Merry Christmas!

"Of all the Charlie Browns in the world, you're the Charlie Browniest."

To all of my fellow Charlie Browns, I hope that you have managed to find some magic in the air this Christmas.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

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.

So find Dodge and then get out of it

That old restlessness is back, making my heart flutter like a caged bird.

Although perhaps that is more related to my cold than my wanderlust.

On Taking Myself Out On Dates

I am not the kind of girl that guys are lining up to ask out.

If you are my mother or best friend, you probably scoffed at that statement and feel the need to say something like "Any guy would be lucky to go out with you." Please don't. I'm not being self-depricating and looking for reassurance of my worth as a human being. I'm not bemoaning the fact that my dating life is basically non-existant. At least not this time. No, this time I'm just stating a fact. Guys are not lining up to ask me out, literally or figuratively.

When you have no dating life and your best friends live on the other side of the country, you have two options if you want to go out: repeatedly ask the few friends you do have living near you if they want to go out or just go out by yourself. Since I start to feel annoying and needy if I ask the same four or five people to hang out all the time, I've started to take myself out on dates. I'll go to the movies, or out for coffee, or to a show. I went to see Sarah Polley's Stories We Tell and loved it. I went to Starbucks, got a gingerbread latte (decaf soy, naturally), and wandered through Chapters looking at books. I went to Jian Ghomeshi's book tour stop in Halifax. Yeah, I would have liked someone to discuss the movie with afterward (go see it, it's so good), but it's nice to not have to debate what movie to watch or worry about whether the person you've come with will talk or text during the film. And, sure, coffee and book-browsing aren't the same without my Edmonton bestie with whom I used to do it all the time, but they still make for a pretty enjoyable way to spend a rainy evening. And, yes, I would have liked someone to grab coffee with after the book tour, but I got to laugh with abandon and shift in my seat like nobody's business without worrying about what people thought of me (because, really, I'm never going to see the people I was sitting with again). So, I am slowly starting to love these little dates with myself.

Although, you know, a real date might also be nice.

Lest We Forget

To the men and women of the armed forces and their families,

Thank you.

If you can't get around it...

If you can't get around it, get into it.

I don't know where I came across this quote, but it's been bouncing around my head the last few days. I put it into practice this evening by tackling the pile of dishes while listening to jazz music and talking to my mom on the phone.

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.

Hard Choices

Decisions. I am not good at them. And I seem to have found myself in a position where no matter what I choose it feels wrong. Of course, this also means that no matter what I choose it feels right. I am not sure what to do with this. Unfortunately my trusty pro-con lists are failing me. They balance out, making them as unhelpful as consulting the ocean and its ever-changing tides or looking for the truth in the strange combination of seagrass and acorns.

Old Haunts

Despite the fact that I am technically living in Halifax now, I seem to be spending a lot of time in Wolfville. I miss the place. Also, Halifax and I are having a rough go of it, so I often want to escape and try and think things through. And, of course, I have no desire to spend my days off in a mouse-infested apartment, and Wolfville seems like as good a place as any to get away rom that situation. I had a couple of days off at the end of the Thanksgiving weekend and came out here. My friend's family adopted me for dinner on the Monday night, and basically for all eternity with an open invitation to stay there any time I want, and it was lovely to be around a family. On the Tuesday evening I wandered down to the train tracks with my camera, and it felt like a homecoming. The light was beginning to fade, but the colours of the turning leaves were incredible, and I spent about an hour walking and taking photos. Sometimes going back to old haunts is exactly what I need. Although I am slowly acquiring new haunts in Halifax, it is a long and arduous process. It's nice to have a place to come back to where I can just slide back in effortlessly.

I should probably apologize if this post isn't the most coherent thing ever. I'm deep into SSHRC proposal writing and have very little brain power left for anything else.

Parallel Universe

I'd been rehearsing this moment for hours, and I had outlined a hundred different scenarios. Mr. Jensen once tried to tell us that there existed somewhere a set of parallel universes, unreachable but real, where every possibility came true; whatever didn't happen here happened somewhere else, each option unfolding in a separate universe. But in this one world, at least, the outcome that morning was reduced finally to just this one version. 

