basement guy blues
I was looking out my window the other day and I couldn’t help thinking that I was looking into a giant snow globe that someone had just giving a mighty shake and sat down. Huge white flakes were falling slowly and vertically without anything but themselves to give them direction. No wind to rush them. No breeze to send them from their perpendicular path with the ground. It was very pretty.
The basement is starting to take shape. The guy that is doing it is very nice but I can’t seem to function at all when there is someone in my house, even if he is in my basement and I seldom see him. It throws my routine off, not that I have much of one but I am always conscious of him down there and so I tip toe around my house like I don’t belong, unable to concentrate on any one task? I can’t do my laundry and I can’t vacuum because he had to remove the central vac and I can’t even do my exercise routine because what if he needs something when I am in the middle of it?? Yesterday I just decided to escape the house for a bit and ended up wandering the streets like some lost soul and finally ended up in the library. I borrowed three books –Atonement by Ian McEwan, Stones by Timothy Findley and Crossroads of Twilight by Robert Jordon. (Book ten of the wheel of time series) – after just reading over two thousand pages of another fantasy series I have no idea why I borrowed this one and to be truthful I don’t even know if I had read this one or not?? When a fantasy series get too long it get very confusing for me and I can’t remember what book I left off at. There should be a law, I do declare, that the maximum books to any series should never pass seven and should preferable stop at three like The Lord of The Rings. I need closure man!!
Last night I read two of the short stories from Stones. One was called Real Life Writes Real Bad and the other was called Stones – They are my first of Timothy Findley and now I want to read more of his. He certainly knows how to lead you into a story and keep you there. It also had me thinking for the first time that I want to start writing short stories about my mother (or a character very similar to her). I always thought it would be too hard to capture her but I am thinking about three particular moments that with the proper garnish could make one lengthy short story or three smaller ones. Two of the events I wasn’t around for, just heard these stories from her friend and from my dad. Small but compelling events from the 1950’s, early 60’s. I don’t know - I just want to go back there, walk beside her for a while, try to make my memory of her somewhat whole. I have all these smaller pieces but nothing really solid. I would like to give my girls a little glimpse of their grandmother - a day in her life - a look back?
Snow
I woke this morning to a very white world and an hour of shoveling. Last night as I was trying to fall off to sleep, I could hear the wind weeping in the streets and between the houses. It was a very mournful sound and it carried me uneasily into sleep. I awoke a few times in the night just to wander around the house and to gaze out the back window at the moving wires and swirling grey. I don’t know how much snow we got but according to my right shoulder it feels like at least 25 cms.
Saturday night we watched “Motorcycle Diaries”. I loved it. Makes me wish to see more of this world. Really see it. All I know well is that stretch of Trans Canada from Toronto to New Brunswick. There were some summers we would change our route and go around the Gaspe Peninsula for a change of scenery (breath takingly beautiful area) and we went to Mexico once (honeymoon) and California and New York City and out West a few times but it all adds up to so little when you think about it. I want to see South America, Central America, Europe, Antarctica. I always wanted to see Copenhagen for some reason. Maybe I just love the sound of it. And Madagascar. Heck, I would just like to spin the globe and put my finger on a spot.
I said to Greg during the movie. “We need to visit more places.” And he looked at me and said, “I have been saying that for twenty years, it’s you who has the need to go home every summer.”
Oh, yah, that’s right.
saturday 
tag
There is a strip of light lying across the hard snow in my back yard. The fence’s shadow gives it a ruled edge; the lattice gives it a pattern of tiny grey spots. The swing set with her red seats and tan slide sits somewhat in this strip, its plastic shiny after half a winter of snow wash. The pear tree looks as dead as a tree can get without being detached from its limbs and ripped from it roots. Its gnarly fingers and bark full of bumps fall somewhat in the strip, somewhat not. Only spring can resurrect her, filling her branches with tiny white flowers. Tea in hand, the warmth of the cup giving my palms a tingle, I stand near the back window and look out into my long, thin yard. I can hear the traffic from one street over, behind the red bricks of the buildings that look down into my space. The birds are quiet, invisible, even the sharp beak starlings hide and soggy bits of bread lay in dimples in the snow. I know spring hides too, somewhere in that strip of snow-cooled light waiting for winter to find her. I believe spring would leave her hiding spot and make a dash for it, if winter wasn't such a bar sticker.
