What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

When the bells all rings and the horns all blow
And the couples we know are finally kissing
Will I be with you, or will I be among the missing?

Maybe it's much too early in the game
But I thought I'd ask you just the same
What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?

Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When it's exactly 12 o'clock that night
Welcoming in the New Year, New Year's Eve

Maybe I'm crazy to suppose
I'd ever be the one you chose
Out of a thousand invitations you receive

But in case I stand one little chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance
What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?

Oh, but in case I stand one little chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance
What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?


This song, originally by Nancy Wilson, is one of my favourite seasonal songs. I particularly love Diana Krall's version, but right now it's super famous because of Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt's incredibly delightful cover. If you haven't heard it yet, check it out. So adorable.

Happy New Year! I hope you have a wonderful night.

Sparkle and Light

Well, another Christmas has come and gone. I hope your day was full of sparkle and light.

Vanishing Points

Maybe we are all moving toward our own personal vanishing points.

This implies a moment of dissolution, of being lost. It implies incompletion, the impossibility of finitude. It implies forward motion. And it's the motion that I'm beginning to think is important rather than the being found or complete.

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)!

Rangy

rangy, adj.
4. Of great scope or compass; expansive, broad, wide-ranging


I've come to a realization as I've been doing ridiculous amounts of reading for papers in the past month or so: the work of the authors I love most is repeatedly described as "rangy." I think this is one of the qualities that draws me to them. It's why I find them so rich and deserving of attention that I eagerly anticipate each new release and contemplate writing PhD dissertations on their work. However, it is also why writing on them feels almost impossible. I never feel like I'm done. I always feel like there is some other idea to explore, some other thread to be picked up and followed on a long, glorious journey of discovery. I'm struggling with this right now as I'm trying to produce a polished, edited, pretty much complete chapter for my thesis. This just isn't how my brain works. There is too much for me to still explore at this stage in the game for me to be able to produce something that is, in any sense of the word, finished. Ah well, tomorrow evening I will have to hand something in, and hopefully it is good enough.

Light limited, light specific, light like a name

from "Lake of Two Rivers"
Anne Michaels

     3

Sensate weather, we are your body,
your memory. Like a template,
branch defines sky, leaves
bleed their gritty boundaries,
corrosive with nostalgia.

Each year we go outside to pin it down,
light limited, light specific,
light like a name.


Like any good academic, I have moments where school just isn't my favourite thing in the world. This blog is certainly a record of that, if of nothing else. Right now I'm working on my thesis. I have to hand in a chapter by Saturday, which is incredibly daunting and stressful if I think about it too long, but is also thrilling and exciting. Right now I'm working on my chapter on Anne Michaels, which means that I've been spending my time immersed in her magnificent poetry. The particular little excerpt from "Lake of Two Rivers" is particularly relevant for my thesis topic. And it captures a little bit of how I feel about light and nature and photography. Plus it is just blindingly gorgeous. On top of this I've been reading essays by Anne Simpson and Jan Zwicky to use as critical material in the chapter. It is moments like this that I feel profoundly blessed to be doing what I am doing. It is moments like this that I seriously contemplate taking a PhD because I don't know what else I could possibly be doing with my life.

