When all the noise fades away

Friends. Coffee. Sunshine. Work. Good news. The past three days have simply been good. And that is something I haven't been able to say as frequently as I would like lately, so it has been extra delightful for all of the noise in my life to fade away for a bit so that I could just enjoy myself.

Birthday Blessings

2013 started off really well. I had high hopes and a good feeling about the year. Then the next week and a half walloped me with stress and anxiety and pretty much every other unpleasant emotion you can think of.

And then my birthday rolled around.

I just had a profoundly lovely, low-key day. There was skating and Beaver Tails, beautiful presents from my family, brunch with a couple ladies who I haven't seen for far too long, a leisurely wander through Chapters, good news on the job search front, good news on the PhD applications reference letter front, delightful news about a dearly missed friend coming to visit in about a month, and semi-plans for some future social outings. I've been crying a lot of happy tears today.

P.S. Remember the first time I took a picture of these bolts? I've accumulated...oh, one or two other shots of them since. I took this one when my family was down at Christmastime.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Looking Forward

Want to know one of the things I am most excited about for when I'm living in Nova Scotia? Four seasons. That's right folks, they have four seasons. Edmonton theoretically has four seasons, but autumn and spring hardly count out here. They last for about a week. And it's really a shame because they are such gorgeous times of year. Okay. They ought to be gorgeous times of year. Spring in Edmonton is mostly associated with brown sandy sludge all over, the emergence of garbage that has been under the snow all winter, and a really annoying pattern of thawing and freezing that means the city basically turns into a giant skating rink. That's unpleasant, but what really bums me out is the fact that we get gipped out of an autumn here. What we do get can be just plain amazing, but it is so short that for someone who is an autumn-lover like me it is rather disappointing. So, I'm super stoked to live in a province with an autumn that people rave about. I'm hoping for days like the one pictured above: soaked in golden sunlight and saturated with rich colours. I know it's only August, but I am already so excited for autumn that I can barely contain myself.

A man consumed by wanderlust

wanderlust noun [mass noun]
a strong desire to travel: a man consumed by wanderlust
- ORIGIN late 19th cent.: German, literally 'wander year'.


I think wanderlust is one of my favourite words in the English language. It is just so perfect. It describes the longing to travel, to be elsewhere, in the most particular way. It's not a complicated word. It only has one meaning. But the connotations whisper of Romance and adventure to be found. It's quite delightful. I've been rather afflicted with this particular ailment for years now, but like many illnesses it flares up more strongly every so often. The past six months or so have been particularly bad for me. That longing to go somewhere and experience something new has been so strong. I'm trying to think of moving as the ultimate fulfillment of this desire; in fact, I think that my perpetual wanderlust is what has made me choose a school so far away. And when I'm successful in considering the move as a grand adventure it becomes far more exciting than it is terrifying.

What Language Can't Reach

What Language Can't Reach
Patrick Lane

And the only way I know how to do that is to stand far off
as if on a low hill under a moon
watching a passenger train stopped
at a siding in the distance of a prairie night in winter.
In the snow and watching. That far away. That sure.


Sometimes things happen in life that leave you feeling ways that just can't be explained. No chance. Don't even try. Sometimes these already rather inexplicable events collide and suddenly you are left speechless. That has been my last few days. So the silence on here was simply a reflection of my general inability to really capture everything. This will have to do. And I think it does just beautifully.

The Honey Trees + Moon River

I've written here before about how much I adore the song Moon River. I don't think anyone will ever top the scene in Breakfast at Tiffany's where Audrey Hepburn sings the song. However, I recently discovered The Honey Trees' cover of Moon River and am rather smitten. So much so that I felt the need to dedicate a blog post to it. That, my friends, is very telling. It's just so adorable and sweet. Click the link and take an aural gander. It will put a smile on your face.

Ps. How cool is the mic they are using?

I'll never regret...

I was reminded again tonight that I never regret making time to spend with friends. I kind of wish I could have given my freshman self this advice: sometimes you just need to step away from the paper and have some fun.

(No, I did not go to the beach today. I live in Alberta and it is March. Getting to a beach involves planes. This picture is from several years ago in Mexico.)

Immersion

A poem needs understanding through the senses. The point of diving in a lake is not immediately to swim to the shore, but to be in the lake, to luxuriate in the sensation of water. You do not "work the lake out." It is an experience beyond thought. (John Keats, Bright Star)

I love the sensation of being fully immersed in literature. The feeling of breathing poetry. Of sliding between words. Of existing in spaces, in the pauses created by punctuation. Of rolling a word around in my mouth to see how it tastes. Of weighing a turn of phrase in my hands, allowing my fingers to brush against the edges of words, to catch on the corners and glide along the curves. I love it when I feel as if my pores ooze literature. When my first response to any situation, anything I am told, is to quote a poem or cite a novel. This is when I feel most alive. This is when I feel the most like me.

