greattidepool

Brand New Start

2011-09-12T20:09:00.000-07:00

This summer I lost my glasses and got new ones and couldn't help but think it meant something more than just $400 and a pain in my butt. A new way to see and be seen, you know? Clearer vision. A new outlook. I took any sort of cliched meaning from it that I could because I needed to and why not?

Anyway, another fresh face: www.thegreattidepool.com

It's currently under construction but we are/Ben is working on it. Fonts will be smaller and better and everything will look nice. And I'm going to try and write more fiction maybe but maybe not.

Make it a motto

2011-09-07T16:21:00.000-07:00

This week we have positive or important messages. Things such as: Good things come. Go get 'em, tiger. Don't worry too hard. It's not as bad as it seems. You're probably great. People like you. Brush twice a day.

Keeping Portland Weird

2011-08-22T17:02:00.000-07:00

These goons. On this same day (yesterday) Stephen asks Suzanne to marry her. She says afterward, "I'm going to marry you, but I tell you that all the time." He says, "I called your bluff."

The world's largest third wheel.

2011-08-22T00:08:00.000-07:00

"I'm engaged. I think I've opened up a whole new pandora's box of jokes."
-S. Wicks, 2011.

Ode to Rap (By Matthew Bernstein-8th Grade)

2011-08-21T16:35:00.000-07:00

Rap music you are magnificent
A golden light from the firmament
With beat of perfect measurement
And words so eloquent
Not like a jingle in an advertisement
But a love-letter sent
Using voice as solo instrument
The best accompaniment
Like a burger and a condiment
I relish each ingredient
Rap you are my nourishment

It is no accident
Rap is often irreverent
Expressing life's discontent
Rolling waves so turbulent
Like from a volano's vent
It washes over me my enlightenment
And with child-like wonderment
Unravel each red-wrapped argument
? tied in knots of puzzlement
? decipher what is meant

And all my money will be spent
On rap with names like T.I., Jay-Z and 50-Cent
Without rap life loses its merriment
Rap music is my one true enjoyment

On the wall of a record store. Portland, Oregon.

At the Capers Community Market

2011-08-16T15:37:00.000-07:00

At the table next to me two mothers are chatting over lunch about the lack of private schools in this neighbourhood. The one is “frankly shocked” about it. Wherever she had grown up, apparently, there were far more private schools; she says, “it just wasn’t a problem there”. Meanwhile her daughter has begun crying at the pigeon near to their table full of food; she is not, however, shedding any tears. Another daughter, who, according to her mother is “eating too many blueberries,” spits on the pigeon. This goes unnoticed.

A third daughter, clearly belonging to the mother nearest me, gathers away her family’s garbage. Her toe and fingernails match her blue eyes perfectly.

When the youngest girl’s crying grows no longer ignorable, the mothers faintly acknowledge her worry by telling stories about birds. One mother mentions a swarmed picnic once. The crying girl offers her own story about the time at the beach house when she dropped some groceries and a bird got them. The girl appears clearly traumatized. The pigeon wanders around the table.

As the pigeon approaches the middle child, she takes a large swig of chocolate milk so that she can make one ultimate spit onto the pigeon’s back. Organic milk and salvia go flying. This time though, the mother does notice. The girl gets in trouble. Lunch is over.

Pt. 4 (Things Brother Will Says)

2011-08-13T09:34:00.000-07:00

"I did a speech on rocks that mom wrote once, and it was really interesting. I learned a lot from that speech." -W. Kane, 2011

Keep Swinging

2011-08-11T19:10:00.000-07:00

Let's imagine a playground and you're there but you don't want to be. You're too old for a playground or something and so it feels bad being there. Or you fell off a teeter-totter when you were a kid and had to get stitches and you've hated playgrounds ever since. You can even make up your own reason for not liking playgrounds. The main idea is that in this imaginary situation you hate playgrounds. Screw that swing-set. Goddamn those monkey bars. The playground is shitty and it all sucks. But you're there, for whatever reason. Maybe because you're waiting. Maybe because it feels like you have to be. I don't know why you're at the playground if you don't want to be, but the point is that you are. If someone were to text you and ask you where you were at and what you were doing you might reply "I'm at the playground". I don't know who you are but you might be the type of person who would include a "fml" or maybe a "get me out of here". But either way you'd express that you weren't happy with where you are. But the idea is that you're stuck. This is imaginary so even though it seems highly unlikely that you'd get stuck at a playground I'm just going to let it be. We're pretending. My point is obvious and it's this: Play on the goddamn monkey bars anyway and stop cursing the swing set.

Pt. 3

2011-08-07T14:41:00.001-07:00

"My mind blows my mind."
-W.Kane, 2011

Pt. 2

2011-08-06T16:47:00.000-07:00

"There's only two ways it could go: really bad or, fuck, I don't even know ... worse."
-W.Kane, 2011

Things Will Says Pt. 1

2011-08-06T09:58:00.001-07:00

"You gotta know your character. Know it. Him, her, whatever it is. It could be an inanimate object like a spoon. Like a spoon on a mission."
-W. Kane, 2011

What happens in Stanley Park

2011-07-28T10:58:00.000-07:00

(This silly formatting was an accident)

Just stand out there and stick your glove out in the air

2011-07-26T14:31:00.000-07:00

"This is embarrassing."
"No, this is summer."

