I tried to spend as much time outside as I could on the solstice. Clouds blocked our view of the lunar eclipse, but there's always four hundred years from now, right? My family home is about sixteen houses from Camp Elphinstone where I spent summers blissfully either as a camper, leader in training, or councilor. In the summers that I worked there I spent about twenty-two hours a day outside, save for meal time in the long house. We slept in drafty old wood huts or tepees with a fire smoking in the center all night. During the days we roamed forests and beaches, swam, kayaked, sailed, painted, played gaga ball in the rec hall and at night after the kids were asleep we did whatever. Some of my favourite nights were spent down on the dock swirling the phosphorescence around. Camp was also, for a lot of people, the place where they first did drugs or had sex. Magical place! So I strapped Sebastian to my front and walked around there for a while. There have been a lot changes in the last year, mainly some new building, stairs, sheds, all good things. When I was in labour with Sebastian I visualized specific areas of the camp that I regard as sacred and it helped me focus. There is a strong maternal energy in some of the forests, in some of the specific trees there. Probably because it is a place of nurturing children. Big Tree, an ancient Douglas Fir that was the only survivor of a huge forest fire about fifty years ago, is where we always went to play forest games so its trunk has been touched by thousands of giddy kids. There is one specific area that I think most people overlook but which is utterly sacred to me. It's a place I visualized a lot when I was trying to heal my back and tendency to clench stress in my early twenties. No healer or doctor could get my back straightened out but over time I visited this place in my mind and dropped things I never could before into the estuary. Strange, maybe, but it worked.
So I went there for the solstice. The tide has been obscenely high here, and I hit such a high tide that day that the ocean lapped up under the overhanging network of roots at the edge of the land. The forest floor actually pounded and shuddered with the waves under my feet, it was madness... I guess there has been a lot of erosion over the years. The camp cleared out a massive overturned tree in this place a couple years ago and since then it hasn't felt quite as sheltered, but it was a great visit nonetheless.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
tonight i sat in my old room, now turned into a scramble of feng shui attempts, filing boxes and a desk. i hadn't been in this room yet except to pull a crate from the closet but it felt appropriate in that moment as i processed the night's earlier web of phone calls saying rio is dead. 'how?' i asked numbly. but i already knew how; she'd committed suicide. she jumped off a bridge yesterday after what i assume was a particularly grueling week of adjusting to new medication in a transition home. i think of her over and over again in that moment, and all the moments leading up to it over the years, and it hurts to think of her in such desperation. it almost hurts more to think that if she had been distracted instead that there would still be tomorrow, & tomorrow, & tomorrow to try to get through, possibly always returning to that dark tunnel.
i wasn't particularly close to rio through her mental illness but every christmas time we got together and spoke frankly about our lives. it's unreal to think she won't be with us this year. emma was with her a lot of the time and she and i often spoke about the shithole of institutions rio was in, how the fluctuations of meds, schedules, the atmospheres alone where enough to make a person mad. it pisses me off to think she was in the throws of a medication adjustment when she threw herself off a bridge; i can't believe she would have done it otherwise, no matter how desperate this swing into depression was. lee called an old friend who knew rio well and was told, "lou wanted everyone to know rio wasn't in a desperate state when she did it." i balked at that, especially coming from rio's mum. it insulted me, to hear this bullshit transparent attempt to make us feel better. i would like to see someone say rio wasn't desperate while looking me in the face.
a few decembers ago rio and i sat apart from the others at the pub and talked. i was half mad myself that december, bent on psychic happenings and nearly electrically charged. i was talking about an article about monks' CAT scans, how their brains were found highly evolved in certain areas, particularly the area that fires when you are "happy." a physical representation of enlightenment, scientifically captured. rio told me that's what it felt like to be manic. enlightened. like she was so close to it. i saw glimmers of sheer gratitude and joy in her face, but she pulled back and acknowledged the danger and selfishness in going unmedicated, in letting her unadulterated id roam recklessly.
it's cliche but i know it to be true that rio wouldn't want us to be sad about her death. she was always such an optimistic, selfless person and she would want us to carry on, come together like we do each year at this time. we've all wandered so far these last few years and i've been craving a reunion of sorts on a scale far wider than we've been able to manage. at the least, i hope everyone can make an effort to congregate and send all our love to rio as she passes through the waves, wherever that may be.
i wasn't particularly close to rio through her mental illness but every christmas time we got together and spoke frankly about our lives. it's unreal to think she won't be with us this year. emma was with her a lot of the time and she and i often spoke about the shithole of institutions rio was in, how the fluctuations of meds, schedules, the atmospheres alone where enough to make a person mad. it pisses me off to think she was in the throws of a medication adjustment when she threw herself off a bridge; i can't believe she would have done it otherwise, no matter how desperate this swing into depression was. lee called an old friend who knew rio well and was told, "lou wanted everyone to know rio wasn't in a desperate state when she did it." i balked at that, especially coming from rio's mum. it insulted me, to hear this bullshit transparent attempt to make us feel better. i would like to see someone say rio wasn't desperate while looking me in the face.
