraged and loved. Constrained, but in a healthy, illuminating way. We have enough money. And suddenly I have enough time.
I need to be more courageous. I consider myself a "nature person," mostly because I can ignore my nature while submerged in nature. I'm not confronted with my faults; seems like only other people can bring those out in me. The reason why the city worries me is because those faults, and the faults of my race, come up and slap me in the face every day - and sometimes they're all I can see.
My in-person interview was this morning. I walked, clad in black suit, black pumps, Celtic hair clasp and my dignity, 30 minutes to Sherbrooke Ouest. I passed the Hermes and Dior shops and the graceful, aging businessmen in their light wool sport coats and silly, pointy Italian shoes. And I rocked the interview. I'll know whether or not I received the position at the end of the week, possibly the beginning of next week, and then I'll tell you more about it and not wax poetic quite so much.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Disjointed Rambling
Every time I venture forth into the city I am both amazed and jaded. I'm less afraid of it, after running and walking miles through it over the past few days, dodging its inhabitants and massive crowds of long-weekend day-trippers. It doesn't look so ugly anymore. It's definitely more interesting; on one walk, I will inevitably hear between three and six languages spoken.
I swept our little flower-bordered walkway this morning and was bonjour'ed several times. There are a lot more Muslim women and men in Montreal than I've ever seen in any American city. Some women just wear scarves over their hair, and dress in stylish blouses and jeans. Others are completely swathed in long robes or overcoats that reach to their ankles, but these coats may be very fitted at the shoulder and waist, and made of fine fabrics. The more liberally-dressed Muslim women may hold hands with their husbands (I assume the men accompanying them are their husbands), who may be wearing Sperrys and summer linen slacks. The conservative ones do not. I am accustomed to meeting the eyes of the people I pass, and depending upon what I see there, to smile or nod or even say hello. I want to say hi to these women, but they never meet my eyes. I wonder what they think of me.
There are also a lot of Asians in Montreal. Yesterday, as Caspian and I were walking to a sushi place where we spent altogether too much money, I heard Japanese, Chinese and Korean.
Speaking of Japanese... I had my phone interview this evening with a man in Tokyo... And it did not go smoothly. My accent is good, my grammar is good, my vocab... Eh, not so much. I've forgotten a lot in the past four years, even after spending many, many hours this weekend at the kitchen table, studying.
The bread machine is kneading away on the table here, rocking it back and forth and making a tremendous racket. There's a lump in the dough, or maybe it's too sticky, because it's flopping around in the pan like a watermelon in a dryer. In other news, I finished A Shadow in the Glass and am over halfway through with The Tower on the Rift, which is the 2nd book in Irvine's View from the Mirror quartet. It has taken me this long to finally start caring about the characters and their fates! I'm so tired of reading about their suffering, though, it seems like suffer is all they do.
The next three days are going to be rainy and cool. It's been chilly at night, sometimes reaching the low 50s, and I've been sleeping so well because of it. Nothing like a cool, moisture-laden breeze in a dark room, and you're snuggled under a thick down comforter.
My in-person interview is tomorrow at 10 AM, and it looks like I'm going to be walking there in the rain. All this trouble for a part-time job!
I swept our little flower-bordered walkway this morning and was bonjour'ed several times. There are a lot more Muslim women and men in Montreal than I've ever seen in any American city. Some women just wear scarves over their hair, and dress in stylish blouses and jeans. Others are completely swathed in long robes or overcoats that reach to their ankles, but these coats may be very fitted at the shoulder and waist, and made of fine fabrics. The more liberally-dressed Muslim women may hold hands with their husbands (I assume the men accompanying them are their husbands), who may be wearing Sperrys and summer linen slacks. The conservative ones do not. I am accustomed to meeting the eyes of the people I pass, and depending upon what I see there, to smile or nod or even say hello. I want to say hi to these women, but they never meet my eyes. I wonder what they think of me.
There are also a lot of Asians in Montreal. Yesterday, as Caspian and I were walking to a sushi place where we spent altogether too much money, I heard Japanese, Chinese and Korean.
Speaking of Japanese... I had my phone interview this evening with a man in Tokyo... And it did not go smoothly. My accent is good, my grammar is good, my vocab... Eh, not so much. I've forgotten a lot in the past four years, even after spending many, many hours this weekend at the kitchen table, studying.
The bread machine is kneading away on the table here, rocking it back and forth and making a tremendous racket. There's a lump in the dough, or maybe it's too sticky, because it's flopping around in the pan like a watermelon in a dryer. In other news, I finished A Shadow in the Glass and am over halfway through with The Tower on the Rift, which is the 2nd book in Irvine's View from the Mirror quartet. It has taken me this long to finally start caring about the characters and their fates! I'm so tired of reading about their suffering, though, it seems like suffer is all they do.
The next three days are going to be rainy and cool. It's been chilly at night, sometimes reaching the low 50s, and I've been sleeping so well because of it. Nothing like a cool, moisture-laden breeze in a dark room, and you're snuggled under a thick down comforter.