A Prickly Creature

At least for me, the writing process is a strange and prickly creature. I require a very specific set of conditions, all of which must be right, in order to be optimally productive while writing. The lighting has to be right (and this requirement changes based on location and time of day), there have to be enough people around (and this number changes based on my mood), there needs to be the right music playing (and what constitutes "right" changes based on season, mood, time of day), and there has to be some je ne sais quoi element that kicks in at exactly the right moment. Writing moods are unpredictable and almost impossible to create artificially. This, of course, is a bit of a problem for a student. Sadly my professors will not accept "There was a really loud, buzzing fluorescent light in the office" or "There was an obnoxious group of people meeting in the coffee shop" or "I couldn't find the right playlist" as reasons why my paper isn't done on time. And if you think those won't fly, just try to slip in a "For some reason I just couldn't get in a productive frame of mind." Seriously, try it. At the very least you will give your professor a very good laugh, and they need that just as much as you do at this point in the term. I seem to have found a relatively fail-safe combination for writing productivity: coffee shop (specifically Just Us, I don't think I could substitute another coffee shop in here) + excellent decaf soy lattes + a playlist heavy on the 100 Mile House. This seems to create a particular chemical reaction that trips the writing centres in my brain and allow me to crank out papers at a relatively rapid pace. The only downside to this is the fact that the coffee shop closes at 8 or 9. Then I'm cast out to try and find a new home. I have yet to discover the perfect kismet of circumstances for my post-coffee-shop writing and therefore am far less productive after I have to leave. Oh well. I'll figure it out eventually.

Late Nights and Early Mornings

With the end of the term upon us, I've been seeing a lot of this intermediary time. Those wee little hours that are ostensibly morning but feel more like night. Those hours where everything seems a little surreal. Where everything is both less important and more intense. This feels a little bit like a homecoming for me. These hours are my most natural habitat. They are when I am the most creative, the most verbose, the most gregarious, the most connected with myself and my world. They are also when I am at my most vulnerable, my most melancholy, my most contemplative. It's a strange existence for a strange time.

Missing You

Paper-writing season is upon us.
I think my bed misses me.
I know I miss it.

Beautiful, yet heavy

We live in a beautiful but terrifying world...dread is facing something squarely. I am drawn to poets who do this; they look at things and do not look away. -- Anne Simpson

I'm working on a paper for my Canadian Ekphrasis class right now. This is the class that has been keeping me going this semester. I am so deeply in love with it. For those of you who don't know, ekphrasis is poetry that is "poetry that speaks to or of an art object" (definition taken from Peter Barry's article "Contemporary Poetry and Ekphrasis"). Anne Simpson, one of the poets I'm working with, wrote a corona responding to seven works by Brueghel and a series of photographs of the Staten Island landfill where the debris from the World Trade Center after 9/11 was sorted. It's heavy stuff. Profoundly beautiful, yet terribly heavy. After a few hours I start to feel odd, like I've become weighted down by something, shackled by a grief and horror that is both my own and yet not mine at all.

Just because it's pretty

This photo has nothing to do with anything really. I just like it.


I thought I should drop in here and let you all know that I'm not dead. I'm just a student rapidly approaching the end of the semester. And since I'm trying to maintain a social life for the sake of my sanity, I've been a bit busy lately.

Too soon?

Yes, I know that American Thanksgiving isn't until November 24.
Yes, I know that there isn't snow here yet (and I am not complaining about that).
But Edmonton got it's first snowfall of the season a few days ago and my Facebook news feed was inundated with people writing excited status updates.
And there are Christmas decorations on display at the drugstore.
And the post office is decorated for Christmas.
And basically I just really love Christmas and am ridiculously excited for it.
I think I should get credit for waiting until after Remembrance Day to post about this.

Let me hold your crown, babe

King of Anything
Sara Bareilles

Keep drinking coffee
Stare me down across the table
While I look outside

So many things I'd say if only I were able
But I just keep quiet
And count the cars that pass by

You've got opinions, man
We're all entitled to 'em
But I never asked

So let me thank you for your time
And try not to waste any more of mine
Get out of here fast

I hate to break it to you, babe
But I'm not drowning
There's no one here to save

Who cares if you disagree
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So, you dare tell me who to be?
Who died
And made you king of anything?

You sound so innocent
All full of good intent
Swear you know best

But you expect me to
Jump up on board with you
And ride off into your delusional sunset

I'm not the one who's lost
With no direction
But you'll never see

You're so busy making maps
With my name on them in all caps
You've got the talking down, just not the listening

Who cares if you disagree?
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So, you dare tell me who to be?
Who died
And made you king of anything?

