What is this?

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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.

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!

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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!

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?

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

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

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

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