My in-person interview is tomorrow at 10 AM, and it looks like I'm going to be walking there in the rain. All this trouble for a part-time job!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Productivity
It is a cloudy day here in Montreal, but I beasted my interview. Caspian had too much to drink last night at a dinner party and was quite ill for about two hours - but it's his own damn fault. Poor thing suffered, but I think he may have learned! A martini and three glasses of wine is his limit, and it's a good thing (for me) that he gets sick before he gets wasted, because wasted people are no fun to deal with. I'd much rather deal with a pathetic ill person. I hate getting sick too much to find my limit.
I have a 2nd, in-person interview next Tuesday, followed by a spoken Japanese exam, if that gives you any hints as to the nature of this excellent little gateway opportunity! Looks like today and tomorrow will be spent studying my Japanese textbooks to try to brush up on my vocab. If I could translate Japanese to French... Now that would make me a hot commodity.
Productive day, for a housewife: 1 hour of Japanese cramming; 1 job interview; 3 loads of laundry washed, dried and folded; 3 meals' worth of dishes washed by hand; floors swept and mopped; 45 CDs imported into iTunes; 8 panels of slatted wooden closet doors washed and ready for varnishing (that took hours); 1 hour of reading accomplished!
I have a 2nd, in-person interview next Tuesday, followed by a spoken Japanese exam, if that gives you any hints as to the nature of this excellent little gateway opportunity! Looks like today and tomorrow will be spent studying my Japanese textbooks to try to brush up on my vocab. If I could translate Japanese to French... Now that would make me a hot commodity.
Productive day, for a housewife: 1 hour of Japanese cramming; 1 job interview; 3 loads of laundry washed, dried and folded; 3 meals' worth of dishes washed by hand; floors swept and mopped; 45 CDs imported into iTunes; 8 panels of slatted wooden closet doors washed and ready for varnishing (that took hours); 1 hour of reading accomplished!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
In Which I Am Feisty
I have a phone interview tomorrow morning. It's for a part-time job, but one that might be completely awesome and personally beneficial. More to come later about that!
In my humble opinion, Sarah Palin is a lout who appeals to louts.
Today, between job-hunting sessions and general housekeeping duties, I finished reading Charles Stross' The Family Trade. I found it pretty entertaining, but there was something significantly off about it. The heroine, a successful young woman, becomes assertive, and then aggressive, and then vulgar and finally completely unlike her original self. At first, I sort of liked her, even if she was a little bit dry and difficult to know. By the end, I sort of despised her and wondered where her true fire had gone, and why it had been replaced with a machine gun. Her flagrant use of expletives and propensity to call other young women "baby" or "babe" just really effing irritated me! Who does that? Not only that, but it is almost embarrassingly obvious that the author is slinging around some technological jargon of which he only marginally understands the nuances. I kid you not, the main character was described as having to replace the "hard disk" of a digital camera after storing 1000 pictures. Memory card, mayhap, would have been the proper term. The author was going for edgy, but ended up gauche, with a hint of kitsch.
Also, the main character goes, in a span of two weeks, from underpaid journalist content with her relationships and middle-class lifestyle, to a power economist, international relations theory expert, weapons master, poli sci guru and large-scale political manipulator. She also ends up having an uncanny, even unlikely head for machination, and it rang false to this reader.
Wow, I ended up railing on that book. Guess I hadn't really thought about how I truly felt about it before sitting down to write this post.
I am restarting Ian Irvine's The View from the Mirror series, and this time I'm going to finish it! Locus had it right, though, in labeling the series "...a worldbuilding labor of love." Sometimes I have to labor through the worldbuilding, which is completely unlike me, and saying something. At least his characters act oddly on a consistent basis!
In my humble opinion, Sarah Palin is a lout who appeals to louts.
Today, between job-hunting sessions and general housekeeping duties, I finished reading Charles Stross' The Family Trade. I found it pretty entertaining, but there was something significantly off about it. The heroine, a successful young woman, becomes assertive, and then aggressive, and then vulgar and finally completely unlike her original self. At first, I sort of liked her, even if she was a little bit dry and difficult to know. By the end, I sort of despised her and wondered where her true fire had gone, and why it had been replaced with a machine gun. Her flagrant use of expletives and propensity to call other young women "baby" or "babe" just really effing irritated me! Who does that? Not only that, but it is almost embarrassingly obvious that the author is slinging around some technological jargon of which he only marginally understands the nuances. I kid you not, the main character was described as having to replace the "hard disk" of a digital camera after storing 1000 pictures. Memory card, mayhap, would have been the proper term. The author was going for edgy, but ended up gauche, with a hint of kitsch.
Also, the main character goes, in a span of two weeks, from underpaid journalist content with her relationships and middle-class lifestyle, to a power economist, international relations theory expert, weapons master, poli sci guru and large-scale political manipulator. She also ends up having an uncanny, even unlikely head for machination, and it rang false to this reader.
Wow, I ended up railing on that book. Guess I hadn't really thought about how I truly felt about it before sitting down to write this post.
I am restarting Ian Irvine's The View from the Mirror series, and this time I'm going to finish it! Locus had it right, though, in labeling the series "...a worldbuilding labor of love." Sometimes I have to labor through the worldbuilding, which is completely unlike me, and saying something. At least his characters act oddly on a consistent basis!
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