a few decembers ago rio and i sat apart from the others at the pub and talked. i was half mad myself that december, bent on psychic happenings and nearly electrically charged. i was talking about an article about monks' CAT scans, how their brains were found highly evolved in certain areas, particularly the area that fires when you are "happy." a physical representation of enlightenment, scientifically captured. rio told me that's what it felt like to be manic. enlightened. like she was so close to it. i saw glimmers of sheer gratitude and joy in her face, but she pulled back and acknowledged the danger and selfishness in going unmedicated, in letting her unadulterated id roam recklessly.
it's cliche but i know it to be true that rio wouldn't want us to be sad about her death. she was always such an optimistic, selfless person and she would want us to carry on, come together like we do each year at this time. we've all wandered so far these last few years and i've been craving a reunion of sorts on a scale far wider than we've been able to manage. at the least, i hope everyone can make an effort to congregate and send all our love to rio as she passes through the waves, wherever that may be.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
home again, home again
ahh.
it wasn't as shocking as it was on our short trip here in september, all these cedar and fir forests, islands, ocean, mountains. i had been in the city for almost a year straight aside from the odd day trip to the gateneaus, but this time the spectacular view of the coastal mountains and howe sound was tunneled in my mind since leaving. closer to flocking from montreal, less need to distance myself from the joy of this place.
yesterday, we woke up to a blue crisp sky and my ma said, now, we're spending this day outside because we likely won't see the sun again for a few weeks. we drove to bonniebrook and walked along the pebbled beach where the ocean isn't scattered with islands but wide open with a view of vancouver island. the sun was warm and we sat on logs and basked in it. we drove to roberts creek and had lunch at the gumboot, then carried on to jean's, the food co-op tucked in the forest somewhere off the highway. it consists of a big cooler room crammed with local organic veggies, and another small room for chocolate, crackers, bread. it's a very personal encounter. jean works six days a week; there's never anyone else to total your costs and see what you're eating this week.
when i was a kid organic food was undervalued and almost non-existent, even in a place like this. there was one place to buy good produce: nancy's makeshift food stand consisting of her westfalia van, a tarp and a little scale. nancy with her black and white curly hair. i can remember so many days sitting on the sidewalk in lower gibsons next to nancy's big dog, waiting for my mum, not appreciating the lengths she (and nancy!) went to to give us great food. many years later when other people started catching onto the notion of not eating food covered in pesticides, my mum no longer seemed so nutty to people.
we drove back to gibsons, to the strip mall to pick up a movie and some extra groceries, some wool socks, then to lower gibsons. ahh. i took the baby to the fair trade store and the old japanese man played the singing bowls for us like he always has. it's great to be home.
today is back to being dark and damp and grey. i'd forgotten, or more likely was never very aware of, how dark and damp it is here. all the houses have traces of moss on the siding, fungus and damp maple leaves line the ditches. a week or two ago alex and i sat up talking about how we are moving back to bc, and likely to the coast for the spring and summer and i told him i was a little nervous. i had never thought i'd want to come back here, had never really valued my roots, and some strange, mysterious, dark associations linger when i come home. i've never understood where these feelings come from, but i always knew i wasn't very happy as a child. alex told me, you come from a very beautiful but also terrifying place. there are dark forests with cougars and bears, at your back are jutting mountains and at your feet is the pounding ocean. it's terrifyingly raw; there are no distractions from your mind or nature.
i'd never thought of it that way but something fell into place when he said that. i felt relieved somehow. i lived a very isolated childhood in a neighbourhood removed from town, a backyard of endless mountain and forest where we were always poised to flee back to the house if the trees crashed and cracked too loud, if the birds suddenly went too quiet or the cats suddenly spooked.
i think if we ended up living here for a while or somewhere like it i would always make sure to have the warmest, most open home i could. that was lacking somewhat in this house and i think it's important to counter the wild with community.
it wasn't as shocking as it was on our short trip here in september, all these cedar and fir forests, islands, ocean, mountains. i had been in the city for almost a year straight aside from the odd day trip to the gateneaus, but this time the spectacular view of the coastal mountains and howe sound was tunneled in my mind since leaving. closer to flocking from montreal, less need to distance myself from the joy of this place.
yesterday, we woke up to a blue crisp sky and my ma said, now, we're spending this day outside because we likely won't see the sun again for a few weeks. we drove to bonniebrook and walked along the pebbled beach where the ocean isn't scattered with islands but wide open with a view of vancouver island. the sun was warm and we sat on logs and basked in it. we drove to roberts creek and had lunch at the gumboot, then carried on to jean's, the food co-op tucked in the forest somewhere off the highway. it consists of a big cooler room crammed with local organic veggies, and another small room for chocolate, crackers, bread. it's a very personal encounter. jean works six days a week; there's never anyone else to total your costs and see what you're eating this week.
