Ceebie

Remembering 9-11

2011-09-11T08:29:00.006-03:00

Ten years ago today I had just started my work day at the Faculty of Environmental Studies, York University, where if I remember correctly, my job consisted mainly of eight hours a day of data entry for a graduate program audit (my, how some things have changed).

At around 8:50, when my friend Steve walked over to tell me "Two planes have just hit the World Trade Center and half of the States are under attack," I thought he was kidding - it just sounded so implausible, but he assured me it was true. I remember the tingle of fear and anxiety that washed over me. In the minutes immediately after the planes hit, so much of what we were going on was speculation, because most news sites had been shut down due to the overwhelming volume of traffic of folks trying to get information.

Not long after, someone wheeled a TV into the lounge, and staff and faculty sat watching the screen, many of us with tears in our eyes, not believing what we were seeing. It felt like our whole world was under attack and beyond the sadness of the day, there was just so much fear and anxiety about the situation.

In that faculty where so many of us were there because we wanted to help change the world, we were of course deeply saddened by the needless and tragic losses of lives. However, we hoped this event would be a catalyst for change on a global level, and allow us to examine the root causes of what had possessed the attackers to launch this assault on our continent.

Ten years later, so much of the stories we are hearing is about remembering those who were lost and celebrating the heroes who came to the rescue at Ground Zero. But I haven't seen anything in the coverage discussing the root causes of why these events happened. The individuals who were responsible for this tragedy wished to cause a sensation to shake us up and send us a message.

But I'm not sure if we're any farther ahead today than where we were 10 years ago in addressing what happened on that tragic day and in understanding their message...

Sunday Scribblings: Hitched (Or, Tilting at blue skies)

2011-07-02T17:12:00.004-03:00

Dear Mom,

Do you remember the flowers you bought me for $1.99, that time you came

to keep me company after my operation?

They were so anemic-looking then.

Dried up and weedy, and not a bud in sight.

It was difficult to imagine they'd one day turn beautiful,

but you told me they'd come back, so I believed you.

We planted them in rows, watered them, then had tea on the balcony,

listening to wind in the leaves.

Now, they've hitched themselves to the sun.

Delicate petals of yellow and purple,

tilting at blue skies and fluffy clouds.

I see them and think of you,

even though we are provinces apart.

Sunday Scribblings: The gift

2011-06-26T23:44:00.000-03:00

The morning had passed in a blur of bright lights on the TV screen: talk shows, reality shows and canned laughter tracks. Pleasant, numbness distraction, only inches away from the comfort of her bed. All she needed to do was reach out her fingers and change the channel if the numbness got too - mind-numbing.

It was all so effortless.

Until the young girl with the frizzy blond hair interrupted.

"Do you think you might want to try sitting up?" the girl asked innocently.

It seemed like an easy enough task.

Slowly, the athlete rolled onto her side. With every muscle straining, she pushed herself onto her elbow. Then, using every ounce of strength, she pulled herself to sitting.

Focused on breathing deeply and slowly, then placed one foot, then the other into the waiting pink slippers.

"Maybe you want to try walking over to the chair?"

Once again, it seemed like an easy enough task.

Inhaling, she drew together every last ounce of strength, then pushed herself to standing. Shuffled one foot, then the other forward. Her slippers making shushing sounds on the floor; whispered secrets on cracked white linoleum.

Just a few more steps, and she was at the chair -- utilitarian, grey pleather, with hard wooden armrests worn with the palms of others who had rested there before her.

The young woman watched her silently.

Reaching back, she placed her hands on the armrails and winced, lowering into the chair.

It was at that point that the room began to spin. Sparkling lights flashed behind her eyes, and she broke into a cold sweat.

The young woman brought a cold towel from the bathroom, as she closed her eyes and willed the world to stop on its axis.

Five steps from the bed to the chair -- only moments ago, it had seemed so easy. Only weeks ago, she'd run a marathon.

Now, here she sat, having barely been able to walk from bed to chair without passing out.

Suddenly, the new weakness in her body scared her so much, she started to panic.

Placed the cold towel around the back of her neck.

Inhaled, exhaled.

Until the world stopped spinning.

She opened her eyes, and looked at the nurse.

"I'm feeling better now," she reassured.

It would take a few more hours before she'd be able to walk from chair to bed, then bathroom, without feeling like passing out.

Two days after her myomectomy, she is released.

Now, the athlete can't wait until she can run again. With each day, she looks forward to the moment she can run around the block without pain. Step by step, she feels herself getting stronger.

And she cherishes the gift that good health is; looking forward to the day that she can move from walking to running again.

~ HRG

My balcony garden project

2011-06-23T10:17:00.001-03:00

While our backyard is under construction (an ambitious five-year plan that we as new homeowners attacked enthusiastically and now realize is much more complicated than we'd anticipated), I've decided to spend some time prettying up the balcony ajdoining our kitchen this year. It's extended our outdoor usable space, and become a place for us to observe birds up close - juncos, goldfinches, a curious chickadee and greedy doves now visit our balcony on a daily basis.

With a few easy steps, a barren balcony becomes a pleasing outdoor space.

Here's how I did it (bear in mind, it's a work in progress):

Sunday Scribblings: The next step

2011-06-13T15:05:00.002-03:00

When the gun explodes, her heart flutters in nervous anticipation.

This is the day she has been looking forward to for months. She's trained for this moment and she feels ready. She is proud of herself. As she crosses the line with just over 100 other men and women of all ages, tears of happiness and nervousness forming in the corner of her eyes. She lets out a cheer with others around her, then focuses on the task at hand.

Lady Gaga is singing on her iPod, and she has stored a few hours' worth of songs to accompany her on this journey.

As they file down Main Street, the sun poking between highrises, she wills herself to relax and not start out too strong. Glancing down at her watch, she sees she has started out too fast, so she backs off. The leader she had hoped to follow isn't around, so she simply settles into a comfortable rhythm and tries to be in the moment, not thinking about the next few hours or when she will finish.

They head off the roads and onto the trails, eventually turning into the gravel paths through the marshes. The ground crunches under her shoes as they hit it in a steady rhythm.

Within a few kilometres, she begins to worry that something is not quite right.

Her left achille's tendon has starten to tighten up. Now, her left foot has started to fall asleep. It feels like pins and needles poking through her foot. As though she's running on a stump. Although her foot is asleep, it's strangely painful.

Worry and anxiety begin to gnaw at her mind. She begins to slow down, and more and more of the group begins to pass her by. The confidence and strength she felt only half an hour ago begin to fade away.

Something is wrong.

Should she stop?

Just keep going to the next station. If it's still bad, she can stop there.

Meanwhile, although the sun is rising, she worries that she may not have dressed warmly enough. Her hands are chilled, and her arms. But she tells herself to trust in her preparations. It will get warmer, soon. She hopes.

This isn't the way it was supposed to be.

Despite the crowds who have gathered on the boardwalk to cheer them on, she feels trapped inside her own mental struggle.

She wants to quit.

The wind rustles through dry cattails beside the path.

Why is she doing this?

As she passes the halfway mark, suddenly she remembers a Chinese proverb one of her friends had sent her before she set out:

“To get through the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping.”

It's then, at the moment where she could have given up and walked back to the start line, that she looks down at the gravel path, takes a deep breath, and takes the next step.

Two and a half hours later, she finishes her first marathon, exhausted and drained. Her husband holds her in his arms, telling her how proud he is.

It will take months for her to come to terms with the fact that she did not meet her initial goals, and to realize that the biggest achievement was in putting her head down and putting one foot in front of the other, when all she wanted to do was quit.

Eventually, she feels pride again for the perseverance that made her take that next step.

~ HRG

Perfect peach pie & sunshine on a balcony

2011-05-01T11:14:00.005-03:00

I'll never forget that afternoon
road trip with mom and dad through Niagara on the Lake

sudden discovery of a café
tucked into the front room of quaint clapboard house

I normally choose cake
but that day a slice of peach pie
a pot of tea
sounds lovely

on the wraparound porch, wrought iron tables & chairs
breeze flutters gently
sun warm on arms
bumble bees buzz from flower to flower
legs heavy with pollen
dozy kind of afternoon

fork slicing through pastry
crumbling just right
sweet Ontario peaches
mouthful of golden sunshine
syrupy ooze on porcelain plates

I'll never forget that afternoon

now, ever questing
for the perfect peach pie

~ Ceebie

My kitchen garden project: signs of life!

2011-04-12T13:48:00.000-03:00

Nature's bright ideas

2011-04-10T15:24:00.001-03:00

Week six: I heart two-degree weather, and the importance of cross-training

2011-02-17T17:55:00.001-04:00

Yay!!! I just checked The Weather Network, and for the first time in weeks, the forecast is 2 degrees and there's no snow or rain. Funny how we have such short-term memories that we forget what running in warm weather feels like.

I plan to embrace tonight's run and enjoy this momentary respite from the messy cold white stuff. Sure, I was poetic last time and talked about how it was all icing sugar heavy on trees. But after weeks of frigid, tush-freezing cold, nothing beats a run in zero to 15 degree weather (although I'm also partial to running in the rain...but more on that some other time).

Since Sunday was Day-Before-Valentine's-Day and Monday was Valentine's Day, I opted to miss a few runs while spending time with hubby. Just picture us now -- holding hands, staring googly-eyed at each other, little pink and red hearts floating out of the tops of our heads as we enjoyed brunch at Chez Tess (Eggs Benedict Crepe and Croque Madame, yum!). And my legs blissfully folded under my chair, not whirling beneath me like a very slow Road Runner.

What I've come to realize is that I'm no Olympic athlete (don't worry, it didn't take me long to realize that -- I've never had illusions ofgrandeur when it came to my abilities as a speedy runner), so it's all about balance. Sometimes, it's ok to enjoy a brunch or Valentine's Day dinner with your hubby, significant other or friends.

That's not to say that I've been potatoed on my sofa doing nothing. I've supplemented some run days with cross-training like Zumba (oh how I love to dance -- I did use to have illusions of becoming a famous dancer, but how famous can you be at five foot nothing?), step class, yoga and strength training. Ever since my first half marathon (where all I did was run -- back then it was just about getting in the runs and building up the strength in my legs), I've learned that cross-training is important to help you develop other muscle groups like your back and core, so that you're not just running around with massive runner thighs but feeble spaghetti arms.

As this article from About.com explains, cross-training is also a great way to boost your cardiovascular fitness, because you're bumping your heart rate at different rates than when you're just running. Our bodies are incredibly resilient, so if you're always only ever doing the same thing, your body can get acclimatized to it. Mixing it up helps to keep your body alert and challenges you in different ways. Of course, all of that helps to reduce the risk of injury.

Finally, mixing it up also keeps you interested and motivated, so you don't get bored and quit altogether.

But on nights like this, when the sun is setting on the harbour and the mercury's hovering at around 2, I'm anxious to get into my running gear, lace on my shoes and get out there.

Signing out and lacing on my shoes now!

~ Ceebie

Canadian writers speak out on Bill C-32

2011-02-15T09:29:00.000-04:00

Canadian writers and creative people (that includes photographers or anyone whose intellectual property is able to be photocopied by educational institutions): if you haven't heard about Bill C-32 and how it might affect you, take a look at this video put together by the Writers' Union of Canada:

I'm a writer in my day and evening jobs. I've been a writer for as long as I can remember. And while the actual writing itself doesn't make up most of my income because I'm an in-house staff, for thousands of writers and creators across the country, it does. And theirs isn't a glamorous job - they depend on income not only from book sales or magazine contracts, but also from things like the income they receive when universities, schools and other educational institutions copy their work.

If Bill C-32 allows educational institutions to copy these materials free of charge, it means that these creators (and me) will have to subsist on just that much less.

Copyright exists to protect our roles as creators. Let's make sure it continues to do that. Please help ensure that the voices of Canada's creators are heard, and spread the word.

~ Ceebie

Valentine's Morning Grand Marnier French Toast

2011-02-14T10:27:00.000-04:00

Woke up early and made this for today for our first married Valentine's Day...Forgot to take photos but it was oh so pretty (and yummy too!). Adapted from a recipe my friend Susy gave me.

What you'll need:

3 eggs
1/3 c. orange juice
1/6 c. Grand Marnier
1/6 c. milk
1 1/2 Tbsp. sugar (optional)
1/8 tsp. vanilla
1/8 tsp. salt
finely grated peel of half an orange
bread
butter
syrup
icing sugar
a whole lotta lovin'

Instructions:
Cut bread into heart shapes (note: the bread will shrink with cooking so best to cut out big hearts full of love and tenderness :) ).

Beat eggs in a large bowl. Add orange juice, G.M., milk, sugar, vanilla, salt and peel and mix well. Heat fry pan at high heat, melt butter, then lower to medium heat.

Drop bread into pan and fry until each side is golden brown and egg mixture has dried out.

Drizzle with syrup and sprinkle with icing sugar.

Serve with love and a kiss.

(note: you can also opt to make with French bread cut to 1 1/2" thickness, dipped in the mixture and left in the fridge overnight)

~ Ceebie

Week four: Whatever it is, find something to kick your butt out that door

2011-02-07T20:55:00.003-04:00

Well, I am into week five of the 18-week marathon training program, and week four is now complete. I'm not gonna lie and say that I've been the perfect runner and done every single run on the schedule. Sometimes a girl just needs a night off to watch stupid TV and lounge on the sofa.

Winter has moved in to the city like a messy roommate, leaving snowbanks and icy sidewalks lying around like dirty socks (although the snow was pretty in the aftermath of the storm, all icing sugar heavy on trees and bushes). And although Groundhog Day was last week, I'm pretty confident that our local groundhogs didn't see their shadows that day. It was no Snowpocalypse, but there was enough snow dumped on us over a 24-hour period that our snowbanks are now higher than me (which for those who know me isn't saying much, but...it's saying something). Which makes road running a little interesting.

Take last night, for instance. While my hubby settled in for the opening ceremonies of the SuperBowl, I found that inner shoe to kick my butt into gear and headed out the door at around 5:00pm for a leisurely 16k run. And boy did I need that kick in the pants.

As I skirted the dirty snow on Herring Cove road, relishing in the downhill stretch before the long uphill climb on Joe Howe Drive, I soon realized that what looked like wet pavement was actually black ice. Each time my foot struck the pavement where it looked slightly wet, I felt a little slip. So I soon started breaking into this little tip-of-my-toe run, much like I would look like if I were running in high heels, whenever I spotted wet pavement. And where there wasn't ice, every so often there were these impassable puddles that you had no choice but to run through, cold water sloshing in your sneakers as you continued.

At least it wasn't miserably cold out like it had been the previous Monday (-13 degrees, without the wind chill), but as it was my first 16k in months, the thought of the distance yet to be run seemed like it would stretch on forever. That's the funny thing about running: so much of it is mental. You build on the distance, week by week, until what seemed impossibly far all of a sudden seems small -- because just last week you ran only 2k less.

The important thing is to get out there on those days when all you'd rather do is snuggle up on the sofa and watch TV. You need to find that kick in the pants that will get you out that door; whether it's your hubby reminding you of all the work you've already put in and how proud he is of you for sticking with it, your running buddy who you promised to meet for the run, your weight loss goal or simply the thought of a warm bath and a hot meal when you get home (with an extra little treat to reward yourself for the calories you just burned). Make sure there's a shoe at your behind that kicks you out there on those days when the sky is gray, the sidewalks slippery and the weather chilly.

Because when you finish that run, the feeling of accomplishment is such a high, you'll be grateful that you kicked your butt out the door to do it.

~ Ceebie

Week three of my marathon journey: snow, rain, ice, snain...it's all good

2011-01-27T16:33:00.007-04:00

Well, we are into week three of training. And it is definitely winter now. There's been snow. There's been rain. There's been ice. And it's been cold. But if you dress smart (ie for warmth rather than fashion...my tush learned that the hard way last Sunday when I wore my Lulu Lemon jacket in -17 weather rather than my sensible running jacket -- you know the ones with the bum flap that all the runners wear, looking like a bunch of rainbow-coloured lemmings) it's actually not too bad. Running in the winter is a great way to stay active through the cold months and to get some fresh air (and in my case, it's a good way to start shedding some of those 12 pounds of Christmas :) ). And the motivating factor is that once you're out there, the colder it is, the more you want to run just to get warm.

The danger with running in winter is those little patches of black ice that hide under the thinnest layer of snow. But winter runners know that you quickly learn to jump over puddles rather than run through them, or do a little shuffle-step-hop at the point where the sidewalk meets road. Running in winter definitely takes some creative movement, alertness and humour. Cause if you can't laugh at yourself when you look like a bundled up snow bunny (or as Halifax Broad puts it more eloquently than I ever could, "a lesbian broomball champion from Parry Sound") hopping about in zig-zagging fashion through Halifax's snow-ridden streets (meanwhile hoping no one you know sees you...but you know they have and just aren't telling you because they don't want to embarrass you), when can you?

In addition to getting up close and personal (my frozen tush being a case in point) with winter running again, this was also week two of my marathon clinic at the Running Room. Our group this time around is a nice mix of seasoned veterans who have run eight marathons, and newbies who've never run the distance before.
Figuring out what pace group you should be in can be a little agonizing. Not only does it have a lot to do with who you're running with (though really I've never met a runner I didn't enjoy running with), your pace group leader sets the tone for the group too. I once had a group leader who would bark/yell at us if we went too fast. It was ruining what for me should have been an enjoyable experience, so I pushed myself up to the faster group, even though I struggled to keep up with them. Your pace group choice basically dictates how painful or enjoyable your runs are going to be, and whether you're going to kill yourself trying to keep up with a group that's pushing you just a tad too fast, or get frustrated with a group that you feel is slowing you down. I'm still waffling - 4hr, or 4:05 group? I'll let you know what I decide.

