Winter Sojurn

You'll never believe it, my friends. If I told you'd I'd absconded with a gang of space pirates in order to roam the distant nebula clusters in search of the dread cluster-crab shoals you would not for a second have doubted it.

The sad truth of the matter is I ran out of interesting things to write about. It's true.

All my creative energy for the past few months has gone into producing essays at an alarming rate. Honestly, I only kept up with my knitting because the three sane brain cells that hadn't deserted me needed it in order to survive.

But enough about me. I've missed you guys! There's so little time before the end of the year and so much to do!


Between exams and Christmas knitting how will I ever find time to have a coherent thought?

I think space pirates will have to do for now.

Miss me?

Shoulders, Hips and Sneezes

Point-counterpoint: The rush when I push my body from back-bend to downward-facing dog, followed by the few days I spend sneezing, snorfling, sniffling and just generally feeling lousy. There's not much else to say other than I have a cold, along with everyone else in the universe. (The universe being restricted to my school, office and home. Oh, and those people sniffling on the train - yes, I hear you.)

I am struggling to achieve some kind of balance between work, studies and social life. I haven't had to in a while and I don't particularly enjoy the sensation of losing control. The last item is in fact necessary to my sanity.
When I (over) hear people talking about how they are already skipping sleeps and studying for hours I take the opportunity to renew my vows-of-sorts. The first and foremost being that studies will never, ever be more important than sleep. The second being that school is not life, it just gives me some tools with which to enjoy it.

This, by the way, is how I justify rolling out of bed at 6:15 every morning to get to my 8:30 class on time. If for no other reason than I like to get my learning out of the way in the morning I will continue to construct morning-centric schedules even if I do let loose the occational grumble.

I don't write as much when I'm sick. In fact, I think I'm going to construct a nest out of tea bags, tissues and Tylenol and hibernate for a while. It's better than discovering that my sneezes are the biological equivalent of shotguns...over and over again... in the office... where I'm trying to keep the sniffling and tissue pile to a minimum.

It didn't work.

Your truly,

The Sniffle Queen.

Reasons to Carry Change on Campus

I've been diligently packing my own lunches in an effort to save for exchange studies. There are days where my meals are somewhat sparse. It's days like these that I am most glad for the coins lying dormant in my wallet.

Reason One for carrying change on campus: SASS (an acronym I just coined) Student Associations Selling Snacks.
And what glorious snacks they are too. As I wandered along looking to find hot water for my packet oatmeal (yes, that's lunch), I happened to spy several people passing me bearing some kind of treat wrapped in a newspaper cone. I was not about to live in curiosity, I sought the source.
Minutes later I was the proud owner of three beautiful samosas, drizzled in sweet sauce (of some ambiguous red-brown colour) and wrapped in my very own newspaper cone. Such savoury delights beat packet oatmeal any day. I paused between classes to take in some sun and enjoy my meal. Never before have I been more glad for the Anthropology Student's Association, and for the tooney* sitting unspent in my wallet.

That might be the one and only reason I continue to carry change on campus. You never know when something delicious might be a few errant coins away. Oh, and it keeps me from buying subsidized food.

Did I mention I was going on exchange? I might have. Well, I am so ... surprise!  It's not for another year but there will be plenty to talk about until that point (and don't think I won't, my friends).

*For those not in the know: Tooney - Canadian coin valuing two Canadian Dollars. Also, it's two colours and has a Polar Bear on it.

Old Pictures

Have you ever chanced to look at the family photos of a stranger? Not the posed kind but rather those shots of everyday life that mean more than what you see on paper. In the albums of strangers the world is beautiful.

 

The pictures from my childhood are strange to me. It is hard to distinguish if my recollections are genuine or reconstructions based on pictures.

The girl in the picture is a stranger even though I know she is me.

Devious, or How I Accomplish Goals

As you could probably tell from my unfinished projects and less than stellar attention span, I like to take on projects. I might have mentioned before that starting things has more appeal to me than doing, and for that matter, finishing the thing.

So I learn to trick myself. It seems to work for a while but my brain eventually catches on. Often, before I can get any decent work done.

I try harder and yesterday I tried my very hardest.

I have been wanting to bike to the Old Port for many summers now. It's about 15 to 20 kilometers from my house. I, obviously, never got around to it. But then I got a new bike. It's grey-blue and beautiful and just my size. I longed to take my bike out on a really long ride.

I decided to bike to my office. While it's not the Old Port it's still about 15 kilometers away and there's a hill. And so that morning, clad in work-out clothes with an extra outfit tucked neatly into my backpack (along with a small towel, deodorant and a brush - I do plan ahead) I set out.

I discovered a few things. The first being that I am crazy. I hadn't biked any further than the library all summer and here I was taking on 15K. The second, and probably more important thing, I can accomplish anything if I have absolutely no way of getting out of it.

If I got tired at 9 or 12 K what was I supposed to do? Abandon my bike and walk? Go back? Clearly I gave myself no option but to press on. And I did, by stopping to drink frequently and overcoming the burning in my thighs I arrived at my office only 15 minutes past my usual time and I was triumphant! Albeit sweaty.

I considered not going back the same way, but I knew my quest would not be complete until I had gone there and back again. That's how quests work.

So back I went with the wind blowing full in my face and my legs discovering a whole new level of burn.

I now know what it takes for me to reach any goal: I have to tap into my inner evil genius and give myself no way out. Now if only I could apply this principle successfully to my studies ... just think of what I could achieve.

Once More

Once more, I come full circle - wondering where summer went. Once again, I never found time to make a day bike trip to the City's Old Port. The Lad and I have been meaning to do that for about three years now. It's that one goal you make at the beginning of every summer that you know will never come to pass. And yet you set it anyway - as if announcing that summer adventures may now begin.

Adventures I did have. Wine touring and Maid-of-the-Misting at Niagara Falls, Ontario - that seems like it was two weeks ago. Disney World and beaches in Florida, that was actually two weeks ago. Both these trips were as fantastic as they were different.

I've been indulging in some instant gratification knitting, i.e. baby clothes. It's nice to be the youngest person in an office in that respect: baby talk gets directed at everyone else and I just bring the clothes. I'm also going to get back into some baking. The last week was spent, as you know, painting and mending the kitchen. By the end of it all I didn't want to spend any more time in that room.

