Soul Soothing Sunday

A doe, a fawn, 2 eagles, 3 marmots and a few quails. These are things I saw today on my drive out to Carmelis Goat Cheese Farm today, just under 6 kms from my summer home. The sun was shining and the road to the farm follows the Okanogan Lakeshore Road. I stopped several times along the way to observe the wild life and take a few photos as it is all new and fresh to me and I have that "new kid in town" wonder about me.

I used to live in B.C. about 16 years ago and I have always missed it. The mountains and the landscape never fail to feed my soul. Just a few minutes ago, I looked out the front window as I heard some wind whipping up and a dark ominous sky was moving quickly from over the mountain and heading my way.  A few years ago an unfortunate forest fire destroyed most of the evergreen trees that once covered the surrounding hills here and it will take years before the landscape replenishes itself. I saw quite a few burnt out acres on the drive from Jasper to Kelowna and it always saddens me.  It feels eerie and sort of creepy almost when you are driving through it.  Like the valley of death.  Blackened trunks, now sharply pointing to the sky, stripped of life, evil looking. 

Surprisingly on my drive past some of it today, two eagles still perched upon these tall charred look outs. They stood out easily on them. Their majesty and beauty surpassing the devilish spikes they rested upon.  It lightened my heart to have to slow for a doe and her young fawn a little further up the road.  They clearly had not deserted their ashen homeland, the terror of that time surely a distant memory for them now. Marmots scurried across my path, speedier now with less brush to camouflage them. Despite this section of the fire's wrath, it is still possible to find the beauty that lies west of the disaster. Looking over to the water, the view is still spectacular and lush. 

I discovered a nice little beach access at Cedar Creek that I will definitely frequent when the weather soon turns hot.  A couple of brave souls were waist deep in the water today, but I got the impression they were just posing for a photo and would soon hightail it back to shore.  The lake temperature is not quite warm enough to entice me yet.  

I found a lovely nursery where I stopped and bought some flowers and herbs to plant in pots to enjoy over the season.  As it is late to shop for this sort of thing, I got lucky and everything was reduced for the last week of June.  I spent the afternoon planting and it felt good to dig in the dirt as I have been away from my garden for a couple of years now.  It made me realize how much I love it and how I have missed it.  

All and all it was a perfect Sunday here in this western paradise.  I even had some furry company as I am cat-sitting my niece's cat for 10 days. Winx is quite social and seems to function quite well with one eye.  Her altered face makes her even more sweet and lovable.  She hung with me while I puttered away and it was nice to have her around. 

Once again, I will look forward to sleeping.  It is soooo quiet here. After living in Toronto for so many years, the white noise is absent here. The quiet is such a contrast. 

Just what the doctor ordered. 

I'll give ya a buck for that!

If you read yesterdays blog, this edition will seem as though I have lost my mind. Two weeks ago today I had a big garage sale where I unloaded heaps of possessions. I swore after the experience that I was never going to collect so much stuff again. 

Fast forward to today.  As I have been settling into my new summer house, I have concluded I needed a few things to make it more functional and comfortable.  Clearly, it is insane to purchase things for a short term rental that I will not likely tote with me when I leave. However, I had been making a mental list of what I would need to complete my summer experience here. The boys are off on a fishing trip, so I got the invitation from my sister-in-law yesterday to join her and another friend to go GARAGE SALEing today.  "EGADS!", I thought to myself. No way. 

Then it occurred to me that perhaps many of the things on my mental list might actually be found on such an excursion, and it would also be nice to spend time with her and meet someone new, so I accepted the invitation to hit the streets at 7:30 this morning.  I had been forewarned that the woman who had planned the morning was a "professional" garage saler. Really? OK then, let the games begin.  I was a bit of an expert myself many years ago when I would scour the neighbourhood on a Saturday morning for treasures, but had long since given it up as my own garage became the receptacle for most of the junk I collected.  Things that required repair or painting or revamping that I never got to...you know the drill.

This woman made me look like an amateur.  She assigned another woman who joined us as the navigator and handed her a lengthy list filled with addresses.  Her job was to read out the addresses and check them off as we completed them.  She knew which homes would be more likely to have good stuff versus crap stuff and in between the planned list of stops, we stopped at even more that were unadvertised. This was gorilla garage saling.  She even had some rules.  No wasting time.  If you sized a place up and decided you were uninterested, you were to head to the car, indicating you were finished rather than hanging about.  This way the last one left lingering knew she better step up the pace and complete her negotiating as the others would be waiting back at the car.  This was serious business!

And fun. It was almost a workout actually as we zipped in and out of a dozen places or more.  When the car trunk would become too full, we would stop back at her place, unload, and head back on the treasure hunting trail. I half expected to buy little if nothing at all.  Wrong!  I was on a mission for lamps.  The place I am staying is lovely and cool nestled in the trees, but it is dark. The walls and ceilings are all pine panelling and the present lighting is just not bright enough.  I needed more light and I found it!  Not only did I find lamps, one seller even had an entire carton of new light bulbs for fifty cents a box. Kid you not.  I bought 5 lamps for $21.00. There is a nice little peninsula in the kitchen here, but no counter stools.  Found a good solid pair of those for $20.  The guest room needed a second side table next to the bed.  Found one for $2. There are no cloth napkins in the house. Found a brand new set of those with tags still on them, brand new, for $2. I need a new garment bag. Found one for $8 after some serious negotiations. I have been on the hunt for an old copy of Crocodile Dundee as my daughter has never seen it and I told her it is pretty funny.  Found it for $2. Then of course there were a couple of other purchases that were not necessary but so cheap it was crazy to turn down.