-- Karen Thompson Walker, The Age of Miracles

Maybe in some parallel universe there is a Breanna who lives in an apartment that doesn't make her cry on a daily basis. Sadly, it isn't this one.

Halifax, I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down

Okay, to be fair, it isn't so much the city that is bringing me down. In fact, I really do love this city. It's more like my apartment. Not even the whole apartment, really just the mouse problem. When I say mouse problem it sounds like we have one mouse. We don't. We have several. We have a mice problem. I kid you not, while editing the photo for this post I saw two scurrying through our hallway. This was a slight improvement over finding one in my breadbag last week (try picking up a loaf of bread to make a lunch for work the next day and finding a small beady-eyed rodent staring at you from inside the plastic...actually, on second thought, don't do that, it is a rather scarring experience), but is still not really okay with me. I've tried naming them, since this was a suggestion someone gave me when it came to dealing with the spiders that really liked my last apartment and it actually proved to be a useful tactic. It's not really proving so effective with the mice though. Harold, Tom Thumb, Hunka Munka...really, I just don't want to be living with them. On the bright side, I am writing this post with a poodle sitting in my lap, and while she doesn't actually care about the mice until they are dead, I feel slightly more confident as long as she is nearby.

The Brutal Mechanics

•  

Cow Head. The sign briefly points, a small road branching, winding among dunes and I want to follow it, imagining long-legged piers, sand spits trailing houses into the sea, but the pavement unrolls smoothly pulling me north, motion itself a tunnel, a spell, and I miss the turn, my chance of seeing Cow Head the way so many chances beckon flickering past, the streams, the little graveyards fenced with sticks, and high on a gravel beach a man spreading nets, his single boat perched on a spruce pole ramp and I want to talk to him, follow into his words, find him alone at dawn launching himself off the earth's edge, I could do it, stop here, let this be the spot it starts, rock, sea opening to whatever they really hold, but I don't, he's gone and I'm still zooming on, the car packed with bedding boots maps and the camera ready for use, I take the hills and valleys in a swoop as though the force it took to tear me away from home has not yet spent itself, and I just grip the wheel and go.

•  

The brutal mechanics of having a wish come true.

(John Steffler, The Grey Islands)

Sometimes life is hard. This is not the same as saying that it is bad. In fact, sometimes the hardest things in life turn out to be the best for us. The past month has been hard. Really hard. There have been adjustments, and setbacks, and rejections. There have been failures, and sickness, and sadness. There have been heartwrenching situations with friends, the kind where there is nothing I can do, but I want so badly to be able to do something. I think pretty much every day I say (usually out loud), "I don't want to be a grown up." I have, at times, wondered why I didn't just move back to Edmonton.

Don't get the wrong idea. It's not like my life has become some kind of catastrophe. There have been moments of exquisite happiness, and love, and wonder. There has been satisfaction, and contentment, and the feeling of being in the right place. There have been some excellent times with friends. And when all else has failed, there has been a dog to make me feel incredibly loved. Every time I drive the highway between Halifax and Wolfville, or take a walk near the ocean, I say (usually out loud), "I love living here." I have, at times, wanted to stay here forever.

It's been a while. And honestly, this blog might become much more sporadic. And it might become something entirely different than it is right now. I've been mulling some things over in regard to it, so we will see what shape it takes as time goes on. My life is shifting a lot right now, so it seems only appropriate that the blog shifts right along with it.

Hazy, Lazy, Crazy Days

I'm kind of over summer. I want to wear sweaters, and flannel, and pants. This  happens every year at this time. I'm such an autumn addict that I always long for it before it is really seasonally appropriate to do so. I am also like this with Christmas.

However, if I must be subjected to summer for an appropriate length of time (at least according to some people), I would like it to look like this. A lake, and a book, and a dog, and some friends, and a camera. We escaped from the responsibilities of theses for an hour or two yesterday afternoon, and I got this shot. I love it. When I think of late summer, this is the kind of sun-soaked, hazy image I come up with.