All my life
I've tried
To make everybody happy while I
Just hurt
And hide
Waiting for someone to tell me
It's my turn to decide

Who cares if you disagree?
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So, you dare tell me who to be?
Who died
And made you king of anything?

Who cares if you disagree?
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So, you dare tell me who to be?
Who died
And made you king of anything?

Let me hold your crown, babe


Ever have a song that became a kind of anthem for you? That's what this song is for me. I listen to it on repeat. I dance around my apartment and sing along to it. If I had to pick a theme song that would play whenever I entered a room I think I would have to pick this one. Not because I totally don't care what anyone thinks of me, but because every time I listen to I'm reminded that I don't have to care what everyone else thinks of me. As lame as that sounds, it's something I'm still figuring out. Although, I've gotten a lot better lately. Some of my friends back home would probably be a little bit surprised to see me out here.

Reasons why being sick is worse when you live by yourself

I just spent 60 hours in bed because I was rugby tackled by the flu. Today I managed to drag myself out of bed, shower, put on clothes and go to the drug store. Just so you know, the drug store is basically right outside my door. It takes about 30 seconds to get there. That's how sick I was. I couldn't imagine making a 30 second walk to get medicine. Being sick isn't fun at the best of times, but it's so much worse when you live by yourself. See, when I'm at home, I have my parents. My mom is awesome at taking care of me when I'm sick. She makes sure I do things like drink water. And my dad is always willing to run out to get me medicine or food. And for the past 4 years I've been living with roommates who were absolute god-sends when I got sick. They would write me little get well notes, make me soup and tea, and ignore the fact that I was supposed to be quarantined in order to come read me Dr. Seuss. I missed that a lot. Instead, I was the one who had to get any food or water I needed. I had to make sure I actually hydrated myself. I didn't have anyone to send on a drugstore run, so I just suffered without medicine. It was not fun. I'm still nowhere near 100% but the fact that I showered and got dressed is a good sign. Baby steps, people, baby steps.

Meanwhile

I'm a big fan of the background, the stuff that isn't the centre of attention. I'm the kind of person who looks at the groom when the bride enters the church. The kind of person who will start laughing over a typo on a sign no one else is looking at. The kind of person who photographs light fixtures at a wedding reception. These chandeliers at M & E's wedding reception were stunning. Since I'm someone with a penchant for vintage, a love of luxury, and an adoration of light, these are pretty much my dream light fixtures.

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.

Songs for Late Nights

I've been pulling a lot of late nights recently. And I'll be pulling a lot of late nights this week. Such is the joy of this time of the academic year. Since you probably aren't all that interested in hearing yet another rant about a paper, I thought instead I would share some of the songs that I tend to have on repeat as the hours creep past midnight and there is no end in sight.

I Don't Feel It Anymore (Song of the Sparrow) -- William Fitzsimmons & Priscilla Ahn

Bloodbuzz Ohio -- The National

Re: Stacks -- Bon Iver

White Blank Page -- Mumford and Sons

How it Comes is How it Goes -- Jay Malinowski

Set the Fire to the Third Bar -- Snowpatrol & Martha Wainwright

Wake the Earth -- The Honey Trees

The Darkest Side -- The Middle East

I Won't Be Found -- The Tallest Man on Earth

Cicadas and Gulls -- Feist

Take a night off

Sometimes, no matter how busy you are, you just need to take a night off and hang out with some friends.

Tell me a story, dear

from "Tuscan Cypress" in An Italian Garden
A. Mary F. Robinson

XI
Tell me a story, dear, that is not true.
Strange as a vision, full of splendid things;
Here will I lie and dream it is not you,
and dream it is a mocking bird that sings.

For if I find your voice in any part.
Even the sound of it will break my heart;
For if you speak of us and of our love,
I faint and die to feel the thrill thereof.