A toothless woman at one stop in a rather dodgy area was selling a lot of stuff that looked like she had acquired it in suspect ways.  I noticed a copy of the movie version of Love in the time of Cholera. Having read the book, I was curious about the movie. How could I turn down anything by Gabriel Garcia Marquez for a buck? I asked the woman if she had watched it. She had not.  I asked her if she had read the book. She said she was not much of a reader. Best I rescue it I figured, as it was not being appreciated in its present home. I do recall it got rather luke warm reviews, but surely anything with Javier Bardem cannot be that bad.  I will let you know how it turns out.

Then I came upon a copy of Ayn Rand's Fountainhead.  A nice hardcover in perfect condition. I will sheepishly admit I have never read it.  I know, I know, it is a classic and I surely should have devoured it back in the day, but it is on my bucket list of must reads before I die, so I chatted with the seller about it and as it turns out, she was actually giving all her books away for free. How do you turn that down?  She also had some trashy Jilly Cooper novel that came out a couple of years ago and I snapped that up as well...beach reading for sure. She was the same vendor that sold me a pine bedside table for $2.  I think she was in it for the company and conversation more than the money.  Ya figure?

Then, just as I was running out of steam for the day, we came to the piste de resistance of garage sale vendors.  An estate sale.  Not just any old estate sale, mind you.  This was the estate sale of a hoarder house.  A genuine crazy ass hoarder house!  I was gobsmacked.  It was just like those places you see on TV. The adult children of the deceased owners were there and just letting people wind their way through the whole house.  Every room crammed to the rafters with JUNK...and the odd treasure. There were unopened boxes of every thing you can imagine.  Small appliances, kitchen utensils, office supplies, never-worn shoes, unopened ugly bedding, a garage and shed chock-a-block full of tools and so much crap you could barely move through it.  It was horrifying to me.  Especially in my new state of minimizing.  How could anyone let their home become so, so out of control? It actually made me sort of nauseous. And oddly, of the thousands of things in that house, I needed none of it.  The other ladies were finding the odd items they would be able to use, so I reluctantly loitered about rummaging through boxes and shelves and drawers in a vain attempt to find some little item that might be useful to kill time.

Surely, amidst all this bounty there must be something that would ignite some little bit of consumerist desire in me.  Maybe if I had been trying to outfit an empty home with necessities for daily living, perhaps this place might have excited me, but it actually repelled me instead.  It just highlighted what I have been thinking and feeling for so long now.  There is just way too much STUFF. Then just as I was about to leave the house and go and wait outside, I spotted a box of assorted crap that contained a retro tobacco can. I recognized the label immediately. It was a VOGUE cigarette tobacco can. The lid was missing. In an instant I was sitting at my mother's kitchen table in 1961 watching my father roll his own cigarettes. We would have been at the gray arborite table with the chrome legs.  Suddenly I felt nostalgic. The can spoke to me. My sister-in-law recalled the label as well.  We rummaged for the lid to no avail. What would I do with it?  I suggested it would make a good pencil and pen holder.  She volunteered her idea of a small planter.  Whatever, it was coming home with me. 

As I sit writing this, the can is within my peripheral vision and it is giving me some sort of odd pleasure. Like all retro signage, it hearkens back to a time when we actually did not have so much stuff.  The world had not yet exploded with Dollaramas and "shopping til you drop" was not even a consideration. And maybe that is what appealed to me. My mother's minimal decor, our limited collection of toys, our sparser wardrobes, the weekly trek to the grocery store on pay day, one pair of summer sheets and one pair of flannel winter sheets, lacking versus excess. Were we more grateful then? 

I know one thing for sure. I had one pair of sneakers, a pair of sandals, a pair of penny loafers and a pair of patent leather Mary Manes for church. A far cry from the 4 boxes of shoes (reduced from 8) I packed in my car June 9th to move across the country. And guess what? Since I arrived, I have only worn 3 pairs.  My sneakers, my sandals and a pair of flip flops. The boxes remain unopened in my closet. 

Some lessons being learned here.  

Stop.  Just stop.

Purged

 Scattered

bits here

more over there

impermanent shards to be retrieved later

or not

graphic patterns of light dance

on the wall where once

a treasured armoire stood

its beauty replaced

by something less tangible 

yet no less inspired

spaces everywhere left open 

allowing for new to flow in

new what?

wait and see

For now

my heart 

fragile, delicate

like a piece of chipped pink mayfair

softly absorbing

beating on

healing

waiting

anticipating

unblocked, unclogged

Open roads ahead

no guarantees

only leaps of faith

or joyful skipping

Caution! Road Work Ahead!