Overall it looks great, although the new light fixture is a thorn in my otherwise pristine pride. It flickers... all the time. Our house is old and has no grounding wires but we've never had a light fixture that liked to remind us of that fact. I accept it as an uncontrollable imperfection and move on.

I've been getting better at rolling with the punches. So many things still bother me but I'm learning to let go. It's going to be some time before I can say that I've been even moderately successful. But at least I can say that I'm trying.


I feel there's still enough time for a few more adventures.

Oh, How I'll Play

I stumbled through the door of my home a day ago after having been gone for a week. It's so good to be back! Yes, I've been gone; did you miss me, my friends?

To sum up my vacation: Florida is a nice place but I would not really want to live there. I'm too Canadian; I missed coniferous trees, cooler mornings and most of all, I missed my City. But (warning - cliché imminent) they say you have to leave in order to know how you feel about something. To be sure, I did not realize just how much I loved about this place until I was away.

It was not all bad, do not get me wrong. And while I won't regale you with tales of delayed flights and nights spent in Detroit I can tell you a few things.

My inner child got to have the run of my body for our day at Disney's Magic Kingdom.  She had the time of her life. And as you can see, my inner child still lives in the 90's. That's me on the left. My friend was so concentrated on shooting aliens that she did not even think to pose. Fantastic, right?



To infinity... and beyond!

That day was well spent, and as we trod sleepily back to our hotel at the end of the night we could have fallen alseep in the elevator. Yes, the day was that good.

We ate like Queens at a great sushi restaurant that brought cotton candy with the bill instead of mints. How cool is that, I ask you! At the beach we took yoga pictures while the waves washed handful after handful of sand into our bathing suits. And to cap it all off, the only time I got a sunburn was in the car - and only on one arm.

I would call the past week a successful vacation. And now we get down to business. I've missed two consecutive knit nights which means next week's is pretty well set in stone. With the weeks sliding closer to the first day of class (they starting reminding me with those confounded commercials in July!) I still have much to do.

My parents are off on their second trip in as many weeks so while they're away I'm fixing and painting our kitchen. The last two times my Father left on business, I painted my room and got a fish tank. There may be a pattern here but you must admit, it's much easier to get things done around the house without the whole family underfoot.

I love renovations almost as much as I love assembling Ikea furniture - if I could get payed to do that I would in a second! So despite leaping out of that proverbial frying pan into the fire I'm looking forward to this week, and telling you about it of course.

I missed this.

Wide-Eyed Wonder

I could make the same walk from my little home to the train station every morning under a perpetual cloud of apathy. It would be very easy as I have been following that path for at least four years now. Down the house-lined road, behind the Subway sandwich shop and the oral surgeon's practice, cross the street in front of the grocery store where I had my first job, around the mall parking lot, under the over-pass and finally down the tunnel to the train platform.

I tried biking, but then my bike was stolen one night. That's a story not worth telling.

It could be boring, but I choose to deny my walks that quality. In fact, I will go so far as to say that I don't let myself be bored by daily events. How do I do that, you might ask? Off the top of my head I would say: not being shy to stare open-mouthed at the behemoth that rose into the air directly over my morning walk.

This behemoth to be exact:



Air France A380

The A380 is the world's largest passenger aircraft. It can carry up to 583 (which was about the population of my high school) passengers. As is rumbled into the dense, grey storm clouds I stood like a child, fixated with eyes opened so wide I thought they might fall out onto the sidewalk. 

'It's so big!' I wanted to shout to no one in particular. 'And so loud!'

I continued to picture it in my mind long after the plane had vanished into the cloud cover. I can still hear the monstrous rumble, groan and hiss of the turbines and see the glint of light on it's pristine white hull.

Granted, a plane like that doesn't take off over my morning walk every day but that doesn't mean I have to resign myself to a dull commute until the next one comes along. I try to observe my surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. I'm often surprised at how easily I can laugh at the world and myself when I do this.

What brings wonder and joy to your everyday existence?

They Say Heat Wave

This week is about loving what I do and looking for opporunities to do more of those things. The impending heat wave is putting a damper on the my and the Lad's running routine - and we were being so good about it. So, I'll surrender to the heat: chilled drinks by the pool and wearing altogether very little.

Unfortunately this means little to no baking. That's ok, I made a batch of Pink Lemonade Cupcakes that should tide me over (read: they'll be gone in two days). But, on the bright side I'll have more time to knit and read (books! Glorious books!).

While hot days may be a burden to us all they at least provide a change of scenery for my photography. At my knit groups weekend pic-knit I got to take summer pictures to my heart's content. They ended up being mostly of the children rather than my fellow knitters. I suppose I'm not the first person to fall prey to the charms of children, their ever-expressive faces and their total lack of camera-shyness allow me to be as bold as I like.

A great time was had by all. Then I went home and collapsed into nap mode. I can't nap during the day and not for lack of trying. The Lad, who had been drafted (there's a pun here) to child-wrangler (a.k.a. horsey) was less tuckered out than me. He's odd like that.

I'm still basking in the afterglow of a well-spent weekend. Let me enjoy it while it's still here.

Now There's a Monologue

I have been bowled over by a poem. No, that's correct, you don't hear much about poetry coming from me. But this is the sort of poem that bursts forth when the tables are scattered with glasses, popcorn and peanut shells. I am convinced I could only ever recite it will under the heavy influence of alcohol.

Nevertheless, I want to be able to.

The Chaos, or A Poem on English Pronounciation.

You can read the full thing by following the link. I'll insert but a snippet here.

Dearest creature in creation,

Studying English pronunciation,

I will teach you in my verse

Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

It will keep you, Susy, busy,

Make your head with heat grow dizzy;

Tear in eye your dress you'll tear.

So shall I! Oh hear my prayer:

Pray console your loving poet,

Make my coat look new, dear, sew it.

Just compare heart, beard and heard,

Dies and diet, Lord and word.

Sword and sward, retain and Britain,

(Mind the latter, how it's written).

...

So while I was amused by testing my English pronounciation my thoughts drifted to the author or the poem: one Charivarius, (G.N. Trenite: 1870–1946). A quick Wikipedia search yielded that he was a Dutch scholar and that fanciful mocker was a pseudonym.

But, I do not intend to educate you but rather, amuse you. Are you amused? I am - constantly.

Let this poem be added to the list of things I Need To Do At A Bar One Day. For now I'll just bother my friends with it. The Lad should be pleased.

