It's All Hallows Eve down in the Glebe!!!
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Congratulations go out to my new Texan friend who just received confirmation that he will be standing at the start line of the world's most prestigious marathon in 2008!!!!! I'm sure that I speak for my running friends everywhere when I say that we are green with envy!!!!!! I hope you don't mind if we live vicariously through your super speedy legs!!!
2 BOSTON U GO!!!
(Thanks to wallyg for the picture!)
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Louisa May Alcott, author of the brilliant 1868 novel Little Women, once wrote "change happens as surely as the seasons, and usually twice as fast". As a person who seldom enjoys change very much, I've always loved this quote because given that I simply adore the change of seasons, this poetic description makes all other potential change seem far more bearable and romantic!
Having spent almost four years in our current apartment, Steve and I have come to learn the inner workings of our neighborhood pretty intimately. We know the best houses to visit on Halloween, the best time to hit up Starbucks each weekend and where to find the best bargains during our annual summer garage sale. Like any other relationship, our neighborhood has it's little eccentricities that you develop an admiration for over time. One of the things that I love best about our neighborhood is that, for all the change that it endures, it has a certain rhythm to it that can be relied upon like clockwork. Like the cloudy, dark horizon before a storm, this rhythm, ironically enough, is usually the first sign that change is not far behind.
During our first year in our new home, as we were seeing our new surroundings in different light for the first time, we discovered that our neighbor's tree, who's branches hang in front of our living room window, was the very first tree to change colour each year!! It's truly the most beautiful red tree that I've ever seen and for a good two weeks, it stands alone on our street among all the other trees that still linger in the green colours of summer. It never fails that each year, sometime in late August or early September, either Steve or I will wake up one morning to the bright branches that literally seem to have changed over night...it's first sign that fall is on it's way!!
Shortly there after, the other trees on the street begin to follow suit. One by one, there leaves change colour and for about a month, we are all sheltered by a canopy of leaves eager to show off their vibrance to the world. Come October, the rain arrives. Darkness greets us earlier each evening and stays around longer each morning. The leaves begin to fall and orange pumpkins begin to show up on front porches everywhere. Our neighborhood is notorious for Halloween and children from across the city flock to our streets to join in the excitement. Little do all of those dressed up visitors know that their evening of Halloween spirit was a month in the making!! Anticipation takes time to build and our neighborhood is simply famous for it!!
Sure enough, within the first couple of weeks of October, the temperatures start to drop. The days are still warm and indulgent, but the nights bring a chill in the air that make you crave warm drinks and bulky sweaters. With this, comes my favourite ritual of all...bringing out our down blanket. Our king size down comforter, given to us for our wedding, is kept in a pine chest all summer just waiting for that perfect fall night. There are few places in the world that I love as much as our bed with our giant feather blanket and a good book. That first night of being reunited with our blanket always offers the most wonderful dreams and the soundest sleep!!
By this time, the trees are bare and nature shows more signs of hibernation. The squirrels whisk around in a hurried frenzy instead of their usual playfulness. The beautiful gardens that normally landscape our street get prepared for the winter months and the backyard toys are beginning to get packed away. The likes of snow shovels and wool scarves can be seen in neighbors doorways. I would normally cringe at the thought of our soon to be snow covered lawn but, thanks to our neighborhood's delicate transition, I know to prepare myself for what's to come!!
The final full week in October is when the neighborhood bursts with Halloween excitment. Homes everywhere are decorated and every now and then, out of the corner of your eye, you'll catch a little one trying on their costume and practicing their candy enticing smiles!!! Other than the few leaves left lying along the curb, the trees bear very little protection anymore. Instead, they provide a view that isn't otherwise seen during most of the year.
Our neighborhood is one of the oldest in the city and you can tell at first glance that even the trees show great pride in their maturity. With it's countless years of practice, it has managed to turn the art of change into a refined subtleness that almost goes unnoticed for those who live among its streets. For all the comforting whispers and gentle nudges that we are given to ease us into the change, nothing seems to prepares you for the day that you walk out your door, only to find that the canal has been drained once again for the season. The sight of our beloved canal, empty and dry, brings a shock that can only mean one thing...summer is officially gone yet again. The sadness usually lingers for a day or two as your eyes adjust to the unfamiliar scenery, but before you know it, you'll hear a chuckle of excitement from the one of the little girls next door and remember that when the first snow fall arrives...there will be a lot more of those to come!!
So there we are, yet again, my beautiful neighborhood and Mother Nature have teamed up to make saying goodbye to the long nights of summer a little bit easier. Every year, it feels like an invisible hand has taken mine and is slowly walking me through the inevitable. Perhaps that's why I love the change of seasons so much; It never fails to make me feel young again and remind me that, despite its power, there is a gentleness to the universe.
It is true that change will happen as surely as the seasons and likely twice as fast...it's one of the few things in life that you can truly count on. But for all the anxiety that change can sometimes bring, four years spent in the wisdom of my neighborhood has taught me that, if it weren't for change, we wouldn't have the opportunity to shed our own leaves in patient anticipation of a new season; Some filled with ritual, others with filled rhythm, but all promising a view that likely wasn't there until you woke up one morning and saw the red tree.
Friday, October 19, 2007
My colleague, Julie, and I live fairly close to one another so, we frequently try to walk home together whenever we can. It’s always a really relaxing and fun way to end off the workday that can be otherwise consuming at times. With the funeral on Monday, many of us were left with a very unsettled sadness that wasn’t easy to shake off. It was a rough way to start off a week. Today was the first time in a while that Julie and I were able to walk home together, and despite the wet weather, we were looking forward to our afternoon trek. Our moods had lifted and the weekend was a walk away...we were determined that not even the rain was going to change our spirits that had endured a rather emotional week.
Julie and I were both heading to our local grocery store on Bank street when we were stopped in our tracks by sirens coming at us from every direction. Before we knew what was going on, we were surrounded by fire trucks, search and rescue vehicles, ambulances and police cars. As it turned out, the building directly across the street from the grocery store, and no more than 500 feet from where we were standing, had collapsed in on itself. As a police officer was quickly trying to move us from the scene, I instinctively grabbed his arm and asked if anyone was inside. He just looked at me with the face of someone that didn’t want to have to break the news and said “yes”.
The Duke of Somerset used to be a very popular pub when I first moved to Ottawa ten years ago. Over time, as the demographic of the Bank and Somerset area changed, the pub became less conducive to the neighborhood. It’s been vacant and empty for some time now but, given the prime real estate that it sits upon, it wasn’t long before it was swept up by owners eager to take over new management. While it’s fortunate that the building wasn’t filled with patrons grabbing a beer after work, it did have construction workers within, busy renovating the new space.
From where Julie and I were standing, the building was a mere hollowed out structure with nothing but rubble inside. There were no walls and no floors…just a huge mound of broken wood pieces crumpled in the frame of what used to be a favourite hang out. I just looked at it and wondered how anyone could survive being buried under there.
While my heart rate increased rapidly, everything else around me seemed to be coming to a stand still. In the midst of all the panic, my breathing became really shallow, yet as I looked around me, the flashing lights and rescue crews running in all directions seemed to be moving in slow motion. Even the rain came down a bit slower. Traffic was halted in every direction, pedestrians were caught in the crossfire of emergency vehicles and reporters were on every corner trying to tell the story of what lay beneath the pile. The entirety of Ottawa’s core had come to a screeching halt and nothing seemed to exist beyond this eight block radius.