The Vancouver Canadians win the game against the Salem-Keizer Volcanoes 5-2. Beers cost $8. Floats $1. We go swimming in the ocean afterward and dry off by a satisfying bonfire.

Why porches are more open than unlocked front doors.

2011-07-19T12:27:00.000-07:00

Two parents look on at their brilliant toddler. Not brilliant in the intellectual sense of the word, but brilliant to them, as most children are. His hair, much fuller and darker than either of his parents', rouses suspicion in the neighbours. His complexion too. The mother is not fair, but not dark either, and her hair is a floppy, weak, light brown. The father, in his youth, had hair the colour of hotel towels and sunlight. Pure white blonde. Now, the father's hair is thinning, a fact he has not yet and maybe will never come to terms with. He opposes his son's first hair cut. His son has beautiful brown black hair with a lustrous sheen, a fineness uncommon among his drooling peers. The mother takes her son out on the porch anyway, with scissors in one hand, and her newly non-infant in the other arm. How grown up he'll look, she thinks. She cuts without hesitation, as her husband looks on with skepticism.

The sounds that go with this moment are this: There is just one snip, but it is a slow, deliberate snip, as though the scissors are going through the kind of rope that ties boats to docks. Not a hacking though, still a snip. A heavy snip. Then you hear a sort of exhalation, mixed with a "tsk", followed by laughter, the kind that really is uproarious. Real uproarious laughter. While the toddler remains silent, this laughter grows and goes on until it eventually dies down to make room for these words: "Well, maybe I can fix it." And this reply: "I think that might make it worse." And finally, "Can it get any worse? Might as well try."

Via Lynner Winner Chicken Dinner

2011-07-14T19:30:00.000-07:00

Thinking of new names for my brother: Benner Wenner Fred Penner, Benner Wenner Big Tenor, Benner Wenner Money Spender, or...

Jasper

2011-06-29T13:01:00.000-07:00

Rule of thumb: The cat always chooses the lap of the woman whose nose feels like it has needles in it, whose eyes are itchy and watering, who has sneezed 10 going on 11 times already today. The cat never chooses the woman who paid the cat's medical bills, who gave the cat a home, who wants nothing more than for the cat to choose her lap, at least just once. The cat can smell her desperation, and chooses the smell of fear instead.

Making plans for the future.

2011-06-27T06:42:00.000-07:00

Plan: A picture of these two kooks daily, to be illustrated and bound together for their viewing dis/pleasure.

Another plan I have: Reading in the park today.

Also: Getting dressed.

barely creative writing called "What’s Ours is Yours" about what the word ours doesn't mean and how not to share

2011-06-23T22:19:00.000-07:00

This cake is the fruit of our combined labour. It is layered, chocolate, and fucking delicious smelling. It is the product of our combined hours in the kitchen. Your ingredients, my hot oven. And so this cake will be our cake. We lick the beaters, the spatulas, the spoons. We butter the cake pan with our fingers and we wait. This cake is probably just as delicious as that cake but this cake is better because that cake is theirs and this one is ours. This is our cake. Look at how our cake rises. It is three stories high and there are coins wrapped in tinfoil hidden in the icing. This is our chocolate money cake and it is a masterpiece. Our masterpiece. We’re going to split it down the middle if we can bear to bruise its icing. We’re damn proud of our cake. We take pictures of our cake. We're looking forward to eating our cake. I'm about to cut the cake.

But you take the cake.

2011-06-14T21:21:00.000-07:00

To June 15th,

In 1988 you saw the birth of a Ms. Sarah Ayton, who happens to now be one of the most lovely everythings. She has grown tall and talented. She is beautiful and she is wise. She is, like her birth date, always seemingly one step ahead of me, and this I do not mind one bit. A better person I could not hope to follow.

In 2010 I had the most fun on you. I appreciated that you were sunny and warm and that everyone on you seemed to be in the best of spirits and all full of happiness. You were really very great and I appreciated it.

Just writing to says thanks and please keep up the good days.

Yours,

Lynn

Tough Crust

2011-06-10T21:43:00.000-07:00

I ate close to half of the pie I made to make making the pie worth all that trouble. In this case, the making of the pie--the buying of the plate, the forgetting of the rolling pin, the carrying of the groceries, the waving of the tea towel wildly at the fire alarm, the dozens of phone calls home, the taking the pie out of the oven and putting it back in the oven over and over--maybe spent more calories than my eating it. Like the musk ox digging through the snow. Sometimes it just isn't worth all the effort. But sometimes it is.

Advice Column

2011-06-09T16:00:00.000-07:00

Financial tips from a father to his daughter named "Charisma" given while biking along 4th avenue in Kitsilano: You can't save the money that you spend, Charmisa.

