peopleisplace

the shame factor

2012-02-27T08:38:00.000-08:00

I have this thing I do when I have a goal that I'm not quite sure I can achieve. I tell everyone I know about it.  I call it the "shame factor." The extra added pressure of not only letting myself down if I fail to succeed, but my public too.

It doesn't always work. Sometimes it gets overtaken by the "sarcasm factor" (tendency to mock my failure for the amusement of my friends and family). But every once in a while it serves its purpose and helps me push myself to realize a goal I might otherwise give up on if I knew no one but me and the trees was aware of the fact that I was even aiming for it.

It worked with dating.  Back in late August when I wrote this post, I had some serious doubts about my ability to follow through on my objective of wading back into the dating pool: years of knowing that flirting couldn't lead to anything since I was already taken had me questioning my ability to do my part to move from a crush to a connection; fears of rejection had me convinced that no one would want someone who had failed so spectacularly at long-term once before . . . I had an endless list of reasons to want to put off the challenge of trying to date again.

But I knew the longer I avoided it the harder it would become to start. So, when I began my adventures in online dating last November, I posted about it here, talked about it with my friends and family (shout out to my parents for not freaking out about my stories of meeting strange men for coffee) . . . heck, I even facebooked about it. And I am not normally one of those people who shares an abundance of private info about myself on FB. Several months and a half dozen or so dates later and while I'm no longer posting about it (sorry for those interested in dating stories; will post about it again if anything particularly interesting / amusing happens), I'm happy share that I'm over doubting myself and what I bring to the dating equation. I'm not perfect, but I got some definite game :)

So, time to put the "shame factor" to a new purpose.

A month ago I signed up for the Ottawa Race Weekend 10 km run.

A week later I signed up for some personal training sessions to help me reach my run goals.

They are:

(1) To stand at the starting line up on Saturday May 26 at 6:30 pm and feel confident in my ability to tear the course up.

(2) To cross the finish line less than an hour later.

(3) To wake up the next morning and feel the kind of sore you feel when you've given it your all . . . not the kind of sore you feel when you've failed to train properly.

For some of you, these goals may not sound particularly ambitious. Heck, during some of my fitter periods over the last few years (like the winter of 2009 when I was so into running that I temporarily became one of those people who run outside on even the freezing cold, minus 20 degrees Celsius plus wind chill days) I wouldn't have thought so either.

But for current me, the me who is a little bit sore the day after running 5 km on a treadmill in 35 minutes, the road from now to May 26 sounds like the perfect challenge.

So, there it is. My objective stated publically for all to see.  Hope you don't mind me using you in my attempt to keep myself accountable for sticking to the plan. Wish me luck!

***

Postscript: Beyond wanting to succeed for myself, and all of you, I am feeling quite motivated by wanting to make my new trainer, Tess, proud.  She is awesome. Check out her and her friend Jess' fitness and food tips on their blog here, or read their recent article on getting fit in 12 weeks in FAJO magazine here.)

a year can change a lot

2012-02-11T10:21:00.000-08:00

There are times when a song enters your life at just the right moment.

Its lyrics feel as though they were written just for you. Its tone is in perfect sync with your mood. You step, step to its rhythm so naturally it feels like you are the main character in the movie that it is the soundtrack for.

So in tune with this piece of audible art do you feel that you find yourself, at least momentarily, believing in things like fate. And signs. You are part of something bigger. The universe is on your side.

I experienced one such golden moment last weekend.  In the middle of an already lovely night out with some dear friends at the Blacksheep in Wakefield, Quebec, opener Chris Velan sang me these lyrics from his 2009 track "a year can change a lot" and my spine literally tingled.

You’re worried ‘bout the end
But you’re missing all the plot
One moment you are freezing
And the next you are red hot
A year can change a lot

The differences between my life now and a year ago are massive. From where I live to where I work to my relationships . . . with others, and with myself. My recent success in learning to focus on what's now (the plot). My growing clarity over what matters. And what doesn't.

Did the universe send me this song to remind me to celebrate how far I've come? To connect with the optimism I've been feeling lately about where I'm going? About how what's happening this week, day, minute, second is all part of the exciting narrative that is my life?

Or, was I already feeling those things on some level.  Leaving me open to hearing the meaning in these lyrics?

Maybe it's a bit of both? Maybe the golden moments comes our way when we need them and our job is to recognize them.  To be open to them.

While you're thinking about that, check out Chris' singing the soundtrack to my life right now here.

what's new with what's now: new year's resolution update

2012-01-30T21:03:00.000-08:00

i think i'm finally hitting my stride with my "what's now" resolution. with not obsessing over what's to come. and letting myself really live in the moment.

a few experiences i really felt as they happened this past week:

* sounds silly, but got new glasses last week and resisted the urge to pick frames that will "work for a couple of years," or "transition well from work to weekend," and instead just got the fun, funky ones that felt right when i tried them on in the store. what do you think? they have sort of a 50s vibe that i like.

* ignored my to do list. took friday off and had a bunch of things to get done before heading out of town for the weekend. then late thursday night when i looked inside myself i connected with the idea that what i really needed to find some peace was to sleep-in and go to the gym. may have also spent a good chunk of time sitting around in my pyjamas staring out the window :) left town three hours later than planned . . . though three times happier, as well.

* did not for a minute let myself feel "off-track" compared to the 12 friends (all couples) and four babies (recent additions to three of the couples' families) i spent the weekend in tremblant with. instead soaked up the happy moments (snowy slopes, restorative hot tub soaks, snuggles with a.dorable babies) and took away an even stronger resolve to just be patient. i'll get there someday, and if it turns out to be even half as fun / scary / awesome as it looks to be from the outside, it'll be well worth the wait. in the meantime, i'll keep concentrating on enjoying the now. seems to be working for me.

benched: still further confessions of a 31-year-old singleton

2012-01-16T21:05:00.000-08:00

So, I decided to learn how to curl this winter. It's a sport that's long intrigued me. First, I love how strategic it is.  Two teams being equal in skill, victory can truly be a matter of how smart you play. Plus, it's a very social sport, and goodness knows that in the transition to living by myself, opportunities to socialize = yes, where do I sign up?  Suffice it say, when my friends A and M told me they'd joined a rookies' league at a curling rink mid-way between my place and theirs, I practically begged them to send me the registration info.

I started a few weeks after the rest of the group, but would say that at this point I'm getting close to having caught up in terms of skill. I no longer fall every third shot, and while I still miss mess up more than most (my most persistent problem being an inability to throw my rocks hard enough to get them past the line they need to get past to be considered in play), my stats are improving.

For example, last night I managed a take out (when you hit the other team's rock out of play) and twice managed to get two rocks in a row over the line. Not bad.

In fact, I was feeling pretty good about my game last night as I headed off the ice in search of a post-game drink.  And then . . . SPLAT! I was lying face down on the ice. Can't say for sure what happened, but I think the leg of my pants got caught under my shoe and . . . face plant.

So, now I'm sporting a welt on my chin that answers the question "what would v look like with Jay Leno's chin transplanted onto her face?"  The response?  Not good. And getting worse as time passes.  This morning my goose egg was mostly red. By late afternoon it was slowly turning purple.

What does this have to do with dating? Well, today at the gym I noticed a cute guy glancing my way a couple of times.  This does not happen at the gym very often (or at least, not the part where the glancer is cute), and so I started thinking about maybe, possibly smiling at him; or (gasp!) saying hi . . . and then I caught my reflection in the mirror.  One look at Jay Leno chin girl staring back at me was all it to took to realize that I was NOT getting, "damn, baby, you look good" glances.  I was getting "what the heck happened there" glances.

So, it would seem that for the foreseeable future I'm on the "out due to injury" list when it comes to dating. On the plus side, I almost said hi to a cute boy today :)

A million dollars vs. the winter blahs

2012-01-10T20:29:00.000-08:00

Winter in Ottawa can be harsh.  I will never forget the first time I discovered that there exists a cold so cold that even the hairs inside your nose freeze.  It was during my first winter here (one of the harshest I've experienced since moving to Ottawa . . . though perhaps everyone thinks that about their first winter here?), and I recall thinking that perhaps becoming one of the many who didn't make it past the first year of Carleton's journalism program wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if it meant I could go back to the mild winters of Toronto. Where a girl can wear her chucks on all but the snowiest of winter days.

Well, I made it to the second year, then the third and fourth, and next thing you know I was applying to grad school, finding a job and am now in the midst of my 13th winter here. I still don't like it when my nose hairs freeze, but somewhere along the way I have to admit, I sortof fell in love with Ottawa winters. This is because I figured out the silver lining. It's over 7 km long, slippery when frozen, sparkles like a jewel on a sunny day, and is best enjoyed with hot chocolate.  Skating on the Rideau Canal is hands down one of my favourite things about my adopted city. It, along with other winter sports like snowshoeing and skiing, are what make up for the frozen nose hairs, the wind chapped skin and the fact that I now sport winter boots rated for -40 C on all but the warmest of winter days.

Knowing this about me, you can perhaps understand how I reacted to the fact that on the walk from my bus stop into work this morning, the sidewalks were muddier than they were snowy, and my feet were getting warm in my boots. In a word: boo.

So, what's a girl to do? How do I conquer my winter blahs? (Being bummed about the fact that it just doesn't seem wintery enough counts as winter blahs, right? Well, I say it does).

I decided to start with picking out a new wake up track. Something to help me start my day off on a positive note tomorrow morning.

In honour of his nifty approach to his next album (10 songs in 10 weeks, read about it here), decided to go with Joel Plaskett's "A Million Dollars."

I know, not all of the lyrics quite make sense first thing in the morning; but it's a great, upbeat tune, and I'm optimistic it stands a decent chance against the blahs.

We look like a million dollars / Every time they look at us, we'll blow their mind

Take that, non-winter.

on blogging, twitter and life in the information age

2012-01-08T18:50:00.000-08:00

When I started this blog as a travel narrative last June, I launched it by sending an email with the URL to a large group of friends and family, and added it to my facebook info page at the same time.  I figured people I knew were about the only ones who would be interested in reading about my adventures as a temporary nomad. Even so, I chose not to block other web wanderers from accessing my blog.  First, 'cus I didn't feel I had anything to hide, and second, 'cus I kinda liked the idea of virtually connecting with people who shared my interest in storytelling in the digital age.

To maintain a bit of privacy (or at least, attempt to), I avoided including my real name anywhere on my blog. I am v (small caps being a stylistic preference as opposed to carrying any great meaning, in case you're wondering) and my friends and family are similarly referred to only by an initial or two. This way, only the people I chose to share the URL with would know who was writing.

Then I did something to mess it all up. I joined twitter.   (Which I adore, btw. The information access is mind boggling. Gives me that same shiver of excitement I used to get as a nerdy bookworm of a kid stepping into the five story library that opened near my folks' place in T.O. in the late 80s.)

How did twitter mess it up? Well, because I was a bit of a twit about it.  I opened up my account under my full name. And then I included my blog URL on my profile. All of a sudden, anyone who googled my name could find my blog.

Had I still just been writing a travel narrative, this probably wouldn't have been such a big deal. But as you know if you're a regular reader, recent posts have tackled subjects like my new job and dating, forcing me to ask the question: am I okay with the idea that a new colleague or a prospective date might read my blog without my inviting them to do so?

My initial reaction was yes, of course. I'm not ashamed of, or embarrassed about, anything I post. Most subjects are ones that I would easily talk about with friends, family, and, yes, even new colleagues or a date.

But then I thought about the fact that I would do that in the context of a conversation. An exchange. A relationship. Meaning they would be hearing about me and my highs and lows only as I was hearing about them and theirs.  And we would do this over time.  As we got to know each other.

I removed the URL from my twitter page soon after I realized what I'd done. But, part of me is wondering if this is the right approach. If I should really be so concerned with people judging me for my ability to be more open about my highs and lows than others?

We live in an information age.  And while I tire of overly dramatic and boring facebook posts as much as the next person (really, you're sad today because your cat wouldn't eat his breakfast?  It's only Wednesday and you might not make it to Friday?), I do believe there exists a legitimate space for using social media like blogging, facebook and twitter to share meaningful information.  To let others know it's okay to talk about tough stuff (like struggling through a major change such as the end of a relationship).  To suggest stuff to do to get you out of the rough periods (like listening to awesome music). To exchange stories and ideas about the world around us (e.g. 80 per cent of the people I follow on twitter are journalists).

Suspect I'll continue to think about this in the coming weeks.  Because as much as I'd prefer that people I know read my blog only once I feel connected enough to them to share it, I hate the idea of feeling like I'm hiding it. 'Cus actually, I'm kinda really proud of it. Of being someone who is comfortable enough in my own skin to be able to share meaningful information about myself (my struggles, my music suggestions, my ideas and my stories) in the age of information.

what's now

2012-01-01T13:29:00.000-08:00

if I had to give 2011 a catch phrase, it would be: what's next.

it was a year bursting with movement.

geographic, emotional, physical.

a journey to newness.

new experiences. new friends. new home. new job.

new perspective.

in contrast, i chose to begin 2012 with stillness.

i awoke to my alarm. set purposely for 9 am. the opening chords of one of my favourite ani difranco songs the first sounds of my day. i lay there and, for the first time since choosing this as my wake up track when i moved into my new place in september, listened to the entire song:

buildings and bridges / are made to bend in the wind / to withstand the world, that's what it takes

a record breaking 20 minutes later (i'm normally pretty slow to get going on weekend mornings), i was zipping up my coat, pulling on my headphones, and queueing up some walking music.

outside it was calmwhiteandgrey.

i saw faces in coffee shops. a few cars. but was otherwise alone as i walked here.

to do this.

beginnings are important. fact that i chose to begin my 2012 with a yoga class: important.

i have never been much of a yoga person. the handful of times i've gone i've always found myself wishing i had spent the hour doing something else. something more active. like losing myself in a run or a bike ride. because while i can't say i don't find yoga physically challenging, mentally i've never been able to connect to it. you know that quiet time at the end when you're supposed to centre on yourself? i'm usually making mental to do lists. thinking about what's next.

for most of my adult life it has been only when i am biking, running, travelling, moving that i have sometimes been able to loose myself in the moment. it was no coincidence that two of the adventures i chose during my summer of travel had physical components. i found peace as i pick axed my way through the driest earth i've ever encountered while WWOOFing in the south of France. stillness of mind as i tore up pavement riding along Quebec's highway 138 during my week-long cycle from Ottawa to Quebec City.

this morning, for the first time in a long time, i attempted to find peace in stillness.

i did okay.

sure, my mind wandered a bit. but there were definite moments of silence. periods where i found myself really and truly inside myself.

a victory of epic proportions for a girl who spent so much of this year focused on what's next.

a few weeks ago i got a message from S, a temporary nomad currently exploring the beauty that is New Zealand, asking me how the "new me" was working out. i responded with sarcasm (some things about me will never change), but a more honest answer to that question has been bouncing around my head ever since.

i had no choice but to change in 2011. as ani says, what doesn't bend breaks, and given the upheaval of late 2010 (relationship ending) and early 2011 (selling and moving out of my house), i had to spend much of last year making sure i didn't break.

of course, i did my best to find golden moments as i faced this period of transition: travelling during the three and half months between moving out of my house and taking possession of my condo. embracing the love that came my way as i learned how to navigate the balance between learning how to be alone, and learning how to lean on people. and letting myself enjoy things that on the surface seemed terrifying, like liking a boy again.

i'm pretty happy about the fact that the "new me" who has emerged from these experiences is someone able to do things previously out of reach, like find peace in stillness. i've still got lots of growing to do, no doubt. but for now i am content to celebrate having finally reached a place in life where i am grounded enough to find moments where i can stop thinking about what's next, and focus on what's now.

i resolve to do more of that this year. to make 2012 my year of living in the moment.