Coming soon...I'll be launching my new running blog, with interviews with local runners, reviews of routes and races, tips and tricks, recipes and product reviews. Stay tuned!

~ Ceebie

Week one: great tempo, speed bumps and keeping on...

2011-01-16T16:25:00.003-04:00

Well, week one of my marathon training is done. Just 17 more to go. Week one called for 10/6/10/6/6. In reality it looked more like 14/6/curling/yoga. But that's ok.

Why, you ask? Because sometimes, despite our best intentions, life gets in the way. But you have to take those speed bumps and use them as learning opportunities in your marathon journey. And then, as the Chinese proverb says (not sure which wise man it was who said it, but I'm pretty sure he was Chinese): to get to your destination, you just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, until eventually you get there.

The mental block is lifted:
For the last couple of months, ever since my first marathon, I'd been struggling with a mental block. No matter that I'd just run a distance less than one percent of the population has ever run, but even the shortest run seemed like a gargantuan task. Just the idea of lacing on my shoes was exhausting, and I didn't believe that I'd be able to run 5k, let alone 42.2.

But thanks to the support of my husband and running buddies, and the fact that I'd just signed up for another clinic starting next week, I forced myself to head out for a tempo run on Tuesday. And while the first few minutes had me wondering whether my legs could handle the pace, after the first kilometre or so, as I ran around the Commons and enjoyed the sight of families heading to the Oval to watch the speed skaters train, I found that I was only running about 10 seconds or so slower than I used to before my last marathon. And it felt great!

Sometimes, you just need a great run to get you motivated again and believe in your legs and yourself. And while there's no doubt that I'll probably have difficult runs again, where every step feels like agony and inside I'm just dying to stop and walk, you keep on keeping on because you know that every so often, you'll have a run where you just feel like you're floating. And that is the best feeling.

Yet despite my best intentions last week that I was going to run every run in the training schedule, that did not happen this week.

My speed bumps this week:

1) a work-related road trip to Fredericton. Normally, that isn't a big deal, because the nice thing about running is that there are roads/trails everywhere. All you need is your runners and you're good to go (ok you also need weather-appropriate, water-repellant clothing...unless you live in a nudist colony, which I don't, nor do I have any urgest to do so). Given that I was able to stay on track with my first marathon training schedule (for the most part) this summer while travelling for my wedding and honeymoon, I wasn't concerned about traveling. I'd even packed my running gear and was ready to explore Fredericton by foot, ecept for:

2) a blizzard (or at least lots and lots of snow) that dumped 30 or so centimetres of snow on Fredericton, making the unplowed sidewalks a little treacherous. And while running in snow is a good workout (it exercises different muscle groups and is actually a harder workout than running on dry ground, much like running in sand), I was a little tired after our drive, the sidewalks weren't plowed, I didn't know the city and so on and so forth.

3) a busy schedule, much of which was taken up by work, travel or other commitments. Like our curling match on Thursday night -- which I discovered is still a great workout, and lots of fun too! In any case, cross-training is always important in any running program, as it helps you build other core muscles that contribute to your strength and endurance.

4) a painless migraine on Saturday. What is that, you ask? Well, it's where you start getting these pretty little sparkles in your eyes and it feels like you've got tunnel vision and blind spots. So needless to say, I thought it wise to abstain from running until such time as I could see properly again. Though I did substitute the run with a great yoga class -- another opportunity for some cross-training and strength building.

Anyways, despite the road blocks this week I joined my running buds this morning for this Sunday's Long Slow Distance. Most of us had not made it out for more than a run or two last week due to the weather conditions. What's important is not to let those slight speed bumps get you down, and find other opportunities to get some training in, whether it be curling, yoga or other.

Although we ran down Novalea this week, the run seemed a little more challenging compared to last Sunday's, mostly because the surfaces were a lot slipperier, with a thin coating of ice or snow on the sidewalk. By kilometre 14, my legs felt like lead, so I headed back to the Running Room -- very, very slowly.

This week's schedule: 10/6/10/6/6

Tuesday night, the marathon clinic begins at the Running Room. I'm looking forward to starting another training program with my running friends, and making new friends and acquaintances as well.

~ Ceebie

Those first steps on my journey of 952.2 kilometres

2011-01-11T13:54:00.004-04:00

You know that old clichéd adage:

A journey of 1,000 miles begins with just one step.

Ok technically my journey will be 42.2 kilometres, but by the time I will have finished my second marathon training program, I should have run about 952.2 km. Which works out to 592 miles. And that ain't half bad, even if it's only a little more than half a journey in the eyes of that old adage (but 1,000 miles just seems so random anyway).

Vital stats of my GoodLife journey:

Race: GoodLife Toronto Marathon
Date: May 15, 2011
Time goal: 4 hrs (30 minutes faster than my first marathon)

Those first steps

Last Sunday was our first day of training and called for a 10k Long Slow Distance. I'd been a lazy bum ever since running my first marathon in October, and my legs (and waist) were starting to show it. But when my phone rang its annoying chirp at 7:30 (I'll admit, I've been too lazy to try and find a better alarm sound), I pushed myself upright, swung my legs out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom...where I very nearly fell asleep on the toilet. But didn't.

Toothpaste froth flying as I grumbled to myself under my breath wondering why the heck I was doing this, I glared at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. But I knew there was no backing out today. I'd stood my running buddies up way too many times in the last several weeks, and I was beginning to feel guilty about it.

Halifax's streets were quiet in the early morning gloom as I drove downtown, with cars neatly parked in their driveways -- everyone was likely enjoying a lazy Sunday, I thought to myself resentfully. But when I walked into the Running Room, a few runners had already started gathering, and more continued to trickle through the doors for the next 15 minutes, until we were crammed in there, shoulder to shoulder -- a roomfull of inspiration for lazy me.

I joined the 18k group with running buds Wendy, Andrea and Jenn, hoping I could keep up with them (especially up the long hill at Devonshire Ave - thanks, Bruce!). The first few kilometres for me are always about warming up and settling into the groove of the run, and I was glad that I'd decided to come out this Sunday.

As we crested the long hill (thanks again, Bruce ;) ), my legs feeling the strain, I used the pain as a reminder not to ever get complacent again. Who would have thought that only a month and a half ago, I was sprinting around the track at The Tower like a little gazelle? (Ok not really a gazelle. To those watching me I was more like a slow short woman huffing and puffing around a track...but I liked to imagine I looked gazelle-like nonetheless). It is so easy to get out of shape.

At around 6k, the snowflakes started to fall. Big, chunky fluffs of white that stuck to my eyelashes and pretty soon had us wincing in pain as the wind drove them sideways into our faces and down our open mouths to the backs of our throats. I'd forgotten what it was to run in snow again -- that slight loss of purchase with each step, slipping back and not knowing whether the night step might -- whoops! -- be on a patch of ice.

But we continued on, around the Halifax Shopping Centre and through to Quinpool, then onward to Oxford. Running in snow might be harder, but Halifax in winter is so much prettier under the snow. As we chatted about holidays, work, husbands, boyfriends and shopping, I felt so grateful to have found such a great group of running friends.

I'd only planned to do about 14k, so at Cobourg I waved the rest of the group on, and stepped onto the intersection, only to glance at my left and see a big truck skidding downhill toward me, its rear tires fishtailing out to the side in slow motion. Stepping back, I yelled out to the rest of the group to be careful, and watched the truck driver come to a stop on the other side of the intersection.

I headed back to the Running Room slowly, picking my way uphill along Cobourg, then past the Public Gardens. My wooly mittens were sheathed in white, as was my hair, which I'd left untied and now looked like a dripping rat's nest.

We figured that all of the slipping back probably accounted for a few extra kilometres, so I like to think that my first step actually consisted of about 16k on a snowy morning in January. Only 890.2k left to go!

~ Ceebie

Sunday Scribblings: December

2010-12-18T11:42:00.004-04:00

Here is a poem I wrote a while back that I think is fitting for this theme (although it was written in November :) )

First snowfall

quiet night

seems like only yesterday
tiny spidermen, princesses and ghouls
clamored for candy on our porch
tonight darkness fell so soon
you on the computer, me
watching chick shows
comfortable in the knowledge
you're right
here

commercial break

you wander upstairs

to the windows that frame our door
the one you spent three days painting electric blue
last summer

beckon me over
to watch the world outside
car, trees, driveway, rooftops, last month's pumpkins, darkness blanketed fluffy white
big chunky flakes drifting
softly

quiet night
so quiet
think I hear the snowflakes fall
warm orange glow of streetlights
bright gleam of a neighbour's Christmas lights
two weeks early
we chuckle at his zeal

lean into the checkerboard of your flannel pyjamas
into the circle of your arms,
our house
cozy

together
breathe in the soft crisp whiteness
of the year's first snowfall

~Ceebie

Sunday Scribblings: Guidance

2010-12-02T06:05:00.008-04:00

As this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is "guidance," I was hoping to seek guidance from the group on this poem I wrote last week. It came to me at around 4am and I banged it out, and personally I've felt like it just came together, but I'm curious to hear your thoughts on it. I've also been struggling with the title, so any guidance would be appreciated. Thanks!

Untitled

the thing about poetry is,
once it finds you, it is very hard to let it go

suddenly it is everywhere
in the gush of a blueberry
running hot and purple on your tongue
when all you wanted was pancakes on a quiet morning

it is there at a street corner
in the slant of light through buildings,
the sheen of a puddle,
tugging at your sleeve as you wait for the light to change
it wants to dance a slow tango with you across Quinpool Rd
toying with you
till you want to share it with strangers

in the darkness of 4am
suddenly poetry is there with you in the room
there in the hum of words in the corner behind your right eye
roll them around in your mind like a marble
hear them like a new song played over and over again
can almost taste them, their metallic twinge
poetry is the imp at the bottom of the bed that takes hold of your blanket
tugging at the corner
there in the feverish warmth of the pillow that you flip over and over
searching for a cool spot to rest your cheek on
then when at last you cannot take it anymore
throw open the laptop
its quiet glow on your knuckles, your eyelashes
bang on the keys
words creeping black across the snowy wilderness of an empty page
hoping to stay the rush of words in your head
release the torrent behind your eyes
then

silence

for awhile...

because poetry knows that you'll be back

~ Ceebie

What type of stemware are you? A new way of talking about body shape...

2010-12-01T16:13:00.001-04:00

Thinking of purchasing a clothing item for a loved one on your list? Want to make sure you don't buy them a skirt that's two sizes too big and makes them look like a walking tent, or pants where the crotch falls below their knees like some bad retro Bobby Brown outfit?

Then listen to the wisdom of personal shopper and wardrobe customizer Cindy Wheeler, owner of Customizing Wardrobes by Cindy. A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of corresponding with Cindy for an upcoming shopping article in The Coast's Gift Giving Guide (which comes out tomorrow - stay tuned for more!). She was a wealth of information and knowledge, and I ended up having more material than could fit in my article.

So, Cindy kindly agreed to let me share with you her 9 Types of Body Shape Stemware, which she came up with a few years ago as an antidote to the whole "apple and pear" distinctions.

"It can save you a lot of hours shopping if you know the perfect styles for your body shape [or that of your friends]," says Cindy. "So I came up with 9 body shapes all named after stemware lovingly named and influenced by my friends."

Grand Vin Wine - no defined curves to speak of; rounder through shoulders
Cordial - tomboy-type figure
Champagne Flute - any shape, but over 5’8”
Grappa - hip and booty issues
Decanter - thigh and leg issues
Margarita - slim shoulders, big busted, slim hips
Goblet - rounder shoulders, larger tummy, slim hips
Wine Carafe - extremely curvy, hourglass, any size
Pilsner - curvy but thicker through the waist

"I wanted to focus on the many issues that we women have," adds Cindy. "BUT, my biggest lesson for my clients is, dress the body you have, not the body you want or the body you had."

Her last words of wisdom? "Feeling great and looking fabulous starts with knowing and loving your shape, regardless of it being a Decanter or a Goblet."

This short little Wine Carafe couldn't agree more. Thanks, Cindy!

Click here to learn more about Cindy and her wardrobe customizing services and workshops.

Now it's your turn - what type of stemware are you?

~ Ceebie

What is this?

2010-11-30T11:13:00.001-04:00

What is this object?
Post your guess below, and I'll share my tale with you in a few days...Stay tuned!

~ Ceebie

Sunday Scribblings: Antidote

2010-11-28T10:42:00.007-04:00

long day at work today hardly came up for a breath
trying to keep up with all the moving pieces
putting out fires better than a fireman
reading through the proofs one last time
finding yet another mistake
another crisis brewing in an email
yet another person wants their copy rewritten
wants to use a new image
someone else worried we've let the delivery date slip
begging, pleading with designer, printer to help me, help us
scramble to keep up with my inbox
placing phonecalls to follow up on a loose thread
mad dash of production before we hit the presses
today gave me a headache, a jaw-ache, neck and back so tense
I am a jumpy ball of caffeinated nerves
funny
I never had a coffee

shut down the laptop
drag tired heels outside
turn the key in the ignition
mind still whirling reeling tumbling
green and orange bars of MacDonald Bridge flip flip flip by car windows
thrum of tires on tarmac over ebony water
BlackBerry message light blinking blinking blinking
buzz buzz of yet another email
barely notice how I made it across to Halifax

drag tired heels through your door
jacket, bag, everything feels so heavy
wait for you to shut things down

you hug me to your chest
plant a kiss in my hair
I can tell by the way your shoulders droop
the tilt of your head
you've had a long day too

but

in a moment, you have me chuckling
smiling
at a silly joke you just said
I make some witty rejoinder
suddenly we're both laughing

you're my perfect antidote to a long day

~ Ceebie

Breakfast at the Armview

2010-11-26T11:26:00.006-04:00

breakfast at the Armview
ding ding of kitchen bell as a plate is slid out on the pass
flap flap flap of door on hinges,
fanning cooking smells into the dining room
Lenny Kravitz singing to a cab driver on the radio
slurp and burble of straw at the bottom of a young girl's
glass of milk

outside, the traffic on the Rotary never stops
round and around and around it goes

at the next booth,
family having an early lunch
easy chuckles and chatter on morning off from school
dull gleam of Formica
cracked pleather banquettes
chink of spoon in coffee mug

slow ooze of syrup
melting butter over pancakes
hot burst of purple on tongue

starting to see the world through writing again
a whole poem in a blueberry

First snowfall

2010-11-24T22:50:00.009-04:00

quiet night

seems like only yesterday
tiny spidermen, princesses and ghouls
clamored for candy on our porch
tonight darkness fell so soon
you on the computer, me
watching chick shows
comfortable in the knowledge
you're right
here

commercial break

you wander upstairs
to the windows that frame our door
the one you spent three days painting electric blue
last summer

beckon me over
to watch the world outside
car, trees, driveway, rooftops, last month's pumpkins, darkness blanketed fluffy white
big chunky flakes drifting
softly

quiet night
so quiet
think I hear the snowflakes fall
warm orange glow of streetlights
bright gleam of a neighbour's Christmas lights
two weeks early
we chuckle at his zeal

lean into the checkerboard of your flannel pyjamas
into the circle of your arms,
our house
cozy

together
breathe in the soft crisp whiteness
of the year's first snowfall

~ Ceebie

How walkable is your neighbourhood?

2010-11-19T17:26:00.006-04:00

After reading this post by Grist.org that asks whether neighbourhoods can be too walkable, I decided to try the Walk Score tool to see just how walkable my neighbourhood is.

The result - not great, it seems. In fact we scored a dismal D or maybe even an E (what does a 47% count as?). We only scored 40% for transit access (I'm not surprised - it's a five-minute walk, half of which is uphill, to get to the bus stop) and 55% of Walk Score users have a higher score than ours! Well, at least we're within walking distance of the Spryfield Animal Hospital, even if we don't have a dog (yet...).

The shame! Do we really live in THE SUBURBS???

Sure, living in Purcells Cove/Herring Cove (or Fleming Heights - take your pick on which neighbourhood I live in...) does sometimes feel like we live out in the middle of nowhere. Most pizza places won't deliver past the Rotary! But come on, people, we're only 5k from Quinpool and Robie.

Although we might not have scores of shops or restaurants or pubs nearby, there's something to be said for being within walking distance of Frog Pond, Williams Lake, the Dingle and Long Lake, being able to hear the chorus of spring peepers at night and the scores of people and dogwalkers who walk along the pathway behind our house - I'm willing to bet the Walk Score doesn't take those into account, and to me those also have a lot to do with the meaning of a walkable neighbourhood...

So - how does your neighbourhood rate on the Walk Score?

~ Ceebie

Sunday Scribblings: Nature's bright ideas

2010-11-14T10:40:00.004-04:00

find my gardening gloves
dust off the trowel
pull out brown-bagged bulbs from
the cold
room
under the stairs
where they've spent the summer

in the garden
relish rare rays of sunshine
warm on arms and back

brush aside dry leaves and twigs
dig shallow holes
startle blind worms
squirming in moist dark earth
plant bulbs like tiny onions
for a long winter's rest

now wait
blankets of white will fall
we'll huddle inside on cold nights

in a few months
eagerly scan the warming ground
for bright green exclamation marks
poking out from melting snow

nature's bright ideas

~ Ceebie

Saturdays - what a difference a day makes

2010-11-13T19:59:00.003-04:00

I used to hate Saturdays. Waking up to an empty (save for two quarreling cats) and cold condo in North York, I'd force myself out of bed and try to decide how to spend the next two days. I could spend the entire weekend wandering the busy city and feel completely disconnected from my "neighbourhood." Although I was surrounded by people, I never felt more alone.

