If a new artist arises to the main stream (I don't know how the underground scene works) and her name is Sarah, 10 bucks says I'll love her. Let's see: Sarah McLachlan, Sarah Harmer and Sarah Slean. I'm sure I'm missing someone. Anyways, all I'm trying to say is that my musical tastes are very predictable.
It's a brilliantly sunny day. The sky is an amazing shade of blue and it's a brisk -5 with a wind chill of -14.
I can't seem to get Sarah Slean's song 'Day One' out of my head. I keep blasting it and dancing about. My head is in such a great place. It's a lovely day. Much to do.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Friday, January 18, 2008
To Edward Thomas Moore on his big day
My tiny, adolescent fingers edged the antique drawer of this wardrobe back. I know what’s inside. I have to be quiet, very quiet. The wooden drawer squeaks if I jerk it to quickly. Shhh! He might hear us. I push my sister behind me to be the look out and watch the door. He could appear around the corner at any moment.
One more deep breath in and a final tug as I gently pull the drawer toward me. It didn’t have to be all the way open, just enough for my little hand to reach in and pull out the loot.
“He’s coming!”
I whip my hand away, turn to face the door with my arms folded behind my back and a sheepish smile across my face.
“Oh no, that was just the dog.”
Oh my little sister, how do you get a West Highland Terrier confused with a grandpa? I turn around to return to my stealth mission. My arm was completely swallowed by this great drawer as I blindly felt around for that coveted golden tin, this tin of Scotch Mints.
There it is, right there. I had it in my grasp and pulled the tin back toward me. I couldn’t wait to taste this sweet, hard candy that I always clenched between my teeth and crunched.
“Did you find it?”
“What are you girls doing?” Grandpa boomed as he stood looming in the doorway.
Ceileigh had removed herself from the look out post. He’d busted our operation.
“Are you into the hiding place for MY candies? I’ll just have to find another place to hide it now.”
Grandpa took the tin from my hands. My eyes were sweeping the floor with shame. He twisted open the tin and let us each take one. I looked up and our eyes met, he winked with a big smile beaming across his face.
Happy 85th Birthday Grandpa!
Thursday, January 17, 2008
I couldn't catch my breath
I know not to head to the subway during rush hour, but sometimes you just get stuck.
Strangers stood shoulder to shoulder. Uncomfortable, "excuse me's" are whispered under everyone's breath. Although some don't even try and be polite, they just push. Everyone pays their $2.75 just to get home; commuters don't pay it to make friends.
Today my legs weren't weary, so I didn't have to push any little old ladies out of my way for the last seat. I decided to lean up against a glass partition and read the travel section of the Star. I wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere but right here.
I wasn't even two stops into my daily, half hour journey when I realized I couldn't catch my breath. It was like my mind was challenging me to breathe a deep breath, but my body wouldn't let it happen. The harder I tried to breathe the more I couldn't.
I needed out. I pushed my way to the sliding doors. I uttered no apologies. It was almost like a drum rythym had picked up in my head to intensify my desperate situation. I felt like I was suffocating.
Christie station's platform was empty. The competition my mind and body was so engrossed in was dropped, so I could take that deep breath that I had pushed my way off the subway for.
I strolled down to the other end of the platform. The stuffy air cooled me off from my self contained ordeal.
I want out of this city. I want out of university. I just want out!
Strangers stood shoulder to shoulder. Uncomfortable, "excuse me's" are whispered under everyone's breath. Although some don't even try and be polite, they just push. Everyone pays their $2.75 just to get home; commuters don't pay it to make friends.
Today my legs weren't weary, so I didn't have to push any little old ladies out of my way for the last seat. I decided to lean up against a glass partition and read the travel section of the Star. I wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere but right here.
I wasn't even two stops into my daily, half hour journey when I realized I couldn't catch my breath. It was like my mind was challenging me to breathe a deep breath, but my body wouldn't let it happen. The harder I tried to breathe the more I couldn't.
I needed out. I pushed my way to the sliding doors. I uttered no apologies. It was almost like a drum rythym had picked up in my head to intensify my desperate situation. I felt like I was suffocating.
Christie station's platform was empty. The competition my mind and body was so engrossed in was dropped, so I could take that deep breath that I had pushed my way off the subway for.
I strolled down to the other end of the platform. The stuffy air cooled me off from my self contained ordeal.
I want out of this city. I want out of university. I just want out!
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Grandma's Meatloaf
It's not really an appetizing name for a dish. It deceives the ear because meatloaf is delicious. And my Grandma's recipe is the perfect comfort food.