'tis the season

2011-12-21T20:46:00.000-08:00

as the last of the brilliantredgoldenyellowandburntorange leaves fell from the trees, the first of the softwetwonderfulwhite snow drifted gently down from the sky and onto my tuque covered head, and shoppers in search of the perfect gift began to fill up my lovely new pedestrian neighbourhood, i had three thoughts running through my head:

this is my second single christmas. my first in my new place. how do i want to spend it?

the urge to do all new was strong. escaping also crossed my mind (my adventures this summer having served to increase, rather than reduce, my desire to journey the world). in the end, i landed on reclaiming.

despite not being a terribly religious person (i believe there are forces greater than those before my eyes, just not sure i agree any one religion has nailed the details on what it / they are), there are some aspects of christmas i adore.

last year i stumbled through the motions. or skipped them altogether.

this year, i took them back. three of my favs (in no particular order):

1) cards. love in envelopes. adore.

last saturday i tucked myself into a corner table at the bridgehead coffee shop near my condo and, bathed in the afternoon sunlight, composed holiday wishes to old friends and new.

2) baking. edible love. adore.

measuring, mixing, rolling, decorating, and delivering made for many a golden moment over the past couple of weeks. recipe for the chocolateoatmealgoodness at the bottom taken from one of my fav blogs.

3) exchanging gifts with friends and family. wrapped up love. adore.

my annual stocking exchange with my former uni roommates is one of my favourite holiday gift exchanges each year. $40 limit. one person's stocking to fill. a gathering involving good food, laughter and love.

last year i missed it. so happy to be reunited with this tradition this year. and to welcome our first new member in years (my friend K's brand new beautiful baby girl) with a glass of bubbles.

happy holidays, dear readers. i hope that you, like me, find touches of gold as you grab hold of your favourite holiday moments. and if for some reason you can't, that you take heart in knowing that there's always next year.

'tis the season to reclaim.

what I want: further confessions of a 31-year-old singleton [director's cut]

2011-12-15T22:32:00.000-08:00

[Prescript: I made some minor post-publication edits based on some feedback I got. One of those instances the director's cut differs little from the original to everyone but the director, I think]

Growing up the only female child sandwiched between two brothers had its advantages.  I learned to play hard, act tough, and while I still cried way more than they did, hold back tears far better than most of my girlfriends growing up.  Layer on parents who wanted to make sure I was no wuss, and it's no surprise that throughout most of my life I've been a pretty tough cookie.

This resiliency has had untold benefits.  But, its also had its downsides.  Other than when sick (when I morph into a total wuss), I never used to be good at letting people take care of me. I always had to show that I was capable of getting my own back. This has shifted a lot lately. Mostly cause, as the song goes: breaking up is hard to do.

I've now been single for more than a year and in that time needed and asked for help with some pretty major stuff. From selling, packing up, and moving out of my house, to installing things in my new condo to countless hugs of support, I've learned not only how to ask for help, but also to embrace the fact that many of my friends and family actually enjoy doing things for me. It's one way they can express their love for me. I know, not rocket science, but a big leap for someone who used to think that independence was next to godliness :)

What does this have to do with dating? Well, as noted in my last dating post, one of the advantages of dating in your 30s is that you know yourself better.  You know what you have to offer, and what you want from a date / potential partner.

So, turns out the girl who has finally learned to embrace being cared for has decided she'd like to try to date guys who can fill this role.  Especially given I'm still not the best at asking for help, I think it'd be swell to be with someone who was a bit naturally inclined to caring for the woman in his life.

Not ridiculous over-the-top shit like pulling out chairs, but, you know, the kind of guy who takes charge from time to time.   Who might be the type to get my winter tires put on my car for me (there may have been an incident involving lots of swearing as I extricated my winter tires from my storage locker by myself this fall that prompted this particular example. Maybe). Or, more consistent with the dating as opposed to relationship world, who might pick me up for a date rather than meeting me somewhere, or take my arm in a crowded place to make sure I'm okay.

I'm not a princess.  I came of age blasting Hole's Rock Star on my stereo, and thinking Lelaina made the right decision when she chose Troy over Michael in Reality Bites.  Am I surprised to find myself caring whether or not a guy offers to pick me up for a date in my 30s?  Yeh, a bit. But then again, I'm also surprised by how cool it is to be in a place where I'm so in tune with what matters to me in a potential partner. Good surprised :)

Top 5 Live Shows of 2011

2011-12-11T19:59:00.001-08:00

This post was inspired by a fellow Ottawa-based blogger's recent post on his top 10 shows of the year. I started following Wuabgeshig Rice when a friend from grad school linked to his page off of her blog, which is also worth a visit if you're looking for new interweb reading.

So, even though we're both Ottawa-based, my list varies hugely from the one that inspired it. Primarily 'cus as a result of my summer as a temporary nomad I missed most of the festival season. So, am only going to list five shows given I saw fewer gigs than usual this year. Also, 'cus my list is very personal. To me, a good gig is a mix of what the artist brings, as well as factors such as venue, who I'm with and how it fits within the fabric of my life.  Yeh, I can find narrative anywhere :)

With that introduction, and listed most to least recent, my top five live shows of 2011 were:

5) First, gotta agree with Waub. Feist owned the National Arts Centre in Ottawa last Monday (December 5). I often complain about Ottawa concert goers being overly sedate. She had the crowd standing up . . . wait for it . . . before the encore! And while I normally sigh a sad sigh of reluctant acceptance when Canadian artists get big enough to go on what I call their Massey Hall tour (playing nicer venues in bigger cities with elevated ticket prices) I have to say that she made it work. Didn't change her sound to suit the venue one bit.  Here's a link to the first single off her new album, Metals, for those new to her awesomeness.  If you decide to buy check out a track called Cicadas and Gulls.  Have had it on repeat for days now. Adore.

4) I have had a couple near misses in my attempts to see Dan Mangan in concert since I fell in love with his 2009 disc Nice, Nice, Very Nice.  Stars finally aligned for me and him at his October 14 gig at the Bronson Centre in Ottawa. Venue's not the best, and the opener was merely so-so, but man can that guy sing.  Fav track off his latest disc is called How Darwinian. It's got this great line: "people don't know what they want, they just know they really want it." Total soundtrack for my life a couple months ago when I had just moved into my new place and was trying to figure out my new normal.

3) Tom Morello as The Nightwatchman. August 27. Ottawa Folk Fest. As noted in a post not too long after that gig, this was a bucket list live music experience I will not soon forget. Venue (outdoors) was perfect.  Set was outstanding. And while it kinda sucked I was on my own (friends at the festival chose to check out another stage during that time slot) the crowd was just so with the artist that I felt part of a collective nonetheless.

2) Wake the President. July 8. L'International. Paris. The music didn't blow me away. The venue was awesome.  Hot, sweaty, basement + good beer + no cover charge . . . plus, you know . . . Paris!  This show stands out both cause it was a highlight of my last weekend at the end of the month I spent in Europe, and cause it's a great example of me not letting the fact that I was travelling solo stop me from doing things I love like going to rock shows in sketchy neighbourhoods.  Fighting for my right to party. Heck yeh :)

1) From the minute the first note left her mouth, I was hooked. Opening for Julie Doiron at Mavericks in Ottawa last February 4, Little Scream took an early lead as my favourite new-to-me artist of 2011. No one's come close to catching up since. Fact that I was able to purchase her stellar 2011 album The Golden Record before it was released at the show was just icing on the cake (like most music fans, I delight in knowing I have a disc before everyone else does). Check out the track that inspired the title for this blog.

Before ending this post I should note that there are a couple of upcoming shows that might require me to make some post-publication additions to this list.  First, my friend M's partner's band is playing the Elmdale Tavern this Tuesday.   I've been trying to get out to one of his shows for a while now so am reallly looking forward to it.

Second, what is usually a guaranteed favourite show of the year for me, Jim Bryson's annual December gig at the Blacksheep in Wakefield, Quebec is coming up on Saturday December 17. Last year's show was extra special cause it brought two good friends of mine one step closer to falling in lurve.  This year am going with two friends who are married (different friends, if you're wondering) so no matchmaking planned, but suspect it'll be a superb night nonetheless. If you're in the area the area and thinking to go, heads up that it sells out every year so get your tics sooner than later. That said, if you're stuck, let me know. I have an extra I'm looking to sell :)

adventures in dating: confesssions of a 31-year-old singleton

2011-12-07T20:06:00.001-08:00

Dating in your 30s. It has some pluses. You know yourself better, know what you're looking for better, and as a result of these two things can be way more confident in your exchanges with potential partners.

There is, however, one major drawback: far fewer potential partners.  Almost everyone I know is in a relationship. Almost everyone they know is in a relationship. And while I know it's illogical given I am now myself a part of this group, there are often good reasons why those that aren't in relationships are single.

So, where's a single 31-year-old gal to go to find a bigger pool of single men in my age bracket? As in so many dilemmas I've faced of late, I turned to the interweb. Yup, online dating. Where singles go when they want to stop having great conversations with really cute people while wondering if their hair looks weird today and thinking about how the person they're talking to smells really good . . . only to realize ten minutes into the conversation that said person just threw in a "we" into the mix.

A demonstration:

- v: I'm really looking forward to the Feist concert. The NAC's not my favourite venue 'cus it's kinda stuffy, but she's just so good live I'm sure it'll still be awesome.

- cute guy: yeh, it should be amazing. we've been looking forward to it for a while now.

- v: yeh, me too. so, uh, does your partner work for the government too?

So, I signed up for a dating site a few weeks ago. And in quick succession almost everyone of my worst case scenarios came true. I had someone I thought was interested in me delete his profile out of nowhere, was ignored by a couple of men I thought I'd really get along with in real life, and was called a really heinous name by an a-hole I had the good instincts to back away from.  The temptation to delete my profile and admit there were just some things the interweb wasn't good for was immense.

And then tonight I went on my first online date. And it was good.  And we talked until the coffee shop closed. And we have plans to go out again this weekend.  Faith in the interweb restored. Faith in ability to date in my 30s, improving.

Le happiness

2011-11-27T19:39:00.001-08:00

I haven't felt much like blogging lately. Primarily cus every idea I've had for a post woulda made me sound either whiny or sad. And in the spirit of optimism, was hopeful those feelings would dissipate before I committed them to the virtual record.

I'm sure I'll do a post about the stuff that was bothering me eventually. All three issues are ongoing challenges I am slowly working my way through, and I will no doubt want to share my insights / ask for advice eventually.

But right now I'm feeling more positive than I have in a few days, so am gonna ignore the tough stuff for a bit and instead post about things that are bringing me le happiness right now.

I love, adore, delight in stationary. Unique cards, fancy paper, cute stickers and stamps = giant doses of joy for me. I bought this card while shopping in my new neighborhood yesterday afternoon. It so perfectly encapsulates me right now. Planning to frame it and hang it in my new place.

Not surprisingly given my love of stationary, I also love snail mail. Spent part of this afternoon getting a few items ready to post. Which made me think about the fact that it's almost Christmas card season. Can't wait for all the love in envelopes to start flowing.

My Josh Lyman reference last post planted the seed that grew into my decision to re-watch the West Wing. Started season 1 this weekend. Half an episode in and I was already remembering why I loved it so much. Such great story telling.

The last thing that filled up my positive tank this weekend I don't have a picture of. Actually, it would take more than one picture. Was fortunate enough to have some lovely visits with several good friends this weekend. Got to do some shopping, share some good conversation over yummy food, and cuddle two adorable babies. How could I not feel buckets of le happiness after that?

"She took a deep breath, declared her heart free, and thanked herself for being so patient with it."

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Age ain't nothin' but a number?

2011-11-16T20:15:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot about age lately.

I'm kindof at peace with the fact that due to my youngish appearance (in part a result of my refusal to update my weekend wardrobe beyond my ninth grade look of chucks and hoodies), the few guys that do hit on me may continue to include some younger men. Worse things could happen, right?

But I'm still struggling with appearing to be younger than I am in a professional context. Being the "do something about things that are bothering me" kindof person I am, last week over goodbye drinks with some now former colleagues I floated the idea of changing my professional wardrobe so as to appear, well, if not my actual age, at least slightly older. Maybe stop wearing a backpack to work, as a start. I was voted down. Some nonsense about just being myself or whatever. Not sure. I was distracted by the ~~copious amount of~~ totally respectable amount of Strongbow I was in the process of consuming.

The next morning as I ~~nursed my hangover~~ greeted the morning with a delish Montreal-style bagel at the Ottawa Bagel Shop, I contemplated adding "buy age appropriate work bag" to my to do list in spite of this advice. But then I remembered that thanks to my decision to receive only 3/4 of my income this year in order to finance my summer of travel I had fewer pennies to rub together than usual. Off the list it went. Besides, I'd had more mature work bags in the past. A red leather laptop bag that garnered plenty of envy from several older female colleagues, for example. Didn't do much to prevent some people from thinking I was way too young to be in the job I was in.

So, decision made. Forget about looking older.  Embrace the fact that some people think you're too young to be where you are.  Wear your backpack with Josh Lyman like confidence (West Wing character that wore a backpack, if you're wondering).

At least, that was the plan. But, as is so often the case, turns out life had other ideas. This week was the wrong one for getting over the age thing.

When I was job hunting before accepting the one I started this week, one of my "must haves" was a position that would see me managing a team. I spent three months as the interim director of a division of about 25 people in 2010, and while it was the hardest I have ever worked in life, I loved it. Got some really positive feedback from my bosses too. While after it was over I made a very conscious decision not to pursue a permanent director position until later in my career (the personal stuff I had going on being a factor, but not the only one if that's what you're thinking), my big take away was a reminder that I enjoy positions where I have a team.