But since moving to Halifax and settling in to my life with S, I've claimed Saturdays as my own. And they're one of my favourite days of the week (the other is Sunday because I get to spend it with S).

Since S works most Saturdays, I've now settled into a Saturday routine that is mine, all mine (insert evil laugh ;)!!! Sure, I could spend the day doing household chores, but instead, Saturday is a day for indulgence, relaxation and me.

It first starts with a trip to the Halifax Public Library (the bookworm in me can't wait till the new building opens!) to pick up a book or two that I may or may not read and grudginly pay fines (I am notoriously bad at returning books - I'm sure York University could have opened a wing with the fines I paid while I was in grad school). I love the smell of a library - the scent of musty paper is the smell of stories waiting to be discovered, folded between two covers. I typically pick up more books than I can stuff into my gym bag, or read. I'm a kid in a candy store.

Next, it's over to the Second Cup or Starbucks on Spring Garden Road for a latte (aka snooty, overpriced coffee) and a breakfast sandwich, where I crack open one of the books I picked up and delve into it for an hour, or tap away at my netbook and do some writing.

Then, I meander my way down Spring Garden Road, browsing through stores and glancing at pretty things I can't afford (shoes, earrings, dresses...I'm sure the store owners now know me as The Girl With the Pink Yoga Mat Bag). And off to yoga at Nubodys (now Goodlife) or Ashtanga Yoga Shala for their Karma class, where I will spend an hour breathing, stretching and - cliché though it sounds - being in the moment.

I leave the yoga studio feeling like I've just woken up from the best sleep. My body is stretched clean. Perhaps I'll go for a run, but most often my afternoon ends with some more reading and writing, my short legs curled up on an armchair or sofa in a coffee shop, surrounded by the buzz and whir of a cappucino machine and the chatter of coffee-shop conversations...

Then around 5:30 I pack up my yoga mat, my gym bag and my book and head to S's store, my frizzy hair smelling of coffee roast, and we drive home together.

Saturdays may be a day to myself, but they're no longer the loneliest day of the week. I now know how to be alone (the filmmaker and producer for that popular video happen to be based in Halifax, too - is it the city, I wonder?).
~Ceebie

Pain is temporary. Pride is forever.

2010-11-04T15:47:00.002-03:00

October 24, 2010 dawned a bright, crisp sunny morning, with the sun poking through the buildings on Main Street as it rose. I'd worn an ugly yellow Running Room t-shirt over my long-sleeved running shirt and race bib, with the plan that I would peel it off at around halfway once the sun came out and it warmed up a little more. Moncton's Crowne Plaza hotel lobby was packed full of runners waiting to start, and one confused-looking family who obviously was not part of the race but was trying to navigate through the crowd of polyester and luon-clad athletes.

At around 10 minutes to 8, they called the marathoners to head out to the start line. We were a group of about 130, which was a nice cosy sort of feeling as we gathered by the start line. I ran a short 300-metre lap next to the start line to warm up, and then tried to figure out where to place myself in the pack. There were two 3:45 pace bunnies but no 4hr pace bunny, so I just kind of gauged where I thought I should go. Then they counted down the seconds and the starting gun went off. I felt a wave of nervous happiness wash over me, but tried to measure that feeling because I didn't want to make me start out too strong and then regret that later.

I started out the first kilometre pretty strong - I was running around 5:23, 5:30 for the first part and it felt easy, so I was encouraged, but I wanted to slow myself down because my plan had been to start the first two kilometres at about 10 seconds slower than my race pace. But after the first kilometre, I just couldn't pick it up any faster than 5:50, then 5:55. I'd started out strong, but then I started to get a little worried because after the second kilometre, I just couldn't pick up the pace. I figured at some point I would be able to get into my groove and pick up the pace again, so I didn't worry too much then.

At around 5k, my Achilles tendon seized up. Shit. I thought I would just run through it, but then my left foot fell asleep for about 4k or 5k. I didn't want to walk yet because my plan had been to walk every 45 minutes. And then it started to feel like I was running on a stump and I was pretty worried because I couldn't feel my foot but ironically it was painful. I didn't know if I should stop and get help, or if I should keep going. I was also concerned because the wind was pretty cold and I wasn't warming up - I thought that I'd perhaps under-dressed and I might get hypothermia if I continued feeling that cold for the rest of the run (can you tell my mind was playing games with me?). My goal was just to keep running from one cluster of volunteers to the next, because I figured if things got really bad I could just ask them to call me a taxi and take me back to the hotel room.

By around kilometre 10 or so my foot woke up again, but by then I had slowed to around 6:02 or even 6:15, and I was really struggling to make a decision about whether I was going to quit or just try and finish. I felt really overwhelmed with all of the pressure I had put on myself to meet a certain goal, and upset that I wasn't falling into it as easily as I'd hoped. That's about when I made the decision to let go of my time goal as it didn't seem likely that I'd meet it, unless I really pushed myself, and I didn't know if I could sustain that for the rest of the run. My focus became to finish the distance and just run it as a Sunday run rather than a race. I really wanted to give up, but at the same time I thought of all the weeks of training I'd put in, and the fact that we'd driven all the way from Halifax, and I knew I'd be disappointed if I quit.

So, I told myself, let's see if I can make it to 21k, and if at that point, I feel truly crappy, I can quit. I also decided to walk at all water stations and start taking Gatorade (which hadn't been the plan - I'd worn my water belt because my initial plan had been to walk every 45 minutes and run through the stations). I also decided to walk every 10 or 20 minutes - it was really more of a mental break than a physical one...I was really feeling intimidated by this unknown distance, as well as the route, which was another complete unknown.

In addition to the mental strain I was under, I was also kind of wishing that I'd gone to a race with my run club ladies so I'd have them with me to encourage me and push me to pick up the pace. At the same time, although I was running alone I was also running with each of the friends and family who've encouraged me throughout this process.

I remember running through a path by the salt marshes, the cattails rattling in the breeze, and playing over one of the quotes Wendy had given us - it's a Chinese proverb, which basically says that a journey starts with a single step, but you must keep stepping. And so I looked down at the gravel path before me, and just thought of putting one foot in front of the other.

At 21k (which was the slowest 21 I've ever run, but I didn't care at that point because I knew that if I made too much of it I would despair), I peeled off my t-shirt and gave it to a volunteer, because it had warmed up quite a bit and the sun had now come up. They had said they'd give the discarded clothing to charity if it wasn't claimed, which I thought was pretty cool. Passing the 21k marker, I thought ok, let's see if I can make it to 32...I knew that I had run that distance before and I just started counting down the kilometres till I got there.

At kilometre 33, it was kind of cool because I realized "I've now run farther than I've ever run before." From that point, it was just a matter of counting down the kilometres down from the 9.8 that were left. That's also the point of the course where there were a series of hills, which I forced myself to run up even though it was more of a shuffle. Most of the time they made sure to have volunteers at the top to cheer us on. They were wearing these bright orange t-shirts, which was great because you could see them from far away and just aim to run towards them - picking out each orange cluster as route markers as you ran along.

I have to say, the volunteers on the course were amazing - they were spaced out around every 500 metres or so, and they were really enthusiastic, even though I was in the back of the pack. Even at kilometre 37, the volunteers were there in the cold cheering me on, and that was really nice. As they and random people along the street cheered me on, calling "go girl," I felt pretty proud of what I was doing.

At the top of one hill, there was a woman holding up a neon green hand-written sign, with the words "Pain is temporary. Pride is forever." That really stuck with me for the last stage of the run, and I kept playing it in my head as I kept going.

At around 35 to 37 kilometres my pace picked up to about 6:02 again, maybe a little faster (I'll have to look at my Garmin records)...Before that I was struggling a little more - it was mainly mental exhaustion and I was battling to try and not feel defeated. I knew if I stopped, I would really regret it. And I kept telling myself how proud I would feel for completing, even if I had to stop and walk the rest of the way.

At around 37k, I will never forget it. The pack had really spread out by that time, so I was virtually running alone and I guess you couldn't tell it was a marathon if you weren't looking for it. There was a church and the congregation was starting to file out as I was passing. An elderly woman and her mother were at the edge of the sidewalk, along with their grandson, and they were looking to cross the street. They saw me approach, hesitated, then started to cross just as I was running by. I yelled "excuse me, I'm trying to finish a marathon here!" and they jumped back... I felt bad to destroy their post-service glow, but a little proud to be able to yell that out, too :)

I have to say looking back, I didn't really push myself too much - I spent a few minutes chasing after an ear bud when it fell off my earphones, twice (time to get new earphones I think :) ) and another time I actually ran back to put a cup in a garbage bag where some kids were volunteering - obviously I wasn't focusing on time too much (in fact I didn't even look at my pace or the time on my Garmin for most of the run - I was solely focused on ticking down the kilometres).

The last few kilometres were back through the salt marshes, which was neat because you could see the runners ahead as they made their progress along the route, along with the orange clusters of enthusiastic volunteers. There was this weird little jog off the trail and back for about 300 metres - I guess they thought the route was too short (although according to my Garmin it was 500 metres longer, which kept messing with my mind because I'd think "Ok I've done 38 k" and then 500 metres later the 38k marker would be there) and I dropped my Garmin and earbuds again - swearing under my breath as I tried to pick up the bud...you could really tell by that point that I didn't care about my time as I ran around trying to get the little white plastic bud off the road, lol...

Then there was a kilometre left, and I was back on the main street and I could see the Crowne Plaza. I knew my husband was waiting for me, and despite the fact that there were around 30 or so of us to finish, there were still people lined along the sidewalk cheering me on ("go girl!"), and a crowd of people at the finish.

With around 300 metres left to go, I saw my husband waiting for me on the sidelines - he'd been waiting in his shorts for about an hour in the cold weather, but I could see he was glowing with pride as he cheered me on. I yelled out for him and held out my hand, and we ran to the finish together. I could hear the crowd cheering for us - "I love it! Go with her," yelled one man. It was funny cause Steve was literally pulling me along because he could run faster than my legs felt they could go.

I'll never forget the sound of the bag of chips I'd packed as a post-race snack, bouncing up and down in the backpack he was wearing. We had to run around a half marathon walker who was finishing at around the same time, who decided to pick up the pace just as we approached him - that was probably the slowest photo finish ever.

We crossed the finish line together and I got my finisher's medal, and then they offered Steve a medal because they weren't sure if he was a runner too :) Then we stood there and he hugged me and told me how proud he was of me. I was quite frankly just happy to have finished the race but torn about not having run the race I'd hoped to run. But Steve kept telling me over and over how few people accomplish what I'd accomplished, and that my goal had been to finish, not the time. He was really great at trying to get me focused on the positive.

After that, we went back to the hotel and I could see what you meant about recognizing the post-marathon shuffle. There was a woman who shuffled towards the elevator at the same time as me. We looked at each other and chuckled as we recognized the pain we were both in.

That neon green handwritten sign at the top of that hill really will always stick with me - Pain is temporary. Pride is forever. And although I may not have run the fastest race, and this may not be the most eloquently written post, I do feel proud of what I've accomplished.

And I'm already looking forward to the next race :)

~ Ceebie

Free cupcakes!

2010-11-02T15:06:00.001-03:00

Oh you were expecting a free cupcake, were you? Well that's exactly what you'll get with each of my blog posts - pretty, yummy, fanciful writing covered in pink frosting that will have you licking your fingers and coming back for more.

For a taste of one of my cupcake creations, click here.

What's your favourite cupcake flavour? Have a favourite cupcake memory or recipe? Please share - I want to know!

~ Ceebie

Of cupcakes, inspiration and new beginnings

2010-10-31T21:45:00.003-03:00

As a little girl, I remember the schoolyard seemed endless as I tried to run from one end to another. Hills seemed to tilt precariously as I rolled down them. Trees towered above me and I felt miles above ground as I climbed them. The world was a gigantic place to be explored and discovered.

When I came back to these places years later, suddenly everything was smaller, shorter, less steep. The magnitude and mystery of the world was reduced in the rational eyes of an adult.

One thing I'm learning with age - some things, like fine wine, do get better with time. Take, for instance cupcakes.

The cupcakes of my childhood were flat and dry with watery icing. Multicoloured sprinkles were about as exciting as it got. But in recent years, these flat excuses for cake in a cup seem to have gotten a face lift. All of a sudden, they seem to have morphed into these moist creations adorned with generous doses of buttery icing and all kinds of creative flavours I'd never dreamed of as a child.

Sure, most of the time these new cupcakes are more icing than cake. Actually, most of the time there's more icing than any of us would admit to eating in public. But secretely, I enjoy the excuse of being able to indulge in that extra little bit of sweetness - somehow what seems wrong when eaten straight out of the Betty Crocker jar seems right if it's artistically presented on a round dollop of cake.

Lately I feel like this new generation of cupcakes seem to have exploded into the popular consciousness of adults (primarily women - I don't think my husband would be caught dead eating a creamy pink cupcake). They're everywhere, with stores dedicated to them, local coffee shops selling them next to Nanaimo bars, cookies and muffins, cupcake-decorated pyjamas and even a reality show.

And they're not being marketed to children, either. Whereas cupcakes were once the stuff of kids' birthday parties, today's second generation of cupcakes is being purchased (or baked) by office workers as treats for colleagues. They're a snack to accompany a snooty coffee. Towers of cupcakes are now popular alternatives to wedding cakes.

Why?

Is this recent popularity of these newer, prettier cupcakes really just an excuse to eat more icing without the guilt? Is it a secret desire to return to that innocence of childhood, even if just for the fleeting moment it takes to eat those three or four mouthfuls?

Or is it just me?

Ever have that thing happen where you notice someone once, and all of a sudden they're everywhere? Or you notice a certain colour and suddenly you're surrounded by it? Am I doing this with cupcakes? Do I just like saying "cupcake"? And what do cupcakes have to do with my first blog on this site in four years (after a short hiatus on another blog because I forgot my password to this one ;) )?

Not a lot, and yet something.

Cause lately not only have I been noticing cupcakes everywhere, but blogs seem to be everywhere I look, too. And suddenly, I want to write mine again.

Perhaps it's just me, but perhaps it is indeed a growing trend. Maybe it's because I've finally run my marathon (more on that in a future post) and have time to write on my hands; maybe it's because I'm surrounding myself more and more with good writers who inspire me. Whatever the reason, now that my husband and I are married and Halifax is starting to feel like home, I've taken a hankering to writing again for writing's sake, and this blog seems like a great place to do that.

What will this blog be about? How do writing, editing, running, yoga and nature all fit together? I'm not sure. All I know is that these are themes that have defined my life for years. And although the communicator in me says, "know your audience," I admit - I have no idea who my readers will be.

All I can wish is that this will be a place for random musings, observation and discussion; not proselytizing. And I know there are other bloggers out there who have the gift of the gab in ways that I don't. But hopefully others will find things here that inspire them, or at least get them chatting.

Actually, now that I think of it, cupcakes really are a great metaphor for what I envision this reincarnation of my blog will be - pretty, yummy sweet indulgences that have you licking your fingers and coming back for more.
So welcome, reader, whoever you are. I hope you'll keep coming back for more than just the crumbs.

Poetry Thursday

2006-10-19T22:47:00.000-03:00

Uncomfortable poetry.

Writing about my family, particularily my dad, has always been uncomfortable for me. Coming from a strict British household where the world "love" was rarely said, but often showed, it was difficult for me to show my dad how much I love him. Even worse was seeing him cry for the first time ever when he dropped me off for my first day of university.

This is one of the first poems I ever wrote where I was able to break down those walls and show him how much I do care for him. I'm just not sure if he's ever read it, or if he would ever feel comfortable reading it...

Daddy's girl

Every morning,
he tames her hair
into two ribboned pigtails.

In the evenings,
pink fuzzy creature,
flurry of fat legs
and shiny Mary Janes
races down the pravement
to greet him home.

His china doll,
he likes to say
sitting tickled in summer grasses.

The day he drops
her off at university,
she knows he can cry.

Saturday morning yoga class

2006-10-16T22:51:00.000-03:00

The studio is dimly lit this morning, from the windows at the end of a low-ceilinged room. All around, mats are unrolled with a “thwack” as students wander in, dotting the floor in rubber rectangles of grey, blue, and pink. To my side, a man in too-tight bicycle shorts (the kind that used to be fashionable in the eighties) and a blue tank top practices yoga poses. The skin on his spindly arms is stretched taught across muscles that are remarkably well developed for someone so skinny. Rolling onto his back, he raises his legs to the ceiling, arms propping his back up. His neck now tightly bucked into his chest, I hear him exhale, mouth closed. Crossing his legs, he lowers them into a reversed lotus position, bald head gleaming in the light of the window behind us. Inhales, exhales. Raises his legs, and lowers them to the ground. Beside him, a cluster of women stands around a mat, clutching water bottles and trading stories about their husbands and children. Other students lie in the relaxation pose, stretch or practice balances.

Diagonally across from me, an old Chinese woman, wearing a paisley blue sweater and light blue pyjama-like pants, has walked in. Every so often, she rubs her hair frantically and shakes her head with a twitch. Her breathing is sharp and shallow and she gulps air in like a grounded fish while clutching her chest as though she’s having a heart attack. As I watch her with growing concern, a man who I take to be her husband walks in and unrolls his mat next to hers, completely ignoring her erratic behaviour. She takes a drink from her water bottle, and mutters something to him in Mandarin. Beside them, another couple practices a pose and compare notes on how best to execute it.