Held Water

Held Water
Patrick Lane

I have discovered I cannot bear to be
with people anymore. Even the querulous love of old friends
defeats me and I turn away, my face staring
at the hard sleet
scraping at what little is left of the trees
in early spring. The bellied pods of the wisteria hold
my face, upside down
in minute mirrors of held water. Ice falls from the eaves.
The telephone rings and like a monk I chant to myself
the many names of whatever gods I can find
in the temple bells of the hidden voices. I know
under the rotting snow there are small flowers
like insistent girls giggling in narrow attic beds,
and yes,
I know the flowers are not girls, just as
I know what resemblance there is
is lost in the ordinary crying
we think we will release and don't.
The furred pods of the wisteria crack open
dropping the mirrors from their blue hands.
I ce slides from the roof and for a moment the air is torn.
If I wasn't afraid
I could play back the sounds of my friends,
the measure of their voices
almost steady in the hard wind out of the north.
Little flawed bells.
If I didn't hear them I could almost listen.


Sometimes this is exactly how I feel.

This poem is one of the ones that I have on my wall. I sincerely enjoy Patrick Lane's poetry, although I am relatively new to it and therefore can't give a comprehensive opinion. What I have read though is truly lovely. When I was flipping through my photos the other day I came across this one and my brain instantly paired it with this particular poem.

Balancing Act

Just in case several of my recent posts (such as this or this) haven't tipped you off, I am here to tell you that I am deep into end of semester insanity. The kind where hysterics are a daily event (whether these are of the laughing or crying variety depends on the day). The kind where sleep has become a thing fondly remembered but rarely experienced. The kind where every so often as you are walking along you are hit with a massive wave of panic. The kind where your desk is so buried under papers and books that you aren't actually sure what it looks like anymore. The kind where this disastrous state of your desk accurately reflects your mental state. This state of affairs is not helped by the fact that this year I am attempting to balance school and work. While I need the job and actually don't mind it, there are many days when I wish I could quit just to save my sanity. I am not good at balancing school and work. I figured this out in second year and it is why I didn't work in third year. I knew it was going to be tricky this year, but I had hoped I wouldn't hit this point in the year and feel like I was going insane. Sadly, this is not the case. Most days I feel like one of those plate spinners desperately trying not to let anything fall. I have taken to only focusing on one thing at a time. If I look at my to do list I get some serious waves of sheer panic. Despite all of this I am doing remarkably well though. So don't freak out. Trust me, I am doing more than enough of that on my own. I don't need any help.

I took this picture in Jasper a couple of years ago. We were walking along a trail around a lake and all of a sudden this little structure appeared as we rounded a corner. Someone must have waded out and made it. I liked how it looked with the lone stone perched atop of the pile seeming to float above the water. This is actually how I feel right now. Yeah, my life is an insane balancing act, and most days I feel like I'm losing it, but there is something grounding me and keeping me from completely falling apart. It's hidden beneath the surface of my crazy life, but it is keeping me from sinking under the insanity.

An Autumn Rain-scene

An Autumn Rain-scene

Thomas Hardy

There trudges one to a merry-making

With a sturdy swing,

On whom the rain comes down.

To fetch the saving medicament

Is another bent,

On whom the rain comes down.

One slowly drives his herd to the stall

Ere ill befall,

On whom the rain comes down.

This bears his missives of life and death

WIth quickening breath,

On whome the rain comes down.

One watches for signals of wreck or war

From the hill afar,

On whom the rain comes down.

No care if he gain a shelter or none,

Unhired moves one,

On whom the rain comes down.

And another knows nought of its chilling fall

Upon him at all,

On whom the rain comes down.

It is still rainy. Although I will admit that after posting yesterday's ten things and talking about how much the rainy weather reminds me of Nova Scotia I truly enjoyed the weather today. Anyway, I was trying to find something to post with this photo because I am not feeling too verbose tonight and came across this poem. The title just seemed too perfect for the weather lately to pass it up. I took this picture on my Lacombe outing. I seriously love it.

Ten Things...Rain, Fog, and Longing

It has been a grey, rainy, cold autumn here in Edmonton. It makes sense given that we also had a cold, rainy summer, but it is still kind of odd. I honestly don't remember the last time it was quite so rainy all the time. This is probably because I've grown up during drought years so everybody is always talking about how we don't have enough rain. Now suddenly it is raining all the time. I probably say this every time I talk about rain or fog or grey days, but this is the kind of weather that makes me think of Nova Scotia and Ireland. Even though it definitely gets a little bit depressing after a while, there is something that I kind of love about it. This week's Ten Things is an homage to this kind of weather.

1. Let it Rain
2. Oblivion
3. Drip, drip, drop, little [June] shower
4. Rain, rain on my face
5. "Water makes many beds"
6. Lost in the Fog
7. Splish splash drip drop goosh goosh goosh TIDAL WAVE
8. The Barra MacNeils
9. On the Inside Looking Out
10. Happy St. Patrick's Day!