Standing in the down pour, I can vividly remember the water dripping off my hair and running down the back of my sweater. It seemed odd to me the things that appeared to stand out in the midst of chaos. I noticed all of the police tape and the media crews, and for the second time this week, I felt like I was standing in the middle of a movie…something simply too surreal to possibly be happening.
I made it home about forty minutes later, drenched to the bone and walking through the countless puddles that were now joining forces with the fallen leaves to make the world seem that much more treacherous to get through. My umbrella had broke from the blustering winds and there wasn’t much of me left to salvage by this time.
When I walked through our apartment door, I just stood in the hallway with an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. All of the water from my hair, clothes and bags were forming a puddle where I stood, yet the lights and warmth from our apartment brought the very comfort that I so desperately needed. After a couple of deep breaths and a sigh a relief, I heard the most wonderful sound in the world…that of my husband greeting me from the other room. I put my bags down on the floor and walked my soaking self over to him wanting nothing more than to be in his arms. It was the safest place in the world.
After the things that I have witnessed this week, I have only one thing left to say; if you are breathing right now…and if the person that you love most is breathing right now…then your life…is simply magical. Even on the rainiest of days.
Julie and I were both heading to our local grocery store on Bank street when we were stopped in our tracks by sirens coming at us from every direction. Before we knew what was going on, we were surrounded by fire trucks, search and rescue vehicles, ambulances and police cars. As it turned out, the building directly across the street from the grocery store, and no more than 500 feet from where we were standing, had collapsed in on itself. As a police officer was quickly trying to move us from the scene, I instinctively grabbed his arm and asked if anyone was inside. He just looked at me with the face of someone that didn’t want to have to break the news and said “yes”.
The Duke of Somerset used to be a very popular pub when I first moved to Ottawa ten years ago. Over time, as the demographic of the Bank and Somerset area changed, the pub became less conducive to the neighborhood. It’s been vacant and empty for some time now but, given the prime real estate that it sits upon, it wasn’t long before it was swept up by owners eager to take over new management. While it’s fortunate that the building wasn’t filled with patrons grabbing a beer after work, it did have construction workers within, busy renovating the new space.
From where Julie and I were standing, the building was a mere hollowed out structure with nothing but rubble inside. There were no walls and no floors…just a huge mound of broken wood pieces crumpled in the frame of what used to be a favourite hang out. I just looked at it and wondered how anyone could survive being buried under there.
While my heart rate increased rapidly, everything else around me seemed to be coming to a stand still. In the midst of all the panic, my breathing became really shallow, yet as I looked around me, the flashing lights and rescue crews running in all directions seemed to be moving in slow motion. Even the rain came down a bit slower. Traffic was halted in every direction, pedestrians were caught in the crossfire of emergency vehicles and reporters were on every corner trying to tell the story of what lay beneath the pile. The entirety of Ottawa’s core had come to a screeching halt and nothing seemed to exist beyond this eight block radius.
Standing in the down pour, I can vividly remember the water dripping off my hair and running down the back of my sweater. It seemed odd to me the things that appeared to stand out in the midst of chaos. I noticed all of the police tape and the media crews, and for the second time this week, I felt like I was standing in the middle of a movie…something simply too surreal to possibly be happening.
I made it home about forty minutes later, drenched to the bone and walking through the countless puddles that were now joining forces with the fallen leaves to make the world seem that much more treacherous to get through. My umbrella had broke from the blustering winds and there wasn’t much of me left to salvage by this time.
When I walked through our apartment door, I just stood in the hallway with an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. All of the water from my hair, clothes and bags were forming a puddle where I stood, yet the lights and warmth from our apartment brought the very comfort that I so desperately needed. After a couple of deep breaths and a sigh a relief, I heard the most wonderful sound in the world…that of my husband greeting me from the other room. I put my bags down on the floor and walked my soaking self over to him wanting nothing more than to be in his arms. It was the safest place in the world.
After the things that I have witnessed this week, I have only one thing left to say; if you are breathing right now…and if the person that you love most is breathing right now…then your life…is simply magical. Even on the rainiest of days.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Lunch hours at the Gallery are prized possessions! Working in the high paced environment that we do, we cherish our time to unplug and take a breather from our desks. Normally, my friends and I go out for coffee or linger among the courtyards of the market as a means of refreshing our minds and bodies for the rest of the day. Today though, we stood along Sussex Drive with five thousand police officers and hundreds of other mourners to say farewell to RCMP Const. Christopher John Worden.
The Notre Dame Basilica, where the funeral was being held, is directly across the street from the Gallery. A large screen television and chairs were set up on our plaza for the hundreds of people that couldn't fit into the church. Being closely affected by today's ceremony due to proximity, all of us at the Gallery had been prepped since last Friday in anticipation of crowds that simply outnumbered the capacity of what could be provided. My friends and I were merely a few of the literally thousands of people that turned out for an incredibly moving display of brotherhood.
Like most Canadians, none of us knew Const. Worden other than to know him in his tragic death. In the line of duty, the 30 year old father and husband was shot dead. Something about him being our age and being from Ottawa made it hit home in a way that compelled us to stand on the curb of Sussex Drive to provide some form of solidarity to his brave wife and family that had to endure their final goodbye. The streets of Ottawa were oddly quiet. Much like most people's ability to comprehend what happened, the core of the city had shut down. As his wife and young daughter stood on the sidewalk in front of the church, three thousand police officers marched from Parliament Hill up to the Basilica escorting Const. Worden's casket. It was heart-wrenching.
People around us cried and the errie silence of the city was broken with the sound of bagpipes in the distance. His casket was drapped in a Canadian flag and I couldn't help but wonder if every other officer present felt a disturbing feeling at knowing that the possibility of their own family standing there one day is very real. This is how you say goodbye to heroes.
The Notre Dame Basilica, where the funeral was being held, is directly across the street from the Gallery. A large screen television and chairs were set up on our plaza for the hundreds of people that couldn't fit into the church. Being closely affected by today's ceremony due to proximity, all of us at the Gallery had been prepped since last Friday in anticipation of crowds that simply outnumbered the capacity of what could be provided. My friends and I were merely a few of the literally thousands of people that turned out for an incredibly moving display of brotherhood.
Like most Canadians, none of us knew Const. Worden other than to know him in his tragic death. In the line of duty, the 30 year old father and husband was shot dead. Something about him being our age and being from Ottawa made it hit home in a way that compelled us to stand on the curb of Sussex Drive to provide some form of solidarity to his brave wife and family that had to endure their final goodbye. The streets of Ottawa were oddly quiet. Much like most people's ability to comprehend what happened, the core of the city had shut down. As his wife and young daughter stood on the sidewalk in front of the church, three thousand police officers marched from Parliament Hill up to the Basilica escorting Const. Worden's casket. It was heart-wrenching.
People around us cried and the errie silence of the city was broken with the sound of bagpipes in the distance. His casket was drapped in a Canadian flag and I couldn't help but wonder if every other officer present felt a disturbing feeling at knowing that the possibility of their own family standing there one day is very real. This is how you say goodbye to heroes.
Some would ask why you would endure such a difficult moment when you don't know the person that was lost. The only answer that I can think of is because that young wife is one of us. Right now, while her husband is in heaven, she must feel like she's in hell. While we are going about our day, she is having to comprehend a life that will never be the same. Though we stood across the street from her, we were really world's apart. How could you possibly be so close to this sort of grief and not make an effort to share in it?? Had you been there, you too would have done anything to bear the weight of some of her pain.
I ended up staying for almost three hours because somehow, I couldn't tear myself away from it. Something inside of me physically ached and all the while, I felt like I was watching a movie. It was simply too surreal to truly be happening. I was lost in a sea of sadness.