The road to minimalist living is filled with potholes, detours, traffic jams, missing directional signs and more obstacles than you could ever imagine.  I am on that road now and I can report with first hand knowledge that it requires precise navigation and nerves of steel.

You have to be absolutely certain that the minimalist destination is where you want to be headed. But that is the funny thing about life - is anything really absolute? In my experience, no. It is however one of those roads, that once you start heading down it, U-turns are difficult and even if you do make one successfully, there is no guarantee that turning back will get you where you want to go either.  So, I am forging ahead and slowly but surely discarding everything I have accumulated over the course of my life on this planet.  

There is a dude who has reduced his life to 100 things.  I don't know that I will achieve that, but compared to what I once owned, it will seem like even less.  The furniture is a tough one for  me, especially any pieces I have purchased in the last couple of years that have been barely used and still give me that "new stuff visual joy hit".  I keep telling myself it can all be replaced again if necessary, but the chances of that are slim.  My next permanent space will likely be a whole new look and none of it would really work anyway.  

The clothing is proving less angst-ridden than I had anticipated.  I tend to grow bored with clothing within a season or two anyway with the odd exception, so between gifting it to friends and consigning the more expensive pieces, by Monday I hope to have reduced it to 3 suitcases. A lofty goal at that, but I will store some business clothing and excess coats and party dresses and things I won't be wearing.  If  I ever need them again, I know where to find them.

So just as I was moving down the road managing to navigate the bumps fairly well, I hit a bloody big road block last night that really stopped me in my tracks. I had been collecting boxes to prepare for this one.  I knew it was up ahead, but I had no idea the impact it would have on me. It was time to empty the bookshelves. I had already reduced their numbers when I moved out of my house two years ago.  At that time, I only kept the books I really loved and books that I tend to reference.  As I looked at each spine, a decision had to me made. Garage sale, pass along to mother or daughter or friend, bring along or store. It felt like bits of me. Bits of my history. I have always loved being surrounded by them. Getting rid of them was like casting off my identity of who I was, who I am now and the ones I still had not gotten around to reading...who I might become.  

I felt a panic rising in me. I like my books. I don't want to get rid of them.  There must be a way I can take them with me. I know I can do the e-book thing, but it's not the same.  That is not visual. I like the look of books on a shelf or in a case or stacked up next to the bed. If ever I am bored or lonely or sad or depressed, there is always a book that can come to my rescue.  I was parting with  my life lines - it felt that wretched. I was weepy, angry, confused. I sorted through them in a sort of Neptunian fog. The room lighting was poor since I sold off 2 of my lamps and I was struggling with seeing the labels on the sea of boxes surrounding me. 

There were some that had had such a major impact on my life that there was no way they were going anywhere but into the "store" box. My first hard-cover book purchase, still with me to this day, The Prophet by Kahil Gabran.  I bought it in London, Ontario when I was 18 at an independent little bookshop there.  Looking back, it was likely one of the first steps I took on my spiritual journey.  A spiritual journey that I have been on my entire life. One that I will likely always be on since it's not likely I will be any more successful than the next guy at figuring it "all" out.  My collection of Rilke poetry.  Nope, that was not going to any garage sale and being sold off for a quarter. Nor my Rumi collections. Or A Fine Balance, or Eat Pray Love, signed books.  Any books that I knew were stained with my own tears - essentially that became the criteria.  James Hollis, Deepak Chopra, Wayne Dyer.  These guys have been in the trenches with me.  How could I callously toss them into a box with Golf tips for Women? No way. They deserved a better fate than that. So I reduced the most meaningful volumes into 2 boxes. The "Deb KEEP" boxes, where they will sit in a basement for an undetermined period of time until they are one day resurrected from the darkness.

This morning, that road block behind me, fresh with a restorative night's rest, I will start my engine again and put her in gear and see what today will bring. If I had to guess, I would say I am only about one third of the way down this road.  The trick is to keep moving forward, rearview glimpses to a minimum, crank up the tunes, put a good coffee in the cupholder...and drive. 

Not Quite Home

Lonely Planet, Andalucia lays on the coffee table, 3 half unpacked suitcases sit on the bedroom floor, 2 bags of assorted souvenirs rest on the dusty unused treadmill. The windows of the apartment remain open despite the cool air and rain tonight airing out the space that was uninhabited the last three weeks. Jet lag grips us still just as habitual holas and gracias roll off our tongues from time to time even though there is no longer a need to communicate in Spanish; remnants of our brief immersion in another country.  Transition days.  The space in between.

In a few more days, home will feel like home again, but for now the lingering images and voices and scenes will drift in and out of our minds.  The sudden memory of a moment or a vista still fresh and poignant prolong the journey a little longer.  I am overwhelmed with ideas for blogs.  Travel always provides me with so much fodder and yet I am not ready.  I am greedy.  Sharing might diminish the memories somehow.  I think I will hang onto it all a bit longer, let it ferment and brew for a time before I splash it out on paper. 

The details of picking up the day to day routines once home seem to steal a bit away as well.  I want to ease back in gradually. Not all at once.  Few appointments. Minimal calls. Next week will be soon enough. 