Top 5 Unfinished Projects - First Edition

In total defiance of claims made in my last post I have actually gone and finished something I set out to do. However, I don't consider this to be the start of a new habit.

To recap: I love starting projects and amassing materials (I won't take you through the whole list this time). I have a memory like a sieve and the attention span of a sugar-high flea. So on that note, let's jump right into my first list.

Top Five Works-in-Progress

Number One: My First Pair of Socks

 At this rate these will be my first and only pair. Originally intented for the Lad who, for reasons that boggle the mind, insists that he will only ever wear black tube socks. That's what real men wear, don't you know? None of this ankle-length, breathable, coloured sillines.

Not wanting to do black socks as my first attempt at knitting them (how will I see those blasted stitches?) I compromised to charcoal. I picked a simple pattern and off I went. I succeeded in making the first sock but let's not talk about how it fits me and is slightly loose at the heel.

Not to be discouraged I cast on sock number two. I have the cuff done. I can almost guarantee you that when I finish that one, I will have two socks of varying length and oh, how the Lad will laugh at me.

Number Two: Not-So-Sweet Hexagon Cowl

I saw this in a Modular Knitting magazine. No, not that which is pictured above. Trust me, it's much nicer than that. In fact, here's what I fell in love with.



Courtesy of Interweave Press.

Do you see those hexagons? Each and every single one is knit onto the previous one. Separately. This is going to take me a while.

Number Three: First Page Syndrome

I collect journals and sketchbooks. Not to use mind you. I love stroking the smooth, creamy pages. I like to compare the composition of journal pages. I will ponder endlessly on the pitfalls of spiral-bound books. I can't bring myself to besmirch that virginal first page.

So my work begins on the second or third page. Inevitably I will write or draw something of which I am less than proud. Or it doesn't fit with the theme I had assigned to that particular volume. Pictured above are just some of my unfinished journals. I don't try and fool myself into thinking that this blog won't be considered one of them someday.

Number Four: Lacking a Background

Much like my journals, drawings often linger in various states of half-doneness. This tends to irk me most of all because characters such as Moneybags Molly (above), sit in my head for months until I get their concept out on paper.

And then the Beast of Perfection rears its lavishly coifed head and puts the fear of ruin in me. I stop drawing for fear I will damage the image beyond repair. And then the character will hant me forever. You don't want to know how many of these follow me around at any one time.

Number Five: Abandon Ship!

With available space in my room at a premium, why would I ever - ever - take up a scale model? Is anyone interested in a model of the USS Constitution? I'll finish it if you take it off my hands, please.

Oh, because scale models are fun, right?

Half-Knit

I'm a beginner in the sense that I like to begin projects. I love the anticipation, the planning, the thrill that comes with accumulating materials and setting up a plan.

Give me a fresh sketchbook, pages yet unmarred by half-drawings. I have a hundred of these. New pencils, points not yet dulled, still at their original length. Sharpeners free of wood shavings. Perfectly crisp and pointy paint brushes.

Bring to me your pressed and wrapped skeins of yarn. Printed patterns free from creases and stains. A tangle-free existence.

I'll take an empty web page. A new blog post. I revel in the moments leading up to the first post which inevitably shatters the serenity.

I don't like talking about projects that are unfinished. But if I didn't I would never talk about anything that was on my plate. So let us say that on Thursday this blog gets its very first list post (pause for clapping).

Let us go over my top XX unfinished projects. It'll be a laugh.

Dangerous Baking: Key Lime Cheesecake

I spend a lot more time stumbling for recipes than I should but I forgive myself every hour of time-wasting when I come across a treasure like this.

Key Lime Swirl Cheesecake

It had me at Lime, and then knocked me over with Swirl and Cheesecake. After picking myself up off the floor I high-tailed it to the kitchen to make it.

This recipe comes courtesy of Heather from Sprinkle Bakes guest posting on Confessions of a Cookbook Queen. Both blogs are fantastic and the pictures are juicy enough to have you drooling from the start.





But these, however, are my pictures.



 I have never made Lime Curd before, much less ever needed a thermometer to bake with. I guess that goes to show how much of a fledgeling I am. But apart from some caramelized sugar it came out like a dream. Note: good dreams take the form of cheesecake.

Limes. Limes take me to places where it doesn't rain on long weekends. I used about five for the cake itself and then one more for the Strawberry-Lime Coulis.

So as it rained I juiced

and mixed

and simmered

and stirred

and baked

and chilled...

and then, of course, I ate. My family might never forgive me for bringing this recipe into their lives. You honestly can't get enough of it.

Do you want me to share? Ok, I will. But you have to promise you'll go look at the blogs they came from. Promise? Alright then, children, let us begin.



I really like taking pictures of limes.



Key Lime Swirl Cheesecake

Crust:

2 cups graham cracker crumbs (about 28 crackers, crushed)

1/2 cup (or one stick) butter, melted

Preheat oven to 325° F. Line a 10 inch pan (I used a springform) with parchemin paper. Combine the butter and cracker crumbs so that the crumbs are moist and press evenly into the bottom of the pan. Bake for 5 minutes and cool completely.

Filling:

2 bricks (8 oz. each) of cream cheese, softened.

1/2 cup granulated sugar

2 large eggs + 1 large egg white

1/2 cup sour cream

1 tsp pure vanilla extract

2 tbsp all purpose flour

3/2 cup prepared Lime Curd - you can buy this at the grocery store or make it yourself. (divided, see instructions).

Liquid food colouring - green and yellow.

1 - Beat cheese and sugar on medium speed until smooth. Add eggs one at a time at low speed and mix well after each one. Add sour cream, vanilla and flour until just combined. Remove 1 cup of batter and set aside. Pour the rest on top of the cooled crust.

2 - Tint the lime curd with food colouring until desired limey-green is achieved. Mix 1/2 cup of the tinted curd with the reserved cheese batter. Dollop the mixture onto the batter in the pan in any old way you like (while maintaining an artistic air). Dollop the remaining lime curd across that. Swirl the colours together using a skewer until you have achieved the desired artistic effect.

Wearing a beret at this point is optional but entirely recommended.

3 - Bake for 35 minutes at 325° F. Let it cool completely in the pan and then refrigerate completely.

4 - Serve in a pool of Strawberry-Lime Coulis with a dollop more on top for good measure.

And here is where I would have a picture of the final presentation. But, my friends, it's honestly just that good.