"I'll wash the dishes and you two go to the living room and watch your show," I said to my Grandparents. My volume heightened because they're both basically deaf and too stubborn to throw a hearing aid on.
"No, don't be silly. We'll all go and watch Rick Steves. He's quite a traveller, you know."
"Who is this guy?" I asked.
He's a middle-aged man who brings the sites and sounds of Europe to living rooms across North America.
My sweet aging Grandparents haven't been to a majority of these places. But you can see the twinkle of intrigue in their eye as this Mr. Steves strolls through quaint villages of yet another European country. This week he was in the Netherlands. He explained that Medieval structures continue to stand here along side there open public urinals that line some streets.
These are places that my Grandparents still want to see. But their bodies just won't let them. They are both resigned to their stiff, oatmeal coloured, retro sofa to enjoy the pleasure of touring a foreign land.
This puts it all into perspective. I'm home and looking for a job for the month that I'm here. It's not going so well. But when it all boils down what does it all matter any way. It'll work out. It will, I can feel it.
And soon enough the stress of making enough money to survive my last semester at Ryerson will have faded into the dust, while I trek forward.
Like Mr. Steves and his open-aired urinals, I'm ready for adventure.
"I'll wash the dishes and you two go to the living room and watch your show," I said to my Grandparents. My volume heightened because they're both basically deaf and too stubborn to throw a hearing aid on.
"No, don't be silly. We'll all go and watch Rick Steves. He's quite a traveller, you know."
"Who is this guy?" I asked.
He's a middle-aged man who brings the sites and sounds of Europe to living rooms across North America.
My sweet aging Grandparents haven't been to a majority of these places. But you can see the twinkle of intrigue in their eye as this Mr. Steves strolls through quaint villages of yet another European country. This week he was in the Netherlands. He explained that Medieval structures continue to stand here along side there open public urinals that line some streets.
These are places that my Grandparents still want to see. But their bodies just won't let them. They are both resigned to their stiff, oatmeal coloured, retro sofa to enjoy the pleasure of touring a foreign land.
This puts it all into perspective. I'm home and looking for a job for the month that I'm here. It's not going so well. But when it all boils down what does it all matter any way. It'll work out. It will, I can feel it.
And soon enough the stress of making enough money to survive my last semester at Ryerson will have faded into the dust, while I trek forward.
Like Mr. Steves and his open-aired urinals, I'm ready for adventure.
Friday, November 23, 2007
It's not the teleprompter I'll miss
I just woke up but my head is still foggy.
This morning I just couldn't roll out of bed when my alarm rang. My body and mind are both tired. This isn't good, they need each other to work properly.
The past few weeks have been a blur of endless phone calls coaxing un willing public citizens who're afraid to appear on camera. Hauling equipment on foot to the interviews and then back again. Capturing all of the footage and then splicing hours of it into 1 min and 45 sec, 2 min and 20 sec and 4 min packaged stories for our news show.
It's the best way to curb how I crave exhausting adventure. I love it. I love every moment of it.
Yesterday was another day full of shooting and editing. I crawled under my covers at 1 a.m.
Today is bittersweet. It is our last show of the school year and the last time I'll ever have the chance to work with my classmates in this capacity.
I've grown to know just about everyone very well. Of course there are the select few that groan when anyone asks them to do something. But the majority are take charge, push the envelope type people. I greatly respect this. They have something special to give and I wish them the very best in their future careers.
There is a healthy competition between us all that just makes me just want it more. I want a career in this field so badly I can taste it (cliche but true).
I just don't want to say adieu today. I do have a whole semester left to see them all but it just isn't the same.
We work together and play together.
The nerve centre. Our control room.
In studio (in our 3rd year)
This is how journalism students do Halloween up.
This morning I just couldn't roll out of bed when my alarm rang. My body and mind are both tired. This isn't good, they need each other to work properly.
The past few weeks have been a blur of endless phone calls coaxing un willing public citizens who're afraid to appear on camera. Hauling equipment on foot to the interviews and then back again. Capturing all of the footage and then splicing hours of it into 1 min and 45 sec, 2 min and 20 sec and 4 min packaged stories for our news show.
It's the best way to curb how I crave exhausting adventure. I love it. I love every moment of it.
Yesterday was another day full of shooting and editing. I crawled under my covers at 1 a.m.
Today is bittersweet. It is our last show of the school year and the last time I'll ever have the chance to work with my classmates in this capacity.