Plans have already begun for the second leg of the "gap year".  That is entirely enough "busy" for now.  That, and working off the Reubenesque figure I acquired during the first leg! Best we did come home before it became more like a Modigliani. I think I was only about one croissant short of that!

Buenos noches for now.

No entiendo!

One of the less glamorous aspects of travel in a foreign country is the little things you encounter that stump you or frustrate you.  However, these are usually the things that you find yourself laughing over after the fact.

For instance, we are renting a small flat instead of staying in a hotel here in Sitges.  I like this type of accommodation as it feels more like actually living in the town or city you are in. It does require a bit more planning and effort, but allows you to enjoy some meals at "home" and immerses you a little more into the culture.  Grocery shopping becomes part of your day. However, it does take a little longer since all the labels are in Spanish and you do end up with the odd surprise. We forgot the pocket translator back at the ranch and neither of us speak the language, so what we thought was Greek yogurt turned out to be plain sweetened yogurt and we spent at least 5 minutes trying to find dish cloths and garbage bags. They use a completely different type of cloth here and the garbage bags come in rolls, not boxes or flat packages. The we had to determine the sizes and what would normally be a quick toss into the cart turns into a cross-examination in aisle 3.  It is humbling to say the least but hours later it was a source of amusement over yet another glass of insanely cheap Tempranillo.

This morning it was the washing machine fiasco. The icons don't even look the same. So I guessed at the dials and hoped for the best, but got it wrong and let's just say the load eventually got done, but whether or not it is really all that clean is debatable. Then the front-loading door refused to disengage the lock mechanism and for awhile it seemed we would be leaving a load of wet towels for the next guests who rent this apartment.  These quirky little "first world problems" are really just that however. As I sit here writing this blog gazing out over the azure blue Mediterranean, I have nothing to complain about. These differences are exactly what makes travel an adventure and what propels one out of complacency.



Our timing could not be better in terms of the weather. The wisteria is in full bloom and many flowers, including roses are in their prime right now. The temperature is perfect for hiking and exploring and the evenings are cool for sleeping with no need for air-conditioning. As we make our way further south in a few days, this will change somewhat, but so will the focus of our itinerary.

Tomorrow we are heading into Barcelona for a day of culture. There is a wonderful Picasso museum I want to see and a stroll along La Rambla and through Barri Gothic, a lunch in the El Born area, all of which ought to fill the day before heading back here to our temporary home in Sitges.

For now, Saturday night looms, siesta has passed and it's time to say buenos noches.



Salud!

One enormous Foodgasm!

Ok, between the French and their love affair with butter and the Spaniards with their love of olive oil soaked paella and creamy egg custards, I am caught in their culinary clutches, helpless to resist.  This morning it occurred to me it was useless to even try.  I observed as the thin and fashionable European women sipped their cafe con leche and assorted pastries without guilt or hesitation and convinced myself that calories are decidedly not a thing to be counted here, but instead, savoured.

When in Rome...yet another justification. It also occurred to me that as I clocked at least 20,000 steps today, whatever I did ingest fuelled my body and I likely broke even by day's end. There is such a distinct joie de vivre that permeates the daily life in Europe that we do not embrace in North America. The trick it seems is everything in moderation. An ounce of exquisite creamy Brie, one slice of butter slathered baguette, a freshly baked croissant, one scoop of dulce de leche gelato. Saying no seems uptight and rigidly controlled. Indulging seems relaxed and sensual. The difference not unlike bony and sinewy vs curvy and sensual.

So, for this brief interlude in my life, I will partake. Savour. Enjoy. Embrace my curves.

Indulge.

Live.

Guiltless.

Happy.

Ate, Prayed, Loved....Now what?

Do you have the same problem I have?  It is a particular problem I have always had with being the bearer of bad news.  Or less than positive news. Or something  you know you have to tell someone that you know is going to upset them. Or giving someone your honest opinion even when you know it is not what they want to hear.  I really struggle with this.  

Over the last few years, it seems I have had to do this on a regular basis.  One would think that with continual practice, it might get easier and I suppose in a way it does, but it is never really easy.  Some are worse than others.  "I don't want to be married to you anymore." THE worst. " I am quitting." (a job) "I won't be re-signing my lease, sorry." 

Then there are the disappointing things you have to admit to yourself.  "I did not succeed."  "I can be judgemental." "I am an imperfect being." "I can be lazy." "I can be selfish." "I am impatient." "I weigh ... WHAT?" "Am I a good enough mother?" "Could I be a better mother/daughter/partner/friend?" 

The lead up to these revelations and announcements are perhaps worse than the actual words that are uttered.  The fear of the reaction.  The fear of your own reaction.  The fear of the consequence. That's a lot of fear.  It has been said that we are only motivated by two things in life - fear and love.  Think about that.  Hard to argue with, ain't it?  We fear so many things.  Rejection. Humiliation. Embarrassment. Poverty. Loneliness. Change. The list goes on.  We want to be accepted, loved, liked, appreciated, needed, wanted, desired.  If we do this or do that or say this or say that, what is at risk? 