Just then, another man walks in, burgundy yoga mat slung over his shoulder, tied at both ends with a white strap. His black hair is peppered with grey, and reminds me of a young Einstein in its manic unkemptness. Although he’s tried to tame it by pulling it back in a tiny ponytail, the sides still spray out from his head on either side like a poodle. Crossing the floor to the front of the room, his flip flops make light flapping sounds against the wooden floor. A black YMCA tank top marks him as the instructor, and as usual, his white boxers show through. For someone who is supposed to be a yoga master, he looks remarkably tired, and sports a five-o’clock shadow even though it’s early morning. As he weaves his way between clusters of students, he greets individuals with a nod and a low hello. Throughout the room, groups dissipate and people stand at the front of their mats, waiting in anticipation. The chatter dissolves into a low murmur. The instructor opens his mouth, and out croaks the voice of a Russian Kermit the Frog. We are invited to stand at the front of our mats, feet parallel, arms hanging down. Breathing in, we bring our hands to prayer position. Yoga class begins.

Simply because I should post something...

2006-10-14T17:35:00.000-03:00

Haven't been feeling too inspired through PT or SS lately, but I figured I should probably post something, so here goes: a meme pinched from Orange Blossom Goddess's blog:

1. FIRST NAME? Christine

2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Not my first name. But my middle name, Dorothy, comes from my grandmother on my dad's side, because we shared the same birthday. I only met her when I was a baby, because she passed away the day before my second birthday (the day my brother was born), but she is a legend in my family - she sounds like she was a wonderful, strong woman.

3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? I'm not really sure, actually. It's been a while!

4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Well, it's mine...Full of personality and quirkiness! So, although it's not neat, I like it.

5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT? Prosciuto or Kelbasa.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Yes, because I'd understand my quirky sense of humour and crack me up :P

7. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? Yes. It's striped pink and brown - my two favorite colours, although I don't write in it often.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? I think so :P

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Never. I have a huge fear of heights (which made me a terrible gymnast, but there you go...).

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Reese Peanut Butter Cereal (when I do have cereal - it's a treat).

DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Depends..If I'm tired or have to dash to the loo, no...

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Yes, both physically and emotionally.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Um...that's tough. Chocolate chip cookie dough, or something with toffee in it - Ben and Jerry's or Hagen Dasz (is that how you spell that?)

14. SHOE SIZE? 6 1/2 (heels), 7 (flats), 8 (runners)

15. FAVORITE COLOR? Right now, I'm in a brown phase, but I like pink too.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? My knack for getting all worked up about nothing sometimes.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My parents and brother.

18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO POST THIS MEME ON THEIR OWN BLOGS? Sure, if they want to...

19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? No shoes. Pink velour jogging pants (it's Saturday, after all, and see 15).

20. LAST THING YOU ATE? Two chocolate chip-pecan-toffee cookies from Tim's (it's Saturday, after all).

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The stove cooling off after boiling potatoes for gnocci, and She's All That on City TV (it is Saturday...).

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Pink or brown. Or maybe marble of both!

23. FAVORITE SMELLS? Cologne on a man's neck...

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My boyo :)

25. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU'RE ATTRACTED TO? Eyes, lips.

26. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? I took it from Orange Blossom Goddess. She's pretty cool :)

27. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE DRINK? Red wine.

28. FAVORITE SPORT? Tennis (to play. I don't have the attention span to watch it).

29. EYE COLOUR? Depends on my mood...Green or brown (haven't figured out what coincides with what).

30. HAT SIZE? Um...I dunno, small?

31. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? No, but I wear glasses and contacts would come in handy when boyo's around :P

32. FAVORITE FOOD? Fondue, four-cheese pizza (at the Reservoir Lounge).

33. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDING? Both.

34. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Pink (ok to be fair, not EVERYTHING I wear is pink :P)

35. SUMMER OR WINTER? Spring or fall.

36. HUGS OR KISSES? Both.

37. FAVORITE DESSERT? Cheesecake, ice cream, chocolate...

38. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? The Undomestic Goddess, Anna Karenina (not sure if I'll ever finish that one...)

39. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Trackpad. Don't have a mouse.

40. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV? What Not to Wear and something else I don't remember.

41. FAVORITE SOUNDS? wind in the leaves, water running over pebbles or on the belly of my canoe

42. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Depends on my mood. Both are cool.

43. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Japan

44. WHAT'S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT? I'm fairly "bendy" and pretty good at yoga...

45. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? North York, Ontario, Canada

46. WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? How many times do you have to ask that question? See above.

47. NEWEST THING YOU'VE TRIED? Port with blue cheese and walnuts. Yummy! Thanks boyo!

48. WHAT ONE THING WOULD YOU CHANGE ABOUT YOURSELF? To worry less.

49. WHO DID YOU LAST SEND A LETTER OR CARD TO? Um...I sent a thank you note to a photographer at work who donated us some images...

50. WHERE WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO VISIT IN THE WORLD IF MONEY WAS NO OBJECT? Spain, Italy, Greece, Australia, Costa Rica...

Sunday Scribblings: Skin

2006-10-01T19:52:00.000-03:00

Skin...

Wow...I've been away from this for far too long. I hate the verbal constipation!

Getting to know you

we've only met twice
but already,
I want to write about your skin
skin that I've only just touched
only just smelled
explored furtively
stolen kisses
hands grazing hands
fingers sneaking in between the buttons on your shirt
with our second kiss goodbye

but my mind has already
traced the scar you told me about
above your heart
a constellation among fine chest-hairs
waiting for the day I do know you well enough
to know you through your skin

Trouble afoot at the Walrus

2006-09-24T17:49:00.000-03:00

Oooh, things are getting interesting on D.B. Scott's Canadian Magazines blog. In particular, see a conversation that's happening about The Walrus (a Canadian magazine much like Harper's). Last week, most of the board quit, as did the publisher. Now, things have gotten so heated on D.B.'s blog, that the editor himself has started posting comments. If you're interested in Canadian magazines, you'll be interested in this:

Canadian Magazines: We're OK, it's OK, say Walrus principals

I have to say, I met Ken Alexander, the Walrus's editor, once, and I wasn't impressed.

Ceebie

Will things ever calm down, and AAARGH!

2006-09-16T09:28:00.000-03:00

Ok, I rephrase that. It's Saturday morning and in fact, I have nothing to do. Everyone's busy...It has been such a weird summer, with friends getting divorced, moving out of boyfriends' houses, getting new jobs, taking care of baby...To tell the truth, it's been fairly boring. Now, I don't want to complain, but I have to say, I'm getting pretty tired of entertaining myself and the cats. I'm actually thinking of joining the local running and hiking clubs. They do say that they are effective means of meeting people. But enough of feeling sorry for myself. The point is, it's a grey Saturday, and I finally have time to blog again.

Work has been crazy busy, and I'm pleased to say, I survived h-e-double hockeysticks week: four projects, all with competing deadlines, all of which were due this week. Craziness. But I survived, and I'm looking forward to November, where I can actually plan out my critical path and sit down with my boss to put together some goals and achievables, rather than just reacting to the next crisis and deadline.

As for the love life, well, things with e-harmony dude didn't really work out. It's amazing how 'into' me he seemed, yet he never called or wanted to make plans to get together. The lesson learned: ALWAYS trust your instincts - I didn't have a good feeling about this one, and actually cancelled our first date, but he convinced me out of it. I ended up breaking up with him for exactly the reasons I cancelled our first date. How empowering to actually be the breaker-upper!

So now, the door is wide open for me to explore other possibilities. And who knows what may come of it?

That's about as personal as I'm going to get on my blog. And now, for something completely different:

A friend just sent me this from the BBC site, and I couldn't believe it. What does this mean for Rachel Carson's legacy? I'm going to have to do some serious thinking about the implications of this WHO decision. Just when you think you have things figured out, life throws another twist at you:

WHO backs DDT for malaria control
Malaria, carried by the mosquito, kills more than a million each year The World Health Organization (WHO) has reversed a 30-year policy by endorsing the use of DDT for malaria control.
The chemical is sprayed inside houses to kill malaria-carrying mosquitoes.
DDT has been banned globally for every use except fighting disease because of its environmental impacts and fears for human health.
WHO says there is no health risk, and DDT should rank with bednets and drugs as a tool for combating malaria, which kills more than one million each year.
"The scientific and programmatic evidence clearly supports this reassessment," said Dr Anarfi Asamoa-Baah, WHO assistant director- general for HIV/AIDS, TB and Malaria.
DDT presents no health risk when used properly Anarfi Asamoa-Baah "Indoor residual spraying is useful to quickly reduce the number of infections caused by malaria-carrying mosquitoes; it has proven to be just as cost effective as other malaria prevention measures, and DDT presents no health risk when used properly."
Teams of sprayers typically visit endemic areas once a year, spraying the chemical on the inside walls of houses; mosquitoes landing there absorb it and die.
Global ban
A potent insecticide, DDT fell into disrepute with the publication of Rachel Carson's Silent Spring just over 40 years ago.
The book showed that widespread, indiscriminate use of DDT and related compounds was killing wildlife over vast tracts of North America and western Europe.
Spray preparation, BBC
Africa battles over DDT
A number of countries banned it, and in 2004 the global treaty on Persistent Organic Pollutants (POPs) made the prohibition global - except for a clause allowing its manufacture and use in disease control.
Some African countries have continued to use it, though most have either switched to other kinds of insecticide or pursued a strategy of issuing insecticide-impregnated bednets. Some aid agencies have policies of not funding programmes involving DDT.
South Africa was one country that switched, but it had to return to DDT at the beginning of the decade after mosquitoes developed resistance to the substitute compounds.
"Of the dozen insecticides WHO has approved as safe for house spraying, the most effective is DDT," said Arata Kochi, director of the WHO's Global Malaria Programme.
Richard Tren of the pressure group Africa Fighting Malaria has been campaigning for DDT's rehabilitation.
"All development agencies and endemic countries need to act in accordance with WHO's position on the use of DDT for indoor residual spraying," he said.

SRC weeks 12? 13? where did I drop off?

2006-09-03T10:43:00.000-03:00

Wicked

Well I have no idea what week I'm on, since Anna Karenina swallowed up about three weeks. But let's say it's week 13. Wicked was...all right. I don't know if I hyped it up too much cause of the reviews it got from others, or it's simply a poorly written book, or just not my genre. It started off great, it ended ok, but in the middle was about 200 pages of loosely-strung out and vague adventures that I had to force myself to follow. Glad I ticked it off my TBR list, but don't think it deserves the accolades it's received.

The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency

Well, I can't say I've met my challenge. But I CAN say that SRC inspired me to read much more than I would have in the past. My final book (which I'm just wrapping up now) is _The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency_. I have to say, I've been pleasantly suprised thus far. It's quite a different, non-western take on the detective novel, and as the jacket flap says, it's also a pretty inspirational book. Thanks SRC for inspiring me to read more!

Sunday Scribblings

2006-09-02T16:50:00.000-03:00

Argh it is so hard to keep up with my blog these days! I've been busy launching our new website at work and doing tons of overtime (though in a non-profit I'm learning that OT really isn't counted) and seeing my guy in the evenings, or just plain crashing. Now that our website is up and running, I am moving on to getting our newsletter to art, and then working on our annual report and calendar. There certainly isn't a shortage of work, but every time I walk by the sign for our organization, I do a little cheer in my head each morning, because that's how much I love my new job :)

Anyhoo, this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is about fortunes or fortune cookies. I generally don't believe in that whole fortune-telling thing (or maybe I'm too superstitious to try it out), but I do love fortune cookies. And although I am not feeling very inspired by this prompt (sorry, SS peeps), I will write a little sum'n-sum'n just to get the creative juices flowing.

Fortune cookies always remind me of my best friend Lenya and our highschool days. In grade nine, we had to take the bus from our school to the Sheppard Mall (a ghost mall then, and a ghost mall today) and then transfer over to another bus to get home.

Lenya and I would occasionally take public transit together back from school, then instead of heading to our transfers, trek down to the mall, and hang out. Now my parents had always said that they didn't want me to become a mall rat, and dear reader, I must assure you that we were far from that. But anyways, Len and I would meander over to the food court, sharing notes about our favorite guys in science or typing class (yes, typing class - I think we were the last grade to actually learn typing on typewriters, and thus I date myself...) still dressed in our burgundy and grey Catholic school uniforms, and make our way to the Chinese food stand.

We'd wait in line, often for a few minutes at a time. Then, when our turn came up, we'd step forward, and brazenly order...

a fortune cookie.

No lo-mein, no chicken balls, no barbequed beef. Just...

a fortune cookie.

Lord knows what the teller thought of us as we doled out our 15 cents (or was it 25) in order to purchase that crunchy sweet morsel wrapped around a sliver of a fortune. But we didn't care, and the purchasing of the fortune cookie became a little ritual of ours.

One day, late in the school year, we headed over again to the Chinese food stand, full of gossip about a guy we called "suspenders" (because he had an endearing way of wearing suspenders with his uniform), who had looked especially cute that day and had sat next to me in typing class. Len and I had shared numerous poorly-typed notes back and forth comparing notes on dear suspenders during class, and were chatting away about what tomorrow would bring. Our turn came in line. I fished out my change, and found that I only had 10 cents in my wallet. And Len had none.

With a small sigh, I stepped to turn away from the counter, when a kind lady standing next to us opened her wallet and offered to pay for my fortune cookie. I've never truly gotten over the embarrassment of that moment, and I can't quite imagine what she must have thought of us...Perhaps she thought we were starved (though I never was the skin and bones type). That didn't stop me from accepting her offer, and taking the cellophane-wrapped fortune cookie with me, cheeks blazing red from embarrassment. I can't remember what my fortune said that day.

The next year, our school moved to within walking distance from my house, so Len and I no longer took the bus together, but instead met at school. The gossip was never quite the same, although we've stayed life-long friends. But I often think back on our little ritual of purchasing a sliver of hope, when our whole lives still stretched before us, and it makes me smile for the optimism we shared back then.

Sunday Scribblings

2006-08-20T10:54:00.000-03:00

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is to imagine our pet's inner life. I've decided I will tell you about little Annabelle. She was one of the sweetest kitties my parents had ever adopted; a stray from the Humane Society. Although I try not to anthropomorphize my pets and imagine them as individuals in their own right, what happened with Annabelle made me wish I could have understood her inner life and communicated with her...

Tiny Annabelle joined our family last year, and quickly became a central part of my parents' household. Their older cat, Caramel, loved her. They used to lie together in exactly the same way in the same chair; groom each other; play together. They quickly became inseparable friends, which so rarely happens with cats.

She was such a sweet little cat. For a while, we thought we'd call her Ewok because up close, that's what she looked like. But there was something always wrong with her front paw; the way she held it up like it was botherng her and stepped gingerly on it.

One day, Annabelle started having difficulty with her breathing. Lying on her side, her flank rose and fell like a bellows in the heat. After a week at the vet's, she came back home, but Caramel didn't seem to recognize her, and the problems resurfaced. Her eyes turned grey and glazed over. She started walking into walls, tables, chairs. She spent hours lying on the rattan chair in the front porch, because it seemed to be the only place she was comfortable anymore. We took Annabelle back to the vet's.

While my dad and I were on a four-hour drive back from Sudbury, caught in the tail end of the huge storm last summer that washed out the Finch Avenue bridge, my mom got a call from the vet: he'd had to make a decision and put Annabelle down. Her body had systematically shut down due to a parasitic infection. She lost her sight due to hemorraging in her eyes; her fur lost its shine; her liver and kidneys shut down. She started having seizures.

When my mom went to see Annabelle for the last time, her beloved kitten didn't recognize her. She backed away into the corner of the cold metal cage when mom reached her hand out to pet her. Mom came home and cried for an hour while she waited for us to arrive.

We cried together in each other's arms while dad put Annabelle's lifeless body the ground next to a weeping birch tree, branches swaying above her. We placed a bird bath in the grass above her, because she'd been so thirsty in her last days and couldn't seem to get enough water, mom said. And she'd also loved to watch the birds.

Why did I weep so deeply for a cat I'd known for such a short time? Because all I could think of was that she couldn't have known what was happening. Everything around her was foreign - the sterility of the vet's cage, the shutting down of her body. And she couldn't call out to us to tell us something felt wrong in that front paw. It must have been completely disorienting and frightening to her. And in the end, I'm not sure she knew how much she was loved, or how much she'd be missed.

Caramel walked around the house for days calling out for Annabelle in the middle of the night. Looked for her in empty nooks and crannies but never found her.

~ Ceebie

I'm back

2006-08-19T09:28:00.000-03:00

Finally, a Saturday morning in which to enjoy a cup of tea, catch up on my reading, blogging, yoga, and household chores!

I'm a little late, but since this week's PT prompt was "free", I thought I'd post two of my favorite poems that I wrote about ten years back. Granted, they still need some work, but the yellow is something that has stuck with me.

Sunflower Queen I

Round the bend in the bike path, under a bridge, is where she brings her treasures. She has a mattress -- torn and flat, but it does the job. Every day, she wanders in fields and gathers fallen sunflowers. On your way home from work, you can see the yellow walking down the street.

The gossips say she dated a doctor so handsome, when he smiled, his teeth gleamed. Now, nurse cap flops on her head. Parents call her the "Bayview street nurse". If you're bad, she'll give you a needle so you will never wake up.