Happy Valentines Day
The sidewalks are a sheet of ice. Monica and I walked to her school this morning holding hands to prevent us from sliding down all the driveway’s small slants. A semi-dark, cloudy day but I have come around almost 360 in my thinking. I have been pessimistic lately and feeling a little tired and drained but the last few days I have been letting things go, finally removing that January cloak that always seems too heavy on me. I like the quote by Iris Murdock over at Whiskey River’s site. This morning it jumped out at me and got me thinking a little bit about how much I do dwell on the past and the person I was and all the illusions I surround myself with to give myself some degree of self-worth. It would be nice sometime to find a peaceful, quiet place away from that. This morning that old self seems very distant, maybe not dead, but distant.
On Saturday we finally got to go snowboarding. Monica took another lesson and almost has her turns down pat now. The day started off slightly cloudy, sun kept hiding and the wind was a little strong at the top of the hills but at one point when I was going up on the lift by myself -Greg and Monica were on the lift in front of me - the sun came through a break in the clouds and shone down so warm and so spring like, I lifted my face to it and closed my eyes and just felt happy for a moment. And for three or four runs I was amazingly in the moment, swishing back and forth, fear laying low, and thinking to myself .. wow, I finally got it. I can do this. I mean I could get down a hill before but it was usually a very ungraceful, cautious descent and here I was just feeling so relaxed and it seemed to help so much with turning and plus once you pick up speed it is a lot easier to turn. However, on my fourth run my confidence out ran my skill and I went for a lovely face plant and gave my shoulder a good jolt. It was a little sore on Sunday but not too bad.
And Sunday we had friends over for supper and it was a very nice time. They have two daughters too. One is a few years younger than Monica and they get along great. The youngest is ten months now (I believe) and is so sweet. She scooted around after our cat almost the entire time, saying meow, meow whenever she got the cat cornered somewhere. The cat liked her. I can always tell by the way she moves her tail, flicking it slowly back and forth, keeping a little hook at the end of it. Erin stayed up late and watched the Grammies so she put on her best down and out face this morning and said she wasn’t feeling well enough to go to school. She doesn’t miss much school so I gave in and said sure, stay home.
And now that I have hopefully shaken the winter blues and I know it may be a little premature to say that but the sun is getting closer so I'm going to try harder, get my house in shape, get myself in shape, make some plans, learn something, start thinking about what I want to plant this year in my garden, enjoy my family, just enjoy - you know all that good stuff .
a story
I reread this the other day and thought I would post it here. It
was my attempt at writing an environmentally friendly fairy tale for
kids. I had written it a few years back but my kids thought it was
too preachy. They're my toughest critics.
I watched this movie last night called New Waterford Girl. It is a Canadian production that takes place on Cape Breton Island in the seventies. My mom was from Antigonish so there were summers when we spent time down there with relatives and although there were a few differences from that area and the area I grew up in, the differences were smaller than the similarities. This movie so brought me right back there. Sigh, I want so much to capture that sense of place like that movie did. In a series of short stories? A screenplay? A novel? I got to hurry up though because as the years go by it seems to be getting more and more diluted in my thoughts.