As the funeral ended, Const. Worden's wife stood by herself at the edge of the sidewalk holding their eight month old daughter as she watched her husband get carried away for the last time. The sight of it left me broken. All of the police officers soon lined either side of Sussex drive for more than a kilometre as Const. Worden was taken to Beechwood Cemetery for a private burial. A flood of salutes surrounded the cars as he was taken away and then there was nothing left in me but tears. Nothing I write here today can accurately express what it felt like to witness this sadness and as I stare blankly at the screen I come to realize that there are simply no words. This fallen hero died trying to protect us.
I usually return from my lunch hour more prepared to tackle the remainder of the day. Today, I returned questioning the fragility of life and the sense of justice that harnesses our world.
Some things simply aren't fair.
(Photo by Tom Hanson of the Canadian Press)
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Ah, Thanksgiving...you've come and gone again...and I miss you already!!
For more pictures from Thanksgiving weekend, click here.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
In 1990, Chris McCandless told his parents that he was taking a road trip out to California to visit some friends. In September of 2002, his body was found in the Alaskan wilderness by two moose hunters. Somewhere between leaving home in 1990 and leaving this world in 1992, McCandless changed his name, cut all ties with his family, donated his life savings and died alone on the edge of the earth. He was 24 years old.
Many years later, author and adventure writer, Jon Krakauer wrote the book Into the Wild, an attempt to backtrack and trace some of McCandless' steps as he evolved from being the graduate of a wealthy suburban family to a lone traveler determined to sever all association with the world he once knew. Most recently, Sean Penn directed the movie, which was released last Friday.
From the moment I first heard this story, I've been curious to know what happened to him?? What happens to someone to make them turn their back on everything and everyone they know to live in isolation?? Was it merely a desire to be rebellious or a sincere need to make the world stop turning, if even momentarily??
Both the book and the movie spend a great deal of time reflecting on the troubled past that McCandless had experienced as a child. While it seems clear that this highly contributed to the choices he made, many people face difficulties and challenges in their young life that doesn’t always result in taking the road that leads directly away from home.
Since having seen the movie, I’ve found myself caught off guard by the emotions I feel towards the choices that McCandless made. To leave everything and everybody in order to isolate himself troubles me a great deal and until recently, I couldn’t figure out why.
Many people, my husband included, believe that McCandless simply held humanity to a higher moral standard and when he saw that expectation crumble before his eyes, he felt that distance between him and society was the only way to mend the disappointment he felt towards the world he was living in.
I know that the first person to step up and defend McCandless’ actions would be my mother. Like McCandless, she struggles with the world being the way that it is and also like McCandless, she’s not here. She’s not here because ten years ago, she sold almost everything she owned, packed up the remainder of her possessions and headed into the wild. She ended up out West, on an island on hundred miles off the coast of British Columbia because apparently, land alone didn’t put enough distance between her and her past.
She initially moved out west when I first came to university and even now, I believe that it was intended at the time to simply experience life in a different way. My mother had lived the better part of twenty years for someone else and she desperately longed to break free of her obligations. She never hesitated to remind me that, had it not been for me, her life would have gone in a very different direction. As her daughter, this brought with it a unique form of guilt that only comes from knowing you are the bars that seem to be caging a wild animal who wants nothing more than to be free.
Eventually she left. She kept in touch for the first little while but, quickly, over time, her calls became fewer and farther between until eventually, she had no permanent number in which to make contact. I still called when I could but, had I not, months would go by without hearing from her or knowing where she was. About two or three years ago, when she stopped calling on my birthday or during holidays, was the first time that I realized that you can grieve for people long before they’ve actually passed on.
For most of my family, especially myself, we’ve had to mourn my mother because we know that she is gone and that she is never coming back. Though she hasn’t vanished entirely, being in her presence is like experiencing the afterlife of a woman I once knew. Like a ghost, she will appear from time to time in a way that causes the floors to creek in unsuspecting places and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. And just like that, she disappears as quickly as she came, leaving behind her an eerie presence that reminds you that unresolved issues still lurk in dark corners.
While I certainly don’t find much nobility in what McCandless did during the last two years of his life, I have compassion for it because he was young and in search of who he was outside of the mold he had been born into. I think that McCandless ultimately did find what he was looking for and in turn, his desire to experience human connection again enabled him to no longer be defined by a past that he couldn’t change. Ironically enough though, the very freedom that he so desperately sought is the very thing that left him to die a very slow and painful death alone in the woods.
My mother, on the other hand, had a daughter and she walked out of her life. Instead of two years, it’s been ten years. Even in the pursuit of betterness, there are selfish acts that you simply can’t take back. Like suicide, taking it upon yourself to end your existence in any way, whether it be through death or simply turning your head and walking away, leaves nothing more than a trail of people surviving in the aftermath that used to be your life.
My mother certainly wasn’t the first person to choose the consistency of nature over the unpredictability of humanity, and she definitely won’t be the last. While it’s true that the wild is happy to open its arms and welcome you as you search for solace, the wild will not weep for you when you stare up at the heavens to take your last breath. Like the people you choose to leave behind, nature can only give so much if you’re not willing to do at least some of the work on your own. Though it may be the most perfect of hiding places, in the end, you can never outrun your past.
Ultimately, for as long as you walk the earth, you can spend your entire life going into the wild but, you’re never really living at all until you manage to find your way out of it.
photo is a self-portrait taken by McCandless with a disposable camera. It was found undeveloped when hunters discovered his body.
Monday, October 08, 2007
It’s been said for countless years that it is our scent that brings us back in time…that it is our cellular memory for a specific smell that instantly reminds of us of a specific place, or more specifically, a person. This past week though, I’ve come to the conclusion that while our brains may be hardwired to associate scent, our hearts are programmed to beat to the rhythm of music.
Last weekend, Steve and I bought a new 80GB iPod. This new addition to our Apple collection is in anticipation of our big move coming up in February and our desire to purge certain parts of our past instead of packing it all in boxes en route to a new destination. Sometimes a good cleaning simply needs to be done!!
Back in May, we sorted through nearly 400 cds in preparation for the Great Glebe Garage Sale. While most of our cds were well worth keeping, some mistakes are better left behind…so for the bargain price of $0.50 apiece, we were willing to let someone else make the same mistake!!! Garage sale entrepreneurial skills aside though, we were still left with over 300 cds that we certainly wanted to keep but, realistically, we were never listening to anymore because most of our music was now being stored on our computers.
Much to my amazement, our new little toy had more memory than our PC computer and can store enough of our electronic lives to make my grandmother roll over in her grave!! With that being said, we decided that it was time to load all of our music and begin sorting it so that we could start enjoying our entire collection once again. So that’s what we’ve been doing all week…going disc by disc, loading our music and rating each song in order to make all 96 consecutive hours of our new found listening a bit more manageable!!
For five consecutive nights after work, as I sat on our living room floor, surrounded with little square plastic cases, I was reminded of how much time it has taken me to collect all of this music. Even in my poorest of days, I somehow always found the pennies to buy a new album. That’s when I realized just how much of my past is encrypted in these little silver discs.
Most woman possess various “parting gifts” from their past relationships…whether it be a favourite sweatshirt, a handful of photographs or in some cases, monumental battle scars from a war that was lost at the hands of time. In my case, without even realizing it, I securely stored the memories of my dating history in my music collection because, like Victor Hugo once said “Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent”. While the men in my life may have come and gone over the years, they have all left a significant imprint on my musical taste, which in turn, has resulted in a musical collection that has overcome the test of time!
