Happiness is a line of gumdrops

Happiness is a line of gumdrops on the roof of a gingerbread house.

Happiness is an evening spent with a bowl full of candy, a piping bag full of icing, a goofy dog, and a friend you're so comfortable with that you have no need to filter out the weirder aspects of your personality.

The Good Things

I am finally done my SSHRC application.

I move on Tuesday.

I went out for dinner with a friend last night.

I spent Thursday evening catching up with some good friends.

I am lucky enough to work in a store that is already kitted out for Christmas.

I have some really wonderful coworkers.

I am currently drinking a lovely soy rooibos chai latte.

And, yesterday, while I was walking, the wind was blowing giant autumn leaves all around me.

Close to Home

Sometime around 7.30 the light outside became absolutely exquisite again, so I roused myself from my office and wandered around the block taking pictures. I really hope no one was looking out their windows at the time, because I probably looked like a crazy person (at one point I may or may not have crawled underneath a bush in front of the house next to mine...).

When the light's like this...

...I have to take a picture. Or two. Or ten.

Adventure and Passion

I see life in angles, in lines of perspective, a slight turn of the head, the blink of an eye. Subtle glimpses other folk might pass by. Cameras help me translate, interpret, and understand what I see. It's a simple act that keeps me grinning. I never set out to become anything in particular, only to live creatively and push the scope of my experience through adventure and through passion.

-- Mickey Smith, Dark Side of the Lens

If you haven't watched Dark Side of the Lens yet, do it. Now. I can't properly explain how inspiring I find this video. It's stunningly shot and exquisitely narrated. The twin ideas of adventure and passion are things I've been trying to incorporate into my life more. Or, rather, they are things I've been trying to follow more regularly. I'm starting to learn that I will never regret saying yes to an adventure, and I'm starting to try to shape a life for myself that is defined by my passions, no matter how impractical it may seem. Apologies if you feel like I've been harping on about this particular video, since I posted a couple of quotes from it on my other blog, and shared it on Facebook. When I find something this good, something that articulates things I'm trying to wrestle to the ground this clearly, I have to share it with everyone I know.

Wonder temporarily overpowering the mind

astonishment, n.
4. Mental disturbance or excitement due to the sudden presentation of anything unlooked for or unaccountable; wonder temporarily overpowering the mind; amazement.

I've been finding myself astonished quite frequently lately. Here are some of the (good) things that have been provoking this sensation:

The friends I've made out here. They are some incredible people.

The fact that it has already been 8 months since I've moved. Crazy!

The small, simple moments of beauty that are everywhere.

Hot Mess

I look like a hot mess because I've been writing and editing hardcore for days now, but the thesis chapter (such as it is) is now handed in, which means it is officially Christmas break. Time to party (with lobster)!

Here

I kind of love living here.


This past week was long and difficult, but somehow confirmed for me that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Coffee and Oranges

Sunday Morning
Wallace Stevens

I

Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
As calm darkens among water-lights.
The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
Seem things in some procession of the dead,
Winding across wide water, without sound.
The day is like wide water, without sound,
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet
Over the seas, to silent Palestine,
Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.

II

Why should she give her bounty to the dead?
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else
In any balm or beauty of the earth,
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
Divinity must live within herself:
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
Elations when the forest blooms; gusty
Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
All pleasures and all pains, remembering
The bough of summer and the winter branch.
These are the measures destined for her soul.

III

Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.
No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave
Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind.
He moved among us, as a muttering king
Magnificent, would move among his hinds,
Until our blood, commingling, virginal,
With heaven, brought such requital to desire
The very hinds discerned it, in a star.
Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be
The blood of paradise? And shall the earth
Seem all of paradise that we shall know?
The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
A part of labor and a part of pain,
And next in glory to enduring love,
Not this dividing and indifferent blue.

IV

She says, "I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
Return no more, where, then, is paradise?"
There is not any haunt of prophesy,
Nor any old chimera of the grave,
Neither the golden underground, nor isle
Melodious, where spirits gat them home,
Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm
Remote on heaven's hill, that has endured
As April's green endures; or will endure
Like her remembrance of awakened birds,
Or her desire for June and evening, tipped
By the consummation of the swallow's wings.