My Brain Takes a Long Weekend

These next two weeks bring the gift of back to back long weekends. It seems my brain is gone and left without me. Unfortunately the weather does not look too promising here so it (being my brain) is probably off on a beach somewhere sipping something delightful.

Even though it's just one extra day the long weekend towers over all else. It is inflated with possibility. I spent most of today daydreaming about the baking I would get done. Fair warning: browsing recipes is not something you do when you're hungry and stuck in an office.

That extra day tells me I can spend more time reading while still doing all the baking and knitting I want. That extra day leaves room for a game of Frisbee or a quick spin with my watercolour pencils. The camera can even hope to come out of its hiding place.

And even if I don't accomplish everything I had planned to do I will still have had an extra day to lie around and daydream. That alone is worth the resentment of all my unfinished projects.

Aspirations

If you've known me for this long you know I love to work with my hands. From a circle my hands can create a face on paper. In the darkroom my hands coax pictures from light and chemicals. My hands spin friendship into fabric and love into food. I love my hands and I thank them.

I had aspirations of becoming an artist but I caved to the litany of protest. I was 'too smart' as if artists were dumb has bricks. I would never find a job and consequently I would never make any money. I caved because at sixteen years of age I was still sure that what adults told me was the truth.

The TED talk re-enchanted me with art. It reminded me that no artist has to be bound to one style or identity though many artists do indeed fall into that trap. If I was to make art I would want to do it like this. I have no interest in excluding audiences sharing an obscure inside joke.

I'm not perfect. Those old fears still hold me back. I draw yet the pictures don't often reflect what is in my head. I don't feel I have to freedom to create as I would like and this upsets me. You always see these messages where you are reminded to care little for what others say and live your own life. I would be lying if I said I take that message to heart every day.

Letting go takes a second. Convincing myself to do so is a continuous and frustrating process. The little girl who didn't have many friends still wants to be accepted, included and well liked.


Why am I still afraid?

Needy Thoughts

There's a series of thoughts running a near constant loop in my head. These thoughts, when expressed, result in much eye rolling from the Lad. Let me go back a ways.

Caution - this post involves stuff about relationships (although nothing bad). I won't be offended if you want to go read something more interesting.

I was determined not to be that girlfriend. We all know that one - she saturates all mainstream movies, TV shows and songs about That-Girl-the-Singer-Likes/Has/Had. She's tiresome because she wants to watch 'girly' movies. She is sulky when her man goes to play with his friends or wants to *gasp* watch sports. She treats all other women as potential threats to her relationship. She nags. She cries to get her way. She's needy.

Needy - I desperately didn't want to be that. And I tried. And by that I don't mean acting like the Ice Princess but the more I thought about it, I didn't know exactly what counted as needy .

Well, at least I don't like chick flicks.

As it turns out, I think about the future a lot. Having never been in a real relationship before I wasn't aware that I had this tendency. Recently it spawned something more complex. What began as 'what would happen if we lived together' is growing into 'how would we raised the kids we might have together?'.

I honestly don't know where this came from! We've only begun being 20-year-olds together and, as I constantly tell my overactive brain, this is neither the time nor the place. And yet the thoughts return with a vengeance.

I still want to have adventures; I'm not ready to become stable.

However, there might be something to all this domestic dreaming. We still live apart from each other. He goes to one school and I to another. He works to make money to pay for his school. I work to gain expereince in my field (and the school thing but I don't live on campus). At their simplest form these thoughts express my desire to continue building a life with the Lad.

Only for the moment I would rather we have adventures together without all the looming questions of stability.

This was decidedly less suscinct than I wanted it to be. I'm probably over-complicating things. Feel free to pat me on the head saying 'there, there little one. All things shall come and go in their own time.' I'm less inclined to believe such things when they come from my own mind.

Twenty-Two

I turned twenty-two today and I got this tantalizingly, horrendously good cake. My Mom sure knows how to make the mouth water.

I had larger celebrations when I hit the last legal-limit milestone last year (yay, I'm legal in the grand majority of countries). I'm not officially a Twenty-Something. I got to feel special for a few days and I can't ask for more than that. Oh, and being taken out for lots of yummy food.

With every birthday I don't feel like I get wiser, or smarter, or more capable of running my life. In my mind I'm still a very shy, slightly spotty, awkward 16-year-old. I'm told that this feeling never really goes away.

Someone is bound to realize that I don't know what I'm doing. "What is this kid doing in an architecture firm?" they will exclaim in shock. "She's just pretending to be grown up!"

Do I just keep pretending to know what I'm doing until everyone thinks I am capable? To pull up a tired yet relevant phrase : fake it until you make it.

But rather than focus on where I am as a person in relation to who I was a year ago I'm going to focus on all the fun I had this past weekend. I went to the annual Beerfest and you can guess how that went. My family took me out to a restaurant I love. I received roller blades and Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking volumes I and II. And best of all, I got bouquets of lovely flowers to commemorate the simple fact that I exist on this planet.

I'm not quite ready to stop being strange. In fact, I rather prefer myself that way. Hopefully my new (and yet the same) strangeness that is a year older will continue to amuse you, dear readers.

More on my weekend adventures and why I shouldn't wait to write off-the-cuff posts before going to bed on Thursday. A bientot!

Drama Fish

I hadn't realized my fish were Drama Fish until they had fully adjusted to life in their new tank. Now, the mornings when I roll out of bed, there they are, bobbing expectantly at the side of tank closest to my bed, mouths doing that fishy openey-closey thing. I turn on the tank light and they frantically dart close to the surface.

That in itself is not overly dramatic, but then I found out what they do when I don't feed them enough. If they have deemed the Food That Desendeth From Above is inadequate, they will dive dramatically to the bottom of the tank and begin desperately (and a little judgmentally) searching for scraps in the gravel.

With a little work I could probably turn them into self-cleaning fish as long as they stop judging me. But that's just the morning routine.

When I come home from work and plop myself on my bed they all come fluttering over. Once again they watch me. I'm told that they cannot see through the glass of their tank and yet somehow they know when I'm there. Oh, my needy Drama Fish.

Thunderstorms, flickering lights and blown fuses which cause their tanks to shut down don't faze them in the least. But don't feed their royal fishninesses to their satisfaction and they'll make you pay.

And So We Drove A Lot

The Lad and I went on a road trip last week. We haven't taken one since Prince Edward Island which was two years ago. This time it was Niagara Falls; a first for me but the Lad has been there before. We did all those things you have to do just to say you did. So the Maid of the Mist and all that but I learned my lesson with the wax museums. I did not like them in P.E.I, still don't, and I'm confident that I never will.