The pop and catch

2011-06-09T14:54:00.000-07:00

I want a channel that just plays clips of people trying to take short pieces of toast out of the hot toaster.

Variations on a theme

2011-06-03T15:47:00.000-07:00

I drew these ovens almost 3 years apart.

Either/or

2011-06-02T17:18:00.001-07:00

If it feels good doodle it.

2011-06-02T17:07:00.000-07:00

Doodling is not just for phone conversations and boring lectures, doodling is for always and forever.

Urban Intimacy

2011-05-31T10:12:00.000-07:00

Down Arbutus, before Second, there's an apartment facing west with mid century modern lamps, and a mid century man. He sits in his corner chair, illuminated by the light, reading the paper during the evenings. I like to see him there.

On Broadway, between Fraser and Main, I saw a man as he went to the bathroom. It was 8:30, and still bright. I stepped over his stream of pee, so that I might walk all my way over to the next bus stop to allow him some tiny speck of privacy. And because I was grossed out.

I know some of my neighbours so well in some particularly intimate ways, but in most senses, I don't know them at all. I know the details of their sleep, their snoring patterns, perhaps only as well as a lover would. But I know nothing about their career goals, or whether they prefer to use butter or margarine.

Starting and then stopping

2011-05-27T02:16:00.000-07:00

Remind your dear self that you are well loved. Fortunately, you know some of the world's greatest. Be thankful for those rocks that show up in your mailbox at the precise moment you need them to.* And those other rocks. Your brothers, your mother, your best friends. Those reliable few. Those irreplaceable some. Those real keepers. Those ones who are real ones. Who answer their phone on the first ring because they're your real sugar angels. Your plum cakes. Who ask you to cook buttery pasta with them at the exact moment you are starved, and are in need of nothing more than buttery, eggy, really great pasta. Remind your dear self that your self is dear. Drink down that bottle of wine and enjoy your sourdough. You are wonderful and great and I really believe you're super duper. And everything that is the worst perhaps hopefully maybe makes room for something better maybe somehow. And who are we without hope? The lower-case "l" lord knows how hopeful I have been, and how hopeful I remain. Darn hopeful. In the best way. Here is to feeling okay when you're feeling everything but okay. And, more importantly, here's to those wonderful people who make you feel that way. To my friends and family who are impossibly great, thank-you, you darn shits, for being so overall lovely and amazing.

*My dear ma' sent me a great couple of rocks in the mail but I am without camera now. You will just have to come to Vancouver and see for yourself how stellar they are.

Pascal

2011-05-16T21:56:00.000-07:00

Learns to catch the ball in his mouth.

2011-05-03T22:31:00.000-07:00

Today I repotted a cactus and got pricked. I went to a store called "Step Back" to look for a new wood crate to put said cactus upon. These were Tuesday's little mockeries of me and my vote. As I walked home, I passed by the NDP office on Broadway just in time to see an employee clear his desk into a cardboard box, and another take down the last sign in the window.

(I have a very clever friend named Brodie who has (finally) started a blog which will deal in part with federal politics, and in part with whatever floats Brodie's boat. I recommend y'all read it.)

BCing you soon

2011-04-23T11:53:00.000-07:00

That time in the middle of the pond part way up that mountain watching my brother slide down like a penguin from the snowy top.

Essay writing is a joke:

2011-04-20T16:38:00.000-07:00

Q: How many words is twenty pages?

A: Two!

Unlimited Long-Distance

2011-04-18T22:48:00.000-07:00

Scott calls me and he says to me, "You're gonna like this one." He's obviously pumped about it. He asks, "Where does the king keep his armies?"

I think on it and I say, "I don't know. Where?"

"Up his sleevesies."

Also, another rock:

A priceless mineral of mine.
(Calcite with an "s" is especially rare and especially special)

The second story window

2011-04-18T09:15:00.000-07:00

What a pleasure it is to read for pleasure. Because I've realized I waste time anyway, always, I'm going to waste it better. Sometimes I forget I like books. They're what's gotten me into this mess, after all. I also like images, art stuffs, galleries. Isn't this a novel idea? I think so.

Invigil8

2011-04-15T23:30:00.000-07:00

Those slight movements a person makes to adjust her pen to the paper before it hits it. It can take almost 30 seconds, and then, then, Ah, there that girl goes. Whether the person was debating on a "dear" or "to", or whether she was just wondering what type of script to use. She hovers. That pen's silence. I like the way that looks. That wondering what or how to write before the writing begins. And when it begins it begins swiftly, like she hadn't even ever hesitated in the first place.

ocean breaks

2011-03-27T19:38:00.001-07:00

Today I plundered the ocean side for barnacled beauties like this.

1993?

2011-03-15T14:52:00.000-07:00

So it turns out I must just have some deep down thing for floral patterns on black.

Pt.2 (More dumb rocks)

2011-03-12T22:44:00.000-08:00

Always slightly out of focus.

I was looking up rock names and found a "rockstar" name generator. You can call me Ilene Woolfe.