V

She says, "But in contentment I still feel
The need of some imperishable bliss."
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams
And our desires. Although she strews the leaves
Of sure obliteration on our paths,
The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love
Whispered a little out of tenderness,
She makes the willow shiver in the sun
For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze
Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.
She causes boys to pile new plums and pears
On disregarded plate. The maidens taste
And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.

VI

Is there no change of death in paradise?
Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs
Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,
Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,
With rivers like our own that seek for seas
They never find, the same receding shores
That never touch with inarticulate pang?
Why set the pear upon those river banks
Or spice the shores with odors of the plum?
Alas, that they should wear our colors there,
The silken weavings of our afternoons,
And pick the strings of our insipid lutes!
Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,
Within whose burning bosom we devise
Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.

VII

Supple and turbulent, a ring of men
Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn
Their boisterous devotion to the sun,
Not as a god, but as a god might be,
Naked among them, like a savage source.
Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,
Out of their blood, returning to the sky;
And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,
The windy lake wherein their lord delights,
The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,
That choir among themselves long afterward.
They shall know well the heavenly fellowship
Of men that perish and of summer morn.
And whence they came and whither they shall go
The dew upon their feet shall manifest.

VIII

She hears, upon that water without sound,
A voice that cries, "The tomb in Palestine
Is not the porch of spirts lingering
It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay."
We live in an old chaos of the sun,
Or old dependency of day and night,
Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
Of that wide water, inescapable.
Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail
Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
And, in the isolation of the sky,
At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations as they sing,
Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

A little nervous breakdown can really work wonders for a girl

Last night when I got back into Edmonton I had a bit of a meltdown. I honestly don't think I've ever had such a hard time leaving somewhere. At first I was distracted by the airport and all of its fabulousness. Then there was the excitement of settling into the plane and taxing and takeoff. (Airports and planes sometimes feel like home to me, that is how much I love them.) But as we flew away from Calgary I experienced a physical ache. I did not want to be leaving. More than that, I did not want to be going back to...well, here. I love my school. It is amazing. I have finally come to feel like I have a community that I am a part of here and I am beyond sad to be leaving it. But there was this physical ache in my heart as the plane flew through the sky. And it just got worse and worse as Gabby drove me home from the airport. Finally, when I got back to my room, which looked like a bomb went off because I've been writing papers for weeks now and therefore haven't been cleaning at all, I just collapsed into tears. I just didn't want to be there, in that room, with all the mess and the stress of finals and everything. I struggle every year at this time to remember why I love school, why I am doing this. I never think I will make it through. I always do. I need to be reminded of that though. There are a few people in my life who can look at me this time of year and somehow know exactly what to say. I appreciate them immensely. Last night though I was so far gone that even Gabby's reminder that I don't actually hate school, I just hate finals, and that I will get through this, even her countless hugs were not enough to pull me out of my wallowing. So I cried. And then I took a shower and crawled into bed. And you know what? Today I feel much better. Still overwhelmed. Still stressed. But despite the fact that a giant muddy puddle ate my shoe and I just couldn't get myself organized for the first half of the day, I still looked out my window tonight and smiled at the gorgeous sunset. Sometimes I think I just need a meltdown. I almost always feel better after one.

If you can't wish, why bother?

"The Adams and Eves used to say, We are what we eat, but I prefer to say, We are what we wish. Because if you can't wish, why bother?" -- Margaret Atwood, The Year of the Flood

If you can laugh, you're still alive. You haven't given up yet. -- Margaret Atwood 