 

It was less about the Falls than spending some hard-earned alone time with the Lad. We can probably do that at home but it was good to have an adventure while we were at it.

We had good, stupid fun. We played arcade games at the Midway and walked up and down Clifton Hill so many times we could pinpoint each garish noise. Whenever I go on vacation I have to play a round of mini-putt, so we did that too.

There was also the Botanical Gardens, the Boardwalk on the Rapids and the Butterflies. I have to mention the butterflies.

The Lad made a friend.

They were everywhere!... (in the Butterfly Conservatory). The Lad was honestly afraid I would panic and swat one which is not an unfounded fear. I'm skittish when just one thing flutters in my face, let alone a fleet of things.

I felt like all the pictures I took were the same ones being taken by everyone else. The world is filled with identical photographs of Niagara Falls. You could probably construct a perfect map of the area based solely on the photos taken by tourists.

Despite all the tourist action I feel a strong love for this region. All the travellers in the world cannot detract from it's striking and unique natural beauty. Oh, and did I mention the wine tour?

Rows of grape vines run off to the Lake.

The Lad and I played at sophisticated adulthood and signed up for a wine tour. What a delight! We were chauffeured around in a really nice car to four wineries to sample our fill of the fantastic Niagara Valley wine. We eschewed the widely available souvenirs in favour of some bottles to bring home. And wouldn't you know that the tour got more fun as the day went on? Here I insert a shameless plug for Niagara Vintage Wine Tours, they absolutely know what they're doing when it comes to guiding you through the ins and outs of wine tasting. 

So we had a great trip and I'm glad to have new pictures to share with all of you. With that I'm back to pedalling the streets of Montreal with one hand holding the hem of my skirt down.

Tiny Bubbles

The first time I had a pet, I was between the ages of four and six. My parents, who grew up on farms, had experience with animals but not in the purely domestic capacity. Since they are both sensitive to smells they continuously denied me anything with fur. And later, when I tried to get around that rule by asking for a reptile, the law expanded to include all mammals, reptiles, insects and birds. So I got a fish. It didn't last very long.

A few years later I was given more fish. Two fish, a snail and a plant living inside a very small box. I don't fault my parents, they never had fish as a pet; that was pointless when they were growing up. Overfed and lacking livable water conditions those fish didn't last long either. I didn't care to have any more fish after that.

Zip forward many years and I've met the Lad. He loves keeping fish and dreams of large tanks filled with brightly coloured creatures. I still feel that fish are food rather than friends but I desperately want a pet and until I move out I have next to no options.

It started out as a bet made on an impromptu bowling night. It ended with a ten-gallon tank which, as of yesterday contains three mostly content fish.

From left to right: Unnamed, P'tit Bec and Nova

Do you know how hard it is to take pictures of fish? The darned things never stop twitching! But I managed to do it this morning for all you lovely people.  I will eventually come up with a name for the one with the black tail. For those of you not in the know, P'tit Bec is French for Little Kiss. She and Nova are Sunset Platies and the other is a Red Wag Platy. I have been assured that my monstrous tank can hold ten of these suckers, but I have to add three at a time.

I'm already obsessed with them. I am determined to map their personalities and I spend a long time just staring at them swim around. What has the Lad done!?

Oh, and do you like that little house as much as I do? I spent a good half hour mapping out possible decor layouts for the tank. I think it matters more to me than it does to the fish though.



Full view of the Fish House



Self, Meet Self

Of all the possible ways to refer to the self I am most fond of author Terry Pratchett's so-called "black space behind the eyes". Within that space I am only vaguely aware of what I look like in the real world. In fact I'm larger than life in there and probably translucent while we're at it.

For this reason I find self portraits to be challenging. Rather than portray myself realistically I have a tendency to fantasize and satirize myself. There's little cartoon me's scattered all over my room; and yet they are not me. My self is the one I know most intimately. My flaws, hopes, joys, dreams, strengths and ideals are bound up in one very inadiquate and squishy packet that fails to communicate the very characteristics that compose it. And that, my friends was a very complex way of saying that I don't wear myself on my skin.

My self is in a constant state of flux. It shifts with every morsel of knowledge I aquire to the point where very few of my opinions can be pinned down. I can say with absolute certainty that I am not ready to be set in my ways and for that matter, I may never be. However, having to carry out round after round of verbal sparring with myself can have its pitfalls.

I don't always know my self and I would rather not pretend to. This blog is a rather convenient way of keeping track. With time I will probably look back on my very first posts and cringe with embarassement the way I do when I unearth a journal from my early teenage-hood. However, looking back through it will do more for my struggle for self-portraiture than any number of sketches.

Misdirected Effort

I make an effort to procrastinate since it's one of my favorite activities. When procrastinating I manage to get 'everything else' done. Unfortunately, I have yet to develop a completely foolproof system so that I can accomplish a goal by procrastinating on a dummy task. I must work harder to outsmart my own brain.

So instead of sitting down and drafting up a really engaging blog post I found a random number generator and a page of creative writing prompts. I rolled the virtual 346-sided-die and came up with prompt 129. The following story has nothing to do with that prompt. In fact I went so off topic that I wonder why I even needed to get the prompt in the first place.
So I give you the little story that happened instead.


Our Neighbor, Mr. Laurell

This morning there was a dragon behind the couch. It wasn't big although I didn't get a good enough look at it as the frying pan I was wielding got in the way.  At least it's better than the Centaur we had in here last week, I had a hard time explaining the arrows and the hoof prints to the landlord.

When we moved in, Mr. Laurell was perched on the wrought iron railing of his front steps. He observed us as we brought in our boxes, his expression never wavering from a contentedly curious smile. The next day I saw him on my way out. He was standing on his porch, a small, steaming cup in and the same curious smile. I waved. And then with all the enthusiasm of a toddler on a rainy day he leapt from the porch and jogged to the sidewalk to greet me, holding his cup aloft without spilling a drop.

"Lovely to see you again."

"Yes it is. We just moved in you know." I said, hoping for the standard bit of new neighbor banter.

"It's been quite a while but you haven't changed a bit, have you?" He peered  up at me over the tops of his glasses which were shaped, I noted, like stop signs.

I searched my memory and out came nothing. But then he grinned and patted my arm reassuringly.