when i was a kid organic food was undervalued and almost non-existent, even in a place like this. there was one place to buy good produce: nancy's makeshift food stand consisting of her westfalia van, a tarp and a little scale. nancy with her black and white curly hair. i can remember so many days sitting on the sidewalk in lower gibsons next to nancy's big dog, waiting for my mum, not appreciating the lengths she (and nancy!) went to to give us great food. many years later when other people started catching onto the notion of not eating food covered in pesticides, my mum no longer seemed so nutty to people.
we drove back to gibsons, to the strip mall to pick up a movie and some extra groceries, some wool socks, then to lower gibsons. ahh. i took the baby to the fair trade store and the old japanese man played the singing bowls for us like he always has. it's great to be home.
today is back to being dark and damp and grey. i'd forgotten, or more likely was never very aware of, how dark and damp it is here. all the houses have traces of moss on the siding, fungus and damp maple leaves line the ditches. a week or two ago alex and i sat up talking about how we are moving back to bc, and likely to the coast for the spring and summer and i told him i was a little nervous. i had never thought i'd want to come back here, had never really valued my roots, and some strange, mysterious, dark associations linger when i come home. i've never understood where these feelings come from, but i always knew i wasn't very happy as a child. alex told me, you come from a very beautiful but also terrifying place. there are dark forests with cougars and bears, at your back are jutting mountains and at your feet is the pounding ocean. it's terrifyingly raw; there are no distractions from your mind or nature.
i'd never thought of it that way but something fell into place when he said that. i felt relieved somehow. i lived a very isolated childhood in a neighbourhood removed from town, a backyard of endless mountain and forest where we were always poised to flee back to the house if the trees crashed and cracked too loud, if the birds suddenly went too quiet or the cats suddenly spooked.
i think if we ended up living here for a while or somewhere like it i would always make sure to have the warmest, most open home i could. that was lacking somewhat in this house and i think it's important to counter the wild with community.
Monday, December 6, 2010
the montreal story
i can't remember any moments of hesitations in previous moves about the globe. that is, i've always been adventurous, eager to connect to landscapes, countries, people. but the move to montreal was an odd one. i had, at some point in my last of seven or so years living away from my childhood town and traveling, become an adult. a certain self-awareness and confidence had filled me and lent itself to my surroundings, which at the time was the town of victoria, bc. before this i had been game to go just about anywhere and try anything i felt worthwhile. suddenly, i found myself holding out for what i believe in above roaming, whether it be physical or spiritual. to me that's what being an adult meant at that point in my life: the foresight to hold out and the courage to face what needed to be faced in the name of progress. something about my physical surroundings encouraged that. i had, after years of working to self-heal, finally found balance and it was manifested in my life in that place.
but a year or so before leaving for montreal i had, with little foresight, shook on montreal with alex. although that optimistic, carefree residue from past adventures drove me to enthusiasm for the prospect of montreal, even then a reluctance lingered. i ignored it until about a month before we were due to leave. but every time i talked about montreal to friends i would hear myself saying, "i don't really want to go." not a single person ever said, "why?" or "why are you going then?" usually people would automatically say, "oh but you'll love montreal." i can't blame them; it took me a long time to listen to myself, too. i think we were due to leave in april, after my contract for the bc government ended. sometime in march i was standing in a friend's kitchen after a dinner party and i said once again, absentmindedly, "i don't really want to go to montreal" and suddenly an acquaintance said something like, "yah, it's a huge move. i wouldn't want to go either." just with that, i felt a rush of relief and we ended up talking for a long time about it. for the first time i realized that that part of me which loves a challenge, loves a new landscape was game, but this fresher part of me had found some honesty in the life i was living and i wanted to see where it could take me. that night i told alex on our walk along beacon hill park back to our fairfield apartment that i wasn't ready to leave. it took courage and i'm glad i did it, but we still packed up four and a half months later. i did it out of a sense of loyalty, but mostly because i was afraid to stand up for what i wanted and risk losing alex. after all, two years earlier i had left him for utterly selfish, albeit critical, reasons. i guess i knew if i did it again in some shape or form his patience would be dry.
i don't think i'll ever forget the day we left. we were walking along east hastings on the downtown east side of vancouver with some bags. we were headed to my cousin ian's apartment to say goodbye before our bus left. the tension was taught. i did not want to leave, but i felt i had to. i also knew that alex was going to ask me to marry him before the summer was done. i stopped on the sidewalk and told him i couldn't marry him, i didn't want to be asked, i needed an indefinite amount of time to process the huge mistake i was about to make for the sake of our relationship and because of that i basically had to put our relationship on hold. i found out later he had spent the day alone trying to track down this first nations artist who was going to make my engagement ring. before we hit the rockies i considered turning back on the bus. by the time we were pulling into his home town ottawa i had been crying for a day straight and wasn't sitting with or talking to him. it was rough.