So, we put off the truths.  We ignore the voice in our head that is always there.  There are times when that voice gets louder and times when we can barely hear it.  The denial of the voice is where many of us spend the most time.  Suppressing the voice takes many forms.  We bury it with distractions like over-work, alcohol, over-eating, over-scheduling, obsessive compulsions, mindless television watching, over-exercise, drugs - you name it, we avoid it with something. That numbing can go on for years or even forever.  But, the crazy thing is, the voice never goes away. It is always there if we allow ourselves to be conscious.

Being conscious and remaining conscious is kind of like losing weight and maintaining the weight loss.  The latter part is always the most difficult.  It is a practice.  One that you can't just expect to happen without effort.  It is not easy.  By the time we finally perfect the practice, we are old.  That is if we ever get there at all.  Surely the reason that the words "wise" and "old" are always strung together; comfortable like two peas in a pod.  There are some exceptions to this - the occasional souls who figure it all out when they are young but generally speaking, the road to conscious living takes longer for the average person.

One example in my own life has been the number of years I have been ignoring the voice that keeps telling me I would benefit from a meditation practice.  I have stubbornly fought this voice for as long as I can remember.  I had a teacher in high school who recommended it.  He was my definition of the coolest teacher ever.  He was young, a recent teacher's college graduate and he wore his hair a bit long and he taught Man in Society and World Religions.  He also taught an Astrology course at the night school level and I enrolled in that course out of curiosity and my school girl crush on him.  He also meditated regularly.  How cool was that?  I wanted to be like him. Wise like him. So, I joined a yoga class and I tried to meditate.  But at 17 and 18, I was more interested in being "awake" in other ways.  It seemed boring and slow to me.  If I was going to move my body, it best be vigorously and slowing my mind - well that was near impossible.  I put yoga and meditation in the mental pile with golf and crosswords - something I could do when I retired.

Over the years, I have made several attempts to re-visit this, but still found it too difficult. Too time-consuming. Too slow.  Too boring. Too hippy-dippy. Too, too, too something.  Yet, the voice keeps nagging me.  It just won't go away.  I know I need to listen now.  I do feel it is time.  So, I am making a plan to start.  This summer, surrounded by the beauty of beautiful British Columbia, I am going to take the time and the amazing opportunity I will have to finally begin what will hopefully become a life-long practice.  

Amen - or rather Ohhhmmmmm to that!

I won the Big Bag of Cash!

OK, so I tried to anyway! I have tried many many times to get through to CHFI for this contest but never have any luck getting through.  So, this morning, I thought if I wrote that headline just before they announced the "be the fifteenth caller now", it might be like a form of positive thinking or something like that.  The notion that if you think and act like you have already won, it will happen.  Clearly, I was not thinking hard enough.  

The other day the woman from Toronto who won the big lotto max prize of 40 million was on the  news doing her crazy happy dance...and I don't use the term "crazy" loosely in this case.  Is it just me or was she a little "too" crazy?  Who is to say really?  We all express ourselves and our emotions differently.  In fact, she was probably just being authentic, but her authenticity made me uncomfortable for some reason.  She seemed a bit out of control and being out of control is one of my own personal issues, so I suppose I found her behaviour disturbing and annoying because I myself would have behaved with far more composure.  She triggered something in me.  

I imagined her incapable of being able to handle such a large prize.  She will probably spend it on all the wrong things, I thought.  She will be one of those winners who finds themselves broke again in a couple of years or sooner.  I would know how to spend it.  That's why I deserve to win it.  Not some loony tunes woman.  I started to examine my thinking and it occurred to me that my desire to want to control how she spends her winnings was just as insane as her "out of control" happy dance.  It is like telling a homeless person how to spend the toonie you just tossed in their cup.  You cannot.  If it goes toward another bottle of gut-rot, it just does.  We cannot give to receive the results "we" desire.  The gift is the giving. Full stop.

Why was I judging this woman?  I did not know her.  At all. I had no right to judge her.  She may be a perfectly normal person.  She just collected a cheque for 40 million dollars - is it any wonder she was a little out of control?  Her physical appearance was very modest.  She wore no jewelry or make-up and her hair was long and loosely pulled off her face in a thick pony tail.  It appeared she had made little effort for the TV cameras.  She looked like a typical traditional Italian or Portuguese house wife.  A bit bulky.  Someone's Nona.   Turns out she did have grandchildren - 5, I think it was. She was only 51.  One of the things she planned to do was take them to Disney World.  A dream that she was likely unable to fulfill the day before.  Good on her. Maybe that would be her plan.  Just keep giving and giving and giving to her family like she always has.  Anything else might feel foreign to her.  Perhaps that role is so entrenched in her psyche she would not even consider alternative uses for her new found wealth.

In any case, I will not have any control over what she does or does not do with her cash.  A friend of mine suggested it was good to see her win it rather than some rich dude that did not need it.  I doubt that rich dudes bother buying lottery tickets.  Still, my favourite lottery win story of all time was the old couple about 2 years ago in the US that won big and gave away every cent, citing they already had everything they needed...each other.  

They had already won before they won.  How about that?

Now playing on the Humber River...

The salmon are working their way up the Humber right now. I have been watching them for the past two weeks now. I never tire of this entertainment.  Today was exceptionally busy. However, of the hundred or more I witnessed struggling to jump the many sets of falls, I only saw two make it for certain. These determined fish are so fascinating to me. I urge you to get down there soon before the spectacle has passed for another season. 