"Oh never mind, you should be going. Do come over for tea some time and bring the young lady of course."

I could hear the gears in my brain groan in protest as they tried to navigate the conversational ess-curves at high speed. By the time I caught up to reality, the screen door was swinging shut with a muted 'squeak'.

Hours later at the office, I stopped speaking mid-sentence when I realized that when Mr. Laurell had reached out the pat my arm he had left the little cup behind. It had remained in the air, spinning demurely and all the white emitting a cheery puff of steam.

Coleen and I went over to tea a few days later. Mr. Laurell buzzed around us in an over-sized terrycloth robe filling this and fetching that. He told us that he used to be a mail-man and showed us a few pictures.

His home gave the impression of barely retained disaster. I swore to Coleen later that night that some of the walls were just tightly-packed piled of books. She laughed and I had to forget about it. We both thought he was a sweet, if flighty old man. So when he asked us a few weeks later to keep a few things for him while he cleared the house a bit we gladly accepted.

That's how we found out our neighbor, Mr. Laurell was a wizard. Now if only we could figure out how to hide the scorch marks on our carpet.

The Doodle Impulse

I find people don't stay still long enough for me to draw them and yet I love to draw from life.

If I drew the Lad every day it would never come out the same way. Contemplating faces is where I find my centre of calm. In each face I find a particle of truth.

Click

More rain, more wind, more floods, more fires. It's easy to get depressed when so many people in this country are under the weather in more ways than one. It could have been a bad day but then I heard this as I walked to the train.




Then the world got all cool. This last word must be said in a voice as smooth as butter on a hot pan, as luscious as chocolate drizzle and just as velvety. Also, it would be preferable if you had shades.

The rest of the day clicked. All it took was a song to remind me of my inner foxy lady. I was able to complete all my errands in an hour. I gathered together a lovely little gift for my belly dancing teacher as a thank-you for her support leading up to the competition and I made the train on time. I even had time to go grab a library book. Yes, I'm still reading for that challenge, I just haven't been reviewing. Sometimes I fall so deep into a book I can't explain what I feel while reading it.  That being said, I still want to talk about One Hundred Years of Solitude, and I will.

And because I'm sure you're all curious. The competition ... well it went. I didn't win anything but I had a great experience and my Mom bought me brunch.

On the Left you have the final version of my Cat Eye Makeup, and the most wonderful earrings I've ever seen.

On the Right is me in full costume with my teacher. She was so proud she was bawling her eyes out. You will notice that this picture was taken at the end of the day and I am much more dishevelled. 

There will be a video posted when I receive the DVD of the competition. I have no idea what I looked like, but people seem to tell me I danced well. When I was waiting to go on stage, it seemed like every other dancer went on forever. And then it was my turn. After a minute it was over and I couldn't believe it. I had done the best I could. I felt sexier than I have ever felt in my life as I prowled up and down the boards. I'm going to ride that feeling for a while. It must be good for my self-esteem.

The Rut

Many years of schooling (I don't want to count, it would be too depressing) have trained me to think in a certain way. Despite evidence to the contrary I still think of life in terms of chapters entitled Semester and Summer. Learning and paper writing compose the former and leisure and pleasure occupy the latter. I don't think that this is what teachers intended. This is probably why I'm still offended and slightly betrayed at the fact that I'm working when I should be lounging.

I am aware that certain schools are altering their system so that the year is composed of three terms rather than two. These terms are broken up by breaks lasting at least a month and the time spent in school is shortened. Technically, the length of an academic year stays the same, what changes is the sequencing. I like it and I don't like it. But I think the dislike stems from the long-developed habit of having a three month summer break during which I could forget about school completely. In terms of practicality it makes complete sense for both the teachers and students.

Even though I technically don't have to think about school until September (What? Old habits...) I have discovered that text books will not rain down from the sky if I attempt to do some learning outside of Semester. I find myself laughing at how belief can become entrenched in action to the point where it is no longer questioned. When an Anthropology professor brought it up I didn't get it. Now I do.

Lecture recordings, videos and transcripts from major universities are being made available for free online. They are not for credit but rather for the joy of learning. For a long time the concept of 'pleasure learning' was baffling; 'why would you subject yourself to more schooling than you have to?' I would ask. I have to say, I get it now.

Without the added pressure of reading, deadlines and grades, listening to lectures becomes a pleasurable experience. I'm slowly breaking *is that a badger!?* years of habit and it feels both weird and nice. Although, have some sympathy for the people with whom I shall converse, because I like to share the things I learn. Hold on to your ears folks because I'm about to talk them off.

Routine: A Personal Essay

               You always need to have a plan. The necessity of structure, organization and predictability are hammered into you before you are even born. Routine is good, it makes life easier to manage. If you pay attention to all the magazines, T.V. shows, books, blogs, podcasts and ads then you get a general idea of what the expected routine looks like. Largely it involves getting things 'right' - sleep, water, diet, exercise, work, money, relationships; everything has to be right. I'm not fond of right and there are a few reasons why. Firstly, it means I constantly have to watch myself to make sure I'm not straying into the wrong. Second, sticking to the predetermined routine makes me feel like a machine rather than a person. And lastly, there is the guilt and self-loathing brought on by the fact that what is deemed  'right' does not make me happy. Teachers would always correct me for making generalizations so I have to wonder why most people are trying to structure their lives around one.

              Everything comes down to a series of lists. If you spend as much time on the Internet as I do then you must be aware of the popularity of lists. The world and everything in it is being reduced to the Top 5, Top 10 or (if they're feeling generous) Top 100 and who has time to read that last one? I don't mind lists when it comes to naming favorites or shopping but there are things in life that should not be listed. To name a few I would say: Keys to Happiness, Steps to a Good Relationship, and Raising Children. You don't have to try very hard to find these lists - they're everywhere. These lists are attempting to quantify subjective experiences which can lead to destructive behaviour. During rare moments of clarity I catch myself being affected by these lists, particularity the ones that deal with relationships. A good relationship is, according to these lists, supposed to progress from A to B to C, contain milestones 1, 2 and 3 and have features x, y, and z. How many promising relationships have been torn apart because one of the participants needed to adhere to the list? Despite being aware of the pitfalls I too have fallen victim to list-begotten doubts. The same applies to personal fulfillment, wellness and success. If you're constantly living to check things off a mental list what are you missing?