So this week I got what I wanted. And so far am having no regrets.

But I am finding myself having the backpack debate again.

Not gonna lie.  Even in my old department I was a bit young (had just turned 29) when I first took on manager duties. But several of my counterparts reached the same level at 30 or soon thereafter, so it didn't really feel like that big of a deal.  Helped that many (especially other young(er) managers) didn't see me as anything out of the ordinary.

Not so in my new job. In my new hood, I stand out like the cousin who wears jeans to the wedding despite the fact that the invitation specified black tie.  Everyone's noticing. Even if they're choosing not to say anything in order to avoid an awkward scene. For whatever reason (fewer opportunities due to higher retention levels is my guess) my new organization has far fewer managers in their early 30s. In fact, if the shock expressed by a colleague who found out I was only 31 today is any indication (hey, for once someone thinks I'm older than I am . . . neat!), I may be the only one.
So, what's a young(er) manager to do?  Do I dress to meet expectations (i.e. try to look as old as they all assume you need to be in order to have the experience needed to manage a team)?  Stay the way I am but keep quiet on my age? Or stick with the original plan and embrace my uniqueness?

Bet you thought I was going to conclude with some sort of well thought out insight on what to do, didn't you? Sorry to disappoint, but I'm still thinking about this one. I guess I will say that I have figured out it's not really about clothes.  It's about how overtly I want to play the role of poster child (haha) for youthful competence.

'Cus, you know, starting a new job in a totally new field isn't enough of a challenge.

peopleis(work)place

2011-11-11T14:07:00.000-08:00

Yesterday at about 4:30 pm I took the elevator from the 21st floor down to the lobby, walked through the turnstiles and out the front doors of a building I am not likely to enter again for some time.  Significant given I've spent the majority of my working hours inside of it for the past six and a half years.

I start a new job on Monday. The one I made a passing reference to having been interviewed for a couple of posts ago.  I'll still be a govie, but I'll be working on new files, with new people, and, obviously, in a new building.  I'm excited about this move.  Sought it out, in fact. And yet, yesterday as I walked out the front doors, down the exit ramp, and across the street to the lot where my friend J's car was parked, I had to talk myself out of getting weepy.

I starting entering and leaving that building on a daily basis in April 2005.  I had just turned 25. Oh, the journey I've been on since then.  In some ways you could say this department is where I grew up as a govie. Where I first learned that if your boss asks you to develop a deck she is not referring to a weekend construction project but a power point presentation.  That if you write a memo to the Minister you can say "you" and not "the Minister" when referring to something he did / you recommend he do. That a well crafted briefing binder can be a thing of beauty.

But the most important lesson I've learned, the one I will take with me to this new job, and that I know will be with me for the rest of my career, is that just as important as what you do is who you do it with.

I have had the joy of spending my days, and during particularly busy periods my evenings and weekends as well, with a number of particular amazing people these past number of years.  A few I now count as some of my dearest friends.  I never imagined that would be the case as I walked up that ramp, through the doors, past the turnstiles and into the elevator for the first time in 2005.  How glad I am that it worked out that way.  Sure, it makes leaving that much harder.  But have a feeling it will also make keeping in touch that much easier.

Guide my sword (er, that is, my interweb browsing)

2011-11-02T21:25:00.000-07:00

I love recommending stuff. And getting other peoples' recommendations. Especially things of the hidden gem variety. Makes me feel all part of a secret club or something. I even slip in subtle recommendations in unexpected places. Like my title. Those of you who are as ~~dorky~~ well versed in films as me might recognize the sword line from The Princess Bride, one of my fav all time pics. If you have never seen this, get thee to a video store (real or virtual) stat! Your welcome :)

So, since deciding to breathe some new life into this blog in September (transitioning it from a travel blog to an ongoing narrative about yours truly) I have been ever so slowly adding other people's blogs to my reading list. Trying to grow my circle of interweb friends without over committing and having way too much to read every time I log in. But lately I've hit a wall. Both 'cus a couple of blogs I've tried to follow have reached their follower limit (!), such as this one, and 'cus I am too ~~lazy~~ busy to search for blogs that I identify with enough to read on a regular basis.

I need help.
(She needs help.)
Whose help do I need?
(I dunno, what do you think?)
Your help!
(Yeh, okay, thought she might be going there, but you never know and you don't want to assume.)
(No, assuming is never good. No good can come of assuming.)
(True, true).

Yup, me and the narrators with funny accents (What, you didn't pick up on the accents? Weirdo.) agree. Some assistance is needed.

So please, dear reader, use the comments section, message me, or if you're a non-virtual friend send me an email or a fb message, with links to blogs you like. Better yet, blogs you think I'd like. Maybe yours if I'm not already following?

Lest you think this is a one way exchange, here are my offerings to you:
- Really great food blog: Smitten Kitchen
- Some great blogs written by a couple of non-virtual friends: K,who likes to write about getting back to the land when he's happy, and rant about things that go against his back to the land POVwhen he's ragey, and M, who writes (incredibly well, I might add) about all kinds of stuff both funny and touching.

Thanks in advance!

For my friend M

2011-10-31T19:18:00.000-07:00

Lists. I've maybe mentioned how I like them? Like, a lot? Well, I do. All kinds. Even to do lists. My favourite ap on my iPhone (other than my iPod, of course; music > lists) is the note pad. It allows me to keep multiple lists on me at all times. Bliss.

So, tonight I have a pretty long to do list. Groceries, dinner, call my friend J, laundry, text everyone I said I'd get back to on how my job interview went today (details here once there are any to share, I promise!), throw the ingredients for my favourite soup (roasted carrot and shallot) into the crock pot where they can get down with their slow cookery bad selves overnight . . . plus I'm pretty sure I have some bills to ~~get nauseous over~~ pay.

But even though it never made it onto one of my lists (somethings are to personal to be "to do listed"), before I tackle all of that I need pay attention to the voice in the back of my head reminding me that I've been wanting to do something for my friend M, who I've been thinking about a lot these last few days. She's the one who got me into blogging, and so I can think of no better way to send her some love than to dedicate this post to her.  She impresses me on a daily basis and I just wanted to take a moment to recognize that.  And to thank her.

When I got back from my month in Europe I posted about what a wreak I was before leaving. And I alluded to having been an even bigger wreak last fall when my ex and I first split. M was one of the first people that I was able to talk to about that. Once I finally got the the point of being able to talk about it.  Her reaction when I found the words to explain that the reason I had cancelled our plans so many times over the fall was because I couldn't handle human contact was perfect.  She didn't judge, didn't press, just listened.  She made me feel like it wasn't all that bizarre to admit I had faced numerous days where getting off the couch was next to impossible.

She was also great as I started doing better.  Made time to hang out with me last winter as I faced the brave new world of living in a four bedroom house by myself, listened to me as I talked my way through to the reality that I could not, in fact, handle that, and would have to sell the place.

And then, one day, she started cancelling plans.  And then, one day, I started going under again.  And then suddenly last spring, we were the blind leading the blind.  Or, to be frank, the depressed leading the depressed.  It would almost have been funny if it wasn't so sad.  She'd call me to ask me how I was doing and end up crying. I'd call her to make sure she didn't shut out the world entirely only to end up talking about how I just wanted to crawl back into bed and ignore everything.

If you've been following my blog over the last few months, you know that I am now doing much better. Would even go so far as to say I'm happy. Not "stop seeing my therapist monthly" happy, but all in all feeling pretty good about life these days.

M's doing better too, although we both still have plenty of ups and downs. But even when she hits a down she still impresses the hell out of me with how amazing a friend she is to me as I struggle to find and maintain a new normal amidst all the changes I've been through over the last year.

As I finish this post it is going on 10 pm and I haven't even started the soup. Me a year ago, that woman who couldn't get off the couch, might have added that to the list of things I suck at right now.  But me now, me who has people in my corner like M, is finally in a place where I don't let myself think like that anymore. In a place where I can accept that not getting everything right, that having some bad days mixed in with the good, is okay.  It's good enough for now. M, thanks for helping me get to here.  And for letting me be part of your journey.  You're doing good enough yourself, my dear.  I hope this in some small way helps you connect with that.

Stars are aligning

2011-10-27T20:32:00.000-07:00

Stars are aligning. Good things. Happening.  Golden moments abound.

When did it begin?

Was it last Friday when my friend M dropped me off from work and we had this great, five minute car ride long talk about growth? How after months, and months of hard effin work on you, your relationships and how you tackle the tough, you find yourself in this place of honestly that leaves you so grounded you can almost feel it when you are in the presence of someone who isn't. even. close. to being there? And you wonder if people used to feel that way around you? But then you realize how few people are themselves grounded enough to sense that.  And you feel blessed, and proud of yourself, for having gotten there.

Or was it Saturday morning when I and a couple of others cooked breakfast for our friends LB and MP, took turns cuddling their beautiful newborn babies, and felt the warm glow of their contentment wash over us?

Maybe Sunday. Finally finding the five minute route to the river from my new place. Beautiful morning run.

No, definitely Monday. A visit from S all the way from Southwestern Ontario. A smile of happiness because good things don't have to make sense.

Beginnings are important. Fact I can't pinpoint when the good began -- important.

Tuesday. Validation from my good friend N. Another out of town guest who made me glow with a thoughtful housewarming gift and her excitement over my new place.

Today.

A perfect parting.

A reconnecting.

An opportunity.

Feeling so lucky to have so many wonderful people in my life.

Stars are aligning. I am aligning. It has begun.

Rejection sucks

2011-10-18T17:32:00.000-07:00

So, as if 2011 hadn't already been a year of upheaval for me (putting self back together after end of marriage, selling house, 3.5 months of homelessness begun with a 12 week leave of absence spent globe wandering, moving into new condo . . . and that was just January to September!) I recently decided to complete "operation turn my entire life upside down" by finding a new job.

Well, sort of.

See, I'm a govie. More specifically, a policy analyst with the federal department of health. My job is permanent. Well, that it to say it's backed by a handy collective agreement negotiated by a union and that these two facts combined make it sort of hard to fire me.  Not the kind of position you leave easily. So, I'm not really looking for a new job, so much as a new posting in a different federal department.

Sounds complicated, but up until recently it would have been totally easy peasy lemon squeezy. See, because it's so much easier to hire analysts already in permanent positions than from the outside (we've got the right skills and experience, no need to run a formal competition), I am not at all unique in being able to say I've turned down many a job offer from people in other departments since joining the federal government in 2006.

And then came the economic downturn (boo!) And then stimulus funding (yeh!) And then deficit fighting (sigh.  I guess . . .) End result: job offers of yesteryear are but a distant memory.

And what does all this coincide with? Why v's return to from her leave of absence and decision to find a new gig, of course.

So the last couple of weeks I had to face more rejection than a pimply math nerd looking for a prom date. People who previously pursued me to come work with them have turned me down.

Now, lest you think I'm an insensitive wanker, rest assured that I get that in this economy I should feel lucky to have a (mostly) permanent position and enough with the whining about having trouble finding a new posting already. I really do.

But here's the funny thing about rejection. No matter how much you rationalize it, no matter how much you acknowledge that it's not you, it's the context, it still sucks. It's still a hit to the confidence. Maybe not as bad as it would have been without the context being what it is, not "OMG I want to curl up and die," bad, but definitely still "Holy jeebus, how could a paper cut that small hurt that much!" painful.

So, right now I'm doing a bit of wound licking. And then I'm gonna go out, and give it another try. Cause no one's gonna wanna hire a quitter, right?

New normal

2011-10-13T21:01:00.001-07:00

Busy week. Seems I've had nary an unproductive moment since arriving back in Ottawa Monday evening. Just desserts after a lovely, laid back Thanksgiving weekend in Toronto, I suppose.

Not to knock my weekend accomplishments, but baking pies with my Mom, getting Suzie Blue tuned up and soaking up some much needed family time are all too fun to fall under the umbrella of productivity.

Yes, I did say pies. As in plural. Great way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

First the big grocery shop for ingredients.

Then the mixing, rolling and crushing (extra props for use of a 1960s hand mixer and a hammer, no?)

Finally, the showing off of results. Maple Nut Tart, Pumpkin Ice Box Pie and savory Tomato-Zuccni-Basil Pie (vegetarian entree for family Thanksgiving dinner).

Mmm, pie porn ; )

Oh, and can't forget cute shot of the proud chefs : )

Got back to Ottawa around 7:30 Monday eve. Time since then has flown by. Laundry, groceries, getting pants hemmed. First massage in way too many months. Bills. Job hunting. Keeping in touch (emails, texting, blog reading). Finally starting to post some summer of travel pics on Facebook.

And now, getting ready to do it all again. Headed to a show tomorrow night (Dan Mangan, very excited!) and then up and on the road back to T.O. Saturday by 8 am to attend my good friend K's baby shower.

Am exhausted. But happy. So very happy to finally feel like I'm settling into a normal life again. My new normal, I suppose. Bliss.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Grrliness Interrupted

2011-10-05T19:47:00.001-07:00

Prescript: This post was inspired by my friend LB's facebook update about being a feminist and still hearting dressing her daughter up in girly clothes. Made me think about my own relationship with grrliness, especially as it's developed in recent weeks.

***

It was bound to happen. Only girl born between two fairly macho brothers. More into sports than dating up until a ridiculously abnormal age (yeh, like last week, haha). Yup, it was pretty much a given that as soon as I grew out of playing with dolls, I would develop a strong dislike for most all things girly.

Especially the colour pink. Pink was for girly girls. I was no girly girl. I wore hockey, not figure skates. Could hold my own in most any sport. And due to an early growth spurt that came to a jarring halt at about the age of twelve, as a kid did not exactly posses a stature that anyone would have associated with being cute or girly. (Will save the positive and negative impacts that had on my self-image for another post!)

As I grew up, this on again, off again dislike of all things girly continued. Make-up interested me for a brief period in middle school. All the other girls on my soccer team were wearing it and I tried to do the same to fit in. It didn't last. Not that I fault her, but having a completely different complexion from my Mom didn't help. I'm cinnamon. She's more of a vanilla. Experimenting with her make-up pretty much made me look like a showgirl. Having talked to other mixed girls, I know this is a common experience. But unlike them (who persevered in finding colours that looked good with their skin tone), I gave up. Still unsure of the whole girliness thing, I just wasn't interested enough to begin with to follow through.

Then came high school. And ideals. Animals were friends, not food. Human rights. Feminism. Rage against societally prescribed roles! With a few exceptions, I was strictly a Birkenstocks, hiking shoes and chucks kindof a gal.