I've seen her down the street at Loblaws: she hides out back and waits for people to chuck their receipts, or collects empty banana boxes. Then she scurries up to shove them in her bags or grocery cart with the floppy wheel.

Tonight, a cyclist finds her on her mattress, surrounded by rotten sunflowers. Love letters and poems scribbled on receipts and cardboard scraps with banana stains have been stored under her mattress.

I keep them, in a shoe box under my bed.

Sometimes, I can still smell the yellow in my dreams.

sunflower queen II

in the calm,

cool grey of morning

I lift myself

from dewy grasses

split silver paths

to stand where the petals burn

damp earth clinging between toes

reach up

tilt faces down

and breathe fire

~ Ceebie

I've been AWOL

2006-08-16T14:51:00.000-03:00

...because of this new job, and this new man in my life (we met on Eharmony, actually!) :)

Things are great, but hectic! So very little time to blog and catch up on everyone else's blogs. But hopefully I'll be able to carve out some time this week to do so...Plus I had a drive-by visit to celebrate my nephew's first birthday in Ottawa this weekend. He is just at the age where you can see his personality emerging and his sense of self. It's so cool, and he's so cute! I'm a very proud matante :)

Anyhoo, I promise I will stop by everyone's blogs to check them out. And I hope to be able to contribute to PT and SS this week. I'm missing my blogger community!

Ceebie

Poetry Thursday supplement

2006-08-06T12:27:00.000-03:00

Ok...I've been thinking about it, and one of the most romantic times of my teenage years was on a first or second date with a boy I was head over heels with... I'd had my eye on him for two years since we were camp counselors at the same camp, but never imagined he'd be interested. Until he asked me out. He used to drive his dad's light brown pickup truck, which for some reason I thought made him soooo cool. And he was hot. Smart. And he was interested in me!

So on this one particular evening, we were driving back from who knows where. Most likely dancing. We did a lot of dancing that summer. He drove us downtown, right across from the harbour at Harbourfront, to an abandoned parking lot. Turned off the ignition. Turned on the cassette deck (now I'm REALLY dating myself). We got out, and danced to "November Rain" by Guns & Roses....Funny how perspective changes everything!

first love

harbourlights twinkle across the way
head on your chest
we slow dance
body leaning into each other
your hands fit so nicely
on the small of my back
hoping you won't feel my heart
beating a mile a minute

breathing in your Drakkar
the guitar twang solo
Guns & Roses, November Rain
blares from the cassette deck
of your dad's brown pickup truck
I left the $3.99 cellophaned roses lying
on vynil seats

this empty parking lot
a perfect backdrop for first love
and a night I'll never forget

Ceebie

Help!

2006-08-06T11:57:00.000-03:00

Somebody please help! What is the deal with my template????

Poetry Thursday rough cut

2006-08-05T19:18:00.000-03:00

This week's Poetry Thursday prompt is to write about a song or music that inspired you...Although I am a dancer and love music, it's always been more about the beat than the words for me. Then I remember the day my brother and I were going through my parents' LPs and threw on Pink Floyd. I remember thinking "what kind of stuff were my parents ON?" and looking at my brother in mock horrror. In the days of early 90s music, Pink Floyd was an amazing discovery for me...The way the songs bleed into one another...The metaphors that grab you, like the dark side of the moon...The guitar chords that reached deep into me.' In highschool, Pink Floyd became our unofficial mascots - we all sort of spontaneously rediscovered their albums, and they played in the background in the dimly lit basements of our parents' houses at house parties.

The other album which has stuck with me from those days is Harmonium - it's a classic Quebecois folksy kind of band.

Then there was the time when we had our graduation party at someone's parents' barn. It was probably the last time all of us were together as a group. My boyfriend and I had stolen to the loft for a 'moment' and when we came back, I remember my friends sitting around a makeshift table, playing poker, slightly drunk and Dominique singing "ne pleure pas" over and over again in the most monotonous voice. Can't remember who the singer was. All that's stuck in my head is the droning of Dom's voice as he threw down another card, looking as though he was about to cry any minute himself.

Now if only I could turn these thoughts into a poem! Maybe the other great PT writers will inspire me, as they do every week :)

Ceebie

Sunday Scribblings

2006-08-05T18:58:00.000-03:00

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt asks, "who else might I have been"? Last year, I attended a lecture by Nicole Brossard, author of Hier (Yesterday at the Hotel Clarendon), and posted about her musings on what it might be like to live and breathe in another language, an excerpt of which I am reproducing here:

Nicole's work has been translated into several languages. While she writes in French and is a native French speaker, she read to us in English from a text that had been translated by someone else. She spoke to us about the idea that you are a different person if you grow up in another language. Who, she asks, would she be, what kind of a woman would she be, if she had grown up in English, Italian, Spanish? Each language has a different way of breathing, and of being...

I have grown up sandwiched in between Canada's two solitudes - French, and English. Never completely at home in French while surrounded by a culture that is predominantly English, and where my mother tongue (the language first spoken to me by my mother) always felt like an uncomfortably big sweater where the sleeves had been rolled up. And at the same time, I am never completely whole in English alone - I feel as though a part of me is missing somehow when I live my life entirely in that language. So how do I then construct my subjectivism, in the spaces between these two languages? How do I breathe in this space between two silences?

Who would I have been if I'd grown up entirely francophone, or entirely anglophone? Would I have felt more at home in Toronto, or Quebedc? My bilingualism is a core part of who I am. Sometimes it serves as an extension of my thoughts, if one or the other language happens to fail me momentarily. If I'd been Spanish or Italian, would I have been more hot-blooded? Who would Christina have been, rather than the quiet Christine of half British roots who often has extreme moments of extroversion tied to her Quebecois roots?

Ceebie

First three days, first three weeks, first three months

2006-08-05T18:45:00.000-03:00

Phew! I have made it through week two of my new job, and I'm still standing (barely)! I am loving my job but it is a HUGE learning curve for me. More of a vertical rock climb, really. The people are very nice, my team is really laid back and fun, and the work is exactly what I have always wanted to do.

I sure was thrown right into the fray, though. On my first day I had a conf call with our CMS provider who is going to help us relaunch our website. They provide this really cool database system that allows you to do all kinds of neat customization and track info, etc...We're going to be one of the only, if not the first, charity in Canada to use this stuff. As a data geek, I'm excited.

Following that meeting, I had a briefing meeting with our designer on my second day to discuss our design needs for our newsletter, annual report, calendar and certificates. I'd prepared a creative brief for him, and he couldn't believe it was my second day.

By the end of week one, I'd talked to all of my regional contacts and put together a fairly detailed editorial lineup for the newsletter. By middle of week two, I'd chaired a meeting and helped redesign our site flow and page titling on our website.

There certainly isn't a lack of work, but this is justification that this is my dream job. I'm actually getting to the point where I'm excited to go in to work - something I haven't felt in years! Of course there will be personality conflicts with a few people, and I'm still figuring out my level of decision-making power and the lines of reporting, but otherwise, things are good :)

So that's it for my update. It's also why I neglected to post for Poetry Thursday this week. I've simply been tooooo tired, even to post someone else's poem! But I will definitely post next week.

Ceebie

Musings on internet dating...

2006-07-29T19:54:00.000-03:00

Ok, I had to blog about this topic eventually. My ex bf and I met on Lava, and to be quite honest, we had great chemistry, and many things in common, but in the end it didn't work out. When we broke up a few months ago, I was devastated, but have come to terms with it now and am ready to move on - I know he's not the only one out ther for me and am curious to see who else is out there. Plus, to be honest I just want a summer of fun where nice men take me out for dinner and make me feel nice. Here's hoping.

Anyways, since most of my friends seem to have gone AWOL for the summer, I've decided to try my hand at internet dating again. So far, I haven't met anyone, but here's the low down on Lava vs eHarmony:

A) Lava
To be honest, this one is much like going to a supermarket, strolling through the aisles, and picking up the box of cereal which looks most attractive. If you were to read the ingredients on the side of each box, you'd see that they are all pretty much the same.

Same with Lava: it's primarily driven by people's attraction to your photo, followed by their impressions of your profile. Most people don't write anything remotely original which sets them apart, so it's pretty much just about "smiling" at the person who you think you could stand to be seen with and are attracted to. If they smile back, you might begin chatting, and take it from there.

Or, they might smile at you, or try engaging you in an online chat. To be honest, apart from my ex, most men I've talked to on Lava pretty much assume it's open season to begin seriously flirting and making suggestive advances almost immediately.

This can make one feel quite vulnerable, flattered (if you're getting a lot of "smiles"), or down on yourself (if you're not getting smiles or messages - which for me, seems to be the case these past few days).

What, really, do you know about someone after chatting with them for a little while, or engaging in an exchange of smiles? Not much. Plus, who knows if their online photo is recent, and really reflects them!

on to B), eHarmony:
To tell the truth, I hadn't even intended on going back online until a friend of mine suggested I try eHarmony's free personality profile quiz. This is a 20-page quiz that tries to give an accurate picture of who you are. I think mine went a little overboard on the social butterfly thing (I am social, but have my introvert moments too), and ended up saying I'm quite spiritual (I'm agnostic).

Somehow, I ended up clicking a box that triggered the next step, which is to have matches sent to you based on your compatibility with their personality profile. In theory, this is an interesting concept (which reminds me a lot of the old video dating days, though I was too young for that when it was en vogue). So the system started sending me matches.

Matches are a description of a person's personality and commonalities with you, with answers to a number of questions. It's a lot more detailed than the Lava profiles. Matches can: ignore your match, close your match (it's funny how insulted I've felt when men closed the match without even knowing them!), or open communication.

If you open communication, you then go through a series of steps before beginning "Open Communication". You each have the opportunity to send each other (and respond to) questions about your likes/dislikes and other behavioural questions. In theory, this is to help you get to know the person better. But the 'net is such an impersonal mechanism, it's difficult to read responses properly.

Anyways, I've been engaging in communication with a few men, and am now at the "begin open communication"stage, but I'm nervous. After going through all of the stages, it suddenly hit me that this man is 7 years my elder, and my parents might not appreciate that. Plus, I had a look at his second photo, and it seems he looks much older than the first one suggested. I'm not ageist, but I don't want to be dating my father!

ARGH. So, the struggles of a single gal living in TO continue.

I'd be interested to hear your internet dating woes or successes...Have any?

Ceebie

SRC week 9 - I Capture the Castle

2006-07-29T19:53:00.000-03:00

This week I started my new job, to which I am subwaying it instead of driving. This, coupled with the fact that I don't know anyone at my new job yet, means that I've had a lot more time to read this week (although I still haven't finished Ana Karenina - 1/4 of the way there, though).
This book was actually in the teen section, possibly because its main protagonist is a teenage girl, Cassandra. Cassandra lives in a medieval castle in England, in the 1940s/50s. This seems romantic, but since her family is poor, they've had to seel alll of the furniture, and have very little to eat, no electricity and very few amenities. The novel is written in the first person, as though they were Cassandra's journals. It's quite well done, although in my opinion it's probably a little more well-written than a 17-year old would write. However, that may just be because with the rise of television, etc, we've all become more and more illiterate and have set ourselves lower standards of literacy.

Anyways, this is a good book, which I recommend.

Ceebie

Poetry Thursday

2006-07-27T21:51:00.000-03:00

This week's PT prompt is poetry about food. Since this week was my first week at my new job (more about that in a future post), I haven't been particularly creative when I get home. I can say however that for years I had a very ambiguous relationship to food. My family isn't one that is crazy about food, and as a dancer and gymnast I had huge issues with eating for some time (not anorexia, but close enough). It wasn't until I took a cultural production workshop around food in grad school that I began to unpack the other cultural meanings food has for me...One day I may find a poem I wrote for the workshop and post it here, but for now, here is a poem I love by Joy Harjo:

Perhaps the World Ends Here

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what,
we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the
table so it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe
at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what
it means to be human. We make men at it,
we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts
of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms
around our children. They laugh with us at our poor
fallling-down selves and as we put ourselves back
together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella
in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place
to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate
the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared
our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow.
We pray of suffering and remorse.
We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at th ekitchen table,
while we are laughing and crying,
eating of the last sweet bite.

- Joy Harjo

The gits of earth are brought and prepared, set on the
table

A literature map!

2006-07-22T16:46:00.000-03:00

Jen posted a link to the coolest thing today: a literature map! Basically, you enter the name of an author, and then somehow it generates a map of what other readers who read that author have also read. For instance: Carol Shields, Anne Taylor (never heard of her but I guess I should pick something up of hers), Joanna Trollope, Barbara Kingsolver, Oscar Wild (is that the same as Oscar Wilde?)....And off in the right hand side, Margaret Attwood, Joan Barfoot, Timothy Findley...

I'm pleased to say taht I know who most of these authors are, and if I don't this might be a good means of exploring them.

Anyone understand how the heck this thing is generated? I've never seen anything so cool! (Well maybe I have, but at the moment I think this is too neat!)

Ceebie

Poetry Thursday

2006-07-20T14:32:00.000-03:00

This week's PT prompt is about sex...For me, this relates to the topic of personal poetry we discussed a few weeks ago. In part, I've refrained from writing sex poetry out of a fear that one day my parents would come across it! Coming from a strict British and Catholic upbringing, sex was never discussed much in our family. I know it seems silly but that's essentially it.

Here, then, is someone else's sex poem that I first encountered in first year English in University. Having studied in a strict Catholic high school, we hadn't read much (if any) sex poetry (and if we did, we quickly glossed over it...ah, the repression of Catholic highschool!). So when our lit prof introduced us to John Donne's "The Flea", I couldn't believe that someone in the 17th century (a former priest, no less) had written such a raunchy poem. Yes, I was incredibly naive until I arrived in university!

The Flea

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
Me it sucked first, and now sucks hee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, or shame, or loss of maidenhead,
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pampered swells with one blood made of two,
And this, alas, is more than we would do.

Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, nay more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed and marriage temple is;
Though parents grudge, and you, we are met,
And cloistered in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that, self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?
Yet thouh triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thy self nor me the weaker now;
'Tis true; then learn how false fears be:
Just so much nonor, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

- John Donne (1633)

Ceebie

*edit: I've since had the opportunity to read many other PT posts, and it seems I am not the only one who feels a little shy...

SRC week 7 - catching up

2006-07-16T23:11:00.000-03:00

I picked up the story of Lucy Gault by William Trevor some time ago from my parents' TBR Mountain, and have been trying to get past the first 40 pages for a few months. Now that I'm off work, I've finally been able to finish it. Overall, I think it was an intriguing concept - a Protestant upper-class family in Ireland in the early 20th century is forced to leave when their home is attacked and almost burned down. Their young daughter runs off and is presumed drowned, so her parents leave Ireland and move to Italy for the next 30 years. From there starts an interesting series of events. Overall, very well done. What was most interesting to me was that the syntax and flow of the sentences was so very Irish. I could almost hear the lilt in the sentences. Not sure if I'd read another one by Trevor, although it was selected as the New York Times best book of the year at one point (not that that's anything to go by either ;P)

Ceebie

SRC weeks 5 & 6 (or is it 6 & 7?)

2006-07-15T18:45:00.000-03:00

I am so far behind on my reading, partly because I've been trying to wrap up six years of employment and prepare for a new job, and also finish up a feature article assignemnt.
Anyways, I've made it halfway through Leonard Cohen's [u]Book of Longing[/u] and Jan Zwicky's [u]Robinson's Crossing[/u].

I had to give Zwicky's book back before I could make it all the way through, but I liked what I read so far. The first section is a lot about embodied knowledge, and the tensions between knowing and feeling. The second part is about Zwicky's life on the prairies at her grandparents' farm, and her quest for home. I didn't get much through it but I plan to return to her one day. She's really getting a lot of good reviews from ecocritics as someone who's doing great things for environmental writing in Canada.

As for Cohen, I'm torn...I can't decide if he's a feminist or a misogyinist, or both. I don't particularly enjoy his style of poetry, which tends to be more conversational and flippant rather than lyrical and evocative. But he is one of Canada's best-known poets, and he is an intriguing character. His struggles with Buddhism and wanting to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh are particularly intriguing to me... I'm not sure if I'll make it all the way through this but I'm glad I picked it up nonetheless.

Ceebie

Freedom!!!

2006-07-15T18:25:00.000-03:00

Where to begin...Yesterday was my last day of work at the University. Having spent almost 1/3 of my life there as a student and staff, I have to say I really had mixed emotions about my departure. I really believe that my Faculty does great things, and there are tons of folks - friends and colleagues, students and faculty - whom I will miss. Everyone has been really really nice and I've had so many great emails from students and faculty telling me they'll miss me and they wish me all the best. Even my manager said thanks for my hard work and that I'd be missed (which, considering our rocky year, was surprising!). The EO made up some story about how she met me, but the point is that she said that it was the little things that I'd did, my passion and enthusiasm for it, that would be missed. So many people have been so kind and I'm glad I'm leaving on my own terms. One of the students even sent an email to the list serve telling them I was leaving, and I've had so many great emails from students thanking me and saying they'll miss me. An email from a faculty member in Budapest saying my skills were underused, a phone call from a colleague who was on her day off to wish me well, faculty members saying they'd miss me...Really, I can't imagine a better way to leave.

It just feels surreal. My safety blanket is gone! Now I'm off into the totally new (yet not entirely foreign to me) field of publishing. I met with my new director today and the staff. They all seemed so relieved to have me there because there is TONS of work to be done. I had to buy a bag in order to carry the homework home!