the end of the summer, the fall, the beginning of winter. there were some fun times. i knew i had made a big mistake in shoving my true ambitions down, but also still couldn't imagine a way to reprimand it. i wanted to stay with alex as much as i wanted to leave and reclaim what i had set down back there on the west coast. the winter knocked it out of me. i got the pandemic flu, had a delirious fever for days and days and when i came to, the winter had arrived.
in early december when i knew i was pregnant, things became both simpler and more complicated. there was no question as to alex and i's devotion to bringing a baby into the world together; we had been preparing for this in abstract ways for two years. the question of separating for the winter as i had previously suggested was done (i wanted to go to the states, roam the desert, the red dust, the canyons for a while) and with a few weeks i was so ill and exhausted from the pregnancy i could hardly make it to mile end for lunch without ducking into alleyways to vomit or collapsing on tabletops, let alone traversing around north america. so, it was simple. i needed to stay, and we needed to be in montreal for simplicities sake, at least until the baby was born. but it was also more complicated because i couldn't shut my spirit off. i wanted to be by the ocean, in the forest, with my family and my friends. i wanted an entirely organic pregnancy full of rich, hearty days. but instead i found myself in a city. a huge, foreign, grey, politically-charged city. i navigated the heated metro tunnels, the underground systems to get to work each day. my job in human resources was high-stress, competitive and exhausting. i was alone most of the time as alex had an opposite work schedule to me and i wasn't interested in making friends beyond the couple people i had managed to connect with. it was a miserable time. i tried to make it better and i also didn't try. i had never lost the will to pick myself up for as long as i did that year.
i'm not sure what changed. we started planning our wedding as the spring set in and alex got a new job closer to home and with a better schedule. my friend aja came to visit. the week before she came to montreal she was sitting on a plane to ireland when right before take-off she panicked and scrambled off. she wasn't sure why, and instead came to montreal and for that i was so grateful. as my belly grew and the baby moved around more and more, and those blissful pregnancy hormones kicked it up a notch, i relaxed and forgave the misery and misunderstandings of the last year. accepting that montreal had been a mistake in many ways, we had planned return to bc a few months after the baby was born. then, in a fit of generosity and foresight, i told alex i would stay a few extra seasons to be fair to him, to his family who awaited the grandchild.
there are times when i deeply regret that time-lapse. mostly i am sad that i've missed so much of this experience with my parents and close friends. i've been increasingly resentful of my in-laws because i feel like i sacrificed my own parents' experience for their sake. at our wedding dinner, my mother-in-law stood up and said she had always wanted a daughter and when she had three boys she thought, "i hope one of my daughter-in-laws is an orphan." she went on to imply that my parents' lack of involvement in the wedding planning and baby-showering had fulfilled some of that wish. i knew she meant it with love, but i was hurt and as i looked at my mum i knew she was, too. had we not been thousands of kilometres apart throughout these events, they would have been graciously involved as intimately as my in-laws. that was a turning point for me. i knew i had to get home and reclaim something, as intangible as it may be.
there are days when i feel anxious about our move in a few months. it's the time that i have been waiting for. i tried not to wait, and in many ways i lived my life fully, but my soul has been waiting and i haven't been able to stop it. i feel anxious for many reasons. i worry that we'll fail out west and it will be my selfishness that drove us there. i'm worried that alex will feel resentful of the move, even though he's accepting of it now. mostly these days i wonder if it's best for the family. if it were just alex and i it might be easier to justify this division of sacrificial moves, but now we're a family, we're three. what i always wanted for my children was for them to be in nature, to really know nature inside and out the way i grew up. i wanted them to spend most of their days outside, and not just "outside the apartment" but really in the outdoors, away from concrete and streetlamps and garbage. i wanted them to eat from the garden, swim in clean water, listen to trees, and mostly have enormous imaginations. i don't know why i feel this is so important but i do. i guess i feel that within their lifetime the concept of nature will be perverted somehow, and i want them to know of the purity. i want them to highly value life outside the human species because in that we learn so much more than we could ever think. i know it's overly-romantic to assume we need to be on the west coast or in a small town to have this experience in essence. i know if we really wanted we could give them an amazing childhood anywhere and they could grow up respectful, curious, utterly natural children.
my dreams and my rational being battle it out these days. i know we will go back to the west coast; what i don't know is if it will benefit us, really benefit us. but i will never know until we do it, and i do know that i have been truncated since arriving in montreal and that i want to get a certain rhythm back, want to flow back into my whole being instead of just a portion and i want to share that miraculous sensation with my family in whatever ways i can. tonight i am making a conscious decision not to doubt my instincts to go headfast to that beautiful place, and to accept the consequences straight-on.