XVI
Come away Sorrow, Sorrow come away -
Let us go sit in some cool, shadowy place;
There shall you sing and hush me all the day,
While I will dream about my lover's face

Hush me, O Sorrow, like a babe to sleep.
Then close the lids above mine eyes that weep;
Rock me, O Sorrow, like a babe in pain,
Nor, when I slumber, wake me up again.


There is always that one class that you struggle to engage with. The one that you have to drag yourself to. The one that you put off doing the work for because it doesn't interest you at all. That class for me this semester is Victorian Lit. I was excited for the class. I love Victorian novels, and the last time I took a Victorian Lit class it was rather enjoyable. But the works we are studying are failing to engage me and the approach of the class does nothing but frustrate me. I once had a wise professor tell me that the key in each class is to find something that you love, something that fascinates you, and to focus as much energy into that as you can. Well until tonight all my efforts to do this in Victorian had been for naught. And then I read A. Mary F. Robinson. I think I found my in. Her works aren't particularly happy - in fact they are characterized by the horrors of the world and marked by a deep sorrow - but my favourite poets almost always have this. I love the opening lines of poem XI. So, tell me a story, dear.

The way to fairyland

There is such a place as fairyland - but only children can find the way to it. And they do not know that it is fairyland until they have grown so old that they forget the way. One bitter day, when they seek it and cannot find it, they realize what they have lost; and that is the tragedy of life. On that day the gates of Eden are shut behind them and the age of gold is over. Henceforth, they must dwell in the common light of common day. Only a few, who remain children at heart, can ever find that fair, lost path again; and blessed are they above mortals. They, and only they, can bring us tidings from that dear country where we once sojourned and from which we must evermore be exiles. The world calls them its singers and poets and artists and story-tellers; but they are just people who have never forgotten the way to fairyland. -- L.M. Montgomery

I love this idea. If you read this blog on a regular basis you've probably figured out that I'm rather fond of the idea of fairies and magic. After all, one of my all-time favourite books is J.M. Barrie's Peter and Wendy, and Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens is also way up there, so you can't really expect anything else. This is one of those little things that helps make me who I am, but that I avoid talking about with most people. It tends to make you sound like you're six if you start talking about how cool fairies are. So I would like to thank L.M. Montgomery for validating my affection for all things magical. And for reminding me that I'm not a totally bitter curmudgeon just yet.

Focus

Sometimes you just have to focus on one thing at a time. That's what I've been doing lately and it is helping me keep my balance.

What the Light Teaches

from What the Light Teaches
Anne Michaels

     4

Sometimes I was afraid to touch him,
afraid my hand would go right through him.
But he was alive, in a history
made more painful by love.

I prayed to the sky to lift our father's head,
to deliver him from memory.

I wished he could lie down
in music he knew intimately, and become
sound, his brain flooded by melody so powerful
it would stretch molecules, dismantle thought.


I went on a photo excursion today. I didn't really have time, but the weather was gorgeous and the sun was beckoning me to come out to play with my camera. So I obeyed it. It was the kind of light that begs to be photographed. The kind with weight. The kind with soul. The kind that has something to say. I'm a bit obsessed with light, and I realize that I might sound crazy, but I'm okay with that. If photography has taught me one thing it is that sometimes I have to get over myself and just sound or look crazy (I had more than one bemused look today from other people out enjoy the weather). As I was walking the title from this poem kept popping into my head. This is possibly my favourite section from this long poem. I know it's not about light, but I don't think that's the point. When you get this kind of light it has something to tell you about more than just itself.


More from What the Light Teaches.

This is the beauty of strength broken by strength and still strong

The Lonely Land
A.J.M. Smith

Cedar and jagged fir
uplift sharp barbs 
against the gray
and cloud-piled sky;
and in the bay
blown spume and windrift
and thin, bitter spray
snap
at the whirling sky;
and the pine trees
lean one way.

A wild duck calls
to her mate,
and the ragged
and passionate tones
stagger and fall,
and recover,
and stagger and fall,
on these stones -  
are lost
in the lapping of water
on smooth, flat stones.