Once I get used to subway commuting again (compared to a car it feels pretty claustrophobic to me), I'll loooove working at Yonge & Eglington (or Yonge & Eligible as the locals call it :P)

So that's it! One week of freedom and catching up on all of my projects and such, and then a new life begins!!!!

I'm so nervous and excited all at once. It's really a mixed bag of emotions but this is so what I've wanted for so long. And some kind souls have decided to give me a break. Now I get to write and publish for an organization with an environmental mandate, and feel like I'm making a difference in the "real world". Woohoo!!!!

Ceebie

Poetry Thursday

2006-07-13T21:34:00.000-03:00

This week's Poetry Thursday prompt is for humorous poetry...Although my poetry is rarely humorous (tortured soul of the poet and all...), here's something I unearthed from my portfolio that struck me with its quirkiness (inspired by the smell of Ottawa in the fall, which had me convinced I was walking around with bad breath for months. I realized it was the Ottawa sewage system!)

Venice Never Smells at Night

One day, years from now, you and I
Will be walking along a Venetian canal
And you will turn to me, silhouetted
In the moonlight, and say

Darling, what is that smell?
It's not me, and it's not the canal,
So...

And that, will be that.

Ceebie

I have to do this

2006-07-11T22:11:00.000-03:00

Ok so I have to do this in order to change the photo in my profile. Trust me it is not solipsism...

Eats, Shoots & Leaves - great passages

2006-07-08T14:40:00.000-03:00

Trying to finish this book today, so I can finish my feature tomorrow (I know, priorities!). But at least I may have a better sense of proper punctuation (though I'm happy to say I knew most of the rules I've come across in this book so far).

Anyhoo, here's a passage that showcases Truss's ability to make a dull topic seem interesting, at least to editor nerds such as myself:

"Nowadays the fashion is against grammatical fussiness. A passage peppered with commas -- which in the past would have indicated painstaking and authoritative editorial attention -- smacks simply of no backbone. People who put in all the commas betray themselves as moral weakinglings with empty lives and out-of-date reference books" (95-6).

And here, a list of proper uses of the comma:

1. Commas for lists
2. Commas for joining
3. Commas filling gaps
4. Commas before direct speech
5. Commas setting off interjections
6. Commas that come in pairs

I definitely recommend this to anyone with the slightest interest in language and punctuation (but it is not a grammar book, as Truss points out).

Ceebie

Who is a feminist poet?

2006-07-08T11:41:00.000-03:00

Justin posted this great post, "Why I am not a Feminist Poet", that I found through Wandering Blind's blog...

Have a look at it - this is exactly the kind of stuff I am toying with. Am I, or am I not, a feminist, by wearing high heels? Are there indeed different kinds of feminism? I fear that first-wave feminists, while they made so many great gains for us, and did what they did (the bra burning, etc) because they HAD to, also give feminism a bad name...Feminism in the PoMo age opened up the realization that not all women are created equal, and we all come from different situatedness. This kind of feminism, to me, is a more equitable form of feminism. But does it stray too far from the Feminine Mystique?

Would love to hear what you all think... (and apologies to Justin if I have misread the tone of his poem)

Ceebie

Poetry Thursday supplement

2006-07-08T11:11:00.000-03:00

After reading everyone's Poetry Thursday posts (I finally made it through the whole list of posts, and there are some amazing writers in this group!), I remembered another poem I wrote years ago about the process of writing for me, which I think more accurately responds to the prompt about personal or confessional poetry:

genesis

thoughts, armed with daggers
wage battles behind my eyes -
soldiers riding memories -
multi-colored horses pave
hooves into the valleys of my mind

jets of ink wash
over hills and grooves,
flood into the channels of my veins,
deleneating branches, trunks

become a forest

bleed beneath my fingernails,
choke
struggle
to keep afloat in the current behind the rolling ball

emerge victorious,
and print myself
into the fibres
of this page

********

This was written over fifteen years ago (before the blog world, hence "fibres of this page", at a time when I was still finding my poetic voice, and struggling with balancing the personal and the poetic. I still read the angst, the struggle that writing had for me back then. I remember feeling the desire to write, but coming to the page and staring at its blankness, or writing, scratching out, and trying again.

I haven't done much poetry writing in the last few years, but I have to say that I never experience this angst in magazine writing. For some reason, the writing comes easier, and sometimes, a poem floats up to the surface, emerging from intense anguish or happiness, or just a line someone said to me.

Ceebie

Poetry Thursday

2006-07-06T21:53:00.000-03:00

This week's Poetry Thursday prompt was to write about poetry that is deeply personal. I would have to say that two poems that I wrote most recently - Yume, and untitled - are probably the most personal I've ever written. Both emerged out of the experience of separating from my partner of 9 years, and both have helped me deal with the separation. Yume just came out of me after my trip to japan only weeks after moving out of our house. Untitled came to me recently, when my mom told me he'd written my dad a letter saying that he should have worked things out with me....In almost a cathartic release of emotion, both helped me get over one of the most difficult times in my life.

Ceebie

I think I am a stickler

2006-07-03T19:28:00.000-03:00

Just picked up Lynne Truss's book Eats, Shoots & Leaves, which I initially saw in a bookstore in Japan, and then purchased in Canada some time ago but was on my "TBR Mountain" as Heather calls it.

Anyways, I'm only into page 2, but I already see that this book is for me, since I totally identify with the following passage:

"For any true stickler, you see, the sight of the plural word "Book's" with an apostrophe in it will trigger a ghastly private emotional process similar to the stages of bereavement, though greatly accelerated. First there is shock. Within seconds, shock gives way to disbelief, disbelief to pain, and pain to anger. Finally (and this is where the analogy breaks down), anger gives way to a righteous urge to perpretrate an act of criminal damage with the aid of a permanent marker."

I was going to deny that I've ever perpetrated such an act. But then I remembered a certain sign on our printer at work that I defaced in order to erase a painful misuse of the apostrophe.

Yes, I am indeed a stickler. Just ask my friends how many times I have corrected their grammar while chatting with me on MSN: they'll tell you, it can be quite painful at times!

Ceebie

Edit: On page 6, Truss mentions the Apostrophe Protection Society, and it actually exists! I am loving this book already!

SRC Book - Wuthering Heights

2006-07-03T10:30:00.000-03:00

Well, I'm a week behind in my reading, but I'm glad to say I finished Wuthering Heights.

I now understand why this book is considered such a classic. What a complicated structure, and skillfully done! I love how the different narrators are woven together...Sometimes you forget that the story is in fact being narrated by Mrs Dean, who is speaking to Mr Lockwood, who is narrating the story to us. And then Emily sneaks in a sentence or two between the two of them, and you remember that in fact the entire action is taking place in Mr Lockwood's bedroom, as he lies in convalescence at the Grange...I'd have liked to have studied this in my Rise of the Novel course, to see what my prof had to say about it, but it was on the reading list and we never made it to it.

I am glad though that it is now illegal in most countries to treat women the way Heathcliff does! It's amazing how powerless Catherine is to control her fate, as is Linton (and he is described as overly effeminate)...The only person who is able to escape Heathcliff's clutches is Isabelle, although in the end she does not find a happy life. I'm also glad that we are no longer stuck in our classes as once was thought. Although it's difficult to fell pity for him, Heathcliff is in fact doomed to be a bad man from the start, because he comes from gypsies, whereas Hareton at least can find redemption because he is born into the upper class and just needs a little care and attention from Catherine.

Interesting though that there are no heroes or heroines, only a remarkable anti-hero! I also was struck by the variations in spelling...What would an editor do with a contemporary edition? Would they choose to change the spelling to current day standards, or leave it as is?

I also understand why so many cats are called Heathcliff...although I never associated that name negatively before. Now whenever I meet a Heathcliff, I'll be on my guard!

Glad I chose this book, and glad I completed it!

Ceebie

I got it!

2006-07-01T08:47:00.000-03:00

Time to celebrate! After a year and a half (or more) of applications and interview, I've been offered a full-time position as Publications Coordinator for a non-profit environmental organization! Hooray! This is what I've been working for for years, so I'm so excited to finally have all of that hard work validated, and pay off!

The HR rep called me yesterday and I was so excited, I dropped my broom in the kitchen and didn't realize until two hours later! Now I'm trying to stave off all kinds of questions, like "how am I going to afford this?" and of course, the ever-remaining question "am I good enough?" (here comes the impostor syndrome again hehe)...I paced, hopped and skipped around my condo for the next two hours, calling friends and family. Woohoo!

Now I need to celebrate but everyone seems to be busy...I'm thinking of throwing myself a party.

Yay!

Happy Canada Day weekend everyone,

Ceebie

Poetry Thursday

2006-06-29T19:57:00.000-03:00

This week's assignment was to bring poetry into the every day. Instead, I'm publishing poems which bring the everyday into poetry...

Bonne Bell - Cafe Latte
Net Wt. 12oz./3.4g*

I've finally found the perfect shade
of lipstick. You say it's nice,
'cause it don't slap your face red.

I leave you with coffee
hiding
in five-o-clock shadows.

* from the label on coffee-flavoured lipstick

---------------------------------

Rubbermaid Dreams

Now I know:

there isn't a Tupperware big enough
to seal you in
and keep our memories
from going stale.

----------------------------------

Ceebie

Interview outfit - wardrobe poll

2006-06-25T18:39:00.000-03:00

I'm finding myself utterly undecided about what to wear for a 'view this week. To that end, I'm polling you, dear blog reader: which outfit do you think would be best suited to a third 'view with a non-advocacy environmental organization?

Option A) White blouse, grey pants, white pointy shoes

Option B) White blouse, grey pants, black pointy shoes

Option C) White blouse, tan pants, white pointy shoes

Yes, the white blouse must be worn. I spent far too much on it not to wear it!

Why am I polling you? Because I polled my parents and my dad said Option B. Mom said "wear whatever". So now I'm at a loss...

Interview's this Tuesday, so please vote by Monday night!

Thanks all!

Ceebie

Failing utterly

2006-06-25T10:30:00.000-03:00

Well it's the end fo SRC Challenge Week 4, and I am failing utterly. I am 1/4 of the way through Wuthering Heights, and loving it, but there is no way I'm going to complete this on time. I'd need an extra three hours in my day and there's just no way I'm going to find that...I consider myself a fast reader, but I must say that I'm finding it hard to keep up!

Ceebie

Poetry Thursday

2006-06-22T22:24:00.000-03:00

Here's something that I was inspired to write from something my mom told me not long ago. It's still in its infancy, but I thought I'd post it here and see how you all respond... (I'm reposting it because for some reason if you save a draft and then publish it, it publishes back on the date you saved the draft, not the date you are publishing!)

in my mother's garden
of a saturday afternoon
come face to face
with a ghost

she tells me
she's received a letter

what would you do
if he wanted to come back
she asks

leaning back,
dig palms into earth
to ground me
grab handfulls of grass
else my heart will run
escape
far from here
away from the memory of a time when "I" was "we"

blink back tears
a grounded goldfish
gulping air
step into a flowerbed
waist high in grasses and wildflowers
among lazy lady bugs,
creamy butterfly eggs
shimmering on flowerheads

tug
stubborn weeds
pulling up large clumps of earth
dirt raining onto sandal-clad toes
lazy bumble bees bumble by
weed the garden into order

until my heart stills

this is where I come when I am lonely she says
and I finally understand what she means

Procrastination, or work???

2006-06-17T14:53:00.000-03:00

Here's a book review that was forwarded to me through a freelancers' group I belong to. A lot of it certainly rings true for me, and now I have an excuse to procrastinate when I should be working on a story, because I'm actually working!

doing nothing
"... The hard part of writing is not the typing part, but the thinking part," writes Dave Barry in the New York Times (6/5/06). "If you were to come into my office," Dave continues, "you would most likely see me engaged in some activity that did not appear, to your untrained eye, to be work." Dave might be clipping his toenails, surfing the web or "thrashing around" with his electric guitar in a "futile but ongoing (for nearly four decades) attempt to learn the guitar part to "Paperback Writer." What you'd be missing is that while Dave "was engaged in these seemingly pointless activities" he was "thinking about a critical writing issue, such as: Which is the funnier-sounding mineral name, feldspar or potash? It takes hours of grueling mental effort to solve that kind of problem, but you, the reader, see only the finished product (feldspar).

"Upon this premise, Dave reviews "Doing Nothing," by Tom Lutz, which addresses questions such as "What is work? Why do we work? Is it a moral duty, or do we do it only because we have to? Is it O.K. not to work if we can get away with it? Do we resent those who are able to slack? Or do we envy them?" Tom wrote the book apparently out of anger at his slacker son, who was taking a year off before college to watch television. What bugged Tom was that his son's behavior pretty much reminded him of his own youth, when "he spent a fair number of years engaged in countercultural activities not widely considered productive." The book traces "the history of society's attitudes toward working and slacking," starting with "two 18th-century giants ... Benjamin Franklin, creator or the archetypal workaholic, Poor Richard" and "Samuel Johnson, creator of the 'Idler' who believes the only value of work is to enable leisure, and the highest calling is to do as little as possible."The Franklin view is the dominant one in America, but what Tom Lutz discovers "over and over (and over) is that slackers and workaholics aren't always as different as they appear." Ben Franklin liked to party, for example, and Samuel Johnson was a prolific writer. "We scorn the lazy... but we long to hit the lottery ... We criticize our kids for doing exactly what we did when we were their age." Ultimately, says Tom, we need slackers "as a goad to examining our relations to work, as a critique of our culture's twisty relation to work and to leisure, and as a celebration of the same." Dave says that "Doing Nothing" left him with "a deeper appreciation of the value of not working ... In fact," he concludes, "I wish I could do more of it," adding: "Alas, I cannot: these toenails aren't going to clip themselves."

Poetry Thursday

2006-06-15T13:29:00.000-03:00

Not quite a poem, but here's something I've been working on over the years. It's actually a photo essay that's accompanied by some photos from my Japan trip, which I may post along with this when I have the time.

Anyways, here's my Thursday submission:

Yume

At the end of the rails, I am swept up in a river of umbrellas that seem too large, on sidewalks too narrow — a canopy of brightly coloured fabric. I buy a floppy hat to shade my face; somehow, the sun seems closer here.

In moss gardens, draped over stone lanterns and wooden beams, lazy temple cats watch me wearily, tails drooping over crumbling gods. Wooden wishes on red strings twirl and clack together in the heavy breeze, waiting to be offered up in fire.

I have come here to be nameless.

Here where sacred sites are squashed between concrete walls and neon lights, I wander from vending machine to vending machine, seeking the refreshment of cold green tea. Swim between islands of shade, where leaf shadows ripple over me.

Waves of song spill across dusty gravel paths, out open doors and over polished wood, to the rhythmic gong of an iron bell. Holy men point me the way up teapot lane, while off in the treetops, schoolchildren chatter and laugh, chasing each other around winding pathways. I've taken so many photos of laughing fat men with red bibs, scalloped temple roofs, dragons and gods.

In the stone garden on the final day of wandering, I contemplate the stillness of rock. The patience of the gardener who has daily raked a landscape clean in the knowledge that it will never grow green. Sun angles across lines of gravel and sand, softening the harshness of rock and stone. In the evenings, the neon lights flash bright through my curtains, to the pling pling pling of pachinko parlours and the shouting of store owners.

I now know what it is to be without words. To be alone, even when I am swept up in a sea of people. To be in a land where I am immune to the cry of merchants and the lure of bright lights. I could lose myself here, and no one would know. I've gone three days without speaking, except to ask for toilet directions and a hamburger at the golden arches.

In the morning, the bullet train pulls me away from this land where I have found wordlessness. Whips by stooped women with broad straw hats in silver rice fields. So many lives continue in quiet perseverance as we race by.

I am returning home to a newly painted door, where a new bath towel hangs alone on the rail. To a single bed with crisp sheets torn from plastic wrappers.

I know I will be all right, because I believe in the promise of Yume.

SRC Book of the Week: An Obsession With Butterflies

2006-06-13T21:07:00.000-03:00

Well, it's not on my SRC list but I'm cheating. I've been obsessed with butterflies for ever - they are a sign of hope and change for me. I even painted a butterfly on the back of my canoe to symbolize hope for the future.

So, I'm reading An Obsession With Butterflies. It was in the sale bin at Indigo, but who knows? The first page has a quote that struck me right away:

"Adding butterflies to your life is like adding another dimension. The air trembles with the movement of wings....All this existed before, has always existed, but you were unaware. You didn't see. At various times and places, in winter or on a busy street, the air is still and butterflies are impossible. Yet their presence remains, like one of those other ten dimensions. You've added this to your life."

And another one, a quote from Taoist master Chuang Tze, that my dad has quoted for ever but I didn't know where it was from: "I dreamed I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither. I was conscious only of following my fancies s a butterfly, and was unconscious of my individuality as a man. Suddenly I awoke and there I lay myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man."

"There comes a time in your life when you must look at what you love and think: Yes, I was right. People who love butterflies have it easy."

SRC book of the week: The Red Tent, by Anita Diamant

2006-06-10T14:06:00.000-03:00

I'm only halfway through this book (not even really halfway) and SRC week two is over! Thus begins the slippery slope where instead of completing one book a week, I complete one every week and a bit!!! Argh! I am enjoying this book quite a bit though. I'm not overly familiar with the Old Testament but I'm enjoying this herstory of the Bible quite a lot. I imagine Diamant must have done an incredible amount of anthropological research to fit in so many details about women's daily lives so many centuries ago... Anyways, it's a nice tie-in to Midwives, since there is so much about birthiing and midwifery in it. Hopefully it will be done by the end of the weekend.

