Good on Paper.

Book in hand I carefully plan my route. Stand by the doorway, always to the left ( people always go right, so I go left) I smile as everyone exits. Who doesn't like a smile? One smile back.
Last one off, first one on. 7 steps and I'm in my seat. Double seats, and I'm on the outer. Score!
I take the cover off my book...to save it from creasing.
OK, it's Eclipse and all hype aside I'm still a little ashamed that I am reading a "teen" novel. It was a fight to work up the courage to ask for help in finding the book after pacing through Indigo being all " I'm not asking for directions" man about it.
So I take the cover off and fold it neatly in my bag. I shuffle, get comfortable and open. The smell of a new book. Innocent and awaiting criticism and/or praise. It's only until one gets into the 2nd or 3rd chapter that the smell lasts. Then it's gone.
I'm about 7 pages in when 2 young, well dressed, very pretty girls enter and sit down...one in front of me and the other across from her. They are having or trying to have a conversation through the layers of standing riders, they giggle and talk about the days events. School and work gossip, new CD purchase and the weekend trip to Guelph. ( Not that I was listening) Then the converstation got serious. Concerned, to say the least.
I have to explain in detail these young ladies to understand the seriousness. Late teens, if even. Maybe mid -late teens, 16, 17, 19...ok maybe 18. Pretty and soft spoken, good friends if not the best of friends. A girl can always tell a group of best friends. Little gestures as hanging on to one another as the cart bobbles about and fixing an earring stuck in the other's hair. Then still holding on and laughing, affection is dear.
The younger of the 2 ( I think) the one beside me says to her (best) friend that she is not and doesn't think she ever was or ever will be in love with her boyfriend. No big deal right, we've all been there. Comfortable but knowing something is not right.
Fair....her friend answers that it's no big deal and follows with "I get it....but who cares,
he's good on paper"

Good on paper??? Eyes bugged, book on lap, what?
Did I hear right? What in heavens does that even mean. 16 or 18 - somewhere her teen mind is pre-occupied with " good on paper" forget the love, passion and first everything's that only happen now...only now in the teens and 20's.
I was stunned. Shocked and saddened. Where's the childhood. Yes, childhood, that's what it is, should be, before it gets real. The fun, mistakes, first loves. I had all that, why don't they. They're young and fantastic yet in a rush to be adults. Why? Who is telling them this, where are they reading, seeing, feeling this.
Here I was reading about Bella, a young woman in love with a vampire who is head over heals, sick and butterflies all in one, in love with: I'll say it again, a vampire... and this beautiful young woman beside me is settling for good on paper but nah, don't really like him.

As she was trying to explain to her friend her reasoning I have to say, he was good on paper. But so what? The friend was agreeing and was in the same situation, stating that she loved all the attention at first but now, there's no more excitement to the dinners out, the trips, buying anything and everything anytime. Then here were 2. Apparently there are these men out there that are good on paper...how do you find these men? I'm not looking, I have both. Paper and true love.
I am just wondering where a 16, 17 or whatever year old would find such a catch. To warn the rest.

There's a group, a bunch of 'em I guess. They're out there. They're fine and good for them, applause for all their successes but they need to look past the youth and move on out. Go on get!

As a society, women have come so far. We can do anything and for the most part better. After all in a 2009 stat women are not only the main but the larger income earners. That's reason for a party.
Feminism aside, it's a proud moment. Cheer!!!

I was still on page 7 when I thought I should turn the page to at least pretend I was reading. So I did. Their dialogue continued on to say that even though he is a kind man, he is much older than her and wants different things in life...and even though she knows that the right thing to do is stay with him * since again ...all together now " he is good on paper" she needs to tell him it's over.

Phew! There is hope.

* What concerns and worries me immensely is where, from who, why and OH WHY is someone telling these young ladies that in order to have a good life you must find a man that comes with a list.

A hard start.

In search for inspiration...direction I looked to people I admire.

I just read the following:

" I'm in my late twenties now, and often think about missed opportunities"

hmmmm.

If the steps to take are numbered and offered so clear, ie: Silver platter. And even a spoon.

Why is the January wind, that blows so proudly, blowing the other way.

Perhaps I need a strong-er growl.