University was a bit different. Thanks to a really awesome women's studies professor, I managed to wrap my mind around the idea that socially prescribed roles / clothing / colour preferences only had power over you if you unconsciously accepted them as given. Questionning, choosing, reclaiming. These were all tools we could use to break down norms in addition to / instead of merely rejecting them.

And so, over the last decade or so, I have slowly let girliness back into my life. Except now it's grrliness. : ) And, in general, its presence remains fairly subdued. Pink long sleeved shirt under a black t-shirt. Flowery pattern on a skirt in neutral colours.

And then, last week, as I started shopping for bed linens for my new mattress, something shifted. Suddenly, out of the blue (or should I say pink?) I found myself drawn to the grrliest, daintiest, pinkest, bedding I could find.

The feminist in me would love to be able to attribute this to some sort of third wave feminism "reclaiming grrliness" phenomenon. But I just don't think that's it.

I think for the first time in life I am buying bed linens without having to worry about what anyone (brothers I want to be one of the boys with, society, a partner) thinks. And, apparently, this is what this 31 year old woman who is still getting used to the idea of wearing makeup likes:

Isn't it pretty? It's reversible. And I *think* I like the pink side the most!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Autumnal musings

2011-09-27T20:55:00.000-07:00

It's starting.  As in year's past, slowly at first. A splash of red, yellow or orange spotted out of the corner of my eye. A slight briskness in the air on an early morning walk.  A single leaf dancing gently towards the ground as I walk by a centuries old tree that has seen this particular shift so many times before. Come to think of it, so have I. And yet, I still marvel at it every September: the gentle transition from summer to fall.

Fall is without a doubt my favourite season.  I heart everything about it. The brazen colours splashed across the treetops like a paint by numbers gone wrong. The crisp cool air that sends me running back inside to grab an extra layer as I head out for a run in what looked like a warm summer day from inside. The loud crunching beneath my feet as I wander down sidewalks paved in fallen leaves. And the sweaters. God, I love the sweaters. Feeling all snugly and warm wrapped up in a soft wool hug of a sweater. Bliss.

Spent the weekend welcoming my favourite season.

First, a Saturday hike in Gatineau Park.  In the company of one Mr. Jones.

If you're a regular reader and wondering why I haven't mentioned Jones much before, it's because he's not living with me right now. I say right now 'cus his future is an issue we're still struggling to figure out. Ugh, tough stuff. But all forgotten as my favourite four legged creature and I communed with nature on this beautiful early fall day.

Then, seeing as we were just a short drive away, popped into my favourite Wakefield, Quebec bakery (Pipolinka) to buy some yummy vegetarian tortiere for dinner. Watching all the happy people out wandering the main street along the river in this lovely little town put a big smile on my face. If I ever decide I'm done with urban life, there's a good chance you'll find me nestled in a river-side cottage out this way.

Sunday was all about the Ottawa Farmer's Market at Landsdowne Park.

Met up with my friend J, who I hadn't seen since May, to brunch, shop and catch up. Sadly, she's about to head out of town herself so we won't get to reconnect again for a while, but her Northern Ontario job-venture (job that's an adventure) sounds like an excellent growth opportunity so I'm happy for her if a bit sad to say goodbye so soon after saying hello again.

Bought so. many. delicious. things. Fell in L-O-V-E with these perfectly ripe baby tomatoes.

Like, remember when you were a kid and you said you loved something and some other ~~smart ass~~ witty kid would be all, "if you love it so much why don't you marry it?" I would totally marry these tomatoes. Forget grapes. So done with strawberries. Have decided sweet baby tomatoes are the most sensual food on the planet. Soft and smooth on the outside, just the right size to roll around in your mouth a few times before you gently bite into them and release a burst of juicy flavour . . .

Sorry, sidetrack ; )

This is what I cooked with all the goodies I bought. Heaven in a roasting pan. Yum.

Amid all my worshiping of autumn's beauty, spent a bit of time thinking about why I love this season so much. The aesthetic certainly agrees with me. Red's my favourite colour, and it is everywhere this time of year. And I've always preferred weather that falls somewhere between the extremes of summer (40 degrees Celsius with the humidex) and and winter (minus 40 degrees Celsius with the wind chill) in Eastern Ontario.

But, it's more than that. I think for me, fall represents a late in the game chance at a new beginning. On the surface it seems like things are winding down. Nature's slowly putting away it's outdoor furniture as it readies for the great chill that's to come.  But it's not over yet. The new year is still a few colourful, crisp months away. And those months are do-or-die time to make something of your year.

So, like an athlete being given a chance to start mid-way through a season spent warming the bench, and knowing with absolute certainty that getting out there and kicking some a** is the difference between an automatic return to second string next season or a real shot at first, I am driven by the mixture of excitement and nervousness that the opportunity fall presents makes me feel. 'Cus I know if I don't seize this moment, I will live to regret it.

Given the year I've had, would definitely say am more driven this year than ever to seize this autumnal opportunity.  Not to suggest I didn't just finish an amazing summer. I definitely did. But as much as I enjoyed my travels, I think my blog has made clear my status as a temporary nomad was more about getting to a better place than wandering for the pure pleasure of it.  So now, back from my adventures, feeling stronger, happier and no longer homeless, I am determined to end the year on a positive.

Would say I got a good start this weekend. Now I just need to build on that momentum and make my way crunchily through a fall filled with many more golden moments. Can't wait.

Stuff is just stuff (now with an all new postscript)

2011-09-21T20:47:00.000-07:00

So, when my ex and I eventually had the "what do you want to take" conversation in early January (I think? November to May are a bit of a blur), there were very few things I called dibs on. Totally by choice, mind you. I took the car (which, given it won't be paid for until 2013, is technically a debt, but since I'm pretty attached to Lexi -- major hint being that I named her -- this was important to me) and some furniture I'd had pre-moving in together (i.e. pre-having a full-time job and enough money to buy nice stuff).

Once the house was actually sold and the offer on my new place had been accepted, I then proceeded to give up even more. The dining room set I'd thought I'd wanted became one more thing to pass on. Worked great in a four bedroom house. Not so much a one bedroom condo.

Suffice it to say, my new place is pretty sparse right now. I am sleeping in the bed I bought with a j-skool (journalism school) scholarship I was thrilled to receive in 2002. I can watch movies on my laptop, but am TV-less due to a decision to donate the bulky tube TV I bought used last winter to the Salvation Army in May (logic being that nothing much but a flat screen is gonna work in a living room that would fit into my old rec room three times over . . . maybe even four). I am using my camping cutlery. They are perfectly decent, mind you, but I can't help but wish I had more than four of each utensil so I could in fact enjoy the use of the dishwasher in my beautiful new kitchen ; )

Over the past almost year of going through a divorce, various people have asked me for my insight on the splitting up process. How it works, do you really fight over who gets the coffee table, and other similar questions. I've started to joke that I've become the "ending a long-term relationship" expert to certain friends. Can't say I'm quite in a place where I see this as a good thing. I mean, my general approach to life is to try never to have regrets, and I have grown a ton from this experience. I'm even in a happy enough place right now that I was able to laugh when my friend A turned to me a few weeks ago and said something along the lines of: "You know what's kinda cool? You're gonna be a divorcée. It sounds so grown up and mysterious." Yeh, I chuckled at that. But, I still can't help but wish there'd been some other path to getting to where I am now.

Anyway, I may not love it, but if others can learn from my experience, why not embrace that silver lining a bit? So, in answer to some of these questions, I've adopted the following genuine and heart felt line: "stuff is just stuff." When you're messed up over a serious thing like walking away from a person you've been with for eight and half years, you kinda don't care about who gets the stereo (I did) or the couch (him).

But (yeah, there's a but . . . apologies to those of you thinking I was really that above caring about possessions) then one day you have to face the reality of needing a ton of sh*t all at once and not having near enough money to buy it. This is where I am now. And it SUCKS!

Not cause of the stereotypical, "I used to have this stuff but now I have to buy it a second time because my relationship failed and this makes me feel sorry for myself" rant you hear all the time in pop culture. Oh no, that's not what's got me down.

It's the choosing!

What do I get first? I can't follow the same pattern I did the first time I went through this acquiring phase (when I had someone else's opinion to account for). Nor, to be frank, do I really want to. I'm not the same person I was then. So, instead I am faced with the following questions: What is most important to me right now? What is a nice to have versus a need to have?

For your edification (and in case any of my readers living nearby have suggestions on where to get these items cheap, or on a buy now pay later basis that I would have scorned the last time I did this, but now think is a GREAT idea) here's the list so far:

- Cutlery
- Dishes (currently using my Grandmother's china, which is lovely but can't go in the microwave)
- Bed
- Flat screen TV
- Couch (have a futon but it's really too big for the space and at nine years old, has reached an uncomfortable level of lumpiness)
- Laptop (about to die, great timing)
- Corkscrew (took me just one bottle of wine to break the one on my Swiss Army knife)
- Vacuum
- Full length mirror
- Ironing board (along with the mirror, am sure my colleagues will appreciate the positive impact this might have on my appearance at work . . . )
- Apartment appropriate storage (Ikea, here I come).

So far, am leaning towards a new bed as the first major purchase. My achy neck and shoulder are in fact screaming for one. But, beyond this, at this stage all I can do is keep adding things to the list as they occur to me and hope clarity will come in the guise of necessity (i.e. when the need for something becomes urgent, that's what I'll buy next).

On that note, I ask you all to join me in a rain dance to the goddess of technology seeking protection for my laptop when next the grim reaper comes round.  'Cus the thing is, stuff is just stuff, but I really want a new couch that's hip new Westboro digs appropriate : )

Postscript

Had a few more thoughts to add after sleeping on this post.

(a) It's official. I will be getting a new bed this weekend.  Hear that achy shoulder and neck? You win.

(2) Add new dining room set to the list. Totally forgot about that one.

(c) Cause I'm not sure if it's clear, do want to note that I totally realize that part of the reason I can't afford all this stuff at once is cause I chose to take three months of unpaid leave and spend more than a few bills on traveling the world, buying my new road bike Suzie Blue, etc. I realize I am incredibly lucky to have been financially stable enough to do this and still be able to buy my condo all within a year of my break up.  This post is not at all meant as a cry for people to feel sorry for me.

(iv) I know that practically none of the above things are actually need to haves. No one needs a flat screen TV.  Again, just working through a "problem" that I (a well paid, childless, first world divorcée who has not stopped my charitable contributions or anything stoopid like that, I swear!) am facing.

Riding bikes with my AWESOME friend M = hilarious

2011-09-18T20:14:00.001-07:00

Went for a bike ride with my friend M this afternoon. Superb for the following reasons (yup, another list!):

5) It started with a present! My first house warming gift. I can be hard to buy for (to the point where I don't bother with hints, I just say tell family members what I want) so was incredibly touched that she picked out such a perfect cadeau. One of those "I'm the kind of friend that pays attention when you say you like stuff" kind of gifts. Can't wait to sample the following new members of my condiment collection : )

4) It was my first ride since my Ottawa to Quebec City cycling trip at the end of July. After such a long riding break getting back in the saddle felt amazing.

3) Just before heading out got treated to a random bag piper sighting (hearing?).

2) I dropped my gloves before we left and they were not only still there when we got back, but a new neighbour told me where to find them! New building = safe and friendly. Bonus.

1) Getting to read M's account of our ride. OMG, it's hi-larious. Check it out here.

Was a great break from the never ending unpacking going on at chez moi right now. I just counted and I still have 27 boxes left to unpack. 27! How is that possible after three days of moving in? Well, perhaps less surprising if you consider I've yet to unpack a single book or CD. That's probably at least 20 boxes right there : )

And just realized tomorrow will be my first Monday morning that doesn't start with me picking my clothes out of a suitcase in 3.5 months! May have to celebrate with a latte at Bridgehead . . .

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

She finally moves in (!)

2011-09-17T19:17:00.001-07:00

Am half way through a bottle of wine right now. Given my POV that, much like drinking and texting, blogging and alcohol make bad playmates, am gonna play it safe with a (mostly) wordless post : )

Got my keys to the new place on Thursday eve. First look out of my new living room window = rainbow. Good sign, me thinks.

New building has a Bridgehead (Starbucks-like coffee house with a bigger emphasis on fair trade, for my non-Ottawa based readers) in it. Made my day to get this pretty design in my first non-fat vanilla latte there Friday morning. Especially given I was there at 7 am in order to be ready for the movers who started at 8 am.

So much to unpack. It's Saturday night as I type this and I am still probably only about half way done.

Happy moment - finding the bar box!

New bar.

First meal cooked at new place. Grilled vegetable spinach salad with a white wine and mustard dressing. Yum!

First drunk at new place (well, on my way to it, that is) courtesy of Frog Pond (one of the few certified organic wine makers in Ontario).

All this to say, moving into my new place is going well so far : )

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Fun weekend + a redo = perspective

2011-09-12T21:04:00.000-07:00

There are some weekends I would live again in a heartbeat.  They are just so chalk full of golden moments that I can't help but want to experience them a second time.

This past weekend definitely qualifies. I mean, it was no 27 hours in Paris, but then again, that's gonna take a while to top (challenge accepted, btw).

Drove to T.O. Friday evening with a newish friend of mine, M.  Given how tired we both were, our convo was surprisingly steady.  We traded tales of teenage rock star crushes (her friend getting hugged by Rivers Cuomo at 17 story kicked my standing next to Radiohead at Muchmusic at 14 story's ass, but who said it was a competition?) and agreed to disagree on the matter of whether too many of the tracks on my iPhone feature banjo music.  The hours of driving mostly in the dark flew by. Bonus: an addition to my list of potential concert friends (when you try to attend as many live shows as I do, it's good to have a decent roster of people to get tickets with).

After a couple of years of never quite making it there, finally got to try the Grilled Cheese restaurant in Kensington Market on Saturday. While the food wasn't quite as yummy as I had hoped (proper uses of jalepeño should set my mouth on fire; the jalepeño havarti in my sandwich hardly made my lips tingle), the concept is so solid I'd recommend it for the novelty alone. Though if you don't share my passion for the gentrification of the grilled cheese sandwich, it might not be as big a draw for you : )

After lunch, spent a couple hours wandering around the market slash lying in a park watching balloons float away. For company, a fellow temporary nomad, S, who made me the good kindof jealous (the kind where you're happy for the other person) with his upcoming travel plans (New Zealand in winter, um yes!), and pretended to be impressed by my math skills. Or wordquations, to be accurate. Yummy food + good company x beautiful weather = bliss (or 3233.2).