Pausing in Gananoque

What's the point if we are just going to die anyway?  That is the thought I often have when someone I know dies young or suddenly.  Then, almost as quickly, my next thought is, "Holy shit, better get living.!" Then I start to question the meaning of that.  Generally speaking, I think I am, but is what I am doing from day to day really living?  Is it "living like you are dying"?, as the song goes.

Or, is it just simply trying to be grateful for each day you are still breathing?  I think that is important, but what about making a contribution?  What constitutes that?  Was I a good friend today?  Was I a loving mother today?  Was I a giving partner?  Was I kind to a stranger?  Are those important enough?  Did I squander my talents today?  Ahhhh!  Felt a twinge of guilt on that one.  Ouch. But there is the rub.  What is my talent?  Really.  There are a few things I am good at. But, would one define it as "talent"?  I suppose if you graded me or tested me, or liked the results of something I provided for you, that could be considered.  Why are we so hard on ourselves?  Why do I think I need to win an award for my talents or write a best seller or turn out some sort of child prodigy to make my life count?

I know that is unrealistic thinking, but underneath it all I do harbour those thoughts.  If only I could just do this or do that or be this or be that, then my life will have meant something.  Well, who the hell decided those were the rules?  And ain't that just one way of looking at it?  What mere mortal cast that notion in stone?  

A friend of mine lost her husband last week.  It was a sudden and tragic accident.  Life as she once knew it just days ago is over.  This has me all stirred up again.  Another friend lost her husband in January.  And yet another had a very close call with hers last month.  Is it any bloody wonder I am in such a place right now contemplating life and death and what it all means.  It's messy and murky and heavy and sad.  But it also brings up the opposite.  It makes me not want to waste a moment.  Feel joy deeply. Hug. Smile. Laugh. Sing. Dance. Have fun. Never regret.

I drove to Toronto from Ottawa today.  I had a lovely visit with my daughter who is at university there.  We hugged. A lot. On the way home we had no real deadline to get to the city and as we approached Gananoque, I said, "let's check out this place, I have actually never stopped here."  It was such an awesome surprise.  We practically had the waterfront to ourselves as the lingering winter winds continued their harsh attack over the water, but we braved the stroll along the point and took a few snaps and felt the fresh frigid air on our cheeks.  "We are alive," I thought silently.  Cold, but alive.  The sun was bright in the crisp clear blue sky and the water looked choppy and clean enough to drink.  We read the historic plaques and put our hoods up and imagined the abandoned beach filled with happy splashing children come summer.  But for today, it was empty and ours. The few of the thousand islands we could see from the shoreline looked inviting but untouchable from our position on the beach.  I wondered about the fortunate cottage owners who would populate them in summer.  What fun it must be to boat to your little island and enjoy the serenity and isolation they afford.

On days you get bored or in a mood to be around people, you could motor over to Gananoque and stroll around, visit a gallery, eat ice cream.  The idyllic vision of that life danced gently through my mind as we worked our way across the waterfront park.  A small lighthouse that was likely really not a working tower but more a decorative feature created another vision of living an alternative lifestyle as a lighthouse keeper.  A dream tucked in the corner of my mind for years now.  Few, if any real lighthouses actually employ a full-time keeper anymore, but it is such a romantic notion that I just can't let it go.  In my imagination it is still possible.

It was time to get warm, so we got back into the car, the interior warmed by the noon day sun and made our way into town for lunch.  A few locals milled about the main street and we noticed a fairly steady stream of people coming and going from the Panache Bakery Cafe.  That would be the spot we figured.  We were right.  Homemade soups, sandwiches, baked goods and a seat at the counter facing the street in the window to watch the passing parade was just what the doctor ordered.  Warm at last.  It was probably a good thing the weather was as cold as it was as we surely would have wanted to stay and linger in Gananoque all afternoon otherwise.

The excursion to this lovely town on the north shore of Lake Ontario near Kingston was just the soul food I needed.  Soaking in the charm and beauty of this lakeside town fed me.  I was grateful for the nourishment.  I found it hard to believe I had never been here, having driven by the exit signs so many times on the drive across the 401 to Ottawa or Montreal.  This is exactly the reminder I needed.  The reminder that there is always something new to discover in this life. Something new to appreciate.  Something new to learn. Something to excite me.  Something to get passionate about.

And that is living. 

Roncy wins by a Length!

A couple of quick things before I head out into this stellar spring day folks.  For starters, the Easter weekend always requires at least one of two things.  Hot cross buns or Ukranian egg bread...or BOTH!  Popped over to Roncy village on Thursday for the egg bread and just had a couple of toasted slices with lots of butter.  It will now take at least 2 hours of power walking to compensate for it, but soooo worth it.  

I did discover that the Easter treats in Roncy village (Roncesvalles between Queen and Bloor) are more authentic and less expensive than in Bloor West Village where they are also abundant.  I  went to both and decided both have their charms but Roncey was definitely easier on the wallet.  There is also a really awesome chocolate shop called Chocolateria where all the chocolates are made my hand by the owners as well as homemade ice cream.  The varieties are endless including some fair trade selections and the ice cream was sublime...I only sampled it, but my shopping buddy went for the double scoop and reported it was superb!