but a year or so before leaving for montreal i had, with little foresight, shook on montreal with alex. although that optimistic, carefree residue from past adventures drove me to enthusiasm for the prospect of montreal, even then a reluctance lingered. i ignored it until about a month before we were due to leave. but every time i talked about montreal to friends i would hear myself saying, "i don't really want to go." not a single person ever said, "why?" or "why are you going then?" usually people would automatically say, "oh but you'll love montreal." i can't blame them; it took me a long time to listen to myself, too. i think we were due to leave in april, after my contract for the bc government ended. sometime in march i was standing in a friend's kitchen after a dinner party and i said once again, absentmindedly, "i don't really want to go to montreal" and suddenly an acquaintance said something like, "yah, it's a huge move. i wouldn't want to go either." just with that, i felt a rush of relief and we ended up talking for a long time about it. for the first time i realized that that part of me which loves a challenge, loves a new landscape was game, but this fresher part of me had found some honesty in the life i was living and i wanted to see where it could take me. that night i told alex on our walk along beacon hill park back to our fairfield apartment that i wasn't ready to leave. it took courage and i'm glad i did it, but we still packed up four and a half months later. i did it out of a sense of loyalty, but mostly because i was afraid to stand up for what i wanted and risk losing alex. after all, two years earlier i had left him for utterly selfish, albeit critical, reasons. i guess i knew if i did it again in some shape or form his patience would be dry.
i don't think i'll ever forget the day we left. we were walking along east hastings on the downtown east side of vancouver with some bags. we were headed to my cousin ian's apartment to say goodbye before our bus left. the tension was taught. i did not want to leave, but i felt i had to. i also knew that alex was going to ask me to marry him before the summer was done. i stopped on the sidewalk and told him i couldn't marry him, i didn't want to be asked, i needed an indefinite amount of time to process the huge mistake i was about to make for the sake of our relationship and because of that i basically had to put our relationship on hold. i found out later he had spent the day alone trying to track down this first nations artist who was going to make my engagement ring. before we hit the rockies i considered turning back on the bus. by the time we were pulling into his home town ottawa i had been crying for a day straight and wasn't sitting with or talking to him. it was rough.
the end of the summer, the fall, the beginning of winter. there were some fun times. i knew i had made a big mistake in shoving my true ambitions down, but also still couldn't imagine a way to reprimand it. i wanted to stay with alex as much as i wanted to leave and reclaim what i had set down back there on the west coast. the winter knocked it out of me. i got the pandemic flu, had a delirious fever for days and days and when i came to, the winter had arrived.
in early december when i knew i was pregnant, things became both simpler and more complicated. there was no question as to alex and i's devotion to bringing a baby into the world together; we had been preparing for this in abstract ways for two years. the question of separating for the winter as i had previously suggested was done (i wanted to go to the states, roam the desert, the red dust, the canyons for a while) and with a few weeks i was so ill and exhausted from the pregnancy i could hardly make it to mile end for lunch without ducking into alleyways to vomit or collapsing on tabletops, let alone traversing around north america. so, it was simple. i needed to stay, and we needed to be in montreal for simplicities sake, at least until the baby was born. but it was also more complicated because i couldn't shut my spirit off. i wanted to be by the ocean, in the forest, with my family and my friends. i wanted an entirely organic pregnancy full of rich, hearty days. but instead i found myself in a city. a huge, foreign, grey, politically-charged city. i navigated the heated metro tunnels, the underground systems to get to work each day. my job in human resources was high-stress, competitive and exhausting. i was alone most of the time as alex had an opposite work schedule to me and i wasn't interested in making friends beyond the couple people i had managed to connect with. it was a miserable time. i tried to make it better and i also didn't try. i had never lost the will to pick myself up for as long as i did that year.
i'm not sure what changed. we started planning our wedding as the spring set in and alex got a new job closer to home and with a better schedule. my friend aja came to visit. the week before she came to montreal she was sitting on a plane to ireland when right before take-off she panicked and scrambled off. she wasn't sure why, and instead came to montreal and for that i was so grateful. as my belly grew and the baby moved around more and more, and those blissful pregnancy hormones kicked it up a notch, i relaxed and forgave the misery and misunderstandings of the last year. accepting that montreal had been a mistake in many ways, we had planned return to bc a few months after the baby was born. then, in a fit of generosity and foresight, i told alex i would stay a few extra seasons to be fair to him, to his family who awaited the grandchild.
there are times when i deeply regret that time-lapse. mostly i am sad that i've missed so much of this experience with my parents and close friends. i've been increasingly resentful of my in-laws because i feel like i sacrificed my own parents' experience for their sake. at our wedding dinner, my mother-in-law stood up and said she had always wanted a daughter and when she had three boys she thought, "i hope one of my daughter-in-laws is an orphan." she went on to imply that my parents' lack of involvement in the wedding planning and baby-showering had fulfilled some of that wish. i knew she meant it with love, but i was hurt and as i looked at my mum i knew she was, too. had we not been thousands of kilometres apart throughout these events, they would have been graciously involved as intimately as my in-laws. that was a turning point for me. i knew i had to get home and reclaim something, as intangible as it may be.