Saturday evening, I got lucky when a random call to one of my oldest friends, N, resulted in a late evening tea and chat.  A simple pleasure I don't get to partake in often given I live in a different city than she does. Bliss squared.
Then Sunday, the interesting experience of sortof redoing a day I lived for the first time twelve years ago: moving out of my parent's house! Having used their place as my base camp during my nomadic summer, couldn't help but do a bit of a comparison between the process of filling my car up with my stuff yesterday, and on that Labour Day weekend in 1999.

If you sense another list coming on, you'd be right.  Top 5 observations, in no particular order:

5) I apparently thought I'd need more pairs of shoes in my 3.5 months of homelessness than I expected to need all throughout my first year at uni.  Truth is, in both instances I probably wore flip flops fifty per cent of the time anyway : )

4) Laundry detergent is too heavy to be moving across the province on a regular basis. I should really just plan to buy new bottles when I get there.

3) On the other hand, moving my condiment collection to Toronto last May, and now back to Ottawa this September, makes total sense. Dipping fancy grilled cheese in Argentinian mustard = worth it.

2) Way. less. anxiety. pretend moving out when you're 31 versus the real thing when you're 19.  Last time I cried. Like, a lot. This time I smiled.   Like, a lot. I know who I am. Where I'm going (to my first ever place on my own - woot!). And why (because it's what feels right for me at this point in my life).

1) That weekend I moved out when I was 19 was a once in a lifetime experience I can never really redo. And thank god for that.  When I'm lucky enough to have weekends like this past one to run through my mind when I need uplifting, why dwell on the not so golden moments?

Testify

2011-09-07T22:16:00.000-07:00

Went for another run along the Ottawa River this afternoon.  Had the path almost entirely to myself. Presumably because others were driven indoors by the light drizzle that started about 30 minutes before I headed out.  I thought about going to the gym myself, but provided the rain isn't coming down too hard I actually kindof like running in the rain.

Cloudy skies shade me from the penetrating beams of the sun. The slight breeze cools me. And in my humble opinion, being soaked by rain drops feels way better than being covered in perspiration. True, watching sunbeams kiss the river on a less cloudy day makes for one of the most stunning views this city has to offer. Just sayin' grey days are not without their golden moments.

Despite these favourable conditions, as I wiped rain drops from my face heading up an incline at around minute eight, I hit a wall.  While I haven't been running much lately, even for me this is early for a wall.

As I contemplated an early walk (was attempting three sets of 10s and 1s), a new track started on my shuffle.  Testify. Rage Against the Machine.

Within a few bars, I was kicking that wall's ass. I actually sped up while cresting over the hill.

Now, given I'm a slow runner to begin with, had there been any other runners out today they still probably would have passed me. But that's one of the things I love about running: the only person I'm out to beat is myself. And with that jump start, v today kicked v yesterday's ass.

It helped that the tracks following Testify made for one of the best running soundtracks my shuffle has delivered in some time. With one skip (Everyday. Buddy Holly. A cool down song that came on at the wrong time), my ears were treated to:

Through and Through and Through. Joel Plaskett.

Devil's Haircut. Beck.

1st 5 Times (Remix). Stars.

Superstar. Lauryn Hill.

As is often the case when I have an inspiring experince with music, this got me thinking about what it is about a certain track that makes it exactly the one I need to hear at a given moment. Sure, when it comes to running (or any phycially activity), just about any track with a good beat and tempo should be at least a little bit motivating. But my running shuffle is full of such tracks, and not all of them have same potential to impact me the way Testify did.

A couple of weekends ago I got as close as I will probably ever get to seeing Rage Against the Machine in concert when I watched Tom Morello play the Ottawa Folk Fest. It was, in a word, amazing. As he strummed the first chord on his guitar, the crowd went nuts. Well, as nuts as an Ottawa crowd ever really goes (I could write a thesis on the complacency I've observed in this town overrun with public servants, myself included). As I left the show I remember thinking to myself that while I will certainly enjoy other concernts in the future, I may never again feel the same level of awe as I did watching Tom Morello's fingers dance accross the strings of his blue electric guitar.

Could it be that this track had the impact on me that it did not just because it's a good running song in general, but also because it features a guitarrist I so recently had an bucket-list live music experience with? That hearing this track put me in touch with the kind of positive emotions I needed to help me break through that wall? And by extention, did the happy high school memories I started thinking about when Devil's Haircut came on play as big a role in motivating me to run just a bit harder today as the perfect rainy weather did?

It's possible I'm the only one who stays up late thinking about these kind of things. If not, and you have any thoughts (or track suggestions), I'd love some feedback. And, if you get where I'm coming from with my "music as motivating not just for its sound but also the emotional roadmap it leads you down" theory, would love to hear the story associated with some of your favourite running / walking / unicyling / etc. tunes.

Me Day + a movie review (Midnight in Paris: finally a Woody Allen pic I like!)

2011-09-03T22:59:00.000-07:00

I took a Me Day today. Spent it mostly alone doing exactly.what.I.wanted.to.do.

Slept in (well, until 8:45 am, which other than on random, awesome days, is about as late as my body generally allows me to sleep), did a bunch of nothing for around an hour, made breakfast wraps for my friend A and I, and then did more nothing.

Am trying to get back into running, so at around 11:30 am dragged my ~~lazy~~ slow to get started self out to Jacques Cartier Park to attempt a few K's. Almost melted in the 30 plus weather, but definitely felt some improvement over my Thursday afternoon run so was glad I went. Plus how can a run with this view not be at least somewhat enjoyable?

My only commitment for the day was a 2 pm hair appointment. Strategically scheduled because I'm going to a wedding tomorrow and the "I've been too busy traveling to maintain my hair for the last 3 months" 'do I've been rocking of late is not wedding appropriate. Plus, my stylist straightens my hair after she cuts it, and freshly pressed hair v tends to get more compliments than curly haire v (to the point where, were I not way too ~~lazy~~ busy, I would straighten it all the time).

Sufficiently relaxed post hair-cut (my stylist gives the best scalp massages), decided to devote the rest of the afternoon to shopping. Spent way too much money. Transition to having mortgage payments again soon (12 days!) is not going well.

Feeling a bit nauseaus over how much money I spent, decided on dinner in. Toast and avocado. Shamelessly one of my favourite meals on the planet.

Ended the day with a Movie by Myself.  One of my favourite recent discoveries. I first tried this on my 29th birthday. That was the year I decided I was too young to be a workaholic and rebelled against this fate by taking off my personal day for the first time since becoming a full-time government employee three years earlier. It was a day not unlike today, just sub the hair cut with a facial. Bliss.

Since then I've made a habit of having Movie by Myself days / nights every once in a while. If you haven't tried this, take it from me, it's awesome. You're guaranteed to get both arm rests, and if you make sure to find a seat with no one in front of you, you can get really comfy. Plus, movie choice is entirely yours.

Tonight I went for Midnight in Paris at the Bytowne Cinema. This may be the first Woody Allen film I've ever liked. Not that I've seen many. When you have to force yourself to get through one of his classics like Annie Hall, it doesn't inspire you to see many others.  Felt the same about Match Point. Small Time Crooks was a bit better, but still didn't see what the big deal was.

Tonight, I finally got it.  Despite containing an element of the fantastic (most easily described as time travel), this movie was just so . . . real.  Characters talked and acted the way real people talk and act. They said and behaved in awkward ways that sometimes got a laugh, but were sometimes just there because that's what someone would probably say or do in that moment. The notion that Mr. Allen really gets the human condition finally rang true for me.

And the story worked too. Maybe it's just where I am in life right now, but I really connected with the "desire to live in another era as a manifestation of dissatisfaction with the present" storyline. Not unlike my desire to check out and wander around inside my own head for a day, I suppose.

Not to say I'm dissatisfied with my life in general. I'm actually happier than I've been in a long time. It's just that the closer I get to moving day the more I realize just how ready I am to move on from my current nomadic existence.  Did I mention only 12 days to go!?

Adventures in House Guesting

2011-08-31T21:15:00.000-07:00

So in a recent post I talked about my excitement slash nervousness about moving into my new condo in mid-September. What I didn't mention is where this temporary nomad is living between returning to Ottawa a week ago and getting to the keys to my new digs.

Anyone but me remember the movie Madhouse from the early 90s? That movie scarred me. Not, as you might assume, because I feared I might one day have to contend with house guests from hell. No, that would be the normal child's reaction.

Instead, thanks to my over-developed guilt complex, as a kid this movie instilled in me an unhealthy level of anxiety around the possibility that someone might consider me an unwelcome guest.  The fact that, at around the same time as I saw Madhouse, I took out a screen door while running out to the back deck at a friend's house may have also been a contributing factor. (I didn't see it, I swear! They should really make those damn things florescent or something).

Flash forward to 2011; my year of house guesting.

I haven't slept in my own bed since May.

Would say about half of those nights were spent in hotels, or at my parent's place in T.O. (where I only insist I'm a guest when it comes to weekend breakfasts.  Why should I even try to cook when I know if I wait around long enough a delicious omelet or, if I'm really lucky, home made pancakes will magically appear?).

The other half have seen me resting my head on all manner of other peoples' pillows. I was a guest slash worker as a WWOOFer at Les Arnauds in France, a temporary member of the Baster family during a short visit to Ottawa at the end of July, stayed with several family members during my two week visit to Ecuador, and on Monday took up residence in my generous friend A's house after spending the previous week living it up suburban styles with my dear friends M and N in Ottawa's east end.

Thankfully, growing older and wiser (and in the process realizing people don't actually get Madhouse level upset over house guest related challenges) have allowed me to get past my childhood fear of being a bad guest. I would even go so far as to say that I now consider myself, if not an ideal house guest, at least an experienced enough guest to share a few pieces of advice.

So, in no order of importance, here are my top five tips on how to be a good house guest:

5. You can't be afraid to ask questions.  Even seemingly stupid ones. Even at inconvenient times. Hesitate and you will almost always regret it. Think about it. Would you rather risk interrupting your hosts' teeth brushing by asking them where you can find the towels at 11 pm, or end up putting your pj's back on after your shower because you find yourself without a towel at 8 am and they're still sleeping?

4. Accept the fact that something will go wrong. And you will be embarrassed. But you will get over it. That said, if you're going to make a rookie mistake like burning your toast and setting off the smoke alarm at 7 am, better to do it towards the end of your stay (when you're almost gone anyway so there's little point in getting too mad at you) than the beginning. Sorry again M and N!

3. Get in touch with your most flexible self.  If you're lucky like I've been, you'll have great hosts with habits mostly similar to your own. But be prepared for some differences. I've learned some people like to talk in the morning. Like, before coffee.  In the interest of maintaining a good vibe, be prepared to fake like you do too. I suggest channeling your inner "morning after a first overnight stay at a new boyfriend or girlfriend's house" self. Unless you're staying for a while. In which case, save everyone some anguish and be honest up front by bringing a book or newspaper to breakfast.

2. Choose to be excited about the chance to try new foods and customs. There is no better way to get to know people than to break bread with them. If their version of bread has meat in it and you're a vegetarian - suck it up! Well, not literally. Maybe rather take many small bites so it seems like you ate more flesh than you actually did, but definitely use the "culturally appropriate" card to break free of your usual habits. That said, if you have some preferences you just can't let go of (like say, the need to drink tea at least twice a day), don't be shy about bringing some of your own food with you. Your hosts may even welcome the chance to try it (and if you're wary of eating an entire loaf of fig bread by yourself in a day, you will welcome the chance to share it!)

1. Don't get too comfortable. Welcome the chance to get to know people on a different level, take pleasure in the warm bed and yummy food they offer you, but remember you're a temporary addition, not a new found dependant.  Offer to help out with the chores (though recognize there are somethings people like to do themselves), get out of the way every once in a while so your hosts have some down time, and put some effort into finding a thoughtful thank you gift.  Something that says "I'm so touched that you consider me a good enough friend to welcome my toast-burning, untalkative-before-morning coffee self into your home. I know I don't have to get you anything, but I'd be homeless without you and so want to give you this as a symbol of my appreciation. You're welcome at my place any time. You know, once I'm not homeless anymore."

Tom Petty (plus why she keeps writing)

2011-08-23T18:46:00.000-07:00

Let me start by saying that I'm not the only one. I know at least two others who feel the same way as I do. My esthetician and the receptionist at the salon I go to both agree. Tom Petty is hot.

I know what you're thinking. I realize he's not the obvious choice for my celebrity crush. He's got decades on me. And he's not really what you'd call traditionally good looking. But there's just something about him.

Sure, his music is amazing. I could listen to "Yer So Bad" on repeat for hours and never get sick of it. But it's not just that. There are a lot of musicians whose music I love listening to that I don't have crushes on. (And lots of of skinny 61-year-old white dudes I'm not attracted to, in case you're thinking the explanation is just that he's my type).

Probably the closest I can get to explaining it is to simply say that for me, he has a certain quality I'm drawn to. He smiles and I can't help but want to smile too.

I've been thinking a lot about what attracts people to each other lately. This is the kindof thing you obsess over when it's been nine years since you last dated, and you're finally feeling ready to start listening to everyone who has been telling you it's time to start again.

So where does Tom Petty come in?

Well, here's the thing. Clive Owen, George Clooney, Brad Pitt -- probably nine out of ten women would pick one of them or someone similar over Tom Petty for a celebrity crush. But then there's me. And my two co-crushers.

Flipping that on it's head, I'm not exactly feeling like an obvious choice to play the role of someone's crush these days. Having talked to others who've experienced the end of a long-term relationship, I hear that's fairly normal.

I know I'm gonna have to get over this if I'm gonna start dating again. I also know myself well enough to realize that getting to the place where I think I'm an obvious choice is probably a bit of a stretch. At least at the outset. But here's what I think I can manage. I think I can manage to convince myself we are all somebody's Tom Petty.

Postscript: why she keeps writing

I've been kinda on the fence about whether to keep blogging now that my 12 week journey is over. Not surprisingly, the friend who originally talked me into starting a blog is the one who convinced me to keep posting. As she pointed out, as long as I'm enjoying it, why not? My hesitation has been that I'm not sure if what I have to share will be all that interesting to y'all now that I no longer have adventures to blog about. To help me get over this, I've decided to (a) stop tracking my hits and (b) realize that even if it's only me and a few friends / web wanderers that get something out of this, well, no harm no foul.

Should also note that in response to a few readers who've indicated they've had trouble commenting, I've attempted to update my settings so you don't have to have a google account to comment. You should be able to select the "Name" option, which I don't think requires a password. Oh, and please also know that comments are welcome. Can't speak for all bloggers, but I like getting feedback. Even if it's to tell me that you think my Tom Petty crush is weird : )

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Silver linings and new beginnings

2011-08-21T07:59:00.000-07:00

On my 13 hour trip from Guayaquil to Toronto last Sunday (made up of two flights and a few too many hours killing time at the Miami airport) I came up with all kinds of ideas for fun things to do during the 12th and final week of my summer of travel. Thought I might attempt a road trip to Wasaga Beach. Go for some long bike rides. And spend all kinds of time visiting some of my favourite home town people and places.