“…And all the roads that lead to you were winding and all the lights that light the way are blinding. There are many things that I would like to say to you…but I don’t know how…” ~ Wonderwall, Oasis
Julio was my first serious boyfriend back in high school. We were from different sides of the tracks and like all first relationships, it was all consuming. We got in endless trouble for sneaking out of each other’s bedroom windows during all hours of the night and nothing made us feel more oppressed than being grounded from seeing each other. In a time when the alternative likes of Pearl Jam and Nirvana were first making their appearances, we were captured by the world of R&B and any other album that could remind you of just how lonely you really were (teenagers are so intense and dramatic!!)!!! We listened to Lauren Hill before she became “miseducated” and chased waterfalls with TLC. While I haven’t purchased a R&B cd in over fifteen years, CrazySexyCool and The Fugees will not only bring me back to long adolescent nights in London with Julio, but will remain two of the best albums of all time!
“…And like his promise is true, only my faith can undo the many chances I blew to bring my life to anew. Clear and blue and unconditional, skies have dried the tears from my eyes, no more lonely cries.” ~ Waterfalls, TLC
My first year of university was marked by numerous events; The death of Princess Diana, the great ice storm of 1998, my gorgeous French boyfriend and new albums by Oasis and Sarah McLachlan and U2. Sebastien and I suffered from lust at first sight…which certainly wasn’t the worst condition to have when you are away from home for the first time!!! For the eight months of my first year (he was in second year), Mirrorball could be heard throughout the halls of Thompson Residence. Seb and I lived nowhere other than the present. We were lost in each other and Big Shiny Tunes! It was hopeless from the very start!! Late nights in our new city, new friends, a coffee revolution and a heartbreaking crash when it all came to an end the following summer. It’s good to know that at least some things from that year lasted!!
“All the fear has left me now, I’m not frightened anymore. It’s my heart that pounds beneath my flesh, it’s my mouth that pushes out this breath…And if I shed a tear, I won’t cage it…and if I feel a rage, I won’t deny it…I won’t fear love…” ~ Fumbling Towards Ecstasy, Sarah McLachlan
The summer of 1999 brought Vince, my first true love and just like my life, he influenced my musical taste in a way that changed forever. Vince had a brilliant musical mind. He worked in the radio industry and was a phenomenal performer himself. He single handedly turned me into a concert junkie!! The summer that he walked into my life I not only fell in love for the first time but, I fell in love with rock music for the first time. I fell fast and I fell hard!! Creed, Stone Temple Pilots, U2, Travis, Oasis, The Tea Party, Our Lady Peace, Staind, Smashing Pumpkins, Coldplay…oh let me count the ways!!! Even now, if I hear certain songs, I can picture him playing his guitar at the Elbow Room…his dark hair and the raspy voice that comes from too many years of smoking!!
However, like all great loves, when they come to an end, certain things become off limits during the treacherous time of recovery. In this case, most Ottawa landmarks and my love affair with rock music were among them!!! On top of that, a post break-up encounter locked all of Nickelback’s early albums off the radar for a while too!!
“I see your shadow on the street now, I hear you push through the rusty gate. Click of your heels on the concrete, waiting for a knock coming way too late. It seems an age since I’ve seen you, countdown as the weeks trickle into days…” ~ My Happiness, Powderfinger
Once the dust of Vince had settled and I opened my eyes again, I came across the tall and devastatingly handsome, Damon. The charm, the smile and the eyes were enough to make anyone’s heart start beating again!! At the risk of sounding too much like Meredith Grey though, Damon was my “non-boyfriend”…the guy that I never actually dated but still took me a year to get over!!! He had cast his curse of the perfect kiss on me and just like that…my cd collection grew once more!!!
Something about Damon reminds me of the ocean. He was a very free spirit that somehow, seemed so forbidden to me. The ocean is one of nature’s most spectacular creations but, it’s also a dangerous force to be reckoned with and simply isn’t meant to be tamed. With a foot here and a foot somewhere else, he reminded me of what it was like to stare deep into the crystal clear water…always thinking that you can see the bottom and never realizing just how deep really you are. Perhaps on the shores of the ocean it would have worked, but on the solid soil of land, I just found myself longing for someone that I couldn’t have. My time with Damon was short lived but, the soundtracks to the Beach and Blue Crush were not.
“…On a clear day, I’ll fly home to you. I’m bending time getting back to you. Old moons fades into the new…soon I know I’ll be back with you. I’m nearly with you…” ~ Destiny, Zero 7 (Blue Crush Soundtrack)
Then, of course, there is the single man that simply can’t be compared; the one that managed to pull me out of the chaos and love me despite all of my musical taste!! The soundtrack of my marriage isn’t a musical accompaniment to devastating last words or the background music of our first meeting. Rather, it’s burned onto a pile of cds in our car as commemorations of every road trip we’ve taken together. Much of our relationship has been spent behind the wheel of a car and much like driving, our relationship entails the two of us, side by side, looking ahead in the same direction. Unlike my past relationships, my marriage is always in motion. We are constantly on the road because we simply feel no need to stand still. Life is about growing and discovering and for the first time, I haven’t had to choose one over the other. Whether on the coast of the Hawaiian Islands, the South-Western Ontario highways back home or our trans-pacific adventure to Australia, we always have our favourite road trip songs in tow; Linkin Park, Chevell, Sensefield, Mobile, Lifehouse, Eddie Veder, Blue Rodeo, Lenny Kravitz, 3 Doors Down…and anything else worthy of being blared out of the car windows with our luggage in the trunk!! When the sun setting on the horizon leaves us without any more words…there is always the music.
“I wish that I could fly, into the sky, so very high, just like a dragonfly. I’d fly above the trees, over the seas in all degrees, to anywhere I please. Let’s go and see the stars, the milky way or even Mars, where it could just be ours. Let’s fade into the sun, let your spirit fly, where we are one, just for a little fun…” ~ Fly Away, Lenny Kravitz
And when there wasn’t butterflies in my stomach and a date to be had…there was David Usher, John Mayer, Raine Maida, Aaron Lewis, Dave Matthews and many other beautiful boys to sing me to sleep. After all, until I found the perfect man, I would have the perfect cd collection!!
Like the books on my shelves and the photos in my albums, my music collection is like a road map of my life, indicating where I’ve been and whom I traveled with along the way. I can trace back the days of long stretches in the back country and the random detours of poor judgment but, in the end, all roads lead here; Steve and I compiling our collective pasts as we move ahead into our hopeful future.
Last weekend, Steve and I bought a new 80GB iPod. This new addition to our Apple collection is in anticipation of our big move coming up in February and our desire to purge certain parts of our past instead of packing it all in boxes en route to a new destination. Sometimes a good cleaning simply needs to be done!!
Back in May, we sorted through nearly 400 cds in preparation for the Great Glebe Garage Sale. While most of our cds were well worth keeping, some mistakes are better left behind…so for the bargain price of $0.50 apiece, we were willing to let someone else make the same mistake!!! Garage sale entrepreneurial skills aside though, we were still left with over 300 cds that we certainly wanted to keep but, realistically, we were never listening to anymore because most of our music was now being stored on our computers.
Much to my amazement, our new little toy had more memory than our PC computer and can store enough of our electronic lives to make my grandmother roll over in her grave!! With that being said, we decided that it was time to load all of our music and begin sorting it so that we could start enjoying our entire collection once again. So that’s what we’ve been doing all week…going disc by disc, loading our music and rating each song in order to make all 96 consecutive hours of our new found listening a bit more manageable!!
For five consecutive nights after work, as I sat on our living room floor, surrounded with little square plastic cases, I was reminded of how much time it has taken me to collect all of this music. Even in my poorest of days, I somehow always found the pennies to buy a new album. That’s when I realized just how much of my past is encrypted in these little silver discs.