Give Me Fog

If I had to pick a favourite weather-related phenomenon, it would probably be fog. I think it is simply gorgeous. Every time I come across it I feel as if my heart and soul are deeply satisfied. There are very few weather patterns that do this for me. I am not one of those people who always wants sunshine and heat, I only enjoy snow for brief periods of time, biting cold is only okay when I can curl up inside with friends or a book, rain is wonderful until I have to walk a long way...but fog, fog and I are always friends. Sure, it wreaks havoc with my hair, but I love it anyway. I love the mystery of it. I love the comfort of it. I love the staggering beauty of it.

When I left the pub last night the entire town was blanketed in fog. It was beautiful, and I wished with everything in me that I had my camera with me. Since I didn't, I just walked home as slowly as possible, enjoying every second of it.

Tiny Concrete Slab

There is something about summer evenings that just calls for time spent relaxing outside. Unfortunately, I really have no outdoor space to speak of here. My door opens into a little parking lot behind the house. I do have a tiny square of concrete though, and I have taken to treating it like a porch. I haul a dining room chair out there and read or write or talk on the phone. Tonight I decided that the addition of some candles would be a good idea, so I got some cheap tea lights and put them in some mason jars. They are rather gorgeous actually, and I have become a big fan. Plus, super budget-friendly. I'm excited for the new place though, since it actually has a deck. I'm excited to sit out there as summer winds down and fall rolls in. For now, I am happy with my tiny concrete slab and my mason jar candles.

Sudden Downpour

Today was a day punctuated by sudden downpours. These were the kind of short-lived soakings that normally only happen in movies. They are the reason people speak about the heavens opening up. Part of me wanted to run out into the street, stand in the deluge and let myself get soaked. I don't know why.

A Question for Y'all

I don't normally air ideas that I am simply musing about on the internet, but in this case I am making an exception because I need some feedback. I'm thinking about starting up an Etsy shop to sell some prints of my photographs. Is this a good idea? Would any of you buy prints? Do you know anyone who might buy prints? What kind of images would you like to see available for purchase? What kind of price bracket would you like to see them in? Let me know in the comments here, or, if you know me personally, you can contact me whatever way your heart desires.

If I'm going to be an insomniac...

...then I might as well make good use of the fact that I am awake in the middle of the night.

I've been a bit stressed out this week. That's a wild understatement. I've been stressed out this week. It's been like a consistent hum in the back of my brain. Of course, this means that sleep tends to elude me no matter how physically exhausted I am. And trust me, I've tried; the other night I went for an hour long walk after being at the pub in an effort to tire myself out. So tonight I just decided that if I am going to be awake anyway, then I might as well do useful things. So I did some laundry, made a card to send to my friend, washed my dishes, and went on a night photo excursion on the dykes. I spent probably 30-45 minutes out there taking shots, and I came away with a couple of pretty good ones, including this one. I also had a random conversation with a guy who was out there (there are other people who wander around the dykes at midnight?). After a while though, the consistency of distant lightning flashes was starting to increase and I was getting a little concerned that I would be blindsided by a thunderstorm out there, so I packed myself up and headed home.

Less-than-eloquent Thoughts

I am not feeling very eloquent lately. Perhaps I only get a certain allotted amount of eloquence per month, and I used it all up on that maid of honour speech.


It's been a couple of days since I got home from a jaunt to Edmonton, and I am still struggling to get going. It has left me feeling profoundly unlike myself.


As much stress and constant running around was involved with the wedding last weekend, I kind of miss having one single thing to worry about. It was a nice change of pace.


Taking photos out of plane windows has possibly become one of my new favourite things.

Happy Canada Day!

Or, Happy Dominion Day!

Yes, I am aware that this is not the Canadian flag. See, for the past few years I've spent Canada Day at places like Fort Edmonton and the Ukrainian Heritage Village, where they put on Dominion Day events. I therefore don't really have a time-period appropriate picture to post today. Oh well. I have history-buff friends who will appreciate this.

I'm off to spend the day in Halifax with some friends. I hope you are having a lovely long weekend.

Disconnect

I've recently become addicted to Instagram. I just joined the world of Twitter. I've been on Facebook for a few years now. I run two blogs. I have a Tumblr. I enjoy Pinterest. I am well-versed in the world of social media.

I text my friends pretty consistently. I use Skype to stay in touch with loved ones who are far away. I am almost always connected to my email in some form. My computer is on for most of the day. I am not technologically illiterate by any means.