2011-03-12T17:57:00.000-08:00

Dogtooth calcite, something but I forget what, oh scholzite, I think, and pyrite from Suzanne and Stephen (tag by Scott).

A lazy and thoughtful Saturday afternoon, after a most pleasant hungover morning, after an evening of board games with ~~good~~ great friends, after a poutine from hell('s kitchen), after brews, after school, after Thursday, which was after Wednesday, which consisted of library fines and Fargo and microwave popcorn and vodksies with english students. Darling oh dear me these days fly by. Just last week it was Saturday too.

Shocking Life Lessons

2011-03-07T18:53:00.000-08:00

In assemblies we learnt not to ride motorcycles, who Bonhomme was, and this jingly little slogan which has stuck with me since grade school: Don't be a silly dill, 120 watts can kill.

They showed us a picture of a pickle sticking its finger into a socket.

Baked

2011-03-02T18:41:00.000-08:00

We would eat so much cake batter, that by the time we got around to the cake, we were bloated and completely full. And then we would eat too much of the cake. Oftentimes we'd polish it off.

(recalling all that baking we did in our liverpool, home, and dublin street houses)

Aspirations/ Awards to win in 2011

2011-02-26T17:57:00.000-08:00

From my journal, 2010.

Enjoy Enjoyable Enjoyed

2011-02-24T22:08:00.000-08:00

Bit Epicure from Rosa Aiello on Vimeo.

What's it to ya?

2011-02-24T17:30:00.000-08:00

Citrine!

(From the rock store in Nelson, BC)

Don't feel too self-conscious about drinking a root beer on a bus at 10 am because:

2011-02-23T18:40:00.000-08:00

Today, among other things that happened, a man, on the way to campus, took out a container of vaseline on the bus. He had been sitting down politely enough and wasn't someone you'd expect to do something gross or outrageous. His hair was short and thinning. He was youngish and wore glasses. He sat calmly. Then he put about two tablespoons of that greasy stuff onto a finger, dipping and redipping it into the full size tub, and then he rubbed it into his hands. Oh god did he rub it into his hands. Two Muslim women sitting across from him stopped looking at their own hands and starting looking at his. They just stared, and kept right on staring. The blonde woman in a red raincoat sitting next to them didn't see the grotesque show right across from her. She was looking at her own lap. When he was done rubbing it in, his hands looked slick and reflective. I watched as he got off the bus, so conscious of his hands and what poles he might reach for to support himself. None of us who saw him touched those same poles. Our own hands were pressed a little unusually tightly to our sides. All our lips turned down at the corners just the slightest.

2011-02-22T16:11:00.000-08:00

I took out my bike, too small and deflated, but anyway I felt all better immediately.

Bikes should be prescribed by doctors.

Sap into Syrup

2011-02-06T23:49:00.000-08:00

HBD

2011-02-05T13:47:00.000-08:00

It's my mom's birthday and I love her very much and she's the prettiest and she's great.

Come in and get comfortable.

2011-01-31T19:55:00.000-08:00

My apartment is small, almost tiny. This cat covers up ugly switches. It cost a dollar at the place that is only open on Fridays in Guelph. I liked that place alright. These are my keys to various things, arranged in different groupings to suit different activities. I have my "just going for a jog" keys and then my "going to be out of the house all day, so who knows" keys. Other stuff sometimes hangs here too.

This is my hall wall. I doodle here and here is where I display my ever-growing collection of brown shoes in various shades. This is also where I keep a plate with change, bobby pins, cards, and, currently, this is also where I house my special diminishing pile of pear candies from the Wooly. This picture was taken using the mirror. When I write on the chalkboard, I write backwards, so that when I'm sitting eating dinner my message appears the right way around. I am very good at doing this now.

This is my new bed. I found it on craigslist and I like it very much. What I like most about it is how much it cost. It didn't cost much. A man I found on craigslist helped me get the bed from point a, to point b. I'd highly recommend this fellow to anyone in the Vancouver area. We both like craigslist because "we become our own middlemen". I made that bunting when I got bored and I listened to "This American Life" while I did so. I like it okay. It's pretty subtle.

This is also my new bed.

This is this corner. Here is where I display my rocks, books, knitting and crocheting stuffs, and my new piece of contemporary art: "Towel" by Stephen Wicks.

Here's that corner again. I have yet to stick the eyes on that little owl. Waiting for the right buttons. My friend Steven (with a "v") purchased 100 tea lights from ikea for me, which is about 400 burning hours. Here you can see a small percentage of those candles. Above my shelves is a photograph of my papa, the best guy. My brother took this photo of him in his office. There is also an old mushroom on this shelf, all the way from France, and a lamp given to me, or perhaps lent, from Mr. Silversides. The lamp gets too hot and makes bulbs burn out faster. I'm careful with it and so I like it anyhow. The mushroom is cute but it looks scatological, which is why, I figure, my best friend chose it for me.