              Apocalyptic visions of the future often involve robot takeovers or the complete pacification of the human race. The end of the world is when we cease to be a collection of individuals. Biomedicine interprets the human body as a machine. Many employers see workers as output mechanisms. Corporations have numbers instead of customers. In many little ways were are reduced to parts like a piece of furniture from Ikea. A machine can only function according to its programming. Now think of all the programs that you've had to follow in your life: lesson plans, rubrics, diets, fitness plans, work projects, social programs, bureaucracy. I knew so many people in high school who were sure that their life plan was rock solid and who would not deviate from it at the risk of being a failure.
There is an important feature in building design known as the joint. Of this there are several different kinds what the ones I'm thinking of are control joints and expansion joints. Now bear with me, I spent several years being groomed for a career in architecture so for me this is a good metaphor. Control joints are the kind you see in sidewalks.

They are made when the concrete is poured. Their purpose is to localize cracks and strengthen the overall unit. The principle is that every substance on the planet moves; contracting, expanding and vibrating at its own rate. Because these pieces of concrete are not free to move, the tension in the material will cause cracks to form. Instead of having cracks form all over the place, the control joints concentrate the cracks and preserve the integrity of the sidewalk. Expansion joints work on the same principle except that they allow for movement between different materials that must be attached together.

Now that I've bored you to death I'm going to elaborate. Structural rigidity leads to cracks and ultimately failure. The stress of holding too tightly to a set plan will eventually make you fall apart. For this reason you have to allow cracks to form, you have to be flexible and you have to accept that you will not remain flawless. You, like all substances on Earth, contract, expand and vibrate at your own unique rate so why would you adhere to a plan that was not built for you?

              We are all familiar with guilt. It nags at the back of our minds as we reach for a second slice of cake. It claws at us when we think about skipping a trip to the gym to finish a good book instead. Guilt lurks behind every box of cookies, every window of free time and of course, every mirror. Guilt is like that little girl in horror movies; she's always there in the corner of your eye humming a sinister little tune. When I didn't finish college in the two years it took my friends to do so I was bogged down in self loathing. I had chosen to do a a three-year career program and a year of Science instead of university prep but I still felt I had failed to keep up. When I finally entered university these same friends were in their final year. Facebook made me aware when people I knew were going to the gym, shopping, travelling and generally having fun (without me). Because I wasn't where they were I felt guilty. I focused on what I hadn't achieved and what I didn't look like rather than what was good about my life. Something tells me that this is a familiar pattern for many people. We are acutely aware of the standards we have "failed" to live up to but we fail to realize those same standards are not right for everyone.

             I remember my parents telling me not to compare myself to my friends, but when I received a grade that they felt was sub-par they would immediately ask what my friends had received. I know that now to be a mixed message, but at the time I only understood that the only time my results mattered was when someone else had better ones. In much the same way we are always made aware of how someone has a better routine than ours. Theirs is healthier, more productive and makes them happier while the rest of us are failing at life. Finding what works for you is a tricky venture, and I spend much of my time fending off the little voice that tells me I'm doing it wrong. Who is that voice, I wonder. It's the lists talking. They glare at us from their fanciful yet organized pedestal. They make us feel guilty for deviating from the norm and for not having achieved all the Steps to Happiness and Success. While I do not disagree with the notion that people need routine and structure I wonder why mine has to be like everyone else's. I have a plan, but it can change. In fact, I rather hope that it does because I like surprises.

Smiling Through the Rain

Despite my best efforts I got wet today. While I could have walked to the train station using the long, convoluted paths of the underground I chose to get on a bike and ride. So, I did in fact bring this on myself.
You couldn't blame me, though, if you saw these tunnels. Most of the time it's not obvious where you're headed as the tunnels become malls which become office complexes which morph back into tunnels. There is also more up-and-down than a roller coaster.

Because of this I chose to bike. The rain had been stopping for five minute windows and I had forgotten it was a ten minute bike ride. But we grin, and we bear it just like I bore the wet seat of my pants for the train ride home and I still think it was worth it.

I'm counting the days to my road trip with the Lad. We're going to Niagara Falls for a few days (I've never been but he has) and his wonderful self has agreed to go wine-tasting with me in the Niagara Valley (I'm giddy). Our last road trip was two years ago when we journeyed to Prince Edward Island. Sometimes I hook my computer to the big screen TV and run a slide show of the pictures to some cheesy romantic music.

When it's been raining for a whole week I look to nostalgia to lighten my mood. That, and trying my hand at making some Rustic Flatbread. My forearms hurt so much I'm tempted to stick them in the freezer. Apparently I need to stretch before kneading.

Wet Feet

Not even gallons of rain can dampen the feeling I get from my happy shoes. However, I have been very blue during these last few days for reasons which I would rather not get into for fear of ranting. I'll get over it.

Generally it's been a rough beginning to the week. I had three cavities fixed which required a good deal of numbing agents and so many drill bits I thought they were building a house in there. My skull got such a rattling that I'm still sore. And oh did I whine about it.

I'm told you have to indulge your inner child which, in my book, does not mean restricting it to the pleasant childish reactions. I'm going to have to throw a hissy fit once in a while - that is all I'm saying.

The greater part of my weekend was spent practising make-up for my competition next weekend. I've been beating off panic attacks with a stick. So, because I like sharing pictures, I'll let you have a glimpse of my inner drag queen*.

Admittedly it doesn't have the va-va-voom I'm going for. But I'm building something and after examining the pictures I understand that the eyes have to be at least five times more dramatic. On the bright side, the foundation looks good in pictures; small victories.

* I use drag queen in the best possible sense. I'm recalling the lovely one who served us drinks at the very first club I ever went to. 

Fishing Boat

They say the memory of scent is the strongest one we have. Having forgotten many things it often comes as a shock when the faintest whiff of odour can send me reeling along the paths of my life gone by. Right now the city is covered in a milky fog; the tops of buildings are slowly fading from sight and the air smells of .... well, that's where  memory comes in.

I let my feet have their way as I walk to the train each morning. They know the way by now and I don't feel the need to check on them. It gives me time to think. And as I walked along the puddle-strewn paths I smelled the fog. It was earthy, almost earth-wormy in fact. If you've ever picked your way along a side walk after a heavy rain, trying to avoid stepping on worms you'll know the scent of which I speak.