there are days when i feel anxious about our move in a few months. it's the time that i have been waiting for. i tried not to wait, and in many ways i lived my life fully, but my soul has been waiting and i haven't been able to stop it. i feel anxious for many reasons. i worry that we'll fail out west and it will be my selfishness that drove us there. i'm worried that alex will feel resentful of the move, even though he's accepting of it now. mostly these days i wonder if it's best for the family. if it were just alex and i it might be easier to justify this division of sacrificial moves, but now we're a family, we're three. what i always wanted for my children was for them to be in nature, to really know nature inside and out the way i grew up. i wanted them to spend most of their days outside, and not just "outside the apartment" but really in the outdoors, away from concrete and streetlamps and garbage. i wanted them to eat from the garden, swim in clean water, listen to trees, and mostly have enormous imaginations. i don't know why i feel this is so important but i do. i guess i feel that within their lifetime the concept of nature will be perverted somehow, and i want them to know of the purity. i want them to highly value life outside the human species because in that we learn so much more than we could ever think. i know it's overly-romantic to assume we need to be on the west coast or in a small town to have this experience in essence. i know if we really wanted we could give them an amazing childhood anywhere and they could grow up respectful, curious, utterly natural children.
my dreams and my rational being battle it out these days. i know we will go back to the west coast; what i don't know is if it will benefit us, really benefit us. but i will never know until we do it, and i do know that i have been truncated since arriving in montreal and that i want to get a certain rhythm back, want to flow back into my whole being instead of just a portion and i want to share that miraculous sensation with my family in whatever ways i can. tonight i am making a conscious decision not to doubt my instincts to go headfast to that beautiful place, and to accept the consequences straight-on.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
cooking cooking cooking
tonight i made gnocchi from scratch with homemade almond pesto. in the last week or so i have made fresh barbeque sauce (twice), two types of soup, veggies burgers, french toast, apple sauce, muffins, whole wheat bread etc... why do i want to labour for hours over a brief meal between the baby's pre-bed crankiness, being sucked dry, tip-toeing out of the room, possibly having a cold plate waiting for me or a dry, overheated version of what i had cooked? i'm not sure. but every couple nights i do something fairly ambitious and generally i really enjoy myself. i have always liked cooking and valued a good homemade meal from pure ingredients, but it wasn't until a few months ago that i started to understand what it means to create a dish.
two friends of mine and my partner are all restaurant cooks in places that seem to value quality, creative, from-scratch cooking. although my partner has been a cook off and on in various places over the several years i've known him, it wasn't until he got into the kitchen at caffe mariani in saint henri where we live that his skills truly solidified. i think it started with soups. i never understood the importance of a rich soup stock before this.
i think the birth of sebastian has inspired me as well. our days are simple and usually slow, laid back. we need to get outside and walk, so we stroll to the market and pick up produce. i have time to consult the cook books, meditate on new dishes, concoct whatever i decide on. healthy eating has always been a priority in my life, but is especially so now because i am breast-feeding the little guy and want to make sure i'm giving him the best i can.
alex and i used to cook from scratch often when we lived in victoria. the city offers such an abundance of local, fresh and organic food from greens to bison. after we moved to montreal i felt uninspired by grocery stores' pitiful organic isles complete with styrofoam, plastic-wrapped vegetables. the one thing quebec has going for it is a lot of province-grown food; for that i've been grateful. we're fairly frugal people and have no qualms with spending extra time labouring over a meal to save money here and there.
my favourite cookbook these days is from rebar in victoria, b.c. it's an excellent restaurant and their cookbook is so widely owned and delicious. i've had it for years but only in the last few months have i really delved into the recipes. some of my favourites are the greek red lentil soup, the rebarbeque sauce, the carrot cake, and the peanut sauce. i think the trick to following through with home cooking is to have a huge collection of spices; the fresher the better. food tastes a hundred times better if you don't skimp on the herbs and spices.
a typical veggie janine soup stock:
in a big pot cook in oil carrots, onion, garlic, celery, whole pepper corn, sea salt, coriander seeds, whatever else you want. add a lot of water, apples, herbs etc... boil then simmer for as long as you can bear, about two or three hours. strain the solid, keep the juice. i have a bag in the freeze that i add veggie scrapes to as i cook for the days i make a big batch of stock. i freeze in glass containers and defrost it in the fridge when i'm ready to make a new batch.
now, to relax with some red wine and chocolate...
two friends of mine and my partner are all restaurant cooks in places that seem to value quality, creative, from-scratch cooking. although my partner has been a cook off and on in various places over the several years i've known him, it wasn't until he got into the kitchen at caffe mariani in saint henri where we live that his skills truly solidified. i think it started with soups. i never understood the importance of a rich soup stock before this.