Instead, I woke up Tuesday with a sore throat. And by Wednesday, it was official. I had a cold. I spent the next three days home sick. Much to my surprise, my week 12 highlights ended up including some really good naps, watching enough television to make up for the many hours of TV I didn't watch while traveling, and finally getting my taxes done.

But you know what? With the exception of the TV watching (seriously, at one point I watched at least half of 2 Fast 2 Furious; there's no way my life is better off for that) this forced down time was probably exactly what I needed at the end of my journey. It allowed me to get some things done that I've been too busy traveling to do (taxes), and helped me get in a good head space for embarking upon my post-travel life.

I'm a big fan of the idiom that every cloud has a silver lining. In fact, part of why I decided to take this 12 week leave of absence was because I got to a point where the silver linings were getting hard for me to see. I needed remind myself that they existed. This summer gave me plenty of opportunities.

Like last week on our road trip along the Ruta del Sol, each time my cousin V and I had our plans changed for us, I kept trying to find the positive. On Wednesday in Crucita we were supposed to go hang gliding. I got sick. Ate something that didn't agree with me and then almost passed out while sitting in the sun pre-gliding. Silver lining? Having to skip the hang gliding allowed us to arrive earlier at our next destination (Puerto Lopez) and nab one of the last two rooms left at one of the few decent hotels that wasn't already fully booked (even though it's the low season right now, Friday was a holiday so the beaches were busier than usual for August).

On Thursday we were supposed to go whale watching. We woke up to an orange alert. Forecast called for four foot high waves. Tour cancelled. Silver lining? After a morning hike at Agua Blanca, we had a wonderfully lazy afternoon. I learned I'm really, really good at hammock-ing : )

I wouldn't say I enjoyed every minute of my forced down time over the last week. Those of you I talked, texted and facebooked with can attest to that. It happens I'm bit of a whiny sick person. And with no one around to take care of me (my folks left for Italy on Tuesday), I was feeling particularly sorry for myself. Silver lining? I got through it. And now I know I've got the chops to handle sick solo. Having confidence in this is pretty key for me right now.

This fall I'll be moving into the first place I've ever had on my own. Bought last spring just weeks before hopping on a plane to Portugal, I get possession of my new condo in mid-September. I'm pretty excited. But also a wee bit nervous. Knowing I’ll be able to handle rough spots like being sick on my own goes a long way toward making me feel more of the former than the latter. Silly, I know. But I'll take my confidence boosters where I can get them.

I'm not the only one facing a new beginning this fall. The other silver lining of my three days at home is that they helped me get well enough to make it to a special event yesterday. My friend and former roommate J is getting married at the end of September. To celebrate, we and a couple of other friends spent the day baking cupcakes, doing at-home facials, and eating a delicious dinner at Woodlot. Oh, and drinking lots of wine. Except for our friend K. Due in November, the new beginning she's facing meant the rest of us had to drink on her behalf. Such good friends we are : )

The list goes on. Another good friend is starting a new job this fall. There's another wedding, and another pair of little ones on the way. Some friends that welcomed a new family member last month are about to move to California. Job hunts, new places, forays into the world of online dating . . . fresh starts of all stripes surround me.

I started this blog to help keep me connected to the many people I wouldn’t be seeing as I undertook my summer of travel. While I enjoyed sharing tales of my temporary nomadic existence, what kept me writing most was the fact that as long as there were at least a few hits each time I posted something, I never felt like I was alone out there. Even when I was.

Thinking about all the people in my life facing new beginnings this fall, I’m realizing that, blog or not, I was never alone. As I was traveling, growing, trying new things, so too were so many others around me. People is place. And I am so grateful to have so many wonderful people in this place of new beginnings with me right now.

To those of you without a fresh start on the horizon, I hope this is because things are so good right now that you don't need one. If, on the other hand, you're in a place where you're unable to see a fresh start through the cloud of an unwelcome change, call me. I've been there. I might be able to help you find the silver lining.

I am lucky

2011-08-10T11:42:00.001-07:00

I spent the majority of the summer I was 17 in Ecuador. Seven weeks if I recall correctly. My memory of that trip is hazier than one might think given its duration. Fourteen years of memory erosion will do that.

Over the years, the recollections that I was able to hold onto the best were of the people here. My family, more specifically. I will never forget that when I left, I cried all the way through take-off. For the first time in my life I had experienced the benefits of being close to dozens of relatives for an extended period of time, and I loved it. Knowing then that it would be years until I would see many of them again threw me into a serious melancholy. Thank goodness I lacked the foresight at the time to realize just how many years would end up passing me by between that visit and my current trip. Had I known, it's quite possible the flight attendants would have had a serious situation on their hands. Please fasten your seat belt, ensure your seat is in the full upright position and stop hyperventilating -- you're scaring the other passengers.

Growing up in Toronto in the 1980s and 90s, I knew a lot of kids whose parents, and sometimes they themselves, had had to sacrifice a lot for a better life in Canada. Some left successful careers in their home countries to work in poorly paid occupations in Canada. Others fled war. Several friends had mothers or fathers (or both) on the other side of the world waiting for immigration papers to be approved so they could be reunited.

For my family, at least from my perspective, our major sacrifice was living without a large extended family. Only one of my dad's siblings followed him to Canada, and with my Mom's small family only partly based in Toronto, we were generally a maximum of less than ten people at family dinners. Until our first family trip to Ecuador in the late 80s, cousins were only a concept to us. Our Ecuadorian grandmother no more than a quiet voice speaking a foreign language on the phone at Christmas time. (Aside: I probably cried when we left after that visit in the 80s, too. Glad it's too long ago to remember).

Relative to other immigrant families in Canada, I know our sacrifice wasn't that tragic. And thanks to letters, then email, and now facebook, I've managed to keep at least some connection to my Ecuadorian family over the years.

But you can't hug someone by email. Can't learn family customs on facebook. You can chat, but you don't get to see the laughter on someone's face when you finally succeed at making a joke in a language you have only a minimal grasp on. And you definitely miss out on family gatherings featuring a lot of amazing Ecuadorian food : )

Being back here for the first time in fourteen years I am struck by two thoughts. (1) As I said in my last post, this really is an amazing country to visit. (2) I really messed up not managing another visit to see my family sometime between 17 and 31. There were reasons, sure. School, house, car. Fulfilling a few other travel dreams. Plus a few relatives came to visit us over the years. This went a long way towards making me continue to feel connected to my family here.

But after spending the last week in Ecuador, I have been strongly reminded that one of life's greatest gifts to me is a fabulous group of people that love me solely because I was lucky enough to be born a member of their family. And I am truly an idiot if I fail to surround myself by that love on a more regular basis. May the next trip come much sooner than 14 years from now : )

Am on the iPhone again so will close with a couple of pics. Not of mi familia because I didn't ask permission, but of some of the great things I have seen and done with them so far instead. Plus some of the amazing food they cooked for me. Yup, I am truly lucky to have them.

View at the top the teleferico (cable car) way above Quito.

One of the many yummy dishes my aunt I stayed with in Quito cooked for me. Yes, I cheated on my vegetarianism again : )

Iguana Park (not it's real name) in Guayaquil where I arrived on Monday (lucky me, I have family in both of Ecuador's biggest cities).

La Playa! Right now am on a road trip along the coast with my cousin V. This was our first sight of the ocean after a few hours on the road from Guayaquil.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I picked avocados

2011-08-05T20:53:00.000-07:00

I really don't know where to start. I know I am biased (being half Ecuadorian and all), but have said it before and will say it again: Ecuador really is one of the best countries in the world to visit.

I can't attach any pics (am on a desktop, not my iPhone) so will instead attempt a short description of how awesome it is here.

Right now I am in Quito, the capital as well as the city where my father grew up. Volcanos surround us. Snow capped peaks. Green mounain sides in every direction. Colourful houses at surprising elevations.

Each time I think I have seen the BEST view . . . another awaits me.

On Wednesday I learned how to make empanadas.

On Thursday, I picked avocados.

Tomorrow, am headed to Ottavalo market to scope out indigenous crafts.

Yeh, awesome is the word for sure.

Weeks Eight and Nine Top Ten

2011-08-01T09:47:00.000-07:00

I spent yesterday crisscrossing Ontario. Starting at my friends' house in Old Ottawa East, I drove first to the Days Inn on Rideau Street to pick up my bike, then to Stephanie's Motel in Hawkesbury to retrieve my forgotten iPhone charger, then to Carleton Place for a much needed Starbuck's break, and finally to my folks' place in T.O.

With my iPhone playlist out of commission due to a busted adaptor, my road trip soundtrack options were limited to the handful of CDs I didn't put into storage for the summer:  The Rural Alberta Advantage (Departing), Jim Bryson and the Weakerthans (The Falcon Lake Incident), Little Scream (The Golden Record), Jenn Grant (Honeymoon Punch), Radiohead (OK Computer), Erykah Badu (Baduism), Jack Johnson (Brushfire Fairytales), Elliot Brood (Ambassador), the Be Good Tanyas (Blue Horse), Sarah Harmer (You Were Here), Janet Jackson (Janet) and Lenny Kravitz (Let Love Rule).

Pulled together during a last minute grab before taping up my boxes in May, this collection was meant to suit a variety of road trip moods rather than make up what I would consider to be my favourite albums. Of course, as I listened my way through these discs during my seven hour road trip, I couldn't help but turn my mind toward coming up with such a top ten list. Conclusion: couldn't do it. I did decide, however, that among the above noted discs, only the Be Good's Blue Horse would be a serious contender. Will tuck that away for future reference.

I like lists.  Establish a category, determine the criteria, identify contenders, evaluate them, and then organize the results until you have just the right elements in just the right order. Everything is clear. Everything has its place.

Unable to come up with a top ten favourite album list, I soon turned to thinking about my top ten experiences since my last blog post. Way easier.  The past week and a half have been truly superb.

Presented chronologically (because it's easiest), my week eight and nine top ten are as follows:

10. July 21.  Driving into Ottawa and feeling home.  Incredibly welcome feeling given concern that a summer spent mostly in my first city (T.O.) would weaken my ties to my second city.

9. July 22-23. Seeing some of my fav Ottawa peeps after an almost two month absence. Had a great time being K and M's house guest (love staying with foodies!), checking out Town and Pure Gelato with an awesome group of friends, and decorating onesies at L's baby shower.

8. July 24. Meeting up with my cycle group for the first time and realizing fairly quickly I'd lucked into a great group of people to tackle my first multi-day ride with. As suspected, with no tales of past tours to share, I was not the typical rider on this trip. But, I felt not a bit of judgement from my fellow eight riders when I explained my "I've been travelling too much to train" dilemma. Got lots of tips along the way, and even help pumping my tires (which I learned need to be checked far more regularly during a multi-day tour than I thought . . . yeh, I was the stereotypical newbie for sure).

7. July 25.  Finishing the first day's ride. 111 km from Ottawa to Hawkesbury.  Confirmation that not only was I going to get through the ride, I was going to love it. Did I hurt? Yeh, but not that bad. Or, not enough to override the joy of having spent a day tearing up pavement.

6. July 26. Tackling Montreal. After a soaking on the ride in, we sought solace in food and beer. Later that night discovered the Just for Laughs pavilion. Got the second tattoo I've been contemplating (sorta). Talked S (provider of our trip support and my partner in after 9 pm shenanigans for the week) into doing the same. Riding out the next morning, realized while crossing over the Jasques Cartier Bridge that I may need to start a bucket list of bridges to bike over. Stunning views (sorry, no pic).

5. July 27. Lunching on the best. veggie. tofu. sandwich. ever. in the small Quebec town of Beloeil. Highly recommend eating at La boîte à thé if you ever visit.

4. July 28. Blissing out over the beautiful ride along the St. Lawrence River into Sainte-Anne-de-la-Pérade. Fellow rider M: I don't want you to think all multi-day rides are like this. You're getting spoiled by all this beautiful, flat terrain. Me: Excellent.

While not in as much pain as anticipated by this fourth riding day, my hot bath followed by a nap in this river-side park still both felt well deserved : )

3. July 28. Finding peace. Sitting by myself under a sky brimming with stars after a group dinner at the B&B in St. Anne, was overcome by the sudden feeling that I was exactly where I needed to be right at that moment.

2. July 29. Discovering that outside the city, I can fly down hills as fast as I want. Last day's route into Quebec was the hilliest but most rewarding. Hit over 50 km downhill and can't wait to go faster in the future.  Makes the climb waiting on the other side pretty much worth it.  Arrived in Quebec in far better shape than anticipated. Turns out first four days of the ride got me in condition for fifth. Note to self: don't count on that happening next trip!

1. July 29.  Partying in Quebec City. Shopping at Simon's, dinner, and drinks at five (or was it six?) pubs. In a word: fun.

The day is new

2011-07-20T15:43:00.001-07:00

One of my favourite things about my two weeks in France were the suppers I shared with my WWOOF hosts. Not just because the food was great (T, if you're reading, let me say once again that you make some seriously good eats) and because I enjoyed the company, but also because of the setting. I firmly believe that your surroundings have a significant impact on your dining experience. During my stay at Les Arnauds, we ate most of our suppers on a patio facing a large patch of lavender growing in front of a grove of olive trees. I will forever kick myself for forgetting to take a picture of how peaceful this scene looks as the beams of the evening sun fall upon it.

The photo below was taken on the morning (i.e. wrong light) I was leaving as I suddenly realized I'd taken hardly any pictures of my stay. Thinking about it afterwards, I decided this omission was a sign that I felt so comfortable at Les Arnauds that I forgot I was a tourist. For that reason alone, I would definitely try WWOOFing again. Not that there's anything wrong with being a tourist, but it's nice to find ways of experiencing foreign places on a different level. Just might try somewhere with softer soil next time . . . six years at a desk job have made me too soft to dig holes with a pickaxe : )

So, the photo doesn't do it justice, but trust me, this is a stunning dining venue. Next to lunch by a lake teaming with pink flamingos on a trip I took to Bolivia last fall, would say this is one of the most peaceful natural settings I've ever eaten in.

It was this setting I had flittering through my mind as I talked travel with my friend K over an apres bike slurpee in his backyard last Friday afternoon. Sandwiched between the 407 ETR and Ninth Line Road, his small bungalow sits humbly upon one of the few patches of green in the area that suburbia has not yet encroached upon. I say yet because he and his girlfriend J are planning to live there only until the owner works out acceptable terms with a developer.