Most woman possess various “parting gifts” from their past relationships…whether it be a favourite sweatshirt, a handful of photographs or in some cases, monumental battle scars from a war that was lost at the hands of time. In my case, without even realizing it, I securely stored the memories of my dating history in my music collection because, like Victor Hugo once said “Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent”. While the men in my life may have come and gone over the years, they have all left a significant imprint on my musical taste, which in turn, has resulted in a musical collection that has overcome the test of time!
“…And all the roads that lead to you were winding and all the lights that light the way are blinding. There are many things that I would like to say to you…but I don’t know how…” ~ Wonderwall, Oasis
Julio was my first serious boyfriend back in high school. We were from different sides of the tracks and like all first relationships, it was all consuming. We got in endless trouble for sneaking out of each other’s bedroom windows during all hours of the night and nothing made us feel more oppressed than being grounded from seeing each other. In a time when the alternative likes of Pearl Jam and Nirvana were first making their appearances, we were captured by the world of R&B and any other album that could remind you of just how lonely you really were (teenagers are so intense and dramatic!!)!!! We listened to Lauren Hill before she became “miseducated” and chased waterfalls with TLC. While I haven’t purchased a R&B cd in over fifteen years, CrazySexyCool and The Fugees will not only bring me back to long adolescent nights in London with Julio, but will remain two of the best albums of all time!
“…And like his promise is true, only my faith can undo the many chances I blew to bring my life to anew. Clear and blue and unconditional, skies have dried the tears from my eyes, no more lonely cries.” ~ Waterfalls, TLC
My first year of university was marked by numerous events; The death of Princess Diana, the great ice storm of 1998, my gorgeous French boyfriend and new albums by Oasis and Sarah McLachlan and U2. Sebastien and I suffered from lust at first sight…which certainly wasn’t the worst condition to have when you are away from home for the first time!!! For the eight months of my first year (he was in second year), Mirrorball could be heard throughout the halls of Thompson Residence. Seb and I lived nowhere other than the present. We were lost in each other and Big Shiny Tunes! It was hopeless from the very start!! Late nights in our new city, new friends, a coffee revolution and a heartbreaking crash when it all came to an end the following summer. It’s good to know that at least some things from that year lasted!!
“All the fear has left me now, I’m not frightened anymore. It’s my heart that pounds beneath my flesh, it’s my mouth that pushes out this breath…And if I shed a tear, I won’t cage it…and if I feel a rage, I won’t deny it…I won’t fear love…” ~ Fumbling Towards Ecstasy, Sarah McLachlan
The summer of 1999 brought Vince, my first true love and just like my life, he influenced my musical taste in a way that changed forever. Vince had a brilliant musical mind. He worked in the radio industry and was a phenomenal performer himself. He single handedly turned me into a concert junkie!! The summer that he walked into my life I not only fell in love for the first time but, I fell in love with rock music for the first time. I fell fast and I fell hard!! Creed, Stone Temple Pilots, U2, Travis, Oasis, The Tea Party, Our Lady Peace, Staind, Smashing Pumpkins, Coldplay…oh let me count the ways!!! Even now, if I hear certain songs, I can picture him playing his guitar at the Elbow Room…his dark hair and the raspy voice that comes from too many years of smoking!!
However, like all great loves, when they come to an end, certain things become off limits during the treacherous time of recovery. In this case, most Ottawa landmarks and my love affair with rock music were among them!!! On top of that, a post break-up encounter locked all of Nickelback’s early albums off the radar for a while too!!
“I see your shadow on the street now, I hear you push through the rusty gate. Click of your heels on the concrete, waiting for a knock coming way too late. It seems an age since I’ve seen you, countdown as the weeks trickle into days…” ~ My Happiness, Powderfinger
Once the dust of Vince had settled and I opened my eyes again, I came across the tall and devastatingly handsome, Damon. The charm, the smile and the eyes were enough to make anyone’s heart start beating again!! At the risk of sounding too much like Meredith Grey though, Damon was my “non-boyfriend”…the guy that I never actually dated but still took me a year to get over!!! He had cast his curse of the perfect kiss on me and just like that…my cd collection grew once more!!!
Something about Damon reminds me of the ocean. He was a very free spirit that somehow, seemed so forbidden to me. The ocean is one of nature’s most spectacular creations but, it’s also a dangerous force to be reckoned with and simply isn’t meant to be tamed. With a foot here and a foot somewhere else, he reminded me of what it was like to stare deep into the crystal clear water…always thinking that you can see the bottom and never realizing just how deep really you are. Perhaps on the shores of the ocean it would have worked, but on the solid soil of land, I just found myself longing for someone that I couldn’t have. My time with Damon was short lived but, the soundtracks to the Beach and Blue Crush were not.
“…On a clear day, I’ll fly home to you. I’m bending time getting back to you. Old moons fades into the new…soon I know I’ll be back with you. I’m nearly with you…” ~ Destiny, Zero 7 (Blue Crush Soundtrack)
Then, of course, there is the single man that simply can’t be compared; the one that managed to pull me out of the chaos and love me despite all of my musical taste!! The soundtrack of my marriage isn’t a musical accompaniment to devastating last words or the background music of our first meeting. Rather, it’s burned onto a pile of cds in our car as commemorations of every road trip we’ve taken together. Much of our relationship has been spent behind the wheel of a car and much like driving, our relationship entails the two of us, side by side, looking ahead in the same direction. Unlike my past relationships, my marriage is always in motion. We are constantly on the road because we simply feel no need to stand still. Life is about growing and discovering and for the first time, I haven’t had to choose one over the other. Whether on the coast of the Hawaiian Islands, the South-Western Ontario highways back home or our trans-pacific adventure to Australia, we always have our favourite road trip songs in tow; Linkin Park, Chevell, Sensefield, Mobile, Lifehouse, Eddie Veder, Blue Rodeo, Lenny Kravitz, 3 Doors Down…and anything else worthy of being blared out of the car windows with our luggage in the trunk!! When the sun setting on the horizon leaves us without any more words…there is always the music.
“I wish that I could fly, into the sky, so very high, just like a dragonfly. I’d fly above the trees, over the seas in all degrees, to anywhere I please. Let’s go and see the stars, the milky way or even Mars, where it could just be ours. Let’s fade into the sun, let your spirit fly, where we are one, just for a little fun…” ~ Fly Away, Lenny Kravitz
And when there wasn’t butterflies in my stomach and a date to be had…there was David Usher, John Mayer, Raine Maida, Aaron Lewis, Dave Matthews and many other beautiful boys to sing me to sleep. After all, until I found the perfect man, I would have the perfect cd collection!!
Like the books on my shelves and the photos in my albums, my music collection is like a road map of my life, indicating where I’ve been and whom I traveled with along the way. I can trace back the days of long stretches in the back country and the random detours of poor judgment but, in the end, all roads lead here; Steve and I compiling our collective pasts as we move ahead into our hopeful future.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Ottawa is an exceptionally beautiful city and though I've lived here for ten years now, I never get tired of its landscapes. It's difficult not to stand in its presence and be inspired. One of the rare things about Ottawa is that the main 400 series highway (aka. the Queensway) coming from Toronto runs directly through the middle of downtown. While you drive yourself to or from, you are literally overlooking the core of the city. Since we also have the very rare situation of not having any kind of train system within the city, the Queensway in many ways divides the city or, for lack of a better expression, becomes the "tracks".