i think the birth of sebastian has inspired me as well. our days are simple and usually slow, laid back. we need to get outside and walk, so we stroll to the market and pick up produce. i have time to consult the cook books, meditate on new dishes, concoct whatever i decide on. healthy eating has always been a priority in my life, but is especially so now because i am breast-feeding the little guy and want to make sure i'm giving him the best i can.
alex and i used to cook from scratch often when we lived in victoria. the city offers such an abundance of local, fresh and organic food from greens to bison. after we moved to montreal i felt uninspired by grocery stores' pitiful organic isles complete with styrofoam, plastic-wrapped vegetables. the one thing quebec has going for it is a lot of province-grown food; for that i've been grateful. we're fairly frugal people and have no qualms with spending extra time labouring over a meal to save money here and there.
my favourite cookbook these days is from rebar in victoria, b.c. it's an excellent restaurant and their cookbook is so widely owned and delicious. i've had it for years but only in the last few months have i really delved into the recipes. some of my favourites are the greek red lentil soup, the rebarbeque sauce, the carrot cake, and the peanut sauce. i think the trick to following through with home cooking is to have a huge collection of spices; the fresher the better. food tastes a hundred times better if you don't skimp on the herbs and spices.
a typical veggie janine soup stock:
in a big pot cook in oil carrots, onion, garlic, celery, whole pepper corn, sea salt, coriander seeds, whatever else you want. add a lot of water, apples, herbs etc... boil then simmer for as long as you can bear, about two or three hours. strain the solid, keep the juice. i have a bag in the freeze that i add veggie scrapes to as i cook for the days i make a big batch of stock. i freeze in glass containers and defrost it in the fridge when i'm ready to make a new batch.
now, to relax with some red wine and chocolate...
Monday, November 22, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
"mama, in this house we carry our babies."
i woke up this morning with a failing lower back (a common issue in my life well before pregnancy due to a snowboarding accident then being hit by a car on the same hip) due to yesterday's jaunt in mile end with sebastian in the baby carrier and said, "no more carrier. only stroller." i end the day defeated, saying begrudingly, "no more stroller. only baby carrier." i can't help but narrow my eyes at the not-so-little creature babbling on the floor beside me. sebastian is only three and a half months old but already weighs in the 16 lbs range, in the ninetieth percental for weight. he was born a reasonable size, seven and a half pounds. maybe big breasts equal big baby, i don't know, but my milk's made this kid balloon to an almost unmanagable size. what's more, he's not developed enough in other ways to be treated like a 16 lb baby, such as a reliably strong neck (he's almost there) and flexible hip joints (also almost there). for now he fits awkwardly in the ergo carrier and still needs to be strapped onto the front of my body, not the back, which i imagine is more managable.
aside from the fact that the city of montreal is appallingly unsupportive of wheel accessibility (for example, three of the sixty or so metro stations have an elevator from the platform to the street, the rest require negotiating at least one flight of concrete stairs, if not more), sebastian has taken to yelling and crying when i strap him into the car seat which fits into the stroller. last week, when this all began, i walked the full forty minutes to mama-baby yoga with him in the stroller screaming. i took him out once under the overpass to clench his little body above my head and yell back, so aggrivated, guilty, frustrated. the sound of the highway above me drowned out my voice. i put him back in and kept on rolling. it was the only time he stopped crying the whole way. luckily he doesn't understand being yelled at yet. he actually smiled for a brief moment when i held him up in the superman position which we often play in. yelling is not something i ever want to do to this kid. so this afternoon, after hours of trying to leave the house, as i pushed him around the block as he cried, i could feel the blood rushing up, frustration starting, and i decided i had to accept the baby carrier. i went home, lugged the kid, the car seat, the folded stroller up three flights of narrow stairs, took a deep breath and strapped him onto my front. the only sounds he made were little attempts at conversation with the things he saw along our walk.
"baby carrying" is a part of the philosophy of the continuum concept which, to be honest, i hadn't heard of until i watched away we go, written by dave eggers and his wife vendela vida, in which maggie gyllenhaall's character is portrayed as the nut who thinks strollers are a reason for all the shitty people in the world. i'm wary of wide-sweeping parenting philosophies in general, and continuum is no exception. i guess i feel like with the birth of my son, i was born a mother. on the rare occassion that i've felt a lack of confidence in my motherly intuition, it's involved someone else meddling in my mothering affairs. enough said.
aside from the fact that the city of montreal is appallingly unsupportive of wheel accessibility (for example, three of the sixty or so metro stations have an elevator from the platform to the street, the rest require negotiating at least one flight of concrete stairs, if not more), sebastian has taken to yelling and crying when i strap him into the car seat which fits into the stroller. last week, when this all began, i walked the full forty minutes to mama-baby yoga with him in the stroller screaming. i took him out once under the overpass to clench his little body above my head and yell back, so aggrivated, guilty, frustrated. the sound of the highway above me drowned out my voice. i put him back in and kept on rolling. it was the only time he stopped crying the whole way. luckily he doesn't understand being yelled at yet. he actually smiled for a brief moment when i held him up in the superman position which we often play in. yelling is not something i ever want to do to this kid. so this afternoon, after hours of trying to leave the house, as i pushed him around the block as he cried, i could feel the blood rushing up, frustration starting, and i decided i had to accept the baby carrier. i went home, lugged the kid, the car seat, the folded stroller up three flights of narrow stairs, took a deep breath and strapped him onto my front. the only sounds he made were little attempts at conversation with the things he saw along our walk.