As we chatted, I figured out that if I turned my chair in just the right direction I could no longer see the 407 (which was just far enough away not to be audible) or Ninth Line (which I could still kindof hear, though I was mostly able to tune it out). It was no lavender patch in the South of France, but for its location I was surprised how easily his backyard could be transformed into a rather peaceful setting.

This got me thinking about change. If the simple shifting of a chair can have me daydreaming I'm in France, what other small tweaks are out there for me to make that might allow me to experience things in different and better ways?

I recall saying to K that travel is an escape hatch from your life. His response? Travel is an escape hatch to your life.

This resonated with me.

I leave for Ottawa tomorrow where on Sunday I'll meet up with my cycle tour group for the first time. We start our five day, approximately 500 km ride to Quebec City Monday morning.

As I get ready to start this next leg of my summer of travel, I have decided to introduce a slight tweak. I'm going to try changing my travel perspective from one of escaping from my life, to escaping to my life.

Am optimistic this new perspective will be a game changer.

It's already resulted in one positive outcome. It led me to the perfect name for my new bike : ) Readers, am pleased to introduce you to Suzie Blue.

Named so both for obvious reasons (i.e. blue accent coloring on her frame), and because of a line at the end of a Ben Harper song of the same name that I really like: "The day is new, Suzie Blue."

I think having that lyric stuck in my head over the next week will prove very helpful. Both as a reminder to move to, not from, and -- hopefully -- as a means of convincing me to keep dragging my aching body out of bed each morning to tackle a new, ideally less painful, day in the saddle. (What, me not train as much as planned for this trip? How dare you suggest . . . Okay. Fine. I might be a few km shy of my training goal. If you consider 90 a few. Yeah, this is gonna hurt).

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Half way mark

2011-07-10T17:38:00.001-07:00

Time is a funny thing. I started today walking up and down (but mostly up, it seemed) the streets around Marseille's Vieux Port. Now, as the hands on my watch creep towards 11 pm, am finding it hard to believe that only twelve hours have passed since I stood at the end of Canebiere wrinkling my nose as the smell of the fresh fish for sale by the locals wafted towards me.

Confusing my time perception even further, of course, is the fact that when the plane I am on lands in Montreal in a few minutes the local time will be about 5:00 pm. Add in a layover followed by a flight to Toronto and by the time my journey home from my month in Europe is over, it will be almost 2 am for me.

And yet, I'm not a bit tired. In fact, I have more energy than I've had in months.

I decided to take 12 weeks off to travel when I found myself facing the absence of housing costs for the first time since I was 19-years-old. Goodbye mortgage payments, hello hotel bills.

If only it were that simple.

Selling and moving out of my house of five years was one of hardest things I've ever done. The approximately two months between putting it on the market and moving out on May 29 were particularly rough. While I wasn't quite as depressed as I found myself last fall when my relationship of more than eight years came to a very difficult end, it was a close second. I slept very little, worried way too much, and came close to breaking down on several occasions.

The people that supported me through that period will be forever in my heart. For staying up until 1 am to help me pack (Mom, no greater gift could you ever give me), calling / emailing / pinning / facebooking me to see if I was okay (MC, SA, your efforts at reaching out in particular kept me going), and driving eight hours in one day to help me move all my belongings into storage (who else
but family would do that?), I thank you.

This is probably a good time to also recognize some folks that were particularly awesome in the months leading up to the house sale. For talking me into taking a break (NB), giving me places to breathe (AH, JD), and helping me find moments of happiness (KA for a great winter visit, LB for some great lunch breaks at French school), I thank you.

To everyone who kept telling me it would get easier with time -- good call.

When I'm traveling, I find a day can feel like a week, an hour, or anything in between. I get lost in the details of where I'll be sleeping that night and the one after it, figuring out the fastest route from the restaurant to the museum, wondering whether the bottle of olive oil produced by my WWOOF hosts leaked in my bag or not . . .

Did a month in Europe make everything better? Well, not exactly. But it certainly helped. If only by forcing me to focus on having fun for 30 days . . . or was it 40? : )

As I finish this post I am standing outside Pearson Airport waiting for my parents to pick me up. Thinking about all that has passed, and, for the first time in a while, excited for what is to come.

Am at the half way mark of my 12 week break. Up next: two weeks in T.O. Mission 1: Buy a new road bike. Mission 2: Get in shape for 500 km cycle tour that starts July 24!

Plus, there's still that whole YouTube thing to figure out . . .

I may not be able to keep busy enough to work as much magic with time as I did while in Europe, but I'll certainly try : )

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27 hours in Paris. Go!

2011-07-09T13:37:00.001-07:00

Friday. 1:45 pm. A mere three hours after leaving Aix, arrive at Gare de Lyon. Love.the.TGV.

2:00 pm. Realize that while I wrote down detailed directions for how to walk to my hotel from the metro stop closest to it (Passy), I failed to so much as glance at a map of the metro to figure out which line(s) to take to get there. D'oh.

2:15 pm. Stare at the metro map. So many pretty colours. Decide to try taking purple train 14 to green train 6.

2:30 pm. In the midst of enjoying beautiful views of Paris from green train 6, glance at map and realize I am going the wrong way. Get off at next stop.

2:35 pm. Realize I read the map wrong. I was going the right way. Wait for next train.

3:00 pm. Arrive at hotel. Breathe a sigh of relief that Trip Advisor reviews were accurate. Hotel Nicolo is central, charming, and, unless the rate they post in the room is way off (165€), at 85€ I got a fantastic deal.

3:30 pm. Decide travel purse is not Paris appropriate. Not wanting to spend too much on a new bag under pressure, head to Monoprix. Think Zellers with a French aesthetic. If you've been to Montreal, think Simon's but slightly less trendy.

4:30 pm. Late lunch and traditional hot chocolate at Patisserie Viennoise.
Cafe wasn't as hard to find as described in David Lebowitz's "The Sweet Life," but, sadly, the hot chocolate wasn't quite as yummy either. Granted, I am someone whose best hot chocolate memories involve hockey rinks and the Rideau Canal. Perhaps my palate simply isn't sophisticated enough?

4:30 pm. Walk along Saint Germaine. People watch in Place de Vosges. Shop in Beauberg. Soldes (sales) everywhere. Somehow manage to buy only one new piece of jewelry.

8:00 pm. Eiffel Tower. Mission: spend the money to ride the elevator to the top. As a student eight years ago decided to pass. Determined not to miss the opportunity during my second visit. Spot the long queues. Mission aborted. Here's me beside the Eiffel tower : )

[Confession. In looking at the picture that used to be here on screen bigger than my iPhone I realized it was awful. So I took it down. Yup, I'm that vain :) Here's a pic of the Eiffel tower without me beside it instead]

9:15 pm. Hotel room. Dinner. Three cheese and tomato panini. Wonder once again why even the smallest French sandwich shops can manage to use better quality cheeses than far too many "nice" restaurants back home?

9:30 pm. Dilemma: Jazz or rock music? Rock or jazz music? Remember bad luck with jazz club previous weekend and decide to head to L'International.

10:45 pm. Head wrong way out of Couronnes metro station. Take two minutes too long to figure out how to evade effer who thinks "I don't speak French," and "Non," means "Yes, please continue to walk with me and invade my personal space." Turns out crossing the street was all it took. Thank jeebus.

11:00 pm. Victory! Locate club and enter just as headliners are about to start their set. If I lived in Paris, I think I would spend many a night here. No cover charge, decent beer on tap, and good live music. Can't say Wake the President were amazing, but they had cute Irish accents and rocked out despite being crammed with the rest of us in a hot, sweaty basement. So, I bought the CD. They'll always be that band I saw in Paris : )

12:30 am. Consider a second pint while waiting for rain to clear, but then remember run-in with effer before the show, decide sobriety is probably a good idea, and head back to hotel.

Saturday. 9 am. Awake. Wondering why I set my alarm so early? Remember breakfast is included with the room. Best.beakfast.in.a.French.hotel.ever. Bread overdose: two croissants and a pain au chocolat. And yoghurt. And cheese and a boiled egg. Plus a nectarine for lunch later (after that big a breakfast, no need for a proper lunch).

12:00 pm. Plan: take metro to Centre Pompidou. Reality: turn down wrong street and end up walking. Good mistake. Worked off some breakfast, plus saw loads of cool stuff. Grande Palais, Place de la Concorde, the Louvre . . . and maybe bought some shoes. Did I mention the soldes everywhere?

2:00 pm. Finally make it to Centre Pompidou. It is awesome. Thanks for the recommendation, A. Modern art gallery there is my new favourite. Very accessibly laid out for a non-art history buffs like me. Plus, amazing views of the city. Take that, Eiffel Tower : )

Took a great video of the Parisian skyline that I'll post when I get home.

3:30 pm. Realize my train is in less than two hours and still have to get back to the hotel to pick up my luggage! Rapid dash across town. Yellow train 1 to green train 6, then the reverse with increasingly heavy backpack.

4:50 pm. Gare de Lyon. Somehow early for 5:16 train to Marseille. Woot! 27 hours in Paris = major success!

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Help!

2011-07-05T14:43:00.001-07:00

Last minute decision. 27 hours in Paris. Arriving Friday July 8 @ 2 pm. Departing Saturday July 9 @ 5 pm.

Finding internet research on my iPhone to be a challenge and am sick of reading guide books.

Need help!

Where should I eat dinner, breakfast and lunch?

Any good concerts on?

Best neighbourhoods to stroll around?

Post a comment or email me in the next 48 hours with advice please : )

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On traveling solo

2011-07-03T10:23:00.001-07:00

I'm not gonna lie. Traveling solo can be awesome. I, and I alone, get to decide how late I stay up / sleep in, which sites I see (and the order I attempt them in, which is important given the ones left until the end often get skipped), and where I eat. And when you're a bit of a picky eater (aka a vegetarian), this last one is pretty key.

But, as you may have guessed, touristing solo has its down sides as well. For example, tonight I find myself in Avignon, alone, with nothing to do. I didn't plan it this way. My trip prep indicated I might find myself at a jazz club, a wine bar, or if I was really lucky might catch an early taste of one of the Festival D'Avignon performances (the infamous theatre and music festival starts next week).

Sadly, the jazz club had no show tonight, the wine bar was more restaurant than wine bar (and I'd already eaten when I headed there after my jazz let down), and it turns out the town's music and theatre venues shut down completely the weekend before the festival (to undertake massive prep).

If I was traveling with someone, right now I could at least sit somewhere with him or her and enjoy a drink and some conversation. S/he could respond to my observation that no matter how amazing the festival might be, a town with nary a music show on a Saturday night during the summer tourist season should not be able to market itself as an arts and culture destination.

Instead, I spent the last two hours window shopping (Avignon's reputation as a boutique haven is, conversely, totally on the mark . . . too bad the stores are closed tomorrow), eating ice cream (Provence has introduced me to my new favourite flavour: Caramel au Beurre de Sel) and sitting in the Place de l'Horloge (main square) people watching.

I did have a couple of offers of company from the locals. One was even pretty cute : ) But, I turned them down. Even if I generously added a couple of extra years to my age estimations for these guys, both would remain not nearly far enough over the 20 mark to be of interest to me. I do thank them for mistaking me for a student though. Rather funny that when I was in my 20s I was always being mistaken for being older than I was, and now that I'm in my 30s I seem to be experiencing the reverse. Not complaining -- just one of life's oddities, I suppose.

Tonight's dullness makes me even more glad I decided to go to the the great show I caught in Aix last night. Billing themselves as flamenco with flavors of Mexican, Pedro Aledo and company put on quite a show. Fact that the venue was stunning (under the stars in the courtyard of a beautiful cloister) and admission included a complementary glass of locally produced wine were icing on the cake. I shot some video; will post it when I get back to my computer and can figure out this whole YouTube account thing.

Well, it's midnight now, suppose I'll head back to my hotel to post this. Here's hoping Sunday in Avignon offers more options for the single traveler than did Saturday night : )

Postscript from the train back to Aix

The wifi in my hotel didn't work so will have to post this when I get back to my WWOOF home. In reviewing this post couldn't help but feel I'd overdone it a bit on the Avignon trashing. It's got some negatives, for sure, but I just passed a lovely afternoon there so can't say it's all bad. Should any of you ever visit, I highly recommend a picnic in the Rocher des Doms park behind the Palais de Papes. Supplied with fresh food from Avignon's main market (Les Halles) and a little bottle of wine from the grocery store next to it, the combination of venue and flavours made for one of the best meals I've had in a while.

Add in some beautiful views as I walked around Avignon afterward listening to music on my iPhone (the XX, Brasstronaut, Jenn Grant, and Phoenix, if you're wondering) and last night's blahs were quickly forgotten. Good day : )

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How to spend Canada Day in France

2011-07-01T07:17:00.001-07:00

Wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside your window.

Pass away the morning playing in the dirt, aka weeding the garden.

Share in making and eating a yummy lunch with host family featuring vegetables from the garden. Mmm.

Help with lunch clean up (only fair since your only contribution to lunch was the salad), and then spend some time planning weekend in Avignon on the one three patios, all with amazing views.

Suspect there may be an hour or two more garden work in my future, once it's cooled down a bit outside, though given hosts have plans this evening, perhaps not. Either way, looking forward to a night in town where I am hoping to find (a) some delicious provencial eats and (b) some live music (have several venues scoped out).

Does part of me wish I were in Canada wearing red and gearing up for fireworks? Of course. But France isn't too shabby either.

Happy Canada Day from Aix!

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(Not) Live from Arles

2011-06-28T13:53:00.001-07:00

So, this post was supposed to start with my first video . . . but apparently I need a youtube account to post a video. Did make several attempts at creating one, but the interweb is not cooperating : ( If anyone has any tips, please send my way.

The video was of my bike ride through the country side surrounding Alres this afternoon. At the point I was recording it, was a bit lost. I did eventually figure out where I was, but then proceeded to get lost again as I made my way back to Arles. Saw some brilliant scenery along the way though, so decided not to care that cycle route #3 through the Camargue is supposed to take two hours and not three : )

Bike ride included, have to say I've really enjoyed my time in Arles. Lots to see and do, and yummy food to boot. As I write this am sat on the patio of "La Mule Blanche" having just finished this delicious salad.