Picture this, and you can see what I see.

A thought, direction but NO patience or discipline to do the work.

What is wrong with me?

In the words quoted in previous entries:

" Time will pass regardless, what have I done?"

Perfect Forever Snow

This is a story that I haven't shared with anyone until now.
The moment a memory is remembered one is not sure, I am not sure if this was real or imagination. My imagination.
But then again, once we have imagined something, anything, a moment, a feeling, it takes on a life and becomes a part of you.
This is my memory.

The sun woke me up with a blistering burn on my left cheek. That morning fresh snow had fallen. The snow was different when I was a child. It was whiter, prettier and lasted perfect and un-touched for what seemed like months. Maybe it was. Or maybe it was me that lasted longer, innocent and looking only at the beauty of things, the snow. Not the slush and ickiness of it.
I got out of bed. My bed was to the right of the window and next to the wall. I liked my bed to be against the wall, since my feet always got too hot under the clown covers and the cold wall was an immediate cooler.
I got out, no slippers. Hot feet remember.
I rushed to the door, creeped out. Down the hallway, past their room, and into the living room.
There was a man, a tall man.
I knew he always existed, but now finally he was real. I could see him. I looked and saw him.
Long curly only at the ends white beard and same hair, only shorter. White and perfect as fresh meringue. Eyes piercing into the sparkling lights. Bags and ribbon, everywhere. I was not alone.
A chill and a warmth were introduced.
The soft breath of life was felt all around me and there was a pinky mist that travelled all around the room. Swirling and picking up ribbons and as the pink air now moved, so did the ribbons. Many ribbons, different colours. It was magical.
One breath spoke. It was a deep voice, but young. A voice I had never heard before but know it was a man named Serban. My father's cousin who passed away long ago. We never met but I was given his name as my middle name and eventhough I only know him through stories, pictures and other people's versions of him I always felt I did know him. I cannot explain it to you or even to myself. It just is. It's like love, you cannot explain why you love someone or something. You can make lists and give reasons but the true true true reason you love someone is because...you just do.

I walked closer, right next to him. I could still feel the night's travelling air on his cuff. It was nice. Real. Reminded me again, he was real.

My sudden magical night was halted by a loud slide of the balcony door. We were on the 10th floor. It was my mother. I froze, stunned for only a moment. I must have forced myself to shake it off, or else I would not have remembered the moment. Then I realized that the time spent with him was becomming foggy too quicky.
I was brought to tears. I remember rushing off down the hallway, past their room and into my room.
I ached, heart and mind exhausted. My feet were now cold as ice.
I remember laying there. The outside perfect snow had now stopped. It was not perfect then. I was just snow. The twinkle of the stars met the crusted brulee snow and bounced beaming off every parking lot member.

The pink air was now in my room. The cuff grazed my arm and I felt his warmth around me. Again. I stayed in my room for awhile. I wasn't ready to give him up just yet. After all we had just met. I took it all in, through my shut so tight eyes they burned. The memory of what was, an angel.

Life, lost.

Standing in line today for my usual "mushroom soup" request I overheard a father mention to a friend, family friend? the details of his loss.

This is a man who is a dear acquaintance of my work life. My daily 10-6 life...my "other life".

Last year suddenly his son was shot and killed...you must remember. The 2 young men killed on June 13th. The horror. I cannot and do not want to even imagine. The Prime.

As I ordered the "other" soup offered (community has caught on to the mushroom fabulous-ness!! and it's one hot ticket) get there early.

I've become "The Soup Nazi " about my soup...the thought of 1-ish lunch time is the breath that keeps me going, the pieces of sliced oyster mushrooms, ahh, unbelievable.

Somber again.

As I ordered the " other " soup the initial conversation as I walked in had now changed from small details of the day, the phone call earlier, the game results and the request for Tums pickup for mother...to a foundation in his name, for dyslexia.

I felt a need to continue listening. The hope of personal details gave me a sense of personal closure. Not knowing this person but knowing of him through 3 years of contact with friends, family and clientele...I needed to know who he was. Was he sensitive or a brute. Shy, outgoing, loud, a momma's boy.

Yes, all of the above and more.