Suddenly I wasn't on the road to work anymore. I was in a creaky fiberglass boat whose battered oars, painted green, are dangling over the sides. The same milky fod sweeps across the surface of the lake. The water is still as a glossy floor of dark marble. I've been to this place many times in my life - though often as a child. Sounds can only momentarily break through the dence white curtains: the cry of a loon, the rustle of trees on an unseen bank and the wizz-plonk of a fishing line cast.

My Dad taught me to fish long ago. Family camping trips always began the same way - bright orange safety vests, giant coolers stuffed with food, rolls of sleeping bags and tents and, of course, a neatly packaged, styrofoam container of worms. Dad would bait my line, first attaching a little lead weight, then a hook and finally the worm. As I chattered away he would guide my short arms through the motions of casting and reeling. Sometimes I even caught something but I later became convince that it was the same evolutionarily challenged fish.

Even now, as I watch the fog through the office window I can hear the constant 'thunk thunk' of water lapping against the hull of our fishing boat.

Perhaps it was the song that gave mood to the memory but it was nice to remember, even for a short while, what the scent of worms carried on opal shades of fog means to me.

Shimmy

I might have mentioned that I will be taking part in a belly dancing competition during the second week of May. I might not have mentioned it - it was too far away at the time.

Deadlines.

I had all the time in the world and then, like a surge of water from a fire hydrant, the event that was planned is now imminent. If you count the manoeuvres I undertake each morning to get my jeans on, then yes I've been practising. Alright, that's not entirely true. I do in fact go over the routine in my head while taking public transit but due to cold, rain and a very small house I could not find the space.

Excuses! You might scoff. And I would have to agree with you there, my friends.

The good news: I have a costume. I have a routine. I have various appointments for hair and nails. And, as I may have said - I have three weeks to show time! If anyone needs me I'll be under my bed with a blankie and teddy bear.

My past experience on any stage is limited at best. I was always part of a troupe, whether it was concert band, choir or a dance group I never found myself alone on stage. My younger sister is actress enough for the two of us; while she trod the boards in every school play I was tucked away sketching, writing articles for the newspaper or practising my clarinet (I'm cool).

In three weeks I have to dance alone, for the first time in my twenty-one years on this planet, in front of hundreds of people and judges. Je dois me calmer. I must remain calm.

As a side note, I am in fact going to commit to posting on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays with a possible weekend bonus. Habits are easier to form when you start small, I'm told. I'll be posting pictures of my glorious purple costume in the coming days and hopefully I can scare up some confidence. In the meantime I've been turning some digital pictures into Polaroids using Photoshop and this tutorial. I'll leave you with one of these spare-time creations. I call it The Lad and the Sea.

Feeling Purple

So it's been strange and I feel I haven't been writing enough about it. School is, as they say, out for summer; although someone should inform the weather because as I glance out the window it happens to be snowing.

I've gone back to my full time summer job with plans to take two awesome vacations. Reading for pleasure, drawing, knitting odd new things and bringing my camera out of its winter bag are all on the docket. So, for that matter, are baking, cooking, dancing and cycling. There is no doubt that other ideas will arise, but for now that seems a substantial enough list.

I plan to make up for where I fell behind. As of next week I shall be working to keep to a regular updating schedule (whether or not I have something interesting to say). So let this be a short update in the face of an oncoming wave. Is anyone else ready for an adventure?

Daydreams

I don't like the term 'plugged-in' when referring to today's modern society but it becomes hard to deny at times. And here I am aware of my own involvement - my headphones are in my ears whenever I commute and my cell phone is never really off. I heard it said, by a classmate doing a presentation on the topic of technology, that we fear boredom and thus fill the minutes of our day with trips into cyberspace. Not in those exact words mind you, I haven't heard the word 'cyberspace' used in quite a while although possibly ironically or by scientists who study the effects of technology on society.

So from that digression I'm diving back into boredom. It would be unfair to say that the imagination is just an avenue by which we escape boredom. Letting the mind wander is not the opposing force to productivity. In fact, I have of late been surprised at how much time I can spend on imaginings. This morning I dwelt on a scenario in which I united the young adults of Canada under one political banner and became the prime minister. Ok, even I had to laugh at that. The upcoming elections have obviously been weighing heavily on my mind as I ponder the lack of enthusiasm from the majority of people my age. That being said, I have never been overly interested in politics but as I am of the age to vote I feel I deserve to be heard. Politicians seem not to agree with me.

Students don't vote because they are not targeted by politicians and feel it wouldn't do any good. Politicians don't target students because they don't vote. And the wheels keep on turning. We are dismissed by those in positions of authority with a pat on the head and a list of generalizations which include (students will always complain about the education system, that's what students do). It's this kind of "they'll get over it when they're older" attitude that has me up in arms. In a few years time I'll be starting a family of my own, getting a permanent residence and a permanent job but I don't want to wait that long (and nor should I have to) for the powers that be to take me seriously.

So before I end this little political rant and get back to my regularly scheduled blogging I hereby address the young people of Canada. Please vote. It is necessary and it will make a difference. At the risk of sounding redundant, I'll just end this segment with a clip from Rick Mercer. He is much more eloquent on this point than I can ever be.



A note to my non-Canadian readers:

I have no interest in revealing my political alignment and I thank you for bearing with me as I discuss a matter that is of great importance to me.

Exceptional

I waited for the bus in the cold rain today. It was two in the afternoon in the suburbs which means it's pretty quiet. I didn't want the rain to depress my mood, so I started to sing along to the music on my mp3 player. The bus shelter produced a neat echo, and I didn't think I sounded half bad. Then again, I was the only one to hear me. What could have been a very long wait quickly brightened. When the bus pulled up, I regretted not being able to finish Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" but I didn't give up the bus for that.

Now that I have dry socks and a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea, I can reflect positively on my day. It's the last week of classes (Already? She asked incredulously) and I have to stay up late tonight to register for next semester. It's a grueling process where the second the registration opens up, the web server crashes from thousands of students pouring in at once, desperate for what seems an insufficient amount of classes.

Although quite a few things remain on my plate I feel, much more so than I did last time I wrote, that I can handle them. In a few weeks the Bixi Bikes will return to the City, and I will once again zip down the streets, desperately clinging to the hem of my skirt. I have not forgotten about all the things that made me happy last summer; in fact I hope to add to that list.

There are a few vacations to look forward to, so as to take my mind away from school and work - at least for a little while. I greet this mischievous spring with wet toes and a big old smile because I know better things are on their way.