This is a new one for me...

2006-06-10T13:59:00.000-03:00

Was just browsing through DB Scott's Canadian Magazines blog, and came across a post on the Interrobang: apparently Microsoft is starting to include it in its Clear Type fonts and it may be gaining more widespread usage soon. It's a combination of a question mark and exclamation mark all in one... Meant to convey an excited or surprised question...

Click here to read what Wikipedia has to say about it...

Ceebie

(Back to Saturday afternoon procrastination).

Thursday's poem of the week

2006-06-08T11:49:00.000-03:00

The End and the Beginning

After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won't
straighten themselves up, after all.

Someone has to push the rubble
to the sides of the road,
so the corpse-laden wagons
can pass.

Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.

Someone must drag in a girder
to prop up a wall,
Someone must glaze a window,
rehang a door.

Photogenic it's not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.

Again we'll need bridges
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.

Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls how it was.
Someone listens
and nods with unsevered head.
Yet others milling about
already find it dull.

From behind the bush
sometimes someone still unearths
rust-eaten arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.

Those who knew
what was going on here
must give way to
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.

In the grass which has overgrown
reasons and causes,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds.

~ Wislawa Szymborska (trans. Joanna Maria Trzeciak)

Edit: I've just joined Poetry Thursday, having started my Thursday Poem of the Week without realizing that this blogging movement existed. I'm excited about being inspired by others' writing and inspiring the lyrical voice inside of me once again...

Poetry Thursday's assignment for last week was to write a poem from overheard conversation. Here's something that was said to me yesterday that has stuck with me:

I knew a man
He studied English for his BA
English for his MA
English for his PhD
When he spoke,
It was like opening a book

You could hear his apostrophes
Hear his commas
His voice was a story to listen to

Tag!

2006-06-07T20:43:00.000-03:00

I've been unoficially tagged by Heather, so here's my A to Z meme:

Accent: Southern Ontario Canadian, because I've been told I say "about" differently than Northern Ontarioers.
Booze: Red wine , green apple martini, or bellini
Chore I hate: Cleaning up after my kitties after they have been sick from licking off their fur (apparently one of them does this because she is either bored or anxious. She's pretty laid back so I think it's the former).
Dogs/Cats: Cats! Two of them!
Essential Electronics: Ipod (pink), computer, flat-iron
Favorite Perfume: Not sure if it's really a perfume, but So Pink body from GAP
Gold/Silver: Depends on the outfit...
Hometown: Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Insomnia: Sometimes for weeks, and then not for months.
Job title: Graduate Recruitment and Liaison Officer. Not sure if it feels more or less exciting than it is.
Kids: With the right guy, yes.
Living Arrangement: My two kitties let me share their condo with them.
Most Admired Trait: um um...passion and quirky sense of humour?
Number of sexual partners: That's for me to know, and me to find out...
Overnight hospital stays: Never (knock on wood).
Phobias: Heights (I was a gymnast so this is a bad one to have!)
Quote: Can't think of one right now...
Religion: Agnostic
Siblings: 1 younger brother
(Combo) UnusualTalent: I have no idea, since I can't even curl my tongue into interesting shapes :)
Vegetable I refuse to eat: None, really.
Worst habit: Senseless worrying.
X-rays: Just regular dental x-rays.
Yummy food I make: Banana bread, pasta puttanesca, blue cheese fondue, peanut butter cookies...
Zodiac Sign: Aries (supposedly we are passionate and hard-headed)

Whoever makes it to the end of this post: tag, you're it! If you do the A-Z meme, please let me know so I can read yours!

Midwives, by Chris Bohjalian

2006-06-04T21:32:00.000-03:00

Well, I was right. Bohjalian was hinting at witch hunts in Midwives. Here's an interesting quote:

"To some p[eople, they're witches--or, these days, strange and somehow dangerous throwbacks to another era. But in the eyes of other people, they're healers. Not surprisingly, it always seems to be the women who see them as healers, and the men who are quick to cry witch. Or shaman. Or meddler. Midwives, by their very nature and profession, have always challenged authority; they've always been a bit too independent--in the eyes of men, anyway." (p273)

Not sure I entirely agree with his whole male-female dichotomy, but I do think again that it's an interesting reflection on the whole reason-intuition dichotomy.

Overall, this was a great book though. Some people say there are too many novels about women getting married or looking for love, but I've never read one about women giving birth or helping women give birth. The author does a really good job of portraying the anxieties and concerns of a teenage girl, which is impressive considering he's a man. Finally, there's a great twist to the plot at the end.

I recommend it, even if it is an Oprah book club book!

Ceebie

Weekly SRC tally: Novels: 0.5; Government reports: 2

2006-06-03T20:30:00.000-03:00

Do government reports count as literature? I've just finished reading the Site Management Options manual for the Spanish River Valley Signature Site, and am wading through the Background Information booklet. Since I'm only halfway through Midwives by Chris Bohjalian (an Oprah book, I must admit, and not on my original SRC list but I was four short anyways if I'm going to read one a week...), I thought I'd add these two reports since technically, they are reading (and in a way, they could be considered popular literature since they do in many ways shape the ways in which we view and experience the landscape...).

I guess this opens up the question: what counts as literature? Do government reports? For some people, maybe, if that's how they view the world. Does having an Oprah's book club sticker affect a book's classification as literature or does it bring it into it's own realm of genre fiction such as Chick Lit or Romance, just that it's called Oprah Lit?

Anyways, from what I can tell of the first half of Midwives , it's a fairly light read, but an interesting concept. Essentially, the protagonist, a young woman in her thirties, narrates the story of her mother's prosecution as a midwife, when she is charged with killing a mother to save a child. Some interesting tensions in this book are:

the suggestion of a modern-day witch hunt,
the battle between male-dominated science and female-dominated intuition (represented by the midwives) and finally,
the very fact that this story is being written by a male author.

What does it mean when a man tries to place himself in a woman's shoes, especially when the woman he is writing about is marginalized or discrimated? (to that end, if anyone's read The Polished Hoe by Austin Clarke, what does it mean that he chose to write a post-Colonial narrative in a female voice about the experiences of a marginalized black woman?).

Anyways, these are things that are running through my head. Has anyone else read it or do any of you have responses to my questions? I'm off to finish the rest of the report and try to free up some space for my novel.

Ceebie

What a great week!

2006-06-02T22:49:00.000-03:00

This week was Congress - the largest academic gathering of its kind in North America, bringing 8,000 academics from the social sciences and humanities to discuss their research. I was fortunate enough that not only was it held at York, but the Environmental Studies Association of Canada held its conference in our very building!

This meant that:

a) I got to spend some quality time with my friend Joanie, who I have known since undergrad but not seen in three years because she was in Northern Alberta and then moved to Saskatoon to begin her PhD (smarty pants). I also reconnected with a few faculty from my MES...who remembered me after all this time!; and

b) I got to rub shoulders with academics and familiarize myself with what's happening in the environmental studies field (in particular, ecocriticism...I was fortunate to attend the meeting of the Association for Literature, Environment, Culture and Canada...so cool). Most of the presentations did go over my head, but it made me realize how lazy my brain has become in the working world and only fed my inspiration for item c) all that much more;

c) I have the beginnings of a topic for a SSHRC/PhD application, and some ideas as to where I might study!

It's true what they say: everything happens for a reason. This breakup really has opened up so many opportunities for me, including moving to another province. In addition, had I applied to an English department to do ecocrit six years ago, I don't think they would have considered me. But from what I gather, English programs are becoming more and more interdisciplinary and open to other forms of research and writing, including popular literature. So it is now possible for me to return to my home discipline yet bring with me my interests in magazines as well.

So exciting!

Now I have to buckle down and schedule my time, because I have an article to write, a journal to start editing and a PhD proposal to start researching! When am I going to find time for the Summer Reading Challenge??? I did buy a book today (a bit of an indulgence): This Elusive Land: women and the Canadian Environment. It looks quite good...I wonder if it will fit into my reading list?

More later...

Ceebie

*Edit:
Oh oh! I almost forgot: I also discovered Jan Zwicky today, a Canadian poet who won the Governor General's award in 2004 for her poetry book Robinson's Crossing and her literary theory book Wisdom and Metaphor. Her discussion of domestication and the continual search to return home seems like it could provide a theoretical framework for my work...Or at least provide interesting contrast to my MES thesis, which was about women searching to leave home-space in order to find a home-place....

I know, I am such a nerd...

Thursday poem of the week

2006-06-01T09:58:00.000-03:00

POETRY
And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating planations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesmal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.

~ Pablo Neruda

They like me! They really like me!

2006-05-29T15:54:00.000-03:00

Exciting news: I submitted a story I wrote about canoeing with my dad to Canadian Geographic last night, and the editor emailed me back this morning (which is unheard of...usually it takes at least 2-3 weeks to get a response) to tell me he thought the story was "lovely"! Unfortunately the section I submitted for is booked for now, but he said he's going to think about it and let me know when he thinks he can fit it in!

Yay!

Ceebie

Update on the Pathways front...

2006-05-28T16:30:00.000-03:00

Well, it's been a quiet-ish weekend (minus the party at Neel's yesterday, aka the "bootleg Drake", which was a hoot!), but I did speak to the president of COEO and they do still want me to take on the Pathways job. The question now is whether I simply take on the chairship (which is more of a production manager role) or if I can take on the managing editor role (which is what I would prefer to do, but there's currently someone in that role although it seems they pay her so little she may be willing to give it up for me...). Right now, the journal's all over the place. It isn't really certain whether it's a journal or a magazine, so there's a lot of potential for changes and improvements.

This would definitely be a tremendous opportunity for me in the right direction, but I am concerned about how much work could potentially be involved (I'm thinking for starters a readership survey, business plan and eventual redesign, although if I left things as is there isn't that much work involved with the status quo) for the amount of pay (which really is quite pitiable but I do appreciate this is a non-profit...).

Then there's the ever-present issue of the impostor syndrome: feeling scared to take this challenge on for fear of failure. But that's something that many of us (mainly women) face and have to overcome. What better way to overcome it than to face it head on?

We're supposed to talk again in a few days' time and iron things out, and then I'm going to transition into the role (whatever role it ends up being). So, more on this later.

Ceebie

Food for thought - Canada's Boreal forest

2006-05-27T15:32:00.000-03:00

Just finished reading a thought-provoking and well-written article on Canada's boreal forest by Jeff Hull, "The Final Frontier", in the September/October 2005 issue of Audubon magazine (which just shows you how far behind in my reading I am...).

Did you know that there is more intact forest in Canada's boreal than there is in the Brazilian Amazon? The boreal is apparently named after the Boreas, the Greek god of the north wind, and the boreal forest is the largest intact terrestrial ecosystem in the world, with Canada's portion alone representing 25 per cent of the world's remaining frontier forests! I'm an environmentalist, and even I didn't know that! Holy moly!

Anyhoo, here's a really well-written passage (well the whole thing is really) that struck me:

"Nobody imagines taht another mailing of apparel catalogeues or a few family packs of paper towels will be the undoing of the great northern forest. But then, nobody thought that another hydroelectric dam could stifle the great salmon runs of America's Northwest, either, or that one more set of nets would empty the Grand Banks of cod, or that killing a few more buffalo could wipe out the endless herds that roamed the Great Plains. The real Tragedy of the Commons is that everybody knows it's true--only nobody believes it will happen to them."

Yep...See what I mean? When faced with a thought like that, where, oh where, do shoes fit into this???

Here are some things the article proposes to help presereve the boreal (and if you get a chance, check out the Fall 2005 issue of ON Nature: there's a story in there by Katharine Balpataky about tree-free paper, with sidebars and factoids that I researched about paper and tree consumption...):

cancel your catalogues subscriptions and shop online instead (I have to do this for at least two publications I get but never read);
buy recycled tissue and printing paper (did you know that if each household in Canada replaced just one roll of toilet paper made from new paper with a roll of toiled paper made from recycled paper, we would save more than 47,000 trees, 3,204 cubic metres of landfill space, and 65.5 litres of water and prevent the creation of 4,567 kilograms of air and water pollution resulting from manufacturing. Amazingly simple, yet so hard!).

Ceebie

A clean slate

2006-05-27T11:39:00.000-03:00

Though there's nothing fun about a relationship ending, there's a lot of potential too, including a clean slate AND potentially gaining a friend...

WRT the clean slate: everything's wide open...I'm not tied to TO, my career, etc (not that my relationship was tying me down to TO in the first place, but it made it more attractive to be here). So I was reading through my stack of magazines that I've accumulated over the past few months (a topic for a future post: what are your reading strategies? How to read everything you want to in a lifetime, when everything includes novels (new and old), academic literature and journals, magazines and poetry? How?), and I started reading my alum mags (Tabaret, which is actually quite a good magazine AND it's bilingual!). Then I thought hey...why not start seriously thinking about a PhD again (this thought occurs to me every 2-3 months. And I realize now that this post is fraught with parenthetical thoughts....Which reminds me of Andre Alexis' book Childhood, which is really an exercise in pomo intertextuality, which is so cool...all these footnotes inserted into the text and parenthetical references).

The problem is, I can never narrow down the 5ws and 1h (I have 6 very helpful friends, I go to them for advice...Their names are Who and Why and Where and What, and When and How).

Why do I want to do a PhD? Because I love to learn, because I love to do research and I love the academic world. Love conferences and just pushing the boundaries of knowledge. Then again, a friend of mine in a PhD said that PhDs are NOT about learning...Food for thought.

What do I want to study? At the core of it all is language, the written word, nature and feminism. Not sure if I want to study literature itself, or magazines, or something broader in communication. Topics of study might be Canadian women's writing (comparison of Quebec vs non-Quebec writers' relationship to home and nature, for instance, or fourth-wave women's writing and themes of nature). Or, Chick Lit...Why has it not flourished in Canada? Or, Canadian women nature writers in magazines. Or, the influence of home magazines on the feminine mystique in the late 20th century....Have we re-domesticated ourselves through magazines?

How? Not sure. Option A: continue working at York and do the PHD part-time and use the employee benefit. Option B: sell condo. Return to student lifestyle. Then options would be more open and I wouldn't be tied to York. Option C: marry rich heart surgeon :P

When? This year, maybe the next...Have to start reading journals again to really decide if this is for me.

Who? Obviously, me. But then the question of supervisors come into play. And finding someone whose research is interesting to me, but whose personality is a good fit too, is really important.

Where? Depends...Toronto or Ottawa. Not willing to go to the States although U of Oregon reportedly is the place to study ecocriticism.

We'll see. This week is the Congress at York. Perhaps to show you what a nerd I truly am, I've been so excited about this for months. It's the largest academic gathering in North America, with 8,000 delegates from the social science and humanities fields. Think about all of the knowledge that will be shared in the space of two weeks!

Anyoo...Enough for now. I'm sure this will come up again. It always does.

Ceebie

Books read this week: 1

2006-05-24T22:55:00.000-03:00

Just finished Where She Has Gone by Ninno Ricci. It's a sequel to Lives of the Saints. Pretty good, I must say. Especially when the protagonist returns to Rocca Secca and you realize that you've been here before, as a reader, but now it's tweny years later. There's a really weird theme of incest between a half brother and sister, too...Strange... Another book I've read from Ricci is Testament, where he explores the life and death of Jesus Christ from a contemporary perspective, and includes a gospel according to Judas and Mary Magdalene...Interesting take on a familiar story.

Marilyn Monroe?

2006-05-23T18:31:00.000-03:00

You are Maryiln Monroe

A classic tortured beauty, you're the dream girl of many men. Yet they never seem to treat you right.

Well, that's what the survey says anyway.

I'm flattered, but I don't agree at all (about the Marilyn part, I mean).

What famous pinup are you?

Ceebie

Sadness is the only word for how I feel...

2006-05-22T12:14:00.000-03:00

Thursday's one day closer to Friday

2006-05-18T19:54:00.000-03:00

I spoke with the editor of Pathways yesterday. As far as I can tell, the post is pretty much mine to have. The only thing is, he had no info about payment, and in terms of the position itself, it seems as though I could either wind up as the production manager or managing editor. I still have to talk to the president re: payment and the full details, but it could be a great opportunity. Just unfortunatley means that I can't quit my job to write and edit...yet...

In other news, mommy goose at the Faculty had her goslings the other day. I walked over to her nest in the planter, and there under her wing was a tiny little head poking out, as yellow as a highlighter. They are so fuzzy and look so soft, I wanted to take one with me! Too bad they end up growing up into annoying honking pooping geese that for some reason are associated with Canadians...I didn't know we were noisy and messy, but maybe that's how the rest of the world sees us!

Apart from that, I'm slowly getting addicted to blogging, which is cool. And I discovered Flickr! I may not have tons of cool photos, but I did find this group called Love Shoes! Some of the folks on that are DEFINITELY more addicted to shoes than I am (or at least have more disposable income to allow them to buy shoes!).

Royce may even end up starting his own blog, but he's thinking of doing it on MySpace instead of Blogger. Anyone have ten reasons why Blogger is better?

That's that for now...

Ceebie

Cross your fingers!

2006-05-16T20:13:00.000-03:00

The coolest thing happened yesterday...almost as cool as getting a book with my name in it: the president of COEO (the Council of Outdoor Educators of Ontario) emailed me to first of all tell me he really enjoyed my article on outdoor education (recently published in Pathways). Secondly, he said that he and the current chair of the editorial board want to talk to me about the opportunities with the journal! A faculty member where I work had passed on my name to them and coincidentally he had been planning to email me about my article. Yay!