I would also be remiss to not mention that the food at Bloom in Bloor West Village was really excellent on Thursday.  I have walked by that joint so  many times and never bothered to check it out, but now that I have, I can tell you it is really worth a visit.  One of those lovely little surprises that offers quality AND value - something that does not happen often enough in this town of a gazillion food choices.  I may do a separate review of it another day.

On another completely different note, a walk along the Humber River last Sunday resulted in some salmon spotting.  I was a bit confused to see them at this time of year, as I thought they only headed up river to spawn in the fall, but there they were, so maybe they do it twice a year - I will have to research that.  I wrote a blog about their journey on October 8, 2010 - please feel free to dig into  my archives and take a look at that one - my thoughts and feelings about it have not changed.  I just re-read it myself.

OK folks, must run - the sun is beckoning and that butter is settling on my arse!

Can Hardly "Contain" myself!

The next time you are wedged between a couple of transport trucks on the QEW, pause and think about me.  Whatever could this have to do with me you may be wondering.  Well, let me enlighten you.  Those large metal boxes they are hauling, better known as containers are being re-purposed in the coolest way these days.  Container houses.  Yup, those big ugly metal rectangles are being welded together, stacked in a myriad of configurations and turned into really awesome modern homes.

Don't believe me?  Google "container houses" and take a look for yourself. Some are being used for guest houses while others as the owner's main residences, you name it, you can create whatever space you need from them.  Some are simple, some far more elaborate and the sky is the limit really in terms of how you "build" your castle.  Think giant lego pieces. Cut out some windows and doors, vary the levels, play with the angles and finish the interiors to the extent you prefer.  You can go with a very basic industrial interior, or finish the walls and floors as you would any framed home.

The idea is really appealing to me the more research I do.  There are costs involved, but in the end it is far less expensive than a typical new build home and the aesthetic is unique and current. Talk about a dramatic shift in style for me.  I have always had an appreciation for modern design but it has only been in recent years that I have sensed myself moving toward this way of living and the more I see the many possibilities, the more exciting it gets.  In many ways it would be the ultimate art project.  The chance to really turn seemingly useless scraps of metal and wood into functional, possibly even beautiful elements in my home.  One home I looked at started their entire build around a smooth bark free tree, incorporating wiring and lighting into the branches that spread across the span of the house - a central pillar creating the home's organic identity.  It was functional art at it's best. 

This design (pictured above) is fairly simplistic.  I love the linear feel and the open and airy space created with the addition of glass.  The orange exterior walls are likely the original container colours but that can be customized in any case.  The single container guest house at the top of this page would be a really simple project and could also be used as a pool-side cabana.

There is a really great container home designed by Debbie Glassberg.  Google her place and check it out.  It is one of the best I have seen in terms of how she really stuck to the long narrow spaces for the various rooms - obviously a galley kitchen is necessary and I love the way she floated the bed in the middle of the master bedroom.  See below.

The exterior and landscaping pull it all together.  Who knew shipping containers could look like this?

This drawing below of the original vision illustrates that anything is possible with a bit of imagination and thinking outside the box.  Or I guess that should read thinking outside AND inside the box.  Even Starbucks has got in on the trend opening a container location in Tukwila, Washington in December 2011. 

I really do encourage  you to surf around and take a peak at the amazing ideas out there.  It kinda puts a whole new spin on "special delivery".

Starbucks Container cafe, Tukwila, Wa.

  

Go ahead and JUMP!

Weathering the place in between.  Seems that is where I am right now in almost every aspect of my life.  Dr. Wayne Dyer would suggest I am on the precipice of entering the afternoon of my life. I would tend to agree with him.  There is however some resistance, some of it conscious, some not so much.

For instance, my physical body is in a constant tug of war with the concept.  For one, I think I may be in the running for the Guinness Book of Records for the oldest fertile broad in the world.  Yup, old menopause has not snatched me up yet.  Most women my age have been in that territory for years already, but my bloody body just keeps pumping the estrogen like a broken water main, month after month.  Every month I think, maybe this will be it.  The final hurrah, but every month, Aunt Flo shows up uninvited and frankly, she has really overstayed her welcome.

I know I should be grateful for the benefits this affords me as it is apparently keeping  me young in many ways.  My radiologist was kind enough to comment on it when I had a mammogram recently and informed me that the reason it was taking them so long to get a good image of my left boob was due to the density of my breast.  He said most women my age don't have this problem.  Somehow I did not appreciate this "benefit" as the torture of the mammary press was adjusted half a dozen times, each time flattening and tugging my poor girl into an unrecognizable pancake while the hard arm of the apparatus dug into my armpit.  "Take the bloody shot already!", I wanted to scream as he and his two female technicians hemmed and hawed over the angle each time. I could barely breathe.  