I finished reading Margaret Atwood's The Year of the Flood today. I have this strange experience whenever I read an Atwood book though: when I finish reading I immediately have the urge to throw the book across the room. Seriously. Every time. It's the lack of a conclusion. I realize that this is intentional, that it is a post-modern technique, that it serves to draw attention to the fact that it is indeed a story, that it forces readers to not only be complicit in the creation of the story, but to realize that they have been complicit all along, but it still drives me nuts. You just want it all to work out. Or not work out. I'm not picky either way, I just want an ending. All that is not to say that the books aren't brilliant. I genuinely enjoy Atwood's books. They are challenging and provocative. They are also highly entertaining. I get sucked into the stories and invested in the characters. In fact, I enjoy her writing so much that I'm actually taking a whole directed studies course on it this semester. The Year of the Flood is brilliant. Especially if you have already read Oryx and Crake. Atwood has an incredible ability to pick out the trends in the world today and push them to their most ghastly extremes. The worlds she creates blow me away. This quote struck me though. In the midst of what is possibly the most dystopic world possible, there is suddenly this glimmer of...what? Hope? Human endurance? Promise? I'm not quite sure what the right word is, but the quote struck me. It reminded me of a quote I ran across a couple years ago when I was doing research for a paper on Oryx and Crake. Atwood was talking about the humour in the book, which is dark and doomsday-ish. There is something deep here, something that resonates in my life. The darkest times in my life have been times when I don't even have the ability to wish for something different. They were also the times when laughter is a foreign concept. Wishes and laughter. There is something here. Something that my mind is now mulling over.

This picture admittedly seems as if it has nothing to do with this post. However, there are two reasons I chose it. First, whenever I think of wishes or magic I think of light and sparkle. Second, it is actually a picture from the fireworks display in Disneyland, and Disney is intimately connected with the concept of wishes.

Inspired by...

One of the things I have been occupying my free time with lately is catching up on a lot of my favourite blogs. I have several that I adore and will read daily. Even when I'm really busy I try to make room for a few of my favourites because they bring some beauty and inspiration to my day and that is something that I need just so I can continue to function. I feed off of beauty. As much as I can be a Negative Nancy, I truly do try and find at least one thing every day that makes me laugh or smile, something beautiful or amusing, even if it is just something tiny. Often as I'm perusing the blogosphere I will come across something that inspires me, something I find thought-provoking or intriguing or uplifting or just plain gorgeous. Sometimes these things turn into posts on this blog, but more often than not there isn't really a way to translate whatever I've seen into a post. Or I would need to go out and take some very specific pictures before it could appear on here. Plus, I'm often struck by other photography I come across and this blog just isn't a forum for that kind of thing. This phenomenon, and a desire to create a place that I myself could turn to when I'm feeling low on inspiration, led me to start a tumblr a couple weeks ago. If you ever wonder what it is that I find inspirational, check it out. It's really just a collection of random things that I find lovely.

One of the recurring themes in the pictures that I've been posting on the tumblr lately has been sunshine and glass, so I thought this picture that I took on Christmas Day was appropriate for this post. 

A Pause, A Lift, A Breath

Today was exactly what a New Year's Day should be. I slept in a bit and woke up actually feeling refreshed for the first time in a very long time. I made potato pancakes for lunch and got to share them with three lovely ladies. I spent the afternoon reading The Winter Vault by Anne Michaels and drinking tea. I flipped through some old magazines. I went to Sephora briefly. I caught up on reading blogs. Bean and I watched a movie. It has been a beautiful start to the new year. It was also the first time all break that I genuinely felt like I was on a Christmas break. It was such a busy few weeks with appointments and work that I never felt like I was actually able to breathe. Today was beautiful. I just relaxed. This is not something that I'm good at, but is something I've truly been craving. I am definitely not ready for school to kick back into gear on Monday. I could deal with a few more days like today.

This little phrase is screen printed on the bulletin board in the Starbucks by my parents'. It caught my eye when I was in there with Gabby a couple years ago, so I took a picture. Every so often I come across it and think I should drink wonderful things and relax more often than I do.

(Post) Christmas Smiles

I am inexpressibly happy right now. So, here are some things that made me smile on Christmas Day:

Mini mandarin oranges with mini leaves still attached.

A giant pile of German potato pancakes for brunch.

Curly wicks on candles.

Sparkly/beaded/glittery Christmas ornaments.

Sitting in a dark room staring at the lights on the tree.

I hope your Christmas had some moments to make you smile.

Feeling Dancey

David tells me that fairies never say, 'We feel happy': what they say is, 'We feel dancey.' 

Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens by J.M. Barrie 

The past couple days have been nothing short of perfect. I've been searching for a way to express how exceptionally happy they have made me, and today I came across this quote in Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens and knew that I had found it. I feel dancey. What a delightful phrase. Apparently fairies "forget all the steps when they are sad, and remember them again when they are merry" (50-1). This captures how I feel perfectly. Whenever life gets frustrating and upsetting (and those have been the overruling emotions the past couple of days for me) I stop dancing. This probably sounds a bit odd, but let me try to explain. I live my life to a relatively constant soundtrack of music. When I'm getting ready in the morning I tend to dance around my room to music. It doesn't really matter whether it is actually dance appropriate music or not, but I jump around like a fool (this is not something that I really want anybody to witness since I look completely ridiculous, but it makes me happy and helps me hate mornings a little less). While I do homework I chair dance (which I am certain is quite amusing for people who are walking past my office). If I ever am lucky enough to have the apartment to myself I bring music into the kitchen while I cook or clean and dance around. When I'm in choir I tend to sway or bounce (which I am positive looks strange, but I am not the only one who does it so I am usually okay with it). But whenever I am stressed or depressed or angry though I can't dance. Seriously. I've tried the whole dancing to turn my mood around thing and it just doesn't work for me. I can fake it for about five minutes. After that I just stop because I can't figure out what to do. It's like suddenly my body has no idea how to keep a beat or move in a semi-coordinated fashion. That is how I've been feeling the past couple weeks: like a simply can't dance. There was just no music left in my body. I totally listened to it and even sang along with some songs, but it was like life had just sapped all of the joy from my body and with it had gone all joy in music. Choir was difficult. Normally I can lose myself in the music, but it felt like a chore. But suddenly, the past few days have restored my ability to dance. (In fact, I am chair dancing in my office as I write this). This is a wonderful feeling and I am hoping it lasts for quite some time.

October's got those orange eyes

Broken Horse

Freelance Whales

October's got those orange eyes

But somehow I still lost sight

When you lifted the lid off of my pumpkin head

And kissed me goodnight

Should it be a thorn in my side

We never quite broke that horse

She slept in the cul-de-sac rye

Seven miles from my front porch

Bundle up and come with me now

Down the road to the burnt down barn

We could make a blanket of coats

And breathe our souls into the neighbour's front lawn

But oh God that look in your eye

Trouble that does not search words

It sprung from the biblical vine

And are waiting to return to the dirt

The stiches in your winter clothes

Your cello bows

We stole your hair to make them

We're sorry for the iron shoes

We nailed to you

And stuck you in the rain

Then you sprinted away

Sprinted away to where I don't know

God's moving in your bloodstream

Where the crossbeats aren't so slow

You swept all the red from my cheeks

I didn't hear you come back inside

And light up the gas in the den

And stand there in the thin winter light

But oh God that curve in your spine

A question mark

A doctor's sign was framed by the windowsill

And you saw something I did not in the night

You saw something I did not in the night

The stitches in your winter clothes

Your cello bows

We stole your hair to make them

We're sorry for the iron shoes

We nailed to you

And stuck you in the rain

And then you sprinted away

Sprinted away to where I don't know

God's moving in your bloodstream

Where the crossbeats aren't so slow

I first discovered this song a couple of weeks ago via one of little chief honeybee's Monday Mixtapes. I adore her mixtapes. They have introduced me to so many new artists that I am now profoundly in love with. The opening lines of this song seemed rather appropriate for October 1.

This is another picture from last weekend's trip to the river valley. I like how the leaves are just starting to turn red and orange on this particular branch. Plus the light was just so profoundly amazing for photos.

Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor's take warning.

sublime Adjective describing a concept, thing, or state of high spiritual, moral, or intellectual value; or something awe-inspiring. The sublime was a goal to which many nineteenth-century artists aspired in their artworks. (Stokstad Art History)