This is a beauty
of dissonance,
this resonance
of stony strand,
this smoky cry
curled over a black pine
like a broken
and wind-battered branch
when the wind
bends the tops of the pines
and curdles the sky
from the north.

This is the beauty
of strength
broken by strength
and still strong.


I fell in love with poetry thanks to a really fantastic prof in my first year of university. I fell in love with Canadian poetry when I read this poem in my second year. Right now I'm preparing a mini seminar on it for my Canadian ekphrasis class. It's moments like these that make me feel richly blessed to be a student.

Worse for Wear

"You look totally knackered." That's how I was greeted by a prof one morning last week. Granted, I was exhausted, but that's just never the first thing you want to hear in the morning. Yup, the stress and exhaustion are starting to show themselves. I haven't quite gotten to the crazy-eye stage yet (if you were an English major with me at King's you probably know what I'm talking about), but I'm pretty sure I'll be there in a couple of weeks. There are definite physical manifestations going on though. Serious headaches, eye twitches, serious shoulder and back pain, unfinished sentences, random crying jags, and increased sarcasm have all begun to make regular appearances. Such fun. (Yeah, that would be the sarcasm talking.)

Nights of Rain and Stars

I am naturally a night owl. I enjoy the middle of the night immensely. This is a good thing since I've become well acquainted with it in the recent past (not that we ever really lost touch, just that we were seeing less of each other than usual). So despite the fact that I've been swamped with and sleep deprivation is much harder to deal with when you can't have caffeine, sugar, or apples to help you stay awake, here are a few things I've been loving about these late nights.

1. Stars. You can actually see stars here, people. It's a crazy concept, I know, but so delightful.

2. Walking. I am really enjoying living somewhere that I can walk at midnight without fear of being stabbed or raped.

3. Rain. It's been rainy lately, and while this has its downsides, it means that the air is crisp and fresh when I'm wandering around at night.

4. An office. Or, rather, an office I can be in past 11. The building at King's closes at 11 and so you had to be out of the publications office by then. This was annoying. I now have a key card for the arts building and therefore have 24 hour access to my office. This rocks.

5. A library. Or, rather, a library open past 9. The King's library is great, but there is no way around the fact that it is a library at a small institution. It closes at 9. Not convenient for serious late-night work. The library here closes at 1 in the morning. This means that if I suddenly need a source from them, I can just pop on over at midnight. This also rocks.

6. Timezones. Most of my friends are still back in Alberta, which is three hours behind Nova Scotia. This means that even if I am awake at 3 in the morning, it is highly likely that someone back home will still be up and willing to chat. I always feel less desperate if I'm talking to someone while burning the midnight oil.

The Creation of a Monster

If you are academically inclined and a perfectionist then you have probably stood where I am currently standing. Let me set up the scene for you: you have a major assignment due, you've written it, you've edited it multiple times, you've sent it to other people to edit it, you're feeling pretty confident that you just have to do one last fine-tuning run through and it will be done. This is when it happens. In the blink of an eye, the paper that you were formerly on such good terms with becomes a monster. It comes at you, eyes blazing, mouth gaping, ready to swallow you whole. It doesn't take much to trigger this transformation. It could be that you read something in a secondary source, probably accidentally and just because it was lying open on the desk next to you. Or, as it is in my case, it could be that you had a last minute meeting with your advisor. Suddenly what you thought was really great is just kind of mediocre. You aren't being nearly as clear as you thought you were. You have massive amounts of work to do. And for a moment you are paralyzed, unable to even scream.