This after a guided tour of Arles where I learned that in addition to its aesthetic value, another likely reason why Van Gogh used so much yellow is because it was one of the less expensive colours of paint available at the time. Tour also included lots of local history, and since I'm a nerdy nerd I gobbled this up. I learned that the amphitheatre (where I took the pic below from yesterday) was at one point filled with houses that were bought up and torn down when restoration began in the nineteenth century. At least I think it was the nineteenth. The tour was in French and I can't say as I ever completely mastered my French numbers : )

Numbers aside, am proud to report I've been so far rather successful in my attempts at communicating in French. Bolstered by this success, I even bought a French book from this great book store I came across yesterday.

Not surprisingly, it's a book about cycling : )

http://www.amazon.ca/gp/aw/d/0670021148/ref=redir_mdp_mobile/175-3960196-2386117

I paid way too much for it, especially considering how much the original English goes for, but I am about fifty pages away from being finished the second of two books I brought with me and was feeling slightly panicked about not having anything to read. Yes, seriously. Nerdy nerd strikes again : )

As wonderful as my time in Arles has been, am excited to hop on a train bound for Aix-en-Province tomorrow and begin my introduction to organic farming. Though I am not sure if my WWOOF hosts have wifi, so it could be a while until I can let you all know what kind of farmer I make . . . any predictions? I'll be checking for comments / emails before I leave tomorrow.

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Plaza Mayor, aka Disney Land

2011-06-25T10:12:00.001-07:00

My first steps into the Plaza Mayor were accompanied by an involuntary intake of breath and a whispered, "Wow." The grandeur created by the symmetry of the shuttered windows staring down at me from all four sides, the contrast of the wide open cobble-stoned square below with the clear blue sky above, the giant Mickey and Minnie Mouse waving at me from across the square . . . er, WTF?

It gets worse. Much, much worse.

There was the storm trooper in Plaza del Sol. The Marriachi Band that appeared to know only one song serenading him. The adult dressed up as a baby making crying sounds that seemed to make an appearance every.where.we.went. The list goes on. And all for our entertainment, of course.

Madrid has some decent sights, to be sure. Its art galleries, in particular, are stunning. We even saw some buskers with actual talent during our three days here. Two opera singers, several string players and one seriously talented accordion player who entertained us while we queued for the Palacio Real.

But for us, these positives got lost in the over the top, in your face, gimmie your money and I'll give you a laugh tactics of the Mickey and Minnie's of this town.

I won't say we didn't enjoy ourselves here at all. The concept behind dinner at the Mercado de San Miguel appealed (think upmarket food court selling tapas sized servings and drinks), as did sipping a drink on a patio as the sun lingered in the sky until around 10:30 pm.

But I will say two days here would have been plenty, and both G and I wish we had stayed at one of our other stops longer instead.

As this will be my last post from Spain, and tonight is his last before G flies home, I'll close with the one decent(ish) pic I got of us during our two weeks traveling together. From what is still my favourite stop - Lisbon.

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Barcelona by bike

2011-06-21T12:42:00.001-07:00

Ended up riding to Segrada Familia and Park Guell. Bikes were not the best, especially considering we hit some seriously steep hills to get to the park, but was a fun way to see the city nonetheless.

Picking up our wheels.

Segrada Familia. Paid the 12,50 Euro to go in. Unbelievably beautiful. Left me speechless.

View from the park.

J and K, if your reading, we got the way better experience visiting the park in May. I think it was us and maybe one other couple there, no? It was packed today. Which, coincidentally, makes it much harder to get lost : )

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BCN for the second (but maybe not the last) time

2011-06-20T16:25:00.001-07:00

It's been a little more than eight years since I spent three days in Barcelona as part of a three and a half week, six country backpacking trip through Europe with my then roommates K and J. Arriving today by plane from Granada I was amazed at how wonderfully familiar it felt. Like finding a favourite shirt you forgot you owned in the back of the closet and putting it on to find it still fits perfectly. You didn't miss it while it was gone, but once you've been reunited with it, it again quickly becomes an essential part of your wardrobe.

This is a pleasant surprise given I wasn't actually all that keen on coming here. On that backpacking trip, Barcelona was one of our longest stops, and for that reason I had told G that I felt no strong need to return. But, he really wanted to come here, and we found a really cheap domestic flight, so here we be. I am a good sister sometimes : )

He's had his moments on this trip too. For example, he didn't complain at all Saturday night when I made him leave the flamenco show we were at early cause I was sick. Nor the next day when my attempt at acting like I felt better failed and I ditched him at the Alhambra to go back to the room and sleep. Not saying I expected him to react poorly, but when you find yourself spending two weeks straight with someone you haven't spent more than a few days in a row with for more than a decade, there's a reacquainting process that needs to take place.

For example, have learned that he talks in his sleep. The first couple nights I was answering him from across the room. Have now (with a sigh of relief) accepted that it's not me he's telling off in the middle of the night. The seven-year-old boy who wore the same pair of sox for two weeks straight at summer camp now balks at wearing the same t-shirt two days in a row. And I had no idea how big a passion he had developednfor Subway sandwiches. I think I may have seen tears in his eyes when we saw a Subway on La Rambla this afternoon.

I am sure he could write a similar list for me. But, well, I have a blog and he doesn't, so you'll never know how I've changed. Okay, that's not fair. I have at least noticed a few differences between me now, and me when I was in BCN eight year ago that I can share. For example, had never considered the benefits of eye cream then. Now, at 31, I apply it daily in hopes of staving off the aging process at least a few more years. Eight years ago I packed one nice skirt. This time around: two skirts and two dresses. All signs point to me having completely out grown out of my tomboy fashion sense should I ever visit a third time : )

As much as this trip had given us a chance to get to know each other as adults, it's also been an opportunity to remember and strengthen the bonds that kept us close as kids. We are the only two people in the world who share A as an older brother. A, if you're reading, you better be here for the next trip. We are the only
two people that can be moved
to laughter over silly shared child-hood memories ("I've got the hic-ups." . . . "I've got the hic-downs.") and we both still like the thought of spending an afternoon biking around town.

So, tomorrow's plan is to rent bikes and check out BCN on wheels. For me, a chance to see how much has changed, and how much is wonderfully familiar.

To close, a few pics of stuff that made me smile today:

(1) Reunion with the best fruit + veg market I've ever visited.

(2) Chillin' on the pier pre-tapas

(3) Simpson's crackers

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Why go to Tarifa? Why, to get to Morocco, of course.

2011-06-17T15:01:00.001-07:00

I can't recall when or why I decided I wanted to go to Morocco. I just always have. When originally planning this trip had thought we might spend a few days there. With easy access via the ferry from Tarifa, thought we'd land in Tangier and then make our way to one of the major cities (Fez or Marrakech). When we decided to add an extra stop in Spain - Barcelona - this then became a night in Tangier. In the end, based on mediocre Tangier reviews, we decided on just a day trip.

Growing up in Toronto, my main ferry experience was the one that takes you from downtown to the Island: medium sized boat that allows access to the deck where you can watch the water flow by as you go from one part of the city, to a slightly different part of the same city.

The ferry to Tangier was no island ferry. By way of a ramp at the rear of the boat we boarded alongside everything from cars to cargo trucks. Not to mention loads of people. Several of whom seemed to be moving their whole lives across the sea. Picture roof racks packed several feet high with everything from luggage to pots and pans.

Those of you familiar with my fear of cruise ships (it is unnatural to be that far away from water on a boat!) will appreciate the degree to which I did not exactly enjoy my passage on this behemoth. But a dream not pursued is not one worth having, so in the name of Morocco, I managed to suck it up.

With only hours in Morocco instead of days as originally planned, we gave up the fun of self-navigating and opted for a guided tour. This had its down sides (felt very herded, and suspect we may have found better food - or at least a less touristy restaurant - on our own), but overall am glad we went this route. If only for the air conditioned bus. The blazing afternoon sun felt at times just inches from the back of my neck.

The tour was short on history (disappointing) but did cram in quite a number of stops for its four hour length. Best part for me was the live infomercial in a "pharmacy" in the old city (Medina). Twenty minutes of being pitched Moroccan oils, spices and herbs. The best in the world, of course. Made it out having spent only 14 Euro. But imagine how much the same products would cost me in Canada! Not double. Not even triple. The pharmacist assured me that to get the same goods back home I would have to spend at least four times as much! : )

Other highlight was the mint tea at the restaurant we ate at. Not unlike the mojito in Tarifa - best ever.

The food was decent but didn't wow us. Overall, the place had a "this is what we think the tourists are expecting" vibe to it. Including the crowd pleasing musicians below (tried to get a candid shot and they started posing).

Will definitely have to attempt a longer Moroccan trip at some point, but for now am content to consider this dream realized.

Given the main reason for stopping in Tarifa was access to Morocco did not spend a lot of time there this morning before heading out of this beach town. Just a quick dip in the ocean (really quick - it was cold at 10 AM!) before starting the journey to Granada.

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best mojito ever + a few final thoughts on Portugal

2011-06-16T13:03:00.001-07:00

Lisbon definitely left its mark on me. Both figuratively (I just really dug the vibe there) and literally (got a little too into exploring the Torre de Belem - pic below - and now have a wicked bruise on my right leg).

But as much as I fell for Lisbon, and fast, have to admit that after just an afternoon and evening in Tarifa there are a couple key areas where, for me, Portugal has nothing on Spain.

Number one: food. Am sure the grilled sardines are delicious if they're your thing. They just weren't a draw for either G or I. Though we did enjoy two hours straight of watching them be grilled while sharing a jug of red wine in little restaurant in Alfama. Same goes for Lisbon's famed Pasteis de Belem. We were both underwhelmed. All told there was only one new flavor Lisbon introduced to me that I took to. The salad I ate at that same restaurant came with these delicious grilled and salted strips of green pepper in it. Will have to try making them when I get home.

Tarifa, on the other hand, has so far served up the best mojito I've ever had, and a pretty decent falafel as well. Neither exactly what Spain is known for but am now really looking forward to trying out some more traditional fare in the days to come.

Number two: live music. May have just been the club we choose, but was not really taken in by fado. The live Afro-fusion band we caught Wednesday night in Tarifa, on the other hand, was a treat.

Will these minor drawbacks keep me from recommending / returning myself to Portugal? Not one bit. I really did love it there. Just couldn't help starting to run a bit of a comparison while sipping the best mojito ever.

(Note: due to sporadic wifi access was not able to post this until about 24 hours after I wrote it).

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Now we are so happy, we do the dance of joy!

2011-06-13T10:45:00.001-07:00

I won't say I didn't enjoy my first 24-hours in Lisbon solo. In fact, I didn't even feel all that alone given I accidentally arrived on the eve of one of the biggest festivals of the year:
http://www.thelisbonconnection.com/lisbons-craziest-night-the-feast-of-saint-anthony-in-june/

Still, when G stepped off the airport shuttle in Rossio Square yesterday morning, my Lisbon experience got that much better. Partly cause he's my little bro and I was happy to see he made it through the passport mess up okay, but also cause I had spent the previous 24-hours falling in love with Lisbon and like a child with a new toy wanted to show it to someone. The people are friendly, the vibe is laid back, and the sights / experiences . . . for lack of a better word: cool. Tram 28 is like riding an old school wooden roller coaster through the city. You feel like a local sipping a shot of cherry liqueur in the middle of the street mid-day. Eventually, the smell of BBQd sardines even starts to grow on you.

With just nine hours left in Lisbon before we hop a bus for Tarifa, Spain, will stop there and close with my favourite pic so far.

Man down

2011-06-11T14:55:00.001-07:00

Am sat on the airplane waiting for take-off facing the fact that my fear of forgetting something has been realized. Well, not something, exactly. Someone.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, have had to leave G behind.

Situation: a recently expired passport missed not just by G, but also the boarder guards who waved him on through when he crossed into Buffalo a few weeks ago.

Solution: well, money, obviously, but also an EXTREMELY efficient and kind agent at Foreign Affairs who calmly provided options (including the urgent renewal process that we chose) when I called the 1-800 number this afternoon just two and a half hours before departure time.

If all goes well G should be en route by tomorrow night.

Cross your fingers for us please!

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I hate packing. I'd rather be napping.

2011-06-09T08:49:00.000-07:00

Packing. How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.

What to bring, what to leave

How many pairs of shoes will I need?

Eyeglasses or contacts,

Baseball or straw hat?

The fear of forgetting

Something that’s key

Oh packing, I really do

Loathe thee.

I had a request for rhyme, if you're wondering why I felt the need to express myself via bad poetry : )

Speaking of requests, if you have any (e.g. suggestions for post subjects or writing style) please send my way (in comments or by e-mail). Will do my best to respond.

Since turnabout is fair play, see my first question for all of you on the bottom right. Curious to know the travel preferences of my readers. And whether this changes over time based on my descriptions of each adventure.

The importance of beginnings, names, and why she writes.

2011-06-07T23:02:00.000-07:00

Beginnings are important.

This blog began on an otherwise ordinary Monday night in a friend's living room in Ottawa, Ontario. This is significant for two reasons. First, because said friend has been encouraging me to start a blog for several months, and so her presence at its establishment lent a touch of gold to a moment I suspect would have been relatively dull had I launched it solo. Second, because the presence of another person on launch day speaks so perfectly to my blog's title.

Names are important too.

People is place.

Meaning one (the obvious): quirky title for a blog started by someone about to commence several months of travel.  Am in week two of a twelve week leave of absence and have several adventures planned.

Meaning two (dig a little deeper): song off one of my favourite albums so far this year (Little Scream’s "The Golden Record"). Sharing the importance of music / important music in my life.

Meaning three (let them all the way in): An often needed reminder to me (and perhaps some of my readers?) of the paramount importance of relationships, including the one each of us has with ourselves, to defining place (whether place as time, geography or state of being).

Focus on the obvious (the rest will follow).

Four days from now my younger brother G and I will be on an airplane over the Atlantic. From June 11 to 26 we will take our first vacation together as adults travelling to Portugal, Spain and Morocco.  He'll head back home on the 26th, and I'll then travel solo for two weeks in the South of France.  My solo plans at present include a few days wandering where the wind blows me, and then a week and half WWOOFing on a farm near Aix-en-Provence (if you don't know what WWOOFing is, look it up. Hard to explain.)

My month in Europe will be followed by other adventures.  A five day bike tour from Ottawa to Quebec City. A visit with my family in Ecuador that has been far too long coming (last trip was in 1997).

Reflecting briefly on meaning three, expect my summer of travel will also include several journeys not geographic in nature.

Why document all this with a blog? Number of reasons. First, a few folks have asked me to share travel stories and this seems a rather practical means of doing so. Second, I appreciate the fact that unlike constant facebook updates clogging up everyone's newsfeeds, people can choose whether or not they want to devote precious inteweb time to my blog posts. Most important, however, is my hope that this blog will provide me with a platform for staying connected with those who are emotionally part of my place, but who may not be physically near me as I undertake this journey. People is place.