That journey is not over yet either.  Seems the biopsy that they had to do TWICE, warrants further investigation and so now I have to have a lumpectomy.  This is not worrying me as the early detection squad at Princess Margaret cannot see any cancer cells but feel the calcifications they can see could be something.  They reckon only a 15% chance of anything and since this would be very early detection, that would be a good thing as well.  I of course am tempted to keep the larger chunk of me they want to excise and take my chances, but then the ever-looming "what-if" would be haunting me day and night, so I will let them have a piece of me.  I have even signed over that piece for the sake of research.  It won't be any good to me once it is gone - they may as well poke it and prod it in the name of education.  Better than being tossed into the waste bin.

So, where was I?  Got a little off track there.  Oh, yes, the afternoon of my life.  So, as I was saying, the place in between applies spiritually as well.  I know I am about to take the next step there too, but it is a little foggier.  I know now that what ever I decide to devote the rest of my working years to will NOT be motivated by money or ego.  I will not work in sales ever again.  I am not even interested in making a living in the design world anymore.  Nope, next time around there will have to be a strong sense of "soul-feeding" attached to any work I do.  I put my hand on that burner for the very last time.  I am not motivated by money anymore.  This may be naive I know, but I am listening to my inner voice from now on and unless what I am doing is something I love, it ain't happening.  

So that is why this "gap year" I am embarking on is so vitally important.  I need this time to figure it out.  There is a great story about "taking the leap".  We take these leaps in our lives from time to time and the story goes that the time in between the cliff's edge and landing on the other side is perhaps where we learn the  most.  Like letting go of the trapeze bar to grab the next one.  That scary place in between.  I am getting used to these places in between the last couple years.  It does become less frightening each time.  It is about not closing doors and remaining open to ideas, course corrections and living in the moment.  Since January, I have explored several new directions and nothing has quite gelled yet other than the current plan to travel and explore my options.  

Just trusting I will land on both feet.  

Or one anyway. Wobbly landings are not the end of the world either.

Distraction or Inspiration?

There is only one cure for this snowy bleak second day of spring.  A nice glass of red wine, Van Morrison's Hymns to the Silence and a pot of boeuf bourguignon on the burner. A roaring fire would complete the picture but my current humble abode will not co-operate in that department so I will light a candle and imagine.

I have been reading quite a lot of Buddhist wisdom lately and I gotta say I am not entirely sold on all of it, particularly the bits referring to no alcohol as part of the path to enlightenment. I also read a lot on health and nutrition and there seems to be a contradiction there regarding the consumption of red wine. Thumbs down from the Buddhists and thumbs up from the nutritionists. Let me be clear here. I am all for clear-headedness and certainly understand the dangers of over-abuse and alcoholism, but complete abstinence is a stretch for me. 

I enjoy a couple glasses of vino - not daily, but when the mood strikes and there is nothing like a frosty cold brewski after the 18th hole or a hot day in the garden or after a well-played tennis match on a hot summer day. I see it as almost medicinal the older I get. The Bhuddists see it as an addiction to distractions. 

Does this mean I cannot find true enlightenment? As I question my motivation to pour a glass of wine on a cold snowy evening, my internal instincts still signalling hibernation is not over yet,  I allow this elixir to flow through my bloodstream, sending warm, calming vibes over my body and brain. Is this wrong? It feels so right. It actually feels like what it should feel like all the time. Relaxed, no anxiety, peaceful. And is that not exactly what enlightenment is supposed to feel like?

So what if the Bhuddists have it all wrong and all it takes to reach enlightenment is 8 ounces of the beloved fermented grape? Not only does it produce these feelings. Suddenly truths you might otherwise deny or keep hidden from others tend to reveal themselves.  This can go either way. You can feel more at ease speaking them sometimes or you can say more than you should. Either way, it's honest.

And from my perspective, authentic living requires honesty and truth. 

So, as with everything in life-moderation shall prevail.  A little nod to Bhuddist wisdom with a Shiraz chaser I say.

My definition of living authentically.

Three, two, one...blast off!

I had the good fortune to enjoy a Reiki session today. In keeping with my current mission to d-tox both physically and spiritually it was the perfect follow up to my herbal cleanse that ended last Saturday. If you have never had any experience with Reiki, it is defined as a spiritually guided life force energy. You can google it if you are really interested in understanding it but I will tell you it is a worthwhile investment of your time especially if you are trying to find or renew balance in your life.

My Reiki practitioner is in training and currently is an accredited energy medicine healer so adding Reiki to her practice is a natural evolution. I found myself distracted at the beginning of our session today and during our post-session evaluation of our time together I learned she felt my energy pushing her away initially. After I settled into a more relaxed state it allowed the energy to flow more evenly between us and I sensed a calm healing warmth emanating from her hands and penetrating my chakra points that was gratefully accepted.

As she worked her way along my body from head to toe as I lay on my back, her final stop at the bottom of my feet produced the most significant moment. My whole body felt almost weightless and a sensation of being lifted or launched straight up from standing overcame me even though I was laying down. It was a profound feeling that I can only describe as being given permission to fly, much like a mother bird would nudge her baby out of the nest. I was unafraid, unlike a small bird might be. Rather, I felt exhilarated and ready, all traces of fear, trepidation and fatigue vanished.

It seems it is truly time now for me to move in a new direction in my life and this was the perfect way to initiate the coming changes.

Houston, We have liftoff!