As the age old expression goes, Ottawa, like any other city, has its "wrong side of the tracks". Given the rate in which our city is growing, our questionable neighborhoods tend to vary at an overwhelming pace as the population moves in various directions. Regardless of the prosperity Ottawa sees in the coming years though, the Queensway will always maintain its role as the great divide. Literally, no more than three blocks seperate the rough and tough streets of Centretown from the million dollar homes of the Glebe and the Golden Triangle.
A few days ago, I was out for a walk in the beautiful autumn air and as I crossed under the Queensway heading towards the River, I began to think about some of the landmarks that divide our life. In the same manner that cities and neighborhoods often have a line drawn in the sand, so too do the moments and seasons of our own evolution. With this question mark in the forefront of my mind, I found myself drawn to the new pedestrian bridge over the canal connecting the Golden Triangle to the University of Ottawa campus. Standing there, watching the sun set behind the Chateau Laurier and the Parliament Buildings, I realized that where I was standing, the Rideau Canal, was the metaphorical train tracks of my adult life!!
The intial proposal for the Rideau Canal came just after the war of 1812 when there was still a threat of the United States attacking Britain's Colony of Upper Canada. The 202 kilometre waterway was to include 19 kilometres of man-made route and a total of 47 locks at 24 stations along the canal. By using the the Rideau Canal and the Ottawa River to connect Montreal to Kingston, it avoided having to use the St. Lawrence River and leaving the British vulnerable along the border of New York State.
The Rideau Canal was built by thousands of Irish and French-Canadian labourers, many of whom ended up dying from malaria and various other diseases. Construction of the canal was eventually completed in 1832 but, since there were no further military conflicts between Canada and the U.S., the canal never ended up being used for its original purpose. But, it did make one hell of a skating rink!!!
As the age old expression goes, Ottawa, like any other city, has its "wrong side of the tracks". Given the rate in which our city is growing, our questionable neighborhoods tend to vary at an overwhelming pace as the population moves in various directions. Regardless of the prosperity Ottawa sees in the coming years though, the Queensway will always maintain its role as the great divide. Literally, no more than three blocks seperate the rough and tough streets of Centretown from the million dollar homes of the Glebe and the Golden Triangle.
A few days ago, I was out for a walk in the beautiful autumn air and as I crossed under the Queensway heading towards the River, I began to think about some of the landmarks that divide our life. In the same manner that cities and neighborhoods often have a line drawn in the sand, so too do the moments and seasons of our own evolution. With this question mark in the forefront of my mind, I found myself drawn to the new pedestrian bridge over the canal connecting the Golden Triangle to the University of Ottawa campus. Standing there, watching the sun set behind the Chateau Laurier and the Parliament Buildings, I realized that where I was standing, the Rideau Canal, was the metaphorical train tracks of my adult life!!
The intial proposal for the Rideau Canal came just after the war of 1812 when there was still a threat of the United States attacking Britain's Colony of Upper Canada. The 202 kilometre waterway was to include 19 kilometres of man-made route and a total of 47 locks at 24 stations along the canal. By using the the Rideau Canal and the Ottawa River to connect Montreal to Kingston, it avoided having to use the St. Lawrence River and leaving the British vulnerable along the border of New York State.
The Rideau Canal was built by thousands of Irish and French-Canadian labourers, many of whom ended up dying from malaria and various other diseases. Construction of the canal was eventually completed in 1832 but, since there were no further military conflicts between Canada and the U.S., the canal never ended up being used for its original purpose. But, it did make one hell of a skating rink!!!
The canal is now the oldest continuously operated canal system in North America, home to the largest skating rink in the world (stretching 7.8 kilometres) and just this year, it was registered as an official UNESCO World Heritage Site. For all its fame and glory though, even more importantly, the Rideau canal is essentially the no man's land between my two most significant lives...my single life and my married life!!
The University of Ottawa campus is located right along the East side of the canal and that's exactly where I found myself in the Fall of 1997 when I first moved into Residence! For the numerous years that followed, I remained no more than four or five blocks from campus in the student neighborhood known as Sandy Hill. While boyfriends came and went during that time, I was finding my place in the world, on my own, when I lived there. Heartbreak, countless roommates, too many jobs, too little money and identity crises a plenty basically defined my years on the East side of the canal. Albeit a challenge at times, I have tremendous memories of it that never fail to make me smile. There are few times in life like that of leaving home and surviving on your own. At times, it was just that...surviving. With time though, it started to look a bit more like thriving until eventually, I opened my eyes one day and found that I had built a life for myself.
Four years ago, Steve and I moved in together. We found the most amazing apartment that we fell in love with instantly...but, it was on the other side of the canal!! I had never lived there before and while I had heard stories about life "over there", it was hard to know what was real and what was simply an urban legend (is it true that they only eat granola over there?!?!). The one thing that I did know to be true though, was that adults lived over there and somehow, this meant that I had become one of them!!!
Sure enough, the transition wasn't so bad!! We blended in just fine and have loved life among the responsible people! I'm not sure if it's something in the water or not but, it seems that as soon as we moved there, the road to adulthood progressed at lightning speed! Three months after signing our lease we got engaged...thirteen months later, we got married...and two years after that, we bought our first house. Beware of life on the other side...growing up soon follows!!
I've enjoyed reflecting on this transition in my life because this past week, Steve was away in North Carolina and for the first time in a long while, I've been left to experience life on my own again. It was amusing to see how quickly some of my signature single behaviour came back to me!!! My eating habits changed, I became a slave to Harry Potter and just like that, the night hawk in me came back to life (which also means that I was late for work almost every day!!). By late Wednesday night, when my handsome other half landed at the airport, I realized that he is not just my husband...but also my voice of reason!! Yes, it's true that 7am is a lot less painful when you go to bed at 10:30pm instead of 2:30am (something I did twice while he was gone!!) and it's amazing what comes from eating more than just peanut butter for days on end!!!
As I was standing there on the bridge overlooking over the canal, with my past in one direction and my future in the other...I couldnt' help but smile because I had no idea back then just how long a walk it was really going to be to the other side. So long in fact, that you're a completely different person by the time you get there. I love that I can go and visit my old life whenever I want to. I love that a beautiful new bridge was built to make the journey easier than it was the first time I came over. What I love most of all though is that when I'm finished looking enjoying the view, I can simply click my heels, turn around and walk back to my husband and life on other side..right where I belong!!!
But just to be safe though...I'm always sure to throw a coin in no man's land for good luck before I go!!
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Monday, October 01, 2007
They say that you should do something everyday that scares you! Well, this past weekend, I allowed my friend Julie to convince me to start my own column in the National Gallery of Canada's Newsletter called Untitled. It's internally produced and distributed among the NGC and CMCP staff, so it's readership is pretty limited (350 staff) but, everyone's got to start somewhere!!
My column will be called "Beyond the Vaults" and the first issue will be out on Wednesday (complete with my picture and everything)!!
Eat your heart out Carrie Bradshaw!!
Monday, September 24, 2007
Frustrated Ottawa Writer...
Last Friday morning, some friends and I had the unusual treat of waking up to Blue Rodeo before we headed off to work for the day. Canada AM was being taped live in Ottawa and sure enough, down to the street from our offices, people crowded the streets to get an early glimpse of one of Canada's favourite contributions to the music industry. So, at the crack of dawn, as the sun was still rising, I dragged myself out of bed, met Julie, Jamie and Lisa at our nearby Starbucks, and spent one of the most enjoyable Friday mornings I've had in a long time!! In the coolness of the autumn air, we joined others in the ByWard market and let the excitement brush off the cobwebs!! We crossed paths with many other colleagues and Ann Marie McQueen from the Ottawa Sun even "outed" me in the Saturday edition of the paper regarding my no-longer-a-secret crush on Seamus O'Regan!!