Explanatory Notes

I am a verbose person. I struggle with word counts and page limits. I've come to the realization as I've been writing my thesis proposal that part of the reason for this is that I write ridiculous numbers of explanatory notes. I'm constantly trying to clarify, to make things crystallize into a beautiful and clear diamond of meaning. Unfortunately, I usually just end up being wordy and therefore obscuring the point even more than if I hadn't tried to explain it. I'm in the home stretch with the proposal, but, surprise surprise, I'm over the page limit. Not by a lot. It's only four lines of text. Excising is always the hardest part of the editing process though. It requires you to be ruthless with your own work. And I find that it is harder the less I have to edit out. I can slash and hack, getting rid of whole paragraphs much more easily than I can carefully make tiny incisions to trim the text back one or two sentences. It's almost there. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

A Where's Waldo of Words

If you have ever lived with me, shared an office with me, been in class with me, or just been near me while I was writing a paper, you probably know that I am obsessed with finding exactly the right word for any given situation. I am literally uncomfortable until I find a word that I'm looking for. It's like The Princess and the Pea, if the mattresses were essay pages and the pea was an ill-advised word choice. It drives me crazy when I can't put my finger on what I'm trying to say. I search frantically through the thesaurus, I ask my friends, I ask random people who happen to be nearby. It can get ugly. And I'm not someone who is blessed with the ability to just leave it, move on, and come back to it. No. It bothers me. The wrong word dances around in the back of my head taunting me. It becomes like a game of Where's Waldo. One of the really hard ones. One of the ones where you kept spotting the same guy over and over again and had to keep reminding yourself that, no, that is not Waldo, but that other guy you keep pointing at. It is so frustrating. This obsession with finding "the exact right word" (as Ezra Pound would have it) has only intensified with thesis writing. I'm working on my proposal right now. It doesn't get a grade. It does have to get vetted by a committee. I am agonizing over every word choice because I have to clearly communicate my ideas to a whole group of people. It's a good exercise in articulation, but, man, it is tough.

Context

It seems strange that only a few weeks ago I was spending my days drinking coffee and reading while basking in the sun. There's still coffee. And reading. And sun. It just doesn't seem nearly as enjoyable. It's funny what a little change in context will do.

It's here!

Fall, my absolute favourite season, officially arrived on Friday!

Here it came in with lots of rain and lots of good times with friends. The leaves have just started changing, and the weather actually feels like fall now. I can't explain how happy this makes me.

I need a bigger umbrella, and other lessons learned on a rainy day

It rained today. A lot. I know, big shock since I'm in Nova Scotia, but I'm still unused to rain kind of coming out of nowhere. Here are a few things I learned today, some because of the rain and some just coincidentally on the same day as the rain.

1. I need a bigger umbrella. I have a great little umbrella that folds up and fits in a purse, but it is kind of too small for the intense amounts of rain that fall from the sky here. It keeps my head dry, but that's about it. I keep passing people with these awesome giant umbrella and thinking, "Man, I need one of those. I wonder where you get one."

2. I need a rain coat. Like an actual, full-on, waterproof, hooded rain jacket. I know, it's shocking to hear me say that. I have actively fought against wearing rain jackets for as long as I can remember. They are generally kind of ugly and don't breathe really well so I get seriously sweaty. But there is just no way I am going to survive out here without one. That being said, does anyone know where I can get a good, cute rain jacket?

3. I need to invest in a second pair of wellies to leave in my office. See, the rain today didn't start until mid-afternoon so I was already on campus. I was wearing ballet flats, which really aren't the best footwear when the street has become more like a river. If I had an extra pair of wellies stashed in my office, I could just pop them on when there is a surprise rain storm.

4. I can't type the word "nature." This is a problem since my thesis is on the depiction of landscape and how it influences identity. I have to type "nature" fairly frequently. I keep typing "natuer." I finally set my Pages auto-correct to just change it automatically.

5. I can remind myself of why I'm here by simply reading Anne Michaels. All doubts that I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing are immediately erased. Even if the stress remains.

Doesn't mean anything, really

"Just because somebody likes something doesn't mean...anything, really." 