The father now noticed me and we exchanged our usual half smile, soft blink of the eyes and head tilted and down with utmost respect for one another. My for him, after all he has suffered and -ing so much. I would kneel and wash his feet if that would take away a moment of his sadness...do it everyday if it would take it away forever. Wouldn't you. I hope.

I said hello and he asked how I was. How ever did I answer doesn't seem appropriate. Even if I were to have told a lie of some made up tragedy I was dealing with, the lie would soon disappear and his reality would haunt me forever. I said that I was doing well, thank you and with my cold and unsteady arm leaned in, patted him on his left arm and ask how he was doing.

He smiled softly, little creases that weren't there before now appeared stronger than a grandmother's laugh lines. He didn't answer as fast as I did, but when he did he too placed his hand on my hand and said he was doing....sigh... fine. He gently patted my hand, now warm.

It's amazing the love, the energy one can still feel even in pain.

It's as if the love from his dear son has filled his heart now more than in his living years. If that even makes any sense. It doesn't make sense. Never will. But he does.

So he sat and I stood in silence for what seemed like hours, but only seconds until my order was ready.

"Madelmoiselle, yo soupp". ( I don't bother to correct her, now that I am actually a Madame, her sweet as dulce de leche voice sounds so dear saying Mademoiselle, Madame just wouldn't sound as romantic.)

I pay, look back and forth between the busy everything counter of jellies, brioche and marzipan snowmen and the father. I hate that I was interrupted by my stupid soup order.

I say my goodbye to Madame and then....

I would go on with my day, eat my soup, have some tea and maybe even splurge on an eclair and forget the pain we shared just then.

He will have that after I exit, as I walk back to my "other life", as I eat my " other " soup and continue.

I looked back as I wrapped my only cold right hand around the paper take out bag and his hand was as I left it, not closed anymore but open.. hope that the healing can start.

The comfort of the willingness to reach out and give. More than I can say.

It has been a week since my last writing class and after being instructed to write as much as possible between then and the next class ( tonight) I failed miserably.

In all honesty I haven't felt like writing. I've thought about sitting and writing compulsively but also compulsively have created distraction upon distraction to stay away from you. I just haven't felt like it. Different?

I will attend class tonight with my head down and eyes focused on anything but the Prof. She is so good at locking eyes with me...had to read out loud the last 3 classes. Great for my humility.

Heart pounding and ears burning. It's a nauseating feeling, but what a rush. I sit up, straighten my headband or fix my scarf, any form of distraction to the on lookers is a positive. Don't listen but look at my perfectly wrapped scarf. Don't listen, don't compare...don't make this into something. What is it with that. How is that the passion that drives this madness. As final words of our assigned piece roll off my quivering tongue, I exhale and look up at the 12 cling-ons that share my madness and their smile, watery eyes or giggles are why I agreed to read in the first place. If I cannot take the heat from their judging stares how can I move on to the rest of you. Out there and everything else...

I also received my official confirmation ... from the following 3:

Now I wait, there's no turning back just yet. I mean, I'm putting it out there. I put it out there. Que sera sera!!...la la la la la la!!!!!

The thought of entering 4 years of the madness that my husband last night said is " literature" is both terrifying and addictive. The pressure, deadlines and the thrill of more...How can I not go now? Look at that photo...where's Waldo?

I see Andreea.

I've been missing...

The days keep adding on and never seem to give in. I have tried countless times to get my self settled, focused and here with you. Moments rush in and out. Commitments, classes, conversations that must be had and duties that need fulfilling. This is just life. It is busy and direct.

The whole  Life gives you lemons so make lemonade speech is so dated. Life is not that simple as a couple of yellow pretty little lemons. It's tough, ruthless and bites you back. Bite back.

I was recently at a " get together " if you will where 30 or so people attended to honor a man who fought for us, me and you...and everything else.

What was that first step taken to actually knowing and acknowledging that what he was doing would still be here 124 years and counting. HOPE? It must have been the hope of tomorrow's equality and peace. 

Without the extensive knowledge about the details of his fight I can only say this:

We are all here to do as much in our 1 day as we can. Whether it's giving a smile where there is pain or a laugh ( even if the pun was missed) to someone who is clearly always giving to you