I have a lot of stripes and even more florals. This is just the way these things go sometimes.

better out of context

2011-01-24T13:35:00.000-08:00

Take a Gander

2011-01-23T23:36:00.000-08:00

This summer, by the speed river, sitting, probably eating sweating cheese, maybe drinking wine, probably playing dominoes. We were watching the geese.

In the summer, as you might very well imagine, geese have baby geese, goslings.

We counted the goslings while they toddled and swam along. Our counts varied so we counted again. A lone stray gosling was hollering out in goose-speak to its mother goose, who was somewhat oblivious, it seemed. The little gosling drifted further away.

This tragic scene played before us, and I can only imagine that, nevertheless, I won the game of dominoes.

I love you tube.

2011-01-22T13:15:00.000-08:00

How memory worked before google:

2011-01-18T13:07:00.000-08:00

From the pages of my journal.

all or

2011-01-12T20:06:00.000-08:00

I will read until my eyes close, knit 'til my wrists bleed, and keep running until I'm out of breath.

Radio Companionship

2011-01-06T16:45:00.000-08:00

Is this a bad time? No, no I'm just sitting down to knit. Oh, because I thought I heard a man's voice. Oh that? That's just Ira, you know.

Too much privacy.

2011-01-05T19:48:00.000-08:00

One of the things that ain't so great about living alone is that when I drop something and then make a great save no one is around to comment on my excellent reflexes. At times, my reflexes warrant comments.

Minor Regret

2011-01-04T18:21:00.000-08:00

I wish that I had been more easy going about temporary tattoos when I was younger.

Twenty-One-One

2011-01-04T09:57:00.000-08:00

I am limiting my alcohol intake. My apartment is clean. I've reorganized my furniture in a most satisfactory way. I'm thinking about everything lots and looking forward to being forced into thinking about even more stuff all the time. I'm excited for what's coming. I bought a whole chicken from the Capers. I'm embarrassed that it's delicious. I'm taking my yarn out of the closet so that I can't ignore it. It's right there in front of me. It says, "Knit me". I'm getting ambitious. I think I can do better this time. I'm going to keep my teeth in order. I won't be afraid of checking my e-mail. My rock collection will grow. My hair will grow. My nails will grow. I will add another podcast to my routine. I may or may not be concerned with answering text messages. I won't beat myself up about any of it. I will maybe settle in more. Get a few lamps. Buy some more furniture. All that jazz.

It's not even 6 yet

2010-12-23T02:55:00.000-08:00

It smells like yeast in Walkerville in Windsor and depending on the day it smells either comforting (like a fresh loaf of bread) or not. With the most extreme patience imaginable, Suzanne taught me to knit. The old ache in my wrist is coming back again, but what can I do about it and how can I avoid the pleasure of needle crafts at Christmas time? It's impossible. Now I have a hat to wear, and one that isn't fur. Suzanne spent a few minutes teaching her sister to knit last night. I woke up at an ungodly hour with her parents to find that Sarah had knit herself a little rectangle and kept a note about the ever-rising amount of stitches she had collected. I gave Sarah a big kiss on the cheek to say goodbye and I like to think I didn't even see her cringe.
Reluctantly Andrew agreed to watch a bit of Chevy Chase's Christmas Vacation with dinner, just for a bit. Never did I imagine myself wedged between Suzanne and her father watching this movie over wine, lamb sausage, and vegetable lasagna. I looked over at Andrew, usually so cautious to crack a smile, bright eyed and beaming through much of the movie. Martha was laughing wildly.

And last night as a gift for their parents the Robinson children (including the dog Darcy) went and got their photo taken, and they even let me into a few frames.

(semi)precious

2010-11-23T23:17:00.000-08:00

Van with 'Zanne.

2010-11-23T21:13:00.000-08:00

What to do

2010-11-15T21:17:00.000-08:00

If life hands you lemons, get some more ingredients and make yourself a hot toddy.

Spandex + Kitsilano

2010-11-14T12:01:00.000-08:00

The headline some days ago said: "Plenty of Spandex and Nowhere to Use it?"
But I read: "Plenty of Spandex: Know Where to Use It."

I ought to do everyone a favour and write the second article.

Stupid Old Joke/Banana Date Oatmeal Jumbles

2010-11-09T19:43:00.000-08:00

Where can one find cheap dates in this city?
But really, seriously, it got cold, I gained my appetite back, and I want to make cookies. I can find 12 dollar dates or 1 dollar dates (1.59 to be precise) that are sweetened, sweetened. Like sweetening sugar itself.
In the meantime, the (tried and true) recipe (via Mum via the American Vegetarian Cookbook):

3 large bananas, mashed
2 cups rolled oats
1 cup chopped dates
1/3 cup oil (I use ¼ cup)
Dash of salt
1 tsp vanilla extract

1. Preheat oven to 350. Combine bananas, oats, dates, oil, salt and vanilla. Allow to rest 15 minutes to let flavors mingle.

2. Drop by spoonfuls onto an ungreased baking sheet and bake for 20 minutes or until brown.

3. Let cool. Store in fridge.

Yields about 24 jumbles or 1 big jumble.

