yesterday

...all my troubles seemed so far away.

ok, first of all - i know i keep falling back on songs to express myself which sure, is cheesy as all fuck, but it's just the way my brain works. shogenai.

so anyway, yesterday was brilliant. absolutely perfect.

early in the morning, roused by the time zone shift and good old-fashioned xmas morning excitement, i awoke and stoked the fire whispering and slumbering in the fireplace at the foot of my hide-a-bed. i then spent the day as self-designated keeper of the fire. i don't think i'm a pyro, but i love tending to fires. the art of keeping the flames dancing slowly and steadily (no need for the kind of bonfire that may impress but will also make all the guests sweat, ick), without resorting to my father's barbaric kerosene or logs-wrapped-in-paper/firestarter-for-idiots things just really, really appeals to me. so every so often throughout the day, i moseyed over to stick my proverbial hand in the fire and make warmth for my family. nice.

late in the afternoon i sat at my parents' cro-magnon computer conveying thoughts to my silent audience when my sister and family arrived. it was so fucking nice to hear, immediately upon entry, my nephew Jake's voice calling out "where's auntie kaen?" (insert big fucking grin here.) and as a side note, allow me to share how much i just love those two words together, the sweet innocence of "auntie" with the badass funkster "kaen" is pure poetry to me. hm, i wonder if i should start getting people to call me that!? heh.

feeling sore and sated around the carcass-littered table, we talked about.. oh, all kinds of things. the kind of family banter that not once slipped into bitterness or unforgotten trespasses (thank fuck!), but frolicked in anecdotes and memories. my sister was talking about Jake's letter to santa, proudly beaming that he'd included what she wanted. he is, indeed, a very sweet kid - even if he does insist on doing his hair like my dad's (crew cut), poor duckling. ah well, it's sweet i guess that he idolizes his grandfather. (incidentally, my younger nephew Dylan is also great, very sweet and cute). i turned to my mom, "what were my letters to santa like?" "well actually," she replied, "this one time your father had one of your letters published in the bank's newsletter [my dad was a bank manager most of my life]. it spoke about caring for homeless and giving to those less fortunate." i'm so happy i was a sweet kid too. (grin)

later that night, somehow still conscious after the turkey and excitement, my mom and i settled in to watch her all-time favourite movie: gone with the wind. (well, my dad joined too - meaning he snored quietly in his chair as we watched scarlett, rhett and ashley forge their brave new world.) i gotta admit to having a special fondness for that movie myself. surely that's the result of having watched it over 20 times in my life, courtesy of my mom (though i have been known to watch it alone if the opportunity presents itself). but i also love rhett, and scarlett a bit too. it's weird, i can't stand catherine and heathcliff, thinking they're spoiled assholes who deserve everything they get, but there's something about scarlett o'hara that just speaks to deep, secret parts of me. and rhett, well! i remember the first time i did acid. well... acid. having since gotten well and high on proper acid, i'm inclined to think i was sucking on someone's torn textbook but i was 12, whaddya gonna do. what i can say is that we were all high, not on lsd but on the freedom to do anything we wanted under the guise of being high. it was a fun night. at one point, i cornered a friend and made her recite scarlett's responses as i played rhett in one of my favourite scenes of the movie, the proposal scene. i was a weird kid..

and now it's 8:30. my bed's folded, my body showered and dressed and my thoughts recorded. a whole day stretches before me. i think it may involve a bit of boxing day shopping. (i got some cash that i'm desperate to spend on electronics - either a discman or a dvd player, how exciting!) we'll also be going to my dad's colleague's party, that might be interesting. funnily, my mom excitedly told him that "her baby" would be coming. "oh great!" he replied, "my granddaughter will be there too!" "um mark," my mom laughingly responded, "my baby's 30." "oh, well that's ok too." hee hee. and finally my parents live on the bank of a raging mini-river and park that i'm dying to explore. right now, i wish so desperately Bogey the Wonderdawg was still here, he'd love to explore it with me. (oopsies, go away moist eyes!)

for now, as i wait for the parentals to rouse themselves from their cosy slumber, i'm gonna go have some juice and try to remember that hottie i was lapdancing for in my dream last night. YUM! happy boxing day, all!

dedication

well, it's xmas and after a 16-hour, door-to-door journey, i'm here in nanaimo in the cozy, soothing clutches of family indulgence. i could not be happier! : ) i feel calm and ...good. (the tears only sneak up once every other hour now, har har.) and my parents, bless their shiny hearts, bought me Bukowski's book of poems "love is a dog from hell" - i'm ecstatic. i told my mom i got a secret pleasure out of having that title at the top of my xmas wish list. she confided that when my dad heard the title, he said "our poor baby."