"baby carrying" is a part of the philosophy of the continuum concept which, to be honest, i hadn't heard of until i watched away we go, written by dave eggers and his wife vendela vida, in which maggie gyllenhaall's character is portrayed as the nut who thinks strollers are a reason for all the shitty people in the world. i'm wary of wide-sweeping parenting philosophies in general, and continuum is no exception. i guess i feel like with the birth of my son, i was born a mother. on the rare occassion that i've felt a lack of confidence in my motherly intuition, it's involved someone else meddling in my mothering affairs. enough said.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
how the winter gallops
here comes another montreal winter. here comes the dark horse.
how i talked myself into staying a couple more seasons in this city i don't know. they say the snow will fall soon; the windows are icy with freezing rain. last year was my first "real" canadian winter. before then the coldest day i'd endured was minus twenty five at whistler snowboarding. when i'd had enough i ducked home, back to the damp rain forest of the west coast. i didn't mind last winter in essence.
there were some good times. every saturday for a couple months fabienne and i would meet in the plateau then make our way to mount royal. the hill was full of cross country skiers, well-known queboise actors (who, natuarlly, i had no recognition for but still found exciting when pointed out), dogs, kids on sleds, ect... for an hour or so it almost felt like i was out of the city, something i constantly craved.
one day in december in ottawa i was alone at my in-laws. it was minus seventeen, i braved a walk for a can of tuna and everywhere a sharp orange sunlight hit the bare trees in the park, the frost on the roads, and when the wind shook the branches tinkled.
in the early spring i walked alone to the lachine canal one afternoon. the sun was bleak, the sky was grey, the ice of the canal was soft and unimpressive. i paused on the bridge and looked out at this landscape which had always reminded me of how far from home i was and suddenly for whatever reason i stopped feeling alienated for a moment and realized that this strange place had entered my sense of identity. i could no longer entirely idenitify with the west coast because here i was day after day looking out over this forgein place. montreal had replaced something in me. i didn't like it, but i couldn't deny it. i felt a strange sense of pride for my home of the last year.
for the most part, though, the winter was hard. i became pregnant in november and spent several months sick, exhausted, unemployed, lonely and homesick. until a month or two ago when i contiously decided to expell this association from myself, a mere photograph of a snowy landscape could make me dry heave. i didn't think i could face another winter like that.
this winter's circumstances are much better, and come march we're heading homeward.
how i talked myself into staying a couple more seasons in this city i don't know. they say the snow will fall soon; the windows are icy with freezing rain. last year was my first "real" canadian winter. before then the coldest day i'd endured was minus twenty five at whistler snowboarding. when i'd had enough i ducked home, back to the damp rain forest of the west coast. i didn't mind last winter in essence.
there were some good times. every saturday for a couple months fabienne and i would meet in the plateau then make our way to mount royal. the hill was full of cross country skiers, well-known queboise actors (who, natuarlly, i had no recognition for but still found exciting when pointed out), dogs, kids on sleds, ect... for an hour or so it almost felt like i was out of the city, something i constantly craved.
one day in december in ottawa i was alone at my in-laws. it was minus seventeen, i braved a walk for a can of tuna and everywhere a sharp orange sunlight hit the bare trees in the park, the frost on the roads, and when the wind shook the branches tinkled.
in the early spring i walked alone to the lachine canal one afternoon. the sun was bleak, the sky was grey, the ice of the canal was soft and unimpressive. i paused on the bridge and looked out at this landscape which had always reminded me of how far from home i was and suddenly for whatever reason i stopped feeling alienated for a moment and realized that this strange place had entered my sense of identity. i could no longer entirely idenitify with the west coast because here i was day after day looking out over this forgein place. montreal had replaced something in me. i didn't like it, but i couldn't deny it. i felt a strange sense of pride for my home of the last year.
for the most part, though, the winter was hard. i became pregnant in november and spent several months sick, exhausted, unemployed, lonely and homesick. until a month or two ago when i contiously decided to expell this association from myself, a mere photograph of a snowy landscape could make me dry heave. i didn't think i could face another winter like that.
this winter's circumstances are much better, and come march we're heading homeward.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
white chickens
here it is. another attempt at blogging. i have higher hopes for this one than the others. lately i've caught myself in running inner dialogues that i wish to write down without fiction, owe up to inspirations instead of transferring them to characters and plots. it's not that i value fiction any less, just that i care to challenge my writing by attempting creative non-fiction for a while. so, here it goes.
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