I have mixed feelings about storms. For the most part I love them. There is something fascinating about them. I think it's the attraction of the sublime. Storms make you feel how little control you have over nature, they make you realize how tiny and insignificant you are in comparison with the rest of the world. There is something awe inspiring about that realization. And in a way I find that comforting. I can't control everything, and as much as I hate that, it is good to know that it's normal and that no one else can control everything either. We are all on equal footing when it comes to that. However, there is still something about storms that terrrifies me. I think it is just the knowledge of their destructive power. Being confronted with something that you know could kill you...I think fear is a healthy response to that. The sublime fascinates me though. It is so prevalent in art and literature. In particular, Canadian artists are fascinated with the sublimity of nature. The fact that we are completely at the mercy of an unforgiving climate has captivated this country's artists and writers since the first explorers arrived here. Our complicated relationship with nature is part of what defines us as Canadians. Margaret Atwood talks about the bush myth and how Canadians live in fear of nature so we group together and build cities, walls to keep nature out. And yet we are also people who go camping and backpacking. Extreme survival skills are something Canadians pride themselves on. Even those of us who live in cities brag about how we have lived through winters of -40C. I have friends who love winter camping, and part of the thrill is the survival aspect. We both fear and revere nature. We hide inside our houses and we attempt to convey the wildness of nature in art. I know this is true in my life and it is a pattern that is seen again and again in various forms of Canadian art. 

It is that point in the Alberta summer where the thunderstorms roll in, the severe storm watches are issued and tonadoes touch down. There was a storm tonight (lots of wind, but short lived) and it ended just as the sun was setting. I love when that happens because crazy weather creates awesome sunsets. Tonight was certainly no exception. Here's a peak at the reddish sky with the trees out back of the house silhouetted against it. So pretty.

I just want to DANCE

The sun decided to show itself today. The day actually turned out to be quite lovely. And, aside from a couple hours this evening, I wasn't bored all day, which was a refreshing change and means that I am currently way less frustrated than I have been as of late. However I have all this pent up energy that I'm not quite sure what to do with. I actually really want to have a dance party. In first year there used to be spontaneous dance parties in various rooms on our floor. It is just such a great way to blow off steam. They are way less fun by yourself though. I have been known to indulge in individual dance parties although they are more of the "imagine you're a rockstar" variety than the dance around like a maniac variety. Unless I have the house to myself. Then I will sometimes crank the tunes and dance around. Anyway. I really want to have a dance party right now. Or jump on the bed. Or something else exuberant and ridiculous.

I have posted a picture of these flowers before. They are one of my favorite flowers ever to photography because of how they are oriented. Because they hang towards the ground you have to shoot them against the sky and the brilliant orange against a clear blue sky is just perfect. I took this particular picture on Canada Day this year. Fort Edmonton is the only place I have ever encountered the particular flowers, which I think is a shame because they are very lovely. I like that the brightness captures the ridiculous energy thing I've got going on right now.

Carpets of flowers remind me of summer

I don't have a whole lot to say today so I am compensating by having multiple pictures. There is just something about endless carpets of flowers that spells summer to me. So beautiful. I took all of these pictures last Canada Day when I went to the Muttart Conservatory with a couple of my friends. I find flowers fascinating for so many reasons, thus I take a lot of pictures of them. They are all so different and unique. Different shapes and sizes and gorgeous colors. Plus there are so many different stages, buds and just opening and fully bloomed and dying...and every one is beautiful in its own way. I can't grow plants to save my life, but I sure love taking pictures of them.

Moments of Brightness

Let's face it, this week has not been that great for me. Between being sick (which I am still fighting off the spin off ramifications of that flu) and not yet having a job and discovering that very few of my clothes actually fit me any more (and yet, due to the job situation, I lack funds to replace said clothes), this simply has not been one of the best weeks ever. However, there have been bright spots. I saw a fantastic play on Sunday night. The Citadel does a Shakespeare play every season and this year it was As You Like It. The best live production of Shakespeare I have ever been to (and I can think of 11 productions that I have been to so this isn't a "it's the best I've been to" but I've actually only been to two). I got my marks back and did waaaaaaaaaaay better than I was expecting to. I had a major photography project that I finally wrapped up get good (dare I say rave?) reviews so far. I'll share that with you some time in the next couple days. I read A Little Princess and watched The Young Victoria. So, even amongst the disgusting week there have still been bright spots.

This picture seemed to capture that sentiment nicely. I love the bright pops of orange flowers against the grey rocky background and in amongst the dry, dead twigs. This was taken in Victoria last summer. Just along the side of a parking lot. I made my family stop while I took pictures. Man, I must be annoying to travel with...