red eye

It's 2:37 a.m.
But the point is, I can see my bedroom floor again.
And walk from the door, to the closet, to the kitchen, to my bed ON HARDWOOD FLOORS.
I just had a Fudgecicle.
It was in my freezer, left over from unpacking day.
Thanks, Linda.
I just had a Fudgecicle at 2:37 a.m.

beauty in the breakdown

I'm unpacking my stuff. Or, as I realized this evening, my stuff is unpacking me. What is it about holding something in your hand that meant the world to you a few years ago, and can still trigger those emotions, and all the while you recognize what it really is (a rock, a piece of cloth, a letter, a dance shoe, a photo)...but can't bear to throw it out?

I imposed upon five of my dearest friends to help me unload my storage box on Wednesday night. Imagine how much less they would have had to hoist if I could have just brought myself to the conclusion that stuff is just stuff and tossed it before I left for Korea? I remember fantasizing about the whole box going up in flames due to a freak fire at All Canadian Self-Storage but, (un)fortunately, that didn't happen. Instead, it followed me. All of it. Across the globe, in my heart, and now to 215 Howard Park Avenue where I just spent the past two and a half hours hacking my way through a jungle of boxes and newspaper wrapping.

I am learning to embrace roots. I am simultaneously learning to discard. Paradoxical chaos.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,

a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

(Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

high kicks

I've got the fever.

something borrowed

I rarely check my friend Dan's blog because his grammar, spelling and punctuation give me aneurysms but I checked it recently and found this delightful little story. Now at least I know where Dan gets his frugality from...and his desire to avoid a glitzy wedding...but the story is worth a read.

Nik, who is getting married this summer, will have a modern day story worth telling to his grandkids...500 Filipino guests make any story and interesting one. I'd love for Andrew to post about the amazing story of his maternal grandparents' engagement/wedding as well. I like stories like these because they remind me of what is at the heart of marriage; a tenacity and unity that usually comes out when all the pretty extras fall away.

These stories should clash nicely with the crowned prince and princess of Woodbridge's wedding that I will be attending on Saturday. On Canada Day. So the fireworks are in their honour.

______________________________

so it was my grandma's 56th wedding anniversary, but my grandpa is away in quebec, so my mom, dad and i took her out for dinner. she told us about her wedding day...its nuts...it was out on a farm in manitoba...the guests slept in the house and the barn.....my grandma stayed up most of the night making bolognie sandwiches bc that was the wedding meal...they had some salad too i think...the next day my grandma does the hair of all her bridesmaids, but then they leave her so no one can do her hair....the whole wedding cost $50....my grandpa had planned the honey moon, so my grandma didnt know...the plan was that they would drive to 6 different relatives of my grandma's that she hadnt seen in along time and some who she had never met....my grandma was not happy...the last house they stayed at decided that bc they were newly weds they would want their own place fo5 sleeping and not stay in the house with the family, so they put them in this tiny little wooden shack with a mattress that was full of mice poo, and an outhouse that was not up to par, even for those days....after spending two days there they were on their way to their new home...but the car they borrowed got stuck in the mud so they spent the last night of their honey moon sleeping in a car with about a jabillion mosquitos(they are big in manitoba)...they had to walk almost 5 miles to get a guy to pull them out of the mud...my grandma had $6 to her name while my grandpa had $0.....and thats how they started their life.....and yet they are still married...

______________________________

pandora

calling all brawn...
or, actually, all able-bodied persons...
or just those looking for beer & pizza and a fun time...

wednesday, june 28th
6:00 to 9:00(ish) p.m.
215 howard park avenue

• i will be freeing my storage box from over a year and a half of imprisonment
• “many hands make light work” - john heywood (1497-1580)
• respond via email, or call (416.891.8422), or just show yo’self
• feel free to pass this message along to anyone who might want to join us

early morning musings

I love how Indian Grove, the street I look up from my apartment window, looks like Lothlorien forest at 5:00 a.m.

Courtesy of Kate, and apropos of nothing, this quote deserves to be shared:
"You can't get a cup of tea big enough or a book long enough to suit me."
- C.S. Lewis

In recent news, my friend Nik has become a first-time uncle.

fighting hamsters

courtesy of Mr. Gaz and in memory of Hansi and Dulsi (may they rest in peace)