And yet.

Sometimes I have an overwhelming urge to unplug everything, just turn it all off and walk away. I call it my "hermit urge." Sometimes I just don't want to be accessible 24-7.

I've been placed in a couple of situations lately where I was reminded of how nice it is to disconnect from time to time. I recently got back from a quick trip to Toronto, and it was kind of lovely to turn my phone and computer off for a couple of hours, to have no obligation to speak to anyone at all (aside from the precocious six-year-old who proposed to me on my flight home).

The flight from Toronto to Halifax is about 2 hours, and as soon as I landed I had 5 text messages. One was from the person picking me up at the airport. One was from a friend in Edmonton who I had been texting while I was waiting in the airport. Three were from someone trying to schedule a meeting this week. These were the ones that really got me. They were sent in quick succession. The first was a question about what times worked well for me. The second was a variation on "I need to know now." And the third was simply three question marks: ???. As soon as I read these messages I could feel stress settling itself back on my shoulders. I wanted to turn my phone back off and pretend I hadn't read them. In fact, I ignored them for a while. Eventually though, I had to respond. I sent an apologetic text explaining that I hadn't responded because I had been on a plane, all the while thinking that it was ridiculous that I had to excuse myself for taking a couple of hours to get back to someone about something.

I love that I can stay connected with people so easily and in so many ways. But sometimes it's nice to walk away from the constant stream of information, and to remove myself from the frantic race to respond to everyone whenever they decide they need me.

Of course, this works the other way around as well. I killed my phone a couple of days ago, and not having it was fun at first, but has rapidly just become frustrating.

Flying for the First Time

Flying for the First Time
Elenowen

Can't put out the fire with my bare hands,
not even I need to understand how
I'm getting there.

Said a prayer with broken wings,
hoping to move toward greater things now
and face the fear.

I'm drifting
closer toward the skyline,
looking down on my life,
trying to get just one thing right.
The second I stop second-guessing,
let go like a confession,
seeing what I was born to find.
Flying for the first time.

I was the kind who played it safe,
wouldn't take a risk or leap of faith,
not before the leap.

Fear has a way of playing games,
go a little, go your separate ways,
but as for me:

I'm drifting
closer toward the skyline,
looking down on my life,
trying to get just one thing right.
The second I stop second-guessing,
let go like a confession,
seeing what I was born to find.
Flying for the first time

Ran through the open flame,
barely escaped,
now I'll never be the same.

I'm drifting
closer toward the skyline,
looking down on my life,
trying to get just one thing right.
The second I stop second-guessing,
let go like a confession,
seeing what I was born
I'm drifting
closer toward the skyline,
looking down on my life,
trying to get just one thing right.
The second I stop second-guessing,
let go like a confession,
seeing what I was born to find.
Flying for the first time
Flying for the first time.

I put out the fire with my bare hands.


I mentioned yesterday that I spent my whole day listening to the new Elenowen EP on repeat. I am seriously obsessed. I knew I needed to post a song on here, but couldn't decide which one to pick. Seriously. The album is that good. But since I'm rather obsessed with these airplane window pictures (watch for another one tomorrow) lately, I felt like the first track, Flying for the First Time, was a good choice. Plus starting at the beginning seems like a logical choice. I mean, if I am probably going to end up posting all of them, I might as well work my way through in order so I can keep track, no?

Brought to you by water

My life: brought to you by water. 

Last night I killed my phone by managing to get it into a sink full of water. See, I was texting someone while walking through my apartment, I tripped on one of my shoes that was sitting by the door, launched the phone across the kitchen/entryway, and got it into the sink full of soapy dishwater. Impressive in its own way I suppose. If I had been playing basketball it would have been a great shot. Anyway. The phone is deader than dead and I am currently waiting for a rather important call. Cue panic.

It poured today. And I mean POURED. Which was actually okay with me. It meant that I didn't want to go outside so I stayed home, cleaned the whole apartment, did some work, had a wonderful Skype date with Audrey, and listened to Elenowen's new EP on repeat all day (currently available for a free download at Noise Trade).