-- Zooey Deschanel in New York Magazine

I have a major girl crush on Zooey Deschanel, so I was eagerly anticipating the premiere of New Girl. I don't have a tv so I downloaded it on itunes (free, baby!). And I loved it. It was sweet and quirky and funny and touching. Quality television right there. In the lead up to the show I read this article in New York Magazine and this quote stuck with me. It comes in the context of talking about the age of social networking and how we think if we know everything that someone likes - their taste in books and movies and music -- that we know them. I thought this was really insightful. It really doesn't mean anything. Just because you share musical tastes with someone doesn't mean you are going to be best friends. It really does mean nothing. Yeah, it means you know a little bit about them, but it doesn't mean you know who they are. You're kind of missing out on some of the most important things. I liked this quote for another reason too. We put so much stock in what we like. I know I do. I mean, this whole blog is basically a tribute to things that I like. Sometimes it's good to remember that it doesn't actually matter all that much.

So, here's a picture I took on the way to Edmonton last weekend. I like it. Maybe that doesn't mean anything, really.

Perfect Little Details

I mentioned yesterday that I went back to Edmonton for a wedding this past weekend. The wonderful bride is a girl after my own heart. She was my first friend at King's and is one of those people who makes me feel like my strange eccentricities perhaps aren't that strange after all, or at the very least are endearing and lovely. She and I share a perfectionist streak and a penchant for the classic and beautiful. She is one of the few people I know other than myself who doesn't wear sweat pants in public. Ever. And who dresses for every occasion. I love her dearly and knew that her wedding would be a gorgeous affair. And it certainly was. A lot of this was due to the amount of love that was obviously going on in that room: the love of her and her new husband (who are possibly the cutest couple ever) and the love of every guest for the new couple. It was amazing. But beyond that, the details of the wedding were perfect: classic, simple, elegant, and gorgeous. The centrepieces on the reception tables were the embodiment of all these things. Gold frames stacked on top of each other with candle holders, simple white tapers, and little glass containers with strands of pearls cascading out of them arranged on top...they were incredible. I kept staring at it all night. And, get this, each table was named after a classic author (I was sitting at the William Shakespeare table)! Simply gorgeous.

Don't Let Your Feet Touch Ground

Don't Let Your Feet Touch Ground
Ash Koley

Standing up straight I'm ten feet tall
I like this look, I love you all
A hundred feet off the ground it seems
That a beautiful day is gracing me

Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down
Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down

I pull my boots up to my knees
No coats or hats, thank you please
I dig up dirt and I find no wrong
All while singing a silly song

Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down
Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down

There are no mistakes
Up in our secret place
We're not just getting by
Everything is fine

Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down
Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down
Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down


I just got back from a whirlwind trip to Edmonton for a wedding of two friends. It was absolutely crazy, but absolutely worth it. As we were taking off from Halifax on Friday night, this song came on my iPod. So fitting right? And isn't this a pretty rocking view from the plane window? I sure thought so.

Sorry I'm not home right now, I'm walking into spiderwebs

Sometimes quite literally...

Sorry it's been so quiet on here lately. I know there are some of you who basically rely on this blog to know I'm still alive and to keep up to date with what's going on with me. So, I haven't died. I've just started grad school. It's been a nutso couple of weeks. And they don't ease you into things. Everything just kind of hits you from day one, so I've been busy trying to find my sea-legs. Unfortunately this blog is one of the things I let slip when times get crazy. And not in any conscious decision, "okay, what can I drop?" kind of way either. In the falling asleep thinking, "oh right, I have a blog. I should post on that." kind of way.

Anyway, bear with me while I sort my life out. I will eventually find my stride and it will get easier (at least, that's what I've been told).

When you are a little bit unsteady

Sometimes the best things happen when you are a little bit unsteady.

I am someone who naturally seeks stability. I think of instability and think of earthquakes and collapsing bridges. I often forget that sometimes it's okay to be uncertain, unstable, and just generally off-kilter. It's good that life reminds me of this every so often.

Hello Grad School

Hello grad school, I'm Breanna. You're a bit scary, but I think I like you.