Just the good stuff.

2010-11-08T00:03:00.000-08:00

Tired tired eyes and everything and everything is something good. I spent a weekend in the company of Mr. S. Wicks, with oysters, a rainbow, artifacts, shuffle pucks, champagne, art, cheeses, grapes, and it just goes on and keeps going on. This one was one of those ones but this one was something else. What a weekend, I say, and I'll be saying that for some time, I'm sure.

It's Thursday and I'm Humming a New Song

2010-10-28T17:03:00.000-07:00

Anything I can do Foucault can do better.

Motivation

2010-10-25T21:29:00.000-07:00

It's important that I get my paper done so that I can focus on my halloween costume.

2010-10-24T20:00:00.000-07:00

Today the woman in front of me was singing her little opera heart out as she walked. I was about 6 feet behind her and when I passed people walking toward me, and right in that moment after they passed her, I always got a smile and I always gave one back. I need an opera singer to keep on a leash in front of me, turning all passing strangers into friendly folks.

brother from the same mother

2010-10-17T22:16:00.000-07:00

Will pushed me on Commercial Drive. I hit, knocked over, and fell down on to a lotto max sign. This is the way Will looks at things: Immediately after I fell, or maybe when I was even still on the ground, he says something like, "Now you've got a story to tell. I pushed you over on commercial drive."

So there is that story told.

Part 2. He buys me a drink to make up for it.

Thanksgiving Diner

2010-10-11T00:48:00.000-07:00

West Coast(ers)

2010-10-09T19:55:00.000-07:00

I made these and wanted to show them off.

Stranger

2010-10-09T13:41:00.000-07:00

I thought no one who was actually from Vancouver talked to strangers. I was proven wrong by the woman today who asked me aren't my feet cold?

No, my feet aren't the least bit cold. They're even a little sweaty. I didn't mention the sweat.

She talked to me about the strange way people dress these days. She really is more from Vancouver than anyone I've met. She's been here since 1939. The first time she was ever hugged by anyone (she's parentless) was by her sister at what is now the sea-bus station. To her, this is the most comfortable place she could be. She was born in 1924 in Regina. She buys day-old bread and always has and has never thought to heat it up a bit in the oven, like I said I sometimes do. She said she might try that. Her friend who she's known for many years has a bakery on East Hastings. He takes the day-old bread away from her when she brings it to the counter and replaces it for the freshest loaves and only makes her pay the price of day-olds. She doesn't like Cobbs' bread. She asks me if I'm staying here and I say that I am staying here for two years. The sound of "two years" is ringing in my ears. I am going to school, I say. She asks me what I study and I say literature and she says she only went to grade seven and doesn't know that big smart word. I say I study books and she's okay with that, I think.

I would like to hang out with her.
Do you think she reads missed connections?

Strange

2010-10-05T19:53:00.001-07:00

I dream of a stranger who hears my coughing and brings me warm apple cider spiked with rum. "Now shut up," the stranger says, and it places the mug down and walks away.

Tutorial

2010-09-29T15:08:00.000-07:00

Here's how to turn some ugly chairs you found in the garbage into an okay patio-bench-thing:
Take ugly chairs and saw off the ugly backs of the chairs.
Wrap seats in any old fabric.

Duct tape into place.
And voila!
The only material I had to buy for this "project" was a hacksaw. I had everything else handy. Total cost: $6.

The Day-to-day

2010-09-20T15:41:00.001-07:00

It might not be clear but that last one is of one big slug next to my shoe. I'm sorry these pictures are boring and of bad quality. I hope you like them anyway. Please come to Vancouver.

In this order, probably with a whole lot of wasting time in between:

2010-09-19T17:00:00.000-07:00

I'm going to make beet soup. I'm going to move that metal shelf one last time. I'm going to almost finish (and definitely start) my funding statement tonight. I'm going to buy a disposable camera so that you can see what I see. Blog hold me accountable.

The Ocean Sighed

2010-09-15T12:57:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I got my first mail and I saw a seal. Today I got pooped on by a bird on Broadway. Tuesday > Wednesday.

The gift that keeps on giving.

2010-09-06T19:50:00.000-07:00

Breakfast for the next forever.

My Neck of the Woods.

2010-09-06T09:54:00.000-07:00

169 serene square feet.

2010-07-17T20:18:00.000-07:00

At work there is a wood door and a glass wall that goes around. And the top and the bottom of the glass wall are transparent and the middle part, from about 3 to 10 feet, is translucent. I watch a procession of business casual ankles, ankles age twenty-something up to 70-something. Shirley makes her own clothes; her hems are immaculate. By four her ankles are swollen.

Marshall has an elegant saunter. Dianne slipped carrying the wine and water at church so her leg has a boot on it, and she moves slow. Stephanie's foot has star tattoos and bandaids on her heels. Sherry has lovely thin legs. And bunions. I know what sort of conversation to expect based on whose ankles approach.