The rain came to a stop for a while around dinner, so I popped outside to take some post-rain photos. Sunlight + Water = SPARKLE. It was rather lovely.

So aside from the whole phone fiasco, things are pretty good here right now.

Heat, Illness, and Art Galleries

I am in the midst of a quick jaunt to Mississauga and Toronto. The temperature has been ungodly (really, it has been hotter than Hades) and I have managed to come down with a dreadful cold which is sapping my energy, but it has been a good trip nonetheless. And tomorrow I get to go to the AGO, which can only mean good things.


P.S. I've been Instagramming bits of my trip. You can follow me @breanna_girl, or, if you don't have Instagram, check out my photos here.

Impromptu

An impromptu photo-taking trip to an abandoned barn with A this afternoon. I am really going to miss that girl.

Heart-achingly Beautiful

heart-ache, n.
1. Pain in the heart; formerly = HEARTBURN
2. Pain or anguish of mind, esp. that arising from disappointed hope or affection.


I find the phrase "heart-achingly beautiful" rather useful at certain times of my life. When I am moved by something tremendously beautiful, I actually experience a physical sensation of heart-ache. Lately life has been heart-achingly beautiful; there is just so much joy kicking around that my heart feels a little full, and, consequently, a little achy in the best possible way.

Plan-less

A few days ago, Audrey sent me a text message: "What did you want to be when you grew up when you were a kid?" The question stymied me, not simply because it was out of the blue but because I actually didn't know. Not, I don't remember, but as a kid I really didn't know. So I told her this and related an assignment I distinctly remember from some point in elementary. We had to draw a picture of what we wanted to be when we grew up and do some kind of report on it. I had no idea. I think I drew myself being a teacher.

"I never knew either...I'm wondering if that contributes to my lack of career direction now."

I don't think I have ever had someone else tell me they didn't know what they wanted to be as a kid either. (Evidence that we were meant to be best friends? I think so.) And I think her connection is fair. It's hard to pick a direction when you never really had one.

We ended up talking about how odd it seems to still not know what we want to be when we grow up. In stark contrast to ourselves, we both grew up with a lot of friends who knew exactly what they wanted to do with their lives. They wanted to be teachers and doctors and nurses. And, guess what, now they are teachers and doctors and nurses, or at least in school to be these things. For Audrey, this was causing some panic and concern about her lack of direction, things that I am very familiar with. But my reaction when I consider the disparity between these people with a life plan and myself is quite a bit different now. I've come to love my plan-less state. 

I wish it was easier to explain this to other people, those plan-loving people I'm related to and friends with and meet at the bar. I suppose though, that they can just be concerned and panicked and stressed for me about my apparent lack of direction. It means there is no reason for me to be.

Creative Deadzone

When I posted today's reading over on She Had Always Wanted Words, I wrote about how I have been in a bit of a creative deadzone lately. It happens every so often. Life just takes over and I find myself filling my time with laundry and grocery shopping and phone calls to the government - not to mention my thesis work and some social activities - and suddenly I just don't have the energy for creativity. It's not a lack of desire. It's more like a physical paralysis. I will sit and think, "I have some time. I should do something creative. Like write. Or paint. Or play piano." But it is as if the message doesn't translate from my brain to my limbs. Or maybe it gets lost, distracted by something shiny along the way. Who knows.

Anyway, the point of this post is not the deadzone itself, but getting out of it. It's been a slow process this time around. An afternoon walking on the beach and hiking in the woods which made me wish I had my camera in hand started it off. Then listening to a lot of Vinyl Cafe podcasts while wrapped in my favourite blankets and drinking peppermint tea. And finally discovering, thanks to said podcasts, the work of Michael Flomen. Stuart tells the story of visiting Michael Flomen's farm and seeing him work. He explains that he was introduced to Michael by a mutual friend who, when recommending Stuart go visit Michael explained, "He takes pictures without a camera...of things we cannot see." And, as Stuart says, "who can pass up something like that?" I certainly couldn't, and subsequently spent a blissful hour exploring some of his astounding images while listening to Katie Melua. And that was it. That was what finally jolted my creative muscles out of their paralysis. It feels good to be back.

For Most of My Life

I was having fun playing around with this photo, and I really like how this version turned out.