ok, enough of the mush.

reading through the book, i stumbled upon a poem i'd like to dedicate to jonathan. he's the guy i was fucking up until a couple of weeks ago. oh, i know he doesn't read my blog and will never know about this dedication. hell, he doesn't even speak to me though he's the one who was cold and ..well, cruel. a little bit anyway. whatever though... it hurts and it's confusing and it's a testament to my exceedingly bad taste in men, but ultimately it suits me fine. he's not the man i thought he was, so i don't feel a real need to have him in my life. but i read this and thought of him, and so i dedicate this to him...

turnabout
by charles bukowski

she drives into the parking lot while
I am leaning up against the fender of my car.
she's drunk and her eyes are wet with tears:
"you son of a bitch. you fucked me when you
didn't want to. you told me to keep phoning
you, you told me to move closer into town,
then you told me to leave you alone."

it's all quite dramatic and I enjoy it.
"sure, well, what do you want?"

"I want to talk to you, I want to go to your
place and talk to you..."

"I'm with somebody now. she's in getting a
sandwich."

"I want to talk to you... it takes a while
to get over things. I need more time."

"sure. wait until she comes out. we're not
inhuman. we'll all have a drink together."

"shit," she says, "oh shit!"

she jumps into her car and drives off.

the other one comes out: "who was that?"

"an ex-friend."




now she's gone and I'm sitting here drunk
and my eyes seem wet with tears.

it's very quiet and I feel like I have a spear
rammed into the center of my gut.

I walk to the bathroom and puke.

mercy, I think. doesn't the human race know anything
about mercy?

feeling the love

on the subway this morning, i stooped over to collect random pages of a newspaper someone had left disembowelled and quartered on the ground. (floor? what do you call that lower surface of a subway?) people looked at me like i was a freak. i tried to shrug it off, quietly wishing it would occur to people more often to do simple things like this - just because it's easy and helpful. had i not, those papers would be torn, soggy and sticking to floors and shoes. nasty business, all said. i sighed, and tried to not focus on the things people aren't doing.

and then this faceless mass of "people" ganged up on me and inundated me with examples of how fabulous they indeed can be.

this morning, i sat reading an email announcing that someone i don't actually know very well - a friend of my sister's i'd met a few times years ago - will be picking me up at 7pm on xmas eve, to drive me from the airport to the ferry - we're talking a 1-2 hour drive. now i'll make it home by 10:30 for sure, instead of the alternative: 12:30 am. sweet!

as i'm typing a gleeful response, a coworker comes by to ask if i feel comfortable leaving a little early tomorrow: she can offer me a ride to the airport. at the risk of sounding juvenile and redundant: sweet! given that she's the hr person, and about as in charge as anyone in our now echoey, desolate offices, i think it'll be ok... oh most frabjous yay!

and then another coworker swings by reception (where i'm lounging today, covering for the already festivating receptionist - i love working reception, talk about stress-free. the phone has rung 5 times today... hee hee). she's delighted to learn that i'm going home for the holidays. as had been expressed already by other coworkers and friends, she was worried about me. as another friend said "this is just the thing you need." you already know what a validation whore i am.. people telling me they're thinking and worried about me is something that just doesn't occur to me, and melts me so. it's nice to feel loved.

oh, and sunday night a fabulous mystery person scrawled this in my infamous notebook: "haven't read the rest but... sometimes the cold brings out the best in people... sometimes." see, they were kind enough to find and return my book when i'd drunkenly left it for dead at the cloak and dagger. too busy flirting with the funky dj and getting alarmingly (and gloriously) pissed with what i suspect is a new friend. i love meeting new people that you connect so instantly with - always a delicious surprise.

yes indeed. some people's god's birthday is 2 sleeps away, and i am feeling the love! : )

happy solstice!

so the idea of solstice is to celebrate and make the world beautiful with your merriment. if we make it happy and fabulous enough, we should be able to lure the sun (who's been more and more scarce until tonight, the longest night of the year) back to grace us with light and warmth.

so go on out there and festivate your little hearts out! i know i will! before wrapping the night up at some fella's solstice shindig, i'll be paganing it up at the Kensington Market Festival of Lights.

have i mentioned how much i love this time of year?
: )

smile

Smile though your heart is aching,
Smile even though it's breaking,
When there are clouds in the sky
You'll get by,
If you smile through your fear and sorrow,
Smile and maybe tomorrow,
You'll see the sun come shining through for you.