dear diary
I accomplished a lot yesterday, which is amazing because I kept getting sidetracked from my goal. At one point I found myself sitting cross-legged on the cold floor reading my old journals from 1981 and 82. I found some old short stories stuck in it, very poorly done, most of them hand written in red ink. I was also amazed at how often my older sister’s name came jumping at me from the pages. We seemed to have hung out a lot in those years. Those years also seemed to involve a lot of wine consumption on Friday nights and fretting about what I was going to do with the rest of my life. (some things never change). These entries were before Greg and nursing. During my casual flipping of pages I started noticing how often I had written– I think I will write a short story – or I wish I had an idea for a short story – and it is funny because those lines followed me all this way and for someone who never feels very consistent, I always did that. I always found enjoyment in that. Anyway, my legs started to cramp up from sitting cross-legged and I put my past away back in its box, and finished cleaning. And as I was using my swifter to remove about three inches of dust from the top of the pipes, some of it falling in my hair and eyes and making me cough, I was thinking – I wish I had an idea for a short story. And lucky me because an hour later, half way through mopping the cement floor a bit of an idea came to me. I think I am going to call it “Casey’s Promise”
basement duty
It is raining and so it is the perfect day to clean out the basement. We have someone coming by on Thursday to lay down a floor. We have piles and piles of junk down there and it will be at least a full day of sorting and cleaning and I should be at it but first I need to write about it, procrastinate over it for a little while longer. This is when you wish someone from Extreme Basement Makeovers would come by and tell you that you were just picked to have your basement completely renovated as you watch a whole crew of workers and designers come through your door, smile at you pleasantly as they head for your basement. And once down there they start doing incredible things, like taking that heaping, old box that is full of Barbie dolls, old Furbies and Macdonald toys and in minutes they make wonderful end tables from them. It could happen!
the weekend
Car tires slice open
brown winter puddles
bringing ripples of summer
towards small hills of slush
and a moment of childhood
arrives at this shore
showing me a rainy June night
and a highway of cars
the sound of tires
on wet road while spills from
headlights
travel the blue painted walls
of my bedroom and then disappear.
I was a little uncomfortable but it was very fun. The moves for belly dancing are harder than I thought but after watching the instructor and how graceful and sensual she made it look, I really want to learn this dance, so I’m going to keep going back. The space is very nice. It is an old church that is now a fitness centre. Beautiful windows, high ceilings and hard wood floors. I like being there.
And Saturday night’s dinner party was very entertaining and the Irish stew was delicious- she said she added five cans of Guinness to the broth. They have a lovely home with a beautiful wide view of the city from their balcony and down below the twisting, busy highway full of cars could be seen rushing home or to restaurants or to friends or to a game or to work. I felt lucky to be able to see that much at one glance. When I closed my eyes the cars on the road sounded like running water. I think I could get use to that drone– like when I was a child I always fell asleep quicker if someone was running the water for a bath or if my mother had the vacuum cleaner on. Again standing watching the city, from so high up, I had that twinge of loneliness come visit for a second but it quickly left. Small towns and cities – they are so hugely different – it is a difficult thing to bring the city feeling to a small town and to bring the small town feeling to the city, so the two sometimes compete for space in my head. When I dream sometimes allyways, full of steel garbage bins splashed in graffiti, will lead me straight to the shore underneath the bridge near my childhood home. I like those dreams. The two seem so close.
We didn’t get to go snowboarding yesterday because Monica wasn’t feeling well. She is currently cuddled up on the couch, watching TV, eating a popcycle, looking rather comfty. But all in all it was a nice weekend. I was even able to write a little.
six more weeks
today's quote
I sometimes wonder if that is what Krishna meant –
Among other things – or one way of putting the same thing:
That the future is a faded song, a Royal Rose or a lavender spray
Of wistful regret for those who are not yet here to regret,
Pressed between yellow leaves of a book that has never been opened.
And the way up is the way down, the way forward is the way back.
T.S. Eliot, from “The Dry Salvages”
puddle picture
not so skinny legs and all
I am looking forward to this weekend. Friday night I am going to try a belly dancing class. A friend was telling me about it. She just started going and says it’s a lot of fun and it’s a small group and the teacher is excellent, so I and another neighbour, who also hasn’t tried before, are going to check it out. Do something new! I read Tom Robbin’s book “Skinny legs and all” back in the early nineties and wanted to try belly dancing ever since but I just sort of stored it in the far reaches of my head somewhere but now an opportunity has a risen to try it. Mind you I won’t be attempting the dance of the seven veils anytime soon. (That was a good book, what I can remember of it) Also, friends had invited us to dinner on Saturday night along with another couple, who we have not seen in ages so it will be great to get caught up on things. She says she is making Irish stew with Guinness. (sounds wonderful). And Sunday we are going snowboarding again. Just Greg and I this time because the girls have other plans with their friends for Sunday. I hope it isn’t too cold. It has been so lovely the last few days. I hope it keeps up. Maybe I will have lots to write about come Monday.
lake