I've grown to know just about everyone very well. Of course there are the select few that groan when anyone asks them to do something. But the majority are take charge, push the envelope type people. I greatly respect this. They have something special to give and I wish them the very best in their future careers.
There is a healthy competition between us all that just makes me just want it more. I want a career in this field so badly I can taste it (cliche but true).
I just don't want to say adieu today. I do have a whole semester left to see them all but it just isn't the same.
We work together and play together.
The nerve centre. Our control room.
In studio (in our 3rd year)
This is how journalism students do Halloween up.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Quickened Pace
I walk too quickly. I think the only time my pace slows is when my boyfriend has my hand in his. Like on a sunny Sunday morning when we window shop.
There's a protection mode I enter into when alone. I'm wearing the thickest armour and nothing startles me.
Today I had errands to run and with my pace I really ran them.
I had money to put in the bank. It was a big day.
My university gives us the choice to opt-out of the health plan. Yes, I'm still dependant on my lovely parents. In the real world $295.00 is nothing, maybe a cell phone bill. But in my life, right now it's huge.
First the money had to be deposited. Then I headed South on Yonge, towards College St. a homeless man leaning up against a wall held his hand up for a high-five. By the time I processed this random gesture I think I may have chuckled and shook my head. Poor guy, I left him hanging.
I rounded the corner, heading West on College St., to a drug store. An officer who had his hands wrapped around a coffee was walking ahead. Stepping up to his right, I motored past. He calls out, "Are you in a hurry or something?"
I slowed down to turn and look him in the eyes, "No, not really. Why?"
"You're walking so quickly."
"Well why waste time walking slowly. I've got places to go." I smiled and wished him a good day.
Maybe I should slow it down a bit sometimes. I may be able to make more of the journey that way.
There's a protection mode I enter into when alone. I'm wearing the thickest armour and nothing startles me.
Today I had errands to run and with my pace I really ran them.
I had money to put in the bank. It was a big day.
My university gives us the choice to opt-out of the health plan. Yes, I'm still dependant on my lovely parents. In the real world $295.00 is nothing, maybe a cell phone bill. But in my life, right now it's huge.
First the money had to be deposited. Then I headed South on Yonge, towards College St. a homeless man leaning up against a wall held his hand up for a high-five. By the time I processed this random gesture I think I may have chuckled and shook my head. Poor guy, I left him hanging.
I rounded the corner, heading West on College St., to a drug store. An officer who had his hands wrapped around a coffee was walking ahead. Stepping up to his right, I motored past. He calls out, "Are you in a hurry or something?"
I slowed down to turn and look him in the eyes, "No, not really. Why?"
"You're walking so quickly."
"Well why waste time walking slowly. I've got places to go." I smiled and wished him a good day.
Maybe I should slow it down a bit sometimes. I may be able to make more of the journey that way.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Droplets
Now back in Toronto I oddly find myself lost in the midst of pure contentment. There is a sense of admiration and love for the humanity that surrounds me
This love for life and those who are living it around me is unleashed on the community at large. This is when I'm solo and at one with my own thoughts.
Seated with shopping bags on my lap, I rest my head on the window pane of the streetcar that's jostling the human cargo back and forth. The rain isn't letting up. I look up to watch the droplets running down the edge of the glass.
A small, elderly woman stands in the aisle; her wrinkled fingers grip the steel pole for stability. The woman beside me motions for this sweet little gran to take her seat. But she won't have it. Our eyes meet, she winks and smiles. Her eyes explain to me that she's strong enough to handle the unexpected lurches that this spastic driver is making. This is fun for her.
On this dreary day she is my inspiration. I want to hug her. She's just so cool and unshaken by the unsettling crush of frustrated commuters. I want to be just like her.
This love for life and those who are living it around me is unleashed on the community at large. This is when I'm solo and at one with my own thoughts.
Seated with shopping bags on my lap, I rest my head on the window pane of the streetcar that's jostling the human cargo back and forth. The rain isn't letting up. I look up to watch the droplets running down the edge of the glass.
A small, elderly woman stands in the aisle; her wrinkled fingers grip the steel pole for stability. The woman beside me motions for this sweet little gran to take her seat. But she won't have it. Our eyes meet, she winks and smiles. Her eyes explain to me that she's strong enough to handle the unexpected lurches that this spastic driver is making. This is fun for her.
On this dreary day she is my inspiration. I want to hug her. She's just so cool and unshaken by the unsettling crush of frustrated commuters. I want to be just like her.
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