Light up your face with gladness,
Hide ev'ry trace of sadness,
Although a tear may be ever so near,
That's the time
You must keep on trying,
Smile, what's the use of crying,
You'll find that life is still worthwhile,
If you just smile.

(Charlie Chaplin)
___

and there really is so much to smile about.

like yesterday morning on the streetcar, i sat distracting myself with a book until i was roused by the sweet notes of a girl singing oh my darling clementine in what sounded like a scandinavian language. i looked up to see people smiling to themselves, to others, and some transiters actually spoke to each other - happy words about youth and freedom. from end to end, the streetcar seemed to breathe a sigh of contentment. of relief.

as we pulled into the station, the driver took a moment to thank the sweet little girl and her voice - and most people clapped. it was a moment of magic, of beauty. it's a good song! she agreed proudly, and people laughed and smiled as they stood back to let their fellow humans off before them.

and so i smile.

snap

i like it when people use the word "snap" as an exclamation.

"snap, that really hurt!"
"oh snap, i forgot my keys in the car!"
"what in the name of snap are you talking about?"

well ok, i've never heard that last one, but i know i'm going to start using it.

i was thinking about that this morning, waiting for transit. (yea, i'm a pussy - can't cycle in minus 10. sue me.) i thought "holy snap it's cold" and then i giggled. and then i thought of my dad, and how he likes to say "snapping arseholes." and then i took a drag of my cigarette.

i'm a poem

her friend peeks out the back door to see how she's doing.
she's watching the goldfish swim in the neighbour's pond. feathery flakes dance around her, covering the world in magic. her heart cowers in her smoke-engulfed chest, bruised and swollen from its most recent beating. she turns to offer a stoic smile, wondering if it's dark enough to hide her tears.
"this is so romantic," whispers her friend.
"yeah," she murmurs, "i'm a fucking poem."

that certain je ne sais quoi..

what is it about that Montréal accent?

not the francos (though their accent too is spiced with all the good stuff, believe me) - the anglos.

the hint of je ne sais quoi to their words. a hint of something mediterranean, a whisper of heather, a smudge of voodoo. and there's something so sexy about it. sexy and dirty yet sophisticated - like a high class whore's mouth painted with the semen of the United Nations.

i used to have that accent, and i've met two women since leaving montreal who had it. one of whom seduced me but that, sadly, is another story - to be saved for a day when i'm not in a desperate rush. like today. this week. this month. egads! so much festivating, so little time.

...and i couldn't be happier!! : )
mwah mwah, dahlings.

lumber and lugnuts

strange how a single experience can be so different to two different people living it.
or sad.
maybe in this case it's sad...

i have a memory from my childhood that i cherish: renovating with my dad. my dad was a workaholic, an intense and demanding man. although my memory around specific details is non-existant, i do have snippets of moments that could have been irritating, but that i know even then made me laugh. stuff like he'd have this sentence: "all i ask is..." of course, that one thing always changed. "all i ask is for you to have the hammer ready when i need it, that's all i ask... is that so difficult for you to do?" and then 10 minutes later he'd hit you with something like "all i ask is that you stand close by with the plyers - that's all i ask of you." well, you get the point. i even remember calling him on it. oh sure, not right then: that would have earned me some ugliness for sure. but well-timed, perhaps days later at the dinner table, i could poke a little fun and he'd laugh at it too and it would all be good.

those days were glorious for me. waking up early and going to mcdonald's on our way to home depot. the smell of lumber and lugnuts swelling my lungs as the day or weekend's agenda began to take shape before us. home depot wasn't like shopping with mom at the IGA. i would never dream of sitting in the cart or whining for shit. i was an apprentice, not a daughter - and i wore the honour proudly.

i don't remember my brother in these moments though. was he there? or at home - waiting for the horror of our return and his torment to begin. i'm certain he does not remember renovating with my dad as something to fondly, laughingly reminisce about. was it really that he was slower? was it really that he was incompetent? i dunno, maybe in some ways it was. maybe he just wasn't made for the tedium of banging in nails - though ironically he's a labourer now.

i don't know what it was - but he hated it, and my dad hated him for that. which came first? the fatherly disdain or the son's detachment? was my dad harder on my brother, or did i just take his shit better? i mean, i know on the larger scale of things my dad was insanely more brutal with my brother than he would ever be with me. oh i don't know. that's not really what i want to write about now anyway. it just occured to me as i was about to glow and gush over this favourite memory that this is not so for all participants.