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.