Has the mail come yet?
Buzz me when my brother comes, he's got tickets for me.
Are you O.K. up here? We keeping you busy enough? Good, good.
It's so darn hot out there! Does that fan really do anything, or just make noise?

When I see Sherry's ankles coming I ready the headset for her, when Dianne's boot stomps forward I ready myself. These are all ankles and feet belonging to people who I have become familiar with, if not fond of, during my time as a fill-in receptionist/mail clerk at the office.

Old Walkerville.

2010-07-05T14:41:00.000-07:00

Here in Windsor I hear an ice cream truck often and I see fireflies on a nightly basis.

Etiquette.

2010-06-29T14:32:00.000-07:00

As a general rule, it is not polite to put your toenails in your purse. It is, however, often more polite to put them there rather than somewhere else. Garbage cans are completely acceptable always. But it is never polite to pick your toenails.

Where the watermelons grow

2010-06-24T21:50:00.000-07:00

After work she said, "Where'd you park?"

And I said, "Down by the Bay."

That one was lost on her, I think.

I drove home and listened to track five once more before turning off the CJSW cd for at least another day. That is my song of the summer, and I'm not sure what it's called. The woman whose voice I've been singing along with has actually been a man's voice all along, maybe. This summer, so far, is marked by driving, not riding. I've turned in my Bianchi for my mother's Caravan. That is this summer, so far. I graduated, turned older, dunked my head into the speed river, and made resolutions, again: this time "stay sassy" was one of them.

Too Early or Too Late

2010-05-27T17:54:00.000-07:00

I want to go to a cottage in the winter now.

Nature Bingo

2010-05-13T18:23:00.000-07:00

I sar' a muskrat the other evening. Maw made me make soup and I made that soup good. Then I called her up for supper (oh how the tables have turned) and we ate it in front of our big windows. Then, to my delight, I sar' the little devil. I shouted "Lookit!" Maw ran for her glasses. I got the binoculars. He was gathering a bunch of grass in his mouth. He swam with it. We went for a walk later that night, maw and I, and scoped out the muskrat holes.

Chukar and/or Rock Partridge

2010-05-11T15:39:00.000-07:00

I sar' one of 'em on my street. I chased it. It ran. Made my days.

Mr. Joe King

2010-05-07T20:10:00.000-07:00

Some people have that animal. That one animal that people can reliably decide you'll like in mug, pencil, pillow, box, ornament, calendar, and/or throw form. Over Kelsey's, Donna and my Mother (between weight and age jabs) discussed this. My Mother (my Maw, as I affectionately call her) has pigs, hundreds of them. Donna has cats.

One Christmas, much to my surprise, I had ladybugs, as though I had always had ladybugs. I had never had ladybugs. They filled my stocking in chocolate and notepad form. I had to correct the dear old women responsible for this error in order to prevent myself from receiving lady bug paraphernalia at Christmases, Birthdays, Easters, and Graduations for years to come. This backfired.

Since then, which was maybe 5 or 7 some odd years ago, I've gotten ladybugs as a joke: remember-the-time-we-thought-you-liked-ladybugs--wasn't that funny?--gifts.

Go West

2010-04-20T17:58:00.000-07:00

I'm moving to Vancouver in September.

There are things that I have that I imagine I won't need there, like my fur hat and all those Steinbeck books I own, and there are things that I imagine I will need there, like a raincoat, and some pals.

Maybe I'll bring the Steinbeck anyway, for company.

Countdown

2010-04-09T18:06:00.001-07:00

I am an undergraduate student until Tuesday. Until then, I will write late, wake early, and spend my days and nights in the ugly (always humming) library that has been my second home for the past 3 and a half years. I will drink too much coffee, write approximately 5,000 more words, and neglect my growing laundry pile for just 3 and a half more days. I will wear the pants with the loosest waistbands for the most comfortable sitting. I will stretch and that will be my luxury. My hair, artificially out of place at the beginning of the day, will be genuinely out of place by the noon hour. Bangs back, books out. Half-priced day-olds. Two day overdue fines, going on three. Four more sleeps. Only four more sleeps.

You & Yours and Me & Mine

2010-04-05T12:59:00.000-07:00

Summer's coming.

2010-04-03T16:45:00.000-07:00

Remember the white, blonde-haired woman, with her leg up on the lawn mower, her black polka-dotted white halter dress, her repeated desperate tugs at the cord, and her hair, shoulder length and bobbed, hitting her face more violently with each pull? She looked like this.

On a sweltering day, wearing a thick wool skirt, with a cigar and iced-tea in hand on our way to see West Side Story. I say you'll get tongue cancer. I smoke too.

The woman beckons us from across the street. We direct ourselves across the patch of grass separating us from the road to her aid. Just as soon as we decide to help she gives one last yank and the machine starts. She waves jubilantly, thanking us for our intentions.

After the show we can't decide where to get ice cream.

Turn Tables.

2010-03-23T14:11:00.000-07:00

This is a picture I took of my brother Ben on Christmas Eve, 2009.