I kind of ripped that sentiment off from a friend. He just started law school, and wrote the same thing (substitute law school for grad school) as his facebook status. It made such perfect sense to me that I had to steal it for here. I hope he doesn't mind.

Orientation was Tuesday. Met some great people. Even though I was completely overwhelmed by all of the stuff I am required to do, in the end I am feeling far more positive about this whole experience. The excitement-fear balance is now tipped toward excitement.

Beautiful and Good Things

Luxury is not a necessity to me, but beautiful and good things are. - Anaïs Nin

On Saturday morning I went to check out the farmers' market here. It's amazing. It runs twice a week, all year round, and on Saturday's there are about 70 vendors. And it is a real farmers' market. There were only one or two booths that were selling crafty things. Instead, there was an embarrassment of riches in the food department. Beautiful vegetables and berries, local wines, fresh bread...everything one could hope for. One table was selling fresh flowers, and they were stunning. I bought myself a few stems to set on my table. They are absolutely delightful. There is something about having fresh flowers that always makes me feel better. They instantly provide me with a smile whenever I look at them. I think I may need to make a weekly tradition of going to the market on Saturday mornings. You know it's a good place when I will get out of bed to go.

Homesick

Back in Edmonton, today was the first day of registration at King's. For the past few years I've worked the registration table as one of the students who manages the line. And as crazy as the days were, I really enjoyed it. I loved seeing all of my friends, catching up briefly. I loved the crazy bustle of everyone being on campus at once. And today, I seriously missed it. I wanted to be there, in the middle of the chaos, seeing everybody. So, in a (partially successful) effort to overcome this particular bout of homesickness, I spent the day listening to Simon Hoskyn and Justine Vandergrift, and it has been helping me feel a bit more like I'm at home. One of the great blessing of being at King's was the fact that the community is so musically rich. I got to know, and listen to, some seriously talented musicians. Simon and Justine are just two of these people. I love their music and today it helped me feel a bit more in touch with the community I used to be a part of.

New New New

Thousand Ways
The Tallest Man on Earth

Oh, I have lived for ages
I'm a thousand turns of tides
I'm a thousand wakes of springtime
And a thousand infant cries
Oh, a thousand infant cries

I got sixteen hundred tigers now
All tied to silver strings
When they're put out in the pasture
Oh, the mighty heart will sing
Oh, the mighty heart will sing

But I'll always be blamed for the sun going down with a sigh
But I'm the light in the middle of every man's fog

I bend my arrows now in circles
And I shoot around the hill
If I don't get you in the morning
By the evening I sure will
By the evening I sure will

Because I'm the fire on the mountain
You have lit up in your dreams
But also water on the fountain
You could send myself on me
You could send myself on me

But I'll always be blamed for the sun going down with a sigh
But I'm the light in the middle of every man's fog

And, no, I never meant to say these words
But, yes, you ought to know
That the dark in what I've always been
It will not ever go
No, it will not ever go

So if I've lived a thousand years
A thousand turns of tides
Just a thousand leaves in autumn
And a thousand ways to try
Oh, a thousand
It's just a thousand
Ways to try


I felt like some new music tonight. I wanted something with a bit of an edge to it, but still soothing and calming. And then I remembered that a while back one of my friends posted a video of an artist that I had really enjoyed. So, I went off hunting through friends' blogs and, voilà, I had found The Tallest Man on Earth. I am in love with his voice. It has this beautiful raspy quality that is awesome. There is something about the musicality of the songs combined with his voice that is really working for me right now. It reminds me of my favourite kind of beaches, the kind that are in abundance out here on the east coast: rocky and with the promise of danger if a storm blew in.

Somehow finding new music just seemed to suit my day, which was full of new things. I went and registered at Acadia, so I am officially a new student. I met one of my fellow English grad students (there are only three of us total) and I had dinner with a couple who are friends of a friend, so I was meeting new people. Somehow it seemed fitting that I would come home and find some new music.