I don't really have all that much to say right now.

I haven't been sleeping well. I crawl into bed thinking I am so tired and am going to have an awesome sleep, and then, no matter how exhausted I have felt all day, no matter how long or busy my day was, I can't fall asleep. I've taken to listening to audio books - mostly children's stories: Winnie the Pooh, Peter Pan, The Chronicles of Narnia - in an effort to help myself fall asleep. I need something for my mind to focus on so that it will stop thinking so loudly. When I told my mother this, she said, "It reminds me of when we used to play music for you to fall asleep as a kid." I'd forgotten this little biographical fact. I distinctly remember though, that a) I couldn't fall asleep without listening to something, and b) there were nights when the tape would finish before I fell asleep, and I really hated that. Apparently, insomnia, like perfectionism, has been plaguing me for most of my life.

Apparently, I had more to say than I thought.

Gatherings of the loveliest sort

Jean soon learned that at Ewa's parties there was always a project on. Huge rolls of brown paper were unfurled and everyone painted a mural; a sheet was tacked to the wall and a film projected while the Dogs played, sewing together a melody out of silence and the whirring of the projector. Actors gathered in the middle of the living room and, with nothing more than a spoon or a dishtowel, transformed reality - having a Sunday row on a pond or floating in a lifeboat on the North Sea; suddenly they were lovers on a picnic blanket, or thieves, or children on a swing. Jean knew these actors had worked together for a long time, a bodily history among them. She had seen Avery perform loaves and fishes with objects, with stones on the beach, with rulers and wooden blocks, creating bridges, castles, entire cities. But his magic was solitary and intellectual compared with the instantly complex communication between these bodies, the moment continually changing, deepening into humour or sorrow. And sometimes this pathos was intense, and a hole opened, and everyone watching from the edges of the room found their own sorrow pouring into it. Crack! the earth of the scene split open and down everyone tumbled together into the wreckage of memory. And then the actors melted back into the party, and the food and the bottles were passed around again.

-- Anne Michaels, The Winter Vault 

Some day, I would love to host gatherings like the one that Michaels describes in this passage.

I was fortunate enough to spend quite a bit of time over the long weekend at low-key gatherings with dear friends. It was a pretty delightful way to celebrate the start of summer, if you ask me.

Well hello, long weekend!

I am currently listening to the soundtrack from Smash and getting ready to meet up with a couple friends to sip beers on a patio in the sunshine. I think this long weekend is off to a rather excellent start.

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.

Flesh-knowledge

I want to feel what my father felt, Avery repeated, sitting on the edge of the bed on the Nile, what the marmisti know, what the blind man knows when he's on Ramses' knee. What my mother calls 'flesh-knowledge.' It's not enough for your mind to believe in something, your body must believe it too. If I hadn't witnessed  this particular pleasure in my father when I was a child perhaps I wouldn't feel the lack of it. But I do. I can imagine what a chemist feels when he looks in a microscope, how his mind can practically touch what he sees. Or a physicist who can feel an equation tearing molecules apart along the shear, like tearing a handful of bread from a loaf. Or the tension in a meniscus. The closest understanding I have of this is when I look at a building. I feel the consequences of each choice; how the volume works, how the building eats teh space it inhabits, even how it carries its ruins.-- Anne Michaels, The Winter Vault

I love it when authors articulate things for me in such an eloquent way. Because, honestly, despite being someone who adores language and has chosen it as her life's work, sometimes it refuses to do what I want it to or need it to. I love this description of the physicality of any sensation. It's something I know to be true for myself.

A Chandelier in Pieces

Lot 666, then. A chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, a mystery never fully explained. We're told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have repaired it, and wired parts of it for the new electric light. Perhaps we can frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination. Gentlemen...

I watched the 2004 Phantom of the Opera last Saturday with a friend, and was once again reminded just how much I adore the opening sequence to that movie. I get chills every single time I watch it.

Ps. No, that is not a picture of a chandelier, much less one in pieces. (Although, how cool would that be to photograph? Seriously, now I need to find a chandelier that is falling apart to take pictures of.) It's actually a close up of an old lighthouse signal light that is displayed in the Maritime Museum in Halifax. It's probably one of my favourite things in the museum.