My Good Bad Habit

2010-03-20T16:25:00.000-07:00

I write people nice letters when I'm drunk. Or, more often, I conceptualize nice letters to write to people, and then, as the evening continues, forget where my feelings of altruism came from. The other evening, at the bar, I was thinking about the loveliness of Greg and Stephanie's blog, and the loveliness of those people, and I made it into a letter in my head. Often, sometimes, too, for some reason I'm not sure of, I think of people in the service industry who are good at their jobs. I remember Fiona who gave us popcorn, an extra large coke, honest opinions about the films, and shared with us her good nature. Months after actually being at the theater, after a pint or two, I remember Fiona and I think, I should write the Galaxy a letter, it's not too late.

Can you speak German?

2010-03-20T12:36:00.000-07:00

The woman who sat down next to me had a mug and a bottle of Creemore. Maybe it was twelve o’clock, whenever it was, we said good morning to each other. We talked about the weather. Like a European day, she said. She was a nostalgic German, teary-eyed about the approaching anniversary of the fall of the Berlin wall. She asked me had I been to Europe and I said I had not. She doesn’t not like Canada, it’s just, “well”, there’s something...
I asked her why she came here and she said it was maybe because of her husband, she guesses, and for a “good life”, and things here used to be different anyway. Now that she has raised her kids here, she said, I don’t know. It’s a lot to lose, she said, your language, your culture. Just T.V. here, and everybody shut up with their flickering light boxes. Laws and bylaws. One thing goes wrong once and there’s a new law to “protect” us. She was finished with her drink. And so “healthy” here, she said. She invited a neighbour for coffee and she said she doesn’t drink coffee. Not even coffee, just tea. And nobody has a beer Sunday after church, god forbid. Her legs were draped over the arm of her seat and 2 flies were next to each other on the crease of her pants. More was said. More praise was given to the fine weather before she left me to get along with my work. The ladybug fell from my hair onto my lap.

Observatory

2010-03-18T14:32:00.001-07:00

Because it's so nice out I make a habit of taking a bigger walk everyday instead of my usual little walks that are simply borne out of necessity.

I walk home from school and on the way today, at today's peak temperature, when my feet were protesting against my black boots and when my leather backback, on nylon coat, on denim vest, on cotton shirt were thoroughly irritated by the sun's delicious attention, that's when I saw two people carrying milk. A man all in black, with dyed black hair, black pants, a black t-shirt and sweater, was carrying a large carton of milk up the hill on Gordon St.- 3% at that. Then a woman with a bag of two bags of milk was at the crosswalk. Sweating milk in pink and white containers. A walk uphill both ways. Finally unsalted ground. I plan my dinner:

Cold coffee.
Homemade Lynn Burgers.
Sweet Potatoes.
Dipped Strawberries and Stout.

Decorating Inspiration

2010-03-09T18:14:00.000-08:00

The/Ben's Factory

2010-03-02T19:34:00.002-08:00

I’ve half lifted those pallets whole heartedly, and weakly dragged them across the floor. Those are the bins I pushed around, the clock whose battery I changed, the workbench I assembled (though backwards, at first). That’s the forklift that brought me to the ceiling to lift heavy pieces of metal into the rafters for “safe keeping”. That's the man that drove it. That might be the wood I counted over, and over again. Those are the nails (on the floor, you can’t see them) that I pulled out of boards. I’ve sprayed down the dust from those lights. I’ve fired at least one of those nail guns, opened the fresh box of many, and retired more than that to Anson’s desk. That’s the way the broom hangs and where the ladder goes. I’ve shrink wrapped and tagged pallets just like those ones, broken ones just like those ones, fixed ones just like those ones.

I have probably circled that factory floor over a thousand times.

My Thoughts on Cats

2010-02-28T15:51:00.000-08:00

My dreams of a pup have temporarily been quashed by hardwood floors and by my own sense of practicality and "what's fair". While I'm not quite sure I want a cat "instead", I do think I don't mind them. I do think that they can be alright, if not down right incredible (see below).

Offer of Admission:

2010-02-24T15:56:00.000-08:00

Dear Miss Kane,
We're pleased to offer you admission into our program. Your offer includes a $50,000 scholarship, a puppy, deep green velvet curtains, all-you-can-eat dark chocolate (at least 70%), cookware, a taxidermied animal of your preferred species, 135 books of your choosing, a kitten to keep your puppy company, fresh socks everyday, an office, a greenhouse, a proper lampshade for your bedside lamp, however many moleskines you want, and travel expenses (for a trip to California). Please respond within four weeks of receiving this letter.
Best,
The University of What You Fantasize About Before Bed

Well, somebody has to do it.

2010-02-23T12:57:00.001-08:00

Today the baby wearing a raiders hat played peek-a-boo with me on the bus. I had no choice but to comply.

I remember this from grade 12:

2010-02-18T16:48:00.000-08:00

Hairdresser Says to Cac: "You cut your hair yourself? Ohhhh she does it for you. Heh. Do you know how much these scissors cost? Didn't think so. $500. Yeah. That's why you don't cut your hair yourself."

What a fucker.