This is SO what I have been looking for! So now I'm nail biting until I hear back from them, because of COURSE I want to discuss the opportunity! And there is so much that I could do for that journal!

Here's hoping...

Ceebie

PS: Anyone have any idea what's going on with the button on my right bar, next to "Currently Reading"? Why is it slightly indented? There's nothing in the code!

Summer Reading Challenge!

2006-05-15T12:35:00.000-03:00

So Heather found this great site - Amanda's Weekly Zen - with a summer reading challenge! I'm going to challenge myself to 1 book per week. Considering that I used to read two to three books in a weekend when I was a young book worm, one a week sounds pretty pathetic now! But perhaps I'll worm my way through more than one a week, who knows!

Ceebie

My name in lights!

2006-05-12T12:05:00.000-03:00

Ok, it's really just in print. But something really cool happened yesterday that I forgot to blog about: my book came out and arrived to me yesterday in my mailbox in a bubble envelope. What satisfaction to tear open that yellow package, flip through the book, and see my name at the top of a chapter on parks & rec trails published in the 5th edition of the Toronto Colourguide.

It's kinda rewarding to see your name in print among other such well-known writers as Christopher Hume.

It's no secret that writing is a lot of work. But if you put your heart and soul into it, it pays off in the end (if that's the kind of fame you're looking for!).

Ceebie

A girl without shoes is like a river without stones...

2006-05-12T09:50:00.003-03:00

So it's now officially almost four weeks since I haven't gone shopping. And there are all these amazing summer sandals that would look so cute! But I must persist...Line of credit must be paid off. The only way to avoid shopping is to avoid the mall entirely! Which actually is not that hard. And not shopping has forced me to discover articles of clothing I had totally forgotten about!

What is it about shoes that we girls are so addicted to? I always swore I wouldn't be a girl who bound her feet for fashion...But then I discovered the joys of the sexy heel and coordinated shoes. Now I'm hooked, and my closed is running out of space! Call me a fourth-wave feminist - I can conveniently be feminine AND critical at the same time...And wear sexy heels to boot! (Honestly, I don't know if there is such a thing as a fourth-wave feminist or if it's something I made up for convenience, but I see her as a cross between Carrie from SIC and the Shopaholic...)

Anyways, it's mother's day this weekend. Time for some R&R with parents, good food and playing with the cats...

Ceebie

Girls' nite out

2006-05-07T11:25:00.000-03:00

So mom and I had a girls' nite last nite - chinese food, and a show: Cirque Eloize. Reminded me a lot of Cirque du Soleil. Boy, are those artists strong! I couldn't even do a quarter of the things they can when I was on the gymnastics team. Makes you realize how little we take advantage of the true potential of our bodies.

Anyways, other than that, today we're going for brunch, then I'm headed downtown to see my guy for baking, a walk, and then a wonderful meal.

Now if only mom would wake up! She's slept in longer than me!

Ceebie

Coffee makes the world better

2006-05-02T10:20:00.000-03:00

Woke up feeling really tired and crappy...Happily though, there is a Tim's across the path from my office. Was trying to wean myself off of coffee, but somehow coffee just makes the world better on those days when you'd rather be in bed curled up under the covers...

Looking forward to Heather's new book club blog - Our Coffee Rings www.ourcoffeerings.blogspot.com!

Ceebie

I want to be on tv

2006-05-01T22:15:00.000-03:00

Ok, anyone who wants to sign me up for What Not to Wear, I am totally up for the 30 minutes of embarrassment to get a free makeover and wardrobe, so sign me up! A great show that basically shows women they can work with what they have - they don't need surgery in order to be beautiful. BUT - only if they have about five grand to buy a new wardrobe...

Either that, or I'd like to be on the Apprentice. Can you believe that these folks are America's brightest? Get me on that show and I could kick some butt!

Speaking of which, I ran 8.5 km today...Took me about 60 mins though. I'm getting slow and lazy. Now that summer's here, it's time to get my butt in gear again!

Ceebie

I love rainy days

2006-04-23T13:39:00.000-03:00

I love rainy days. I remember how scared I used to be when it rained and thundered, until my dad reminded me that I was inside, safe under a roof. Now, I love these opportunities to be home, read a good book in bed, cuddle with my favorite guy (or cats).

It's also an oportunity to catch up with friends. And where would I be without them? I woke up feeling overwhelmed with life, and stressed out - I had to pay $540 for my car to be serviced, and am still figuring out if I OWE money or will receive some! Then there's the whole work situation, which is tied into where I will be living in a few months, etc etc, as well the joys and fears of dating someone you care for but in a relationship that is still new.

But what I do know is, when I am scared and lonely, my friends and family are there. And no matter how alone I feel, I have to remember that.

Ceebie

Heather, this one's for you

2006-04-21T11:10:00.000-03:00

Orange Blossom Goddess has been bugging me to blog again.

So here you go, Heather. I'll try my best to keep this updated, but no promises!

Gotta go drop off my car for servicing.

Hopefully, more later!

Ceebie

Confessions of a fledgling magazine writer...

2005-12-12T16:22:00.000-04:00

No matter how big mistakes may seem at the time, it's all about the learning proces...So here are two unfortunate things that have happened to me, but from which I will learn tons:

1) Problem: microcasettes can break. Yep, right off of the wheel, in fact. And when they break, don't even bother trying to fix them, cause all you're left with is a spool of tape, that's all crinkly, and no interview. Gone. Poof.

Solution: Enter the digital voice recorder. I've just bought one for $69.99 + tax, and it hooks up to the phone. No more having to run back to the tape recorder to make sure that the tape hasn't run out during a phone interview, or to change sides. The DR will record up to 16 hours of voice conversation, and stores your files in folders. When you're done, simply upload them to your computer.

2) Problem: sometimes, photographers may claim you've lost a photograph of theirs, which makes you (and the magazine) look bad).

Solution: First off, take full responsibility for whatever happened, and apologize profusely. Then, check your records. Sometimes, photographers may be a little confused as to what they sent where. Then, apologize again, after searching around thoroughly for it. In the end, mistakes happen, whether theirs or yours. But remember: it isn't always your mistake.

Enough procrastination. Back to work for me!

Ceebie

What the heck? Snape???

2005-12-06T14:16:00.000-04:00

Severus SnapeYou clearly do not scare easily. You want a man
who is sharp, intellectual, cultured, and not
too mushy. Get underneath his cool, sarcastic
exterior and who knows what treasures you might
find.

Who is your Harry Potter love match? (for girls)
brought to you by

Lightbulbs and magazines

2005-11-13T10:31:00.000-04:00

From DB Scott's blog on magazines...

Q: How many freelancers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: No one's sure. The ones who can screw them in, we can't afford, and the ones we CAN afford can't screw in a light bulb.

Q: How many production editors does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Only one, but that's going to cost us an extra production day.

Q: How many copy editors does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: I can't tell whether you mean "change a light bulb" or "have sex in a light bulb." Can we remove the ambiguity?

Q: How many managing editors does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: You were supposed to have changed the light bulb last week.

Q: How many copy editors does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: The last time this question was asked it involved managing editors. Is the difference intentional? Should one or the other instance be changed? It seems inconsistent.

Q: How many art directors does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Does it HAVE to be a light bulb?

"Let there be gardens to tempt them, breathing saffron flowers."

2005-10-16T20:50:00.000-03:00

Quotes I love from _The Lost Garden_ by Helen Humphreys

"It is very easy to return nature to itself. The clean lines of a garden go first. Then the balance of what has been planted. What used to be a conversation between the different elements becomes a tuneless cacaphony. No one thing distinguishable from another." (67)

"What is longing if not the ghost of memory?" (99)

"Let there be gardens to tempt them, breathing saffron flowers." (Virvil, Georgics, in Humphreys 117)

"Sometimes,...I used to go down to the Thames at low tide and collect the bits of old clay pipes that would wash up against the pilings. There were so many of these tiny hollow tubes. They were like bird bones. I liked to think of all those people, those men of a hundred years ago, dropping those pipes into the river. I liked that in the modern city, with all its busle and clatter, I could be engaged in a private work of archaeological excavation." (123)

"The moment opens. The moment closes. There is sunlight. There is frost. There is the brief idea of roses amid the patch of weeds." (140)

"There are so many different stories to tell. It's never the same. Every day weather blows in and
out, alters the surface. Sometimes it is stripped down to a single essential truth, the thing that is always believed, no matter what. The seeds from which the garden has grown." (142-3)

"The language of roses shifts like sand under our feet. It blows in and out like the wind. It carries the fragrance of the flower and then it is gone. Rugosa. Canina. Arvensis. It is how we learn to speak about something that is disappearing as we say its name. It is a trick, a false comfort. Humilis. It is what we think we need to know and how we think it needs to be known. Involuta. It is where we want to go, this name, and stay there, safely held for ever. Indora. Alba. Sancta." (148)

"It is a place we have all arrived at, this book. The characters fixed on the page. The author who is only ever writing the book, not gardening or walking or talking, and while the reader is reading, the author is always here, writing. The author is at one end of the experience of writing and the reader is at the other, and the book is the contract between you. And this is what you're doing, being in the book, entering it as one enters a room and sees there, through the French doors to the garden, Lily Briscoe painting on the lawn." (182)

"When a writer writes, it's as if she holds the sides of her chest apart, exposes her beating heart. And even though everything wants to heal, to close over and protect the heart, the writer must keep it bare, exposed. And in doing this, all of life is kept back, all the petty demands of the day-to-day. The heart is a river. The act of writing is the moving water that holds the banks apart, keeps the muscle of words flexing so that the reader can be carried along by this movement. To be given space and the chance to leave one's earthly world. Is there any greater freedom than this?" (182)

"Dead flowers hold their fragrance. That is one truth. Sometimes our passion is our ruin. That is another." (209)

"The thing about gardens is that everyone thinks they go on growing, that in winter they sleep and in spring they rise. but it's more that they die and return, die and return. They lose themselves. They haunt themselves. Every story is a story about death. But perhaps, if we are lucky, our story about death is also a story about love. And this is what I have remembered of love." (210)

To live and breathe in another language...

2005-10-09T20:37:00.000-03:00

So I heard Nicole Brossard speak and read on Thursday night with Salina (one of the plusses of working at a University - there are opportunities for intellectual stimulation once in a while).

Here are a few things Nicole talked about that I thought were really cool:

1) In her new novel, Hier (or Yesterday, at the Hotel Clarendon), Nicole has interspersed one page from a found novel among the text, five times. It's completely unrelated to the rest of the text but at the same time by having it there five times, she forces the reader to read the text at least once. And the cool thing is that every time you come back to the text, you're coming at it from a different chronotope (as Bakhtin would say...and if she hasn't read Bakhtin I would be very surprised) - a different time and space. So you are always changed and therefore the text itself is never read the same way twice. Nicole compares it to being on the shore of an ocean and having a conversation, where a few words here and there are blown away by the wind. Cool.

2) Nicole's work has been translated into several languages. While she writes in French and is a native French speaker, she read to us in English from a text that had been translated by someone else. She spoke to us about the idea that you are a different person if you grow up in another language. Who, she asks, would she be, what kind of a woman would she be, if she had grown up in English, Italian, Spanish? For each language has a different way of breathing, and of being...

I have grown up sandwiched in between Canada's two solitudes - French, and English. Never completely at home in French while surrounded by a culture that is predominantly English, and where my mother tongue (the language first spoken to me by my mother) always felt like an uncomfortably big sweater where the sleeves had been rolled up. And at the same time, I am never completely whole in English alone - I feel as though a part of me is missing somehow when I live my life entirely in that language. So how do I then construct my subjectivism, in the spaces between these two languages? How do I breathe in this space between two silences?

3) Three, three...what was three again? Well, Nicole read some of her journal writings from being in Japan in 1982 - Tokyo, and Kyoto. And there are places in her narrative that I swear could have been written by me when I wrote Yume. The same sense of being lost in translation, so the saying goes. The same sense of becoming entirely wordless, and of being lost in a culture where holy sites and neon lights are cramped together. Where the sublime is nestled in the commonplace...weird...

How neat to be able to write every day...To get up in the morning and have words sew the spaces in between your breaths. To construct a world out of words...

Koyanisquatsi

2005-10-08T23:39:00.000-03:00

That's the Hopi word for "life out of balance"...and as an environmentalist I felt it was time for me to comment on the crazy things happening in our world. Today an earthquake may have killed upwards of 3,000 people in India, Pakistan and Afghanistan. And it's finally time for me to speak up and say: life is definitely out of balance.

As a teenager, I first became aware of the environmental ills in our world when I stopped by the Body Shop and bought a sweatshirt depicting the hole in the Ozone layer, and asking for the ban of CFCs. Somehow, things seemed so black and white back then (curiously, the color of my sweatshirt, as well): hole in the ozone layer? My response was, let's send a sattelite into space, and make tons of little sparks that will emit enough ozone to plug the hole. And stop using CFCs.

Well it's more than 15 years later, and things no longer seem so black and white; nor do they seem like a few shades of grey... Perhaps the reason why I haven't commented on hurricanes Rita and the others is because, if I started I'd never stop... Some call this teetering on the edge of eco-depression: a sense that there is so much ill in the world, and there are no easy solutions. We're into October, and the weather is strange and the air is choked grey with smog, although the leaves have already started to change. I no longer know what the solutions are, since I myself cannot even wean myself from my car and still occasionally use my dishwasher when I get lazy. If I can't change my behavior, who's to say the rest of the world will, either?

Perhaps these earthquakes and hurricanes and the like are Gaia's way of saying: time to wake up...time to shift the scale back in balance...I have no idea anymore...

Encourage is synonymous with suggest, lest you forget...

2005-09-30T11:32:00.000-03:00

Yep, it's friday. There is absolutely no one in my hallway. They're all at the OUF (or 'oeuf' as our Manager refers to it -- the humungous university fair for highschool kids). We never had such an event when we were choosing unis. Most of us in my highschool chose Ottawa U cause it was one of the only French places to study in Ontario, and we got money for doing it, too! I made it through one year of French Biology and then switched to the English Lit program. Go figure.

But man do I wish I could go back and talk to my guidance counselor who was more interested in finding me a date for the prom than in actually counseling me. No, he told me I'd be fine no matter what subject I chose, then proceeded to tell me about his job in a paper mill in his undergrad, and how he hoped his daughter would turn out like me. Thanks for the compliment, but what you should have said was, go into communication or journalism.

Then again, no one ever said life was easy. And I guess I appreciate things more now that I've had to work for them and figure things out on my own. I certainly don't think the last 12 years have been a waste of education. Anyways. Things have turned out just fine, and I'm happy with where I am now.

Oh yeah. I have to work the PIF tomorrow. Sit at a table and chat to pples. Fun stuff.

And btw: encourage is synonymous with suggest - anyone who disputes that is just trying to be difficult. You know who you are.

Toodles for now,

Ceebie

Remembering 9-11

Sunday Scribblings: Hitched (Or, Tilting at blue skies)

Sunday Scribblings: The gift

My balcony garden project

Sunday Scribblings: The next step

Perfect peach pie & sunshine on a balcony

My kitchen garden project: signs of life!

Nature's bright ideas

Week six: I *heart* two-degree weather, and the importance of cross-training

Canadian writers speak out on Bill C-32

Valentine's Morning Grand Marnier French Toast

Week four: Whatever it is, find something to kick your butt out that door

Week three of my marathon journey: snow, rain, ice, snain...it's all good

Week one: great tempo, speed bumps and keeping on...

Those first steps on my journey of 952.2 kilometres

Sunday Scribblings: December

Sunday Scribblings: Guidance

What type of stemware are you? A new way of talking about body shape...

What is this?

Sunday Scribblings: Antidote

Breakfast at the Armview

First snowfall

How walkable is your neighbourhood?

Sunday Scribblings: Nature's bright ideas

Saturdays - what a difference a day makes

Pain is temporary. Pride is forever.

Free cupcakes!

Of cupcakes, inspiration and new beginnings

Poetry Thursday

Saturday morning yoga class

Simply because I should post something...

Sunday Scribblings: Skin

Trouble afoot at the Walrus

Will things ever calm down, and AAARGH!

SRC weeks 12? 13? where did I drop off?

Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings

I'm back

I've been AWOL

Poetry Thursday supplement

Help!

Poetry Thursday rough cut

Sunday Scribblings

First three days, first three weeks, first three months

Musings on internet dating...

SRC week 9 - I Capture the Castle

Poetry Thursday

A literature map!

Poetry Thursday

SRC week 7 - catching up

SRC weeks 5 & 6 (or is it 6 & 7?)

Freedom!!!

Poetry Thursday

I have to do this

Eats, Shoots & Leaves - great passages

Who is a feminist poet?

Poetry Thursday supplement

Poetry Thursday

I think I am a stickler

SRC Book - Wuthering Heights

I got it!

Poetry Thursday

Interview outfit - wardrobe poll

Failing utterly

Poetry Thursday

Procrastination, or work???

Poetry Thursday

SRC Book of the Week: An Obsession With Butterflies

SRC book of the week: The Red Tent, by Anita Diamant

This is a new one for me...

Thursday's poem of the week

Tag!

Midwives, by Chris Bohjalian

Weekly SRC tally: Novels: 0.5; Government reports: 2

What a great week!

Thursday poem of the week

They like me! They really like me!

Update on the Pathways front...

Food for thought - Canada's Boreal forest

Week six: I heart two-degree weather, and the importance of cross-training