Despite that...

Despite the fact that I'm drowning in secondary sources right now and am having regular existential crises (seriously, this comic is my life right now), I am actually profoundly excited for the next few months. If the last several weeks are any indication, this is going to be one awesome summer. And, honestly, I am totally okay with that.

Drowning

I am drowning in a metaphorical sea of secondary sources right now. For every source I read, I find three more that I ought to read, so my "to read" list is growing rather than shrinking. And despite the fact that this list is ever-growing, I have read so many books and articles at this point that I can no longer remember who said what.

I'm hoping that the feeling of being completely overwhelmed and the regular occurrence of mental breakdowns means that I'm at least sort of on track to finish this thing around when I'm supposed to.

Priceless

On Friday, I told you I had a secret...and now I can talk about it online. I flew out to Edmonton this weekend to surprise Gabby. She graduated from her BEd degree, and I wanted to be there to see her walk across the stage. I figured surprising her would be a lot of fun, and boy oh boy was I right. Just the greatest reaction ever. I loved it so much. And as an added bonus I got to see some other lovely people who I haven't seen in a while and who I often miss. So, although flying out here is way more expensive than it should be, today was basically priceless.

Shh! It's a Secret!

...and I can't tell you...yet.

The Lovelies

I write a lot on here about the loveliness of simple things and how much I enjoy spending time with my friends. And, really, who doesn't? I find though that it's one of those things that I keep realizing over and over again. It's not so much that I forget it, but more that I'm repeatedly struck with the truth of it. This week was a slog. It's not that it was bad really, it was just...gross. I felt off all week. I've been a bit under the weather, it's been raining, I've been feeling a little buried by my ever-growing reading list...in short, it was one of those weeks where everything kind of piles up and you wind up in a bad mood even though everything is actually fine. Despite all of that, there have been sets of hours that have shaped themselves up rather nicely. A couple of my closest friends out here just left. We took a few hours break from work to bake and check out the new crepe restaurant in town. The baking was fun, although poorly planned, and the restaurant was lovely, although they are still trying to find their stride. And the company was, of course, delightful. And we parted with plans for breakfast at the crepe place (yes, this might become somewhere we spend a lot of time and money), coffee shop work, and eating the fruits of our baking adventure. All in all, it was pretty much the perfect antidote to the weird mood I've been in.

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.

Let's go on an adventure!

Thursday and Friday were full of adventures, which made for a rather delightful end to a week full of theory readings for my thesis. On Friday three of us jumped in the car on a sunshine-y blue-skies day, rolled down the windows and went for a drive. We originally intended to find one particular spot that we've heard really good things about, but instead we ended up getting lost and just driving around. Along the way we found this building that was absolutely falling apart, so we stopped to take some photos.

These are the kind of outings I associate with summer. Good friends, good weather, and nowhere in particular to be. I'm hoping for a lot more of these kinds of afternoons this summer.

Leap and Shuffle

I've taken to walking down abandoned railroad tracks. It turns out they are good places to think these strips of solitude that run along the edge of town. There used to be trains running between here and Halifax, carrying people with stories of their own toward lovers and family and friends, or away from lovers and family and friends. I think of them and their stories. And as I walk I find myself pushing past trees that have taken root along the rails, pushing my way deeper into silence, deeper into solitude, deeper into history. And I think about the workers who laid this track. I wonder if they carried a picture of someone in their pocket - a sweetheart, a mother, a daughter, a sister - and if they took it out to look at when the work seemed like too much. I wonder if they missed home. For some unknown reason, a strange personal superstition, I suppose, I only step on the ties. I focus intently on this task, and suddenly that old childhood singsong rhyme floats into my mind. "Step on a crack and you'll break your mother's back." I smile, because my mind stores strange and useless information like this and because here there are no cracks, or perhaps there are only cracks, and I am not entirely sure what this means. This practice makes walking difficult though. Sometimes the ties are too far apart, sometimes they are too close together, so I have to leap and shuffle along this path into the past. And I find this appropriate, for the weight of history always seems to make us walk a little oddly.