Just when I thought my morning couldn't get any better though, I received the unexpected surprise of finding out that Margaret Atwood was being interviewed live before Blue Rodeo's appearance. In town for the theatre production of her novel, The Penelopiad, Atwood came across as a very refined woman and I would have given anything to sit down and have a chat with her! Albeit brief, it was so exciting to see her in person!!
Lately, I've been feeling rather discouraged about my writing. To have such a strong desire to move ahead in a particular direction, yet the challenge of physically moving your foot in that direction can be so frustrating at times. As a woman, my imagination often gets the better of me and to consistently remind myself that this change is possible can be very exhausting and mentally draining. Yes, it takes exceptional optimism to make a life of being a writer...and most of the time I have that optimism. Today however, I do not.
As I listened to Atwood on Friday morning, I was simply fascinated by the fact that I was no more than a hundred feet away from someone that was being considered for the Noble Prize in Literature and I couldn't help but wonder if there were ever times when she felt this way as well..?? Is it possible that there was a time when Atwood questioned whether or not the evolution of her writing would ever amount to anything..?? A part of me wanted to simply pull her aside and say "Margaret...please, please tell me that it will all be okay. Tell me that every writer must endure the vicious cycle that comes from letting yourself be written". Of course, I didn't. Instead, I sipped my pepperming mocha, enjoyed the company of my friends and let myself be mesmerized by the likes of Blue Rodeo (and yes, Seamus!). Somehow, I didn't think that taking a running leap at Margaret Atwood during a live interview would be the best way to ensure a good reputation in the writing community (but rest assured, the thought did cross my mind!!!)!!
Eventually, I left the scene of our Friday morning diversion and headed back to my "real world"...a world that I enjoy very much...I only wish that there was more of it. Though I still remain stumped regarding my next move, I also know that an evolution of any kind isn't an all or nothing choice. Life goes on while my attempts go on with it. Bit by bit, I create, I contribute and I attempt at putting something out into the world. I hope that something I put out there will eventually find its way to becoming significant but, not all writers are destined for the same road...a reality that I remind myself of far too often perhaps.
So that's where I am right now. I need advice. I need encouragement. I need lights to guide the way. I need Margaret Atwood to call me up and invite me out for a drink!! In the meantime though, I need some reassurance and a plan...a plan that, at the very least, goes somewhere. And I need to know one thing...
Are all writers as dramatic and complicated as I am...?!?!?!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Help Heather WIN...!!!!
On a recent visit to the Kingston Fall Fair, my sister-in-law Heather and her two friends participated in the Tourism Ontario Karaoke contest, singing the new jingle. Please check them out, sign in and vote for them...they can win stuff!!!
Currently, they are on page 8 under "Most Recent" (it's a picture of three girls, the shortest in the middle is wearing a green hoodie, Heather is on the left in a black jacket and Hanna is on the right in a grey jacket)...
Currently, they are on page 8 under "Most Recent" (it's a picture of three girls, the shortest in the middle is wearing a green hoodie, Heather is on the left in a black jacket and Hanna is on the right in a grey jacket)...
Please vote for Heather's singing debut here...
Voting ends October 15th.
What's the best piece of advice that you've ever received from another person??
When I was working on Parliament Hill, my colleague was a retired executive who was trying out a new career, so needless to say, her life experiences far exceeded mine. At the time, her sister had just suffered the loss of her two twin babies and surprisingly enough, their family was experiencing death for one of the first times. I was having a particularly difficult one morning day and as I vented to my colleague, she reminded me "as long as you have your health, everything else is manageable".
She was so right! While she wasn't trying to dismiss my feelings at the time, she was trying to remind me that when we are faced with inter-personal challenges or difficulties with work, as long as we are healthy,we are never without choice...we always have the option of making a move in a positive direction. I know for myself, I tend to lose my sense of perspective when I feel caught in the midst of a crossfire. However, when you are handed a serious illness or a threat to your life, you no longer have that option as the final decision soon becomes out of your control. My colleague's advice had such an impact on me that nearly my entire value system is now built around that single statement.
So, tell me...what's the most important and influential piece of advice someone has ever given you?? If it's worth remembering, then it's definitely worth sharing.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Okay, this is going to sound a bit melodramatic but, I've been noticing lately how easy it is to get bummed out these days!! With the change of seasons, the many demands on our lives, the constant tragic stories that you find on the news...it's easy to slip into a state of forgetting our real priorities. The simple miracle of being alive often gets overlooked by bills, rush hour traffic and our inability at times to find our own middle ground.
I know that when I feel like this, I am quick to find refuge in those things that bring me back to my centre...more often than not, the Bible or going to church, writing and reading or just finding a way to reconnect. I do have another secret weapon though...one that hightens nearly all of my senses and reminds me of how glorious it is to just wake up everyday!!
This has been one of my favourite songs/videos ever since it was first released many years ago. Whether you are feeling under the weather or on top of the world...take a moment and watch this!
Look at the beautiful images...listen to the amazing lyrics...hear the inspiring music...and try, try, try...to feel this way everyday. Because everyday, when the sun rises and we open our eyes, that is worth raising our hands to the heavens and being thankful for!!
"Every year another promise is made...a pint of beer raised towards a better day...let's find a star, a star to call our own...and make a wish, maybe we can make it home..." ~ Edwin (Alive)
Monday, September 17, 2007
When I was about seventeen years old, my Mom and I moved into an apartment on the second floor of a house in the old South area of London. Once we moved everything in, I spent the entire rest of the weekend painting my bedroom, putting my pictures back up and arranging everything just as it was before we moved. When I was done, I dipped my hands in the paint and left my handprints on the back of my door. I wanted some evidence of my presence to be left behind. I wanted there to be proof that someone’s adolescence had occurred within those walls.
My Mom and I moved a lot when I was young. I can remember six or seven different places that occupied our lives while we were in London. While it always seemed to bother the people around us, I always thought of it as an adventure. While our lives happen to consistently change addresses…home was always where my Mom and I happen to be at that moment. Changing homes just seemed so insignificant compared to the many other things that were constant; we had lots of family nearby…we still had a girls’ night out every Friday…I still graduated high school with many of the same people that I started kindergarten with…I still had baseball practice twice a week …we still had a Christmas tree every year and a pumpkin every Halloween. Some things just never changed.
Or so I thought.
In the fall of 1997, shortly after I moved here to Ottawa, my Mom decided to move to B.C. She packed up her things, hopped on a westbound bus and just like that…I was homeless. Of course, I wasn’t actually homeless but, while all of my classmates headed home for the holidays and long weekends, every physical trace of my existence now fit into a top floor bedroom that I was renting in Ottawa’s student ghetto. I hadn’t carved my initials in a backyard tree…there was no pencil marks indicating my growth spurts on a family room wall…the handprints on my bedroom door had long been painted over…and the single person that I knew to be home was suddenly a world away. I guess that’s the thing about moving around a lot; while on one hand, you learn to never rely on your past too much…on the other hand; you couldn’t have even if you wanted to.
For the next four or five years, I was living life like a nomad…a person with no permanent home but moves about according to the seasons. I lived in countless different places with countless different people. It wasn’t much different than what I had known for most of my life and when you’re a student, almost everyone around you is going through the same thing too; living off of eight month leases and trading in roommates as often as we did textbooks. It became apparent to me that as I got older, I desired a “home” more than ever, because with all the change and instability in my life, I very much craved some sense of familiarity…a place to go back to that could help remind me of how far I’d gone. There is no worse feeling than being homesick for a home that doesn’t exist.
As life settled down a bit, so did I. In the spring of 2004, Steve and I moved into our current apartment. One of my favourite memories of our relationship was the weekend that we moved in here. It was a cold, stormy March weekend. We ordered delivery and stayed up all weekend arranging our apartment as the first step in building our life together. We simply couldn’t get enough of our newfound domestic arrangement! We’ve been happily enjoying our little abode ever since and for me, it’s the first home that I’ve known in many years. The more time that I spend here though, the more I have begun to rely on the comfort and stability of having a place that defines and reflects who we are as people. Our home has become our castle and when all else fails in the world, we can come home, close the door and know that among our 640 square feet…there is love and happiness.
As I write this, I am looking at a picture of one of my favourite places in the entire world; my mother and father-in-law’s home in Tilbury, Ontario. A beautiful, Victorian home in South Western Ontario filled with memories, family and the constant aroma of something baking!! Three or four times a year, all of us kids pack up our vehicles and endure the long drive home to spend holidays and weekends together as family. We all trickle in at varying times throughout the night but, come the next morning, we would all meet downstairs in our pajamas around the dining room table for breakfast. I love going to Tilbury. I love it because whenever we go there, I am reminded that I am someone’s daughter and for as long as we go there, there will always be cookies on the kitchen counter to eat in the middle of the night. It won’t ever matter how old I am…when I walk through the doors of Carlyle Street, I am, once again, someone’s child.
The concept of having a home and the importance of it in my life is more prominent now because this past week…the walls of our first home went up. Steve and I made the decision to build our first home back in May and now, I can drive by and see what will soon be our front door. Having no memory of ever living in anything that has been owned before, this next step in my life carries a lot of significance. For four months now, Steve and I have been choosing everything from electrical outlets and sub-flooring to kitchen counters and pot lighting. Our apartment is a flurry of paint chips and design magazines, and one day, all of this work is going to make a home. But sink faucets and hardwood floors aside, it will more importantly be home to future Christmas trees, Halloween pumpkins, family dinners, four legged friends, two legged additions to the family and a foundation in which to call our own. I hope very much to fill it with the same love and sense of security that our home in Tilbury never fails to provide us with. This home will hopefully reflect our desires as creatures of comfort and also reflect our desire to make those we that we love always know that they have a home too. While Steel Street will become our new haven, it’s equally important that Christina always has her own room and a soaker tub for her post-marathon rituals…that Marie will always have a hideout during football season…that Priya and Rohan will always have a place to go on Halloween for the best treats…that Heather and Roberta will have a fireplace to warm up next to after too many hours on the canal…that Kathy will always have a kitchen stocked with all of her necessities and a place on the wall for candy ribbons…that our door is not just our own…but home to those that have always done the same for us.
Our home will always be their home because, without them, our home simply isn’t complete.
On that note, we look forward to seeing you in February of 2008, as the newest Smyth home opens its doors for many years to come…
My Mom and I moved a lot when I was young. I can remember six or seven different places that occupied our lives while we were in London. While it always seemed to bother the people around us, I always thought of it as an adventure. While our lives happen to consistently change addresses…home was always where my Mom and I happen to be at that moment. Changing homes just seemed so insignificant compared to the many other things that were constant; we had lots of family nearby…we still had a girls’ night out every Friday…I still graduated high school with many of the same people that I started kindergarten with…I still had baseball practice twice a week …we still had a Christmas tree every year and a pumpkin every Halloween. Some things just never changed.
Or so I thought.
In the fall of 1997, shortly after I moved here to Ottawa, my Mom decided to move to B.C. She packed up her things, hopped on a westbound bus and just like that…I was homeless. Of course, I wasn’t actually homeless but, while all of my classmates headed home for the holidays and long weekends, every physical trace of my existence now fit into a top floor bedroom that I was renting in Ottawa’s student ghetto. I hadn’t carved my initials in a backyard tree…there was no pencil marks indicating my growth spurts on a family room wall…the handprints on my bedroom door had long been painted over…and the single person that I knew to be home was suddenly a world away. I guess that’s the thing about moving around a lot; while on one hand, you learn to never rely on your past too much…on the other hand; you couldn’t have even if you wanted to.
For the next four or five years, I was living life like a nomad…a person with no permanent home but moves about according to the seasons. I lived in countless different places with countless different people. It wasn’t much different than what I had known for most of my life and when you’re a student, almost everyone around you is going through the same thing too; living off of eight month leases and trading in roommates as often as we did textbooks. It became apparent to me that as I got older, I desired a “home” more than ever, because with all the change and instability in my life, I very much craved some sense of familiarity…a place to go back to that could help remind me of how far I’d gone. There is no worse feeling than being homesick for a home that doesn’t exist.
As life settled down a bit, so did I. In the spring of 2004, Steve and I moved into our current apartment. One of my favourite memories of our relationship was the weekend that we moved in here. It was a cold, stormy March weekend. We ordered delivery and stayed up all weekend arranging our apartment as the first step in building our life together. We simply couldn’t get enough of our newfound domestic arrangement! We’ve been happily enjoying our little abode ever since and for me, it’s the first home that I’ve known in many years. The more time that I spend here though, the more I have begun to rely on the comfort and stability of having a place that defines and reflects who we are as people. Our home has become our castle and when all else fails in the world, we can come home, close the door and know that among our 640 square feet…there is love and happiness.
As I write this, I am looking at a picture of one of my favourite places in the entire world; my mother and father-in-law’s home in Tilbury, Ontario. A beautiful, Victorian home in South Western Ontario filled with memories, family and the constant aroma of something baking!! Three or four times a year, all of us kids pack up our vehicles and endure the long drive home to spend holidays and weekends together as family. We all trickle in at varying times throughout the night but, come the next morning, we would all meet downstairs in our pajamas around the dining room table for breakfast. I love going to Tilbury. I love it because whenever we go there, I am reminded that I am someone’s daughter and for as long as we go there, there will always be cookies on the kitchen counter to eat in the middle of the night. It won’t ever matter how old I am…when I walk through the doors of Carlyle Street, I am, once again, someone’s child.
The concept of having a home and the importance of it in my life is more prominent now because this past week…the walls of our first home went up. Steve and I made the decision to build our first home back in May and now, I can drive by and see what will soon be our front door. Having no memory of ever living in anything that has been owned before, this next step in my life carries a lot of significance. For four months now, Steve and I have been choosing everything from electrical outlets and sub-flooring to kitchen counters and pot lighting. Our apartment is a flurry of paint chips and design magazines, and one day, all of this work is going to make a home. But sink faucets and hardwood floors aside, it will more importantly be home to future Christmas trees, Halloween pumpkins, family dinners, four legged friends, two legged additions to the family and a foundation in which to call our own. I hope very much to fill it with the same love and sense of security that our home in Tilbury never fails to provide us with. This home will hopefully reflect our desires as creatures of comfort and also reflect our desire to make those we that we love always know that they have a home too. While Steel Street will become our new haven, it’s equally important that Christina always has her own room and a soaker tub for her post-marathon rituals…that Marie will always have a hideout during football season…that Priya and Rohan will always have a place to go on Halloween for the best treats…that Heather and Roberta will have a fireplace to warm up next to after too many hours on the canal…that Kathy will always have a kitchen stocked with all of her necessities and a place on the wall for candy ribbons…that our door is not just our own…but home to those that have always done the same for us.
Our home will always be their home because, without them, our home simply isn’t complete.
On that note, we look forward to seeing you in February of 2008, as the newest Smyth home opens its doors for many years to come…
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