The Most Important Things

Yesterday, the lovely A and I were sitting in the coffee shop chatting while we should be working. This is pretty much a daily occurrence for us, and therefore isn't particularly notable (other than the fact that it is a practice I kind of love). But, as is often the case with our conversations, I left mulling over quite a few things. In particular, we have been talking about priorities a lot lately, especially when it comes to people. A's excellent advice: Don't make someone a priority who isn't willing to make you one. There are, she has wisely pointed out to me, times when you have to make someone a priority who isn't making you one right at that moment. We lead busy lives, and in a university town there is always school or work to get in the way and screw up our nicely established priorities. But you should be sure that the person would do the same for you, that when your life gets busy and you drop the ball when it comes to them, allowing them to slide down your priority list, they will keep you high on theirs until you can rebalance your life.


This is the kind of lesson it takes me a long time to learn, although I wish I was a better student.

Things That Might Go Wrong

Things That Might Go Wrong

John Steffler

I was trained to be cautious:

my father always there

two steps ahead of my every move:

"If you hold it like that it'll slip....

Now what are you going to do with it?...

I saw a guy try that once and it tore off his arm."

But I go beyond such rote-learned caution.

I am creatively cautious, exquisitely

sensitive to things that might go wrong.

Quicker than any computer my mind

scoots down dozens of possible turns events might take,

spotting the dangers,

clucking warnings automatically as a hen.

Now, lying in bed, I listen as

my young daughter goes to feed the dog.

Not in his water bowl! I think to yell.

Such a nag, I tell myself.

Always your fretful plaint rotting everything.

Poor kid.

Still free. Purely happy getting his food.

Keep out of it.

You'll make her hate you in the end,

look back some day and see

you were the hole that let in doubt and fear.

Even when there's no rattle of dry dog food,

even when I hear the dog slurping his breakfast

I don't say a word.

I lie grinning, victorious,

having checked all the dangers

and dodged the worst.

Pickups

When I titled this post I was thinking of the word "pickup" as a play on a musical pickup (as in, "from the pickup to bar 32") and the notion of a pick-me-up. But then I realized just how many different word plays I could do with it, and, being from Alberta, I felt it was only appropriate to work in a pickup truck. Especially if it could be an old farm truck. Mission accomplished.

I've been writing a paper lately. Or, rather, I've been wrestling with a paper. And quite frankly, it has been kicking my butt. Seriously. Every time I think I've gotten the best of it, it throws a nasty left hook my way and catches me completely off guard. Oh well. It has to be handed in in only a few hours, so it will be done with soon enough. Normally while I'm writing I am big on folky singer/songwriter music. Or jazz. Or classical. But today I needed something upbeat and catchy. Something I could dance in my seat to. So I put together a little play list and thought I would share it with all of you. Just in case you need a pickup while you're working on end of the semester projects, or studying for exams. Or, if you are one of the lucky ones, celebrating the end of classes. I thought about doing this on Grooveshark or 8Tracks or something, but then I realized that a lot of these songs have awesome videos, so I just stuck with good old YouTube.

Lonely Boy - The Black Keys
This song never fails to get me dancing.

Call Me Maybe - Carly Rae Jepsen 
It's. Just. So. Catchy. And the video is pretty funny.

Don't Let Your Feet Touch Ground - Ash Koley 
I dare you not to feel happier after listening to this song.

Stadium Love - Metric
You can't go wrong with Metric. I've had the Fantasies album has been on repeat today.

Home - Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes
Just enough country twang for me to love it.

Here It Goes Again - OK Go
An oldie, but a goodie. Plus, dancing on treadmills. (This might be what I imagine doing every time I'm at the gym.)

Hush Hush - Natalie Portman's Shaved Head
Another never-fails-to-make-me-dance-like-a-fool song.

Slow Motion Machine Gun - Pearl and the Beard
The ending to this song is such fun.

Black Horse and the Cherry Tree - KT Tunstall
I will always love this song.

Come Back Down - Greg Laswell (feat. Sara Bareilles)
I might be slightly obsessed with this song. And I might sing along to it every time it comes on.

Angels - The Wooden Sky
Love the foot-stomping opening. Love the tempo change.

King of Anything - Sara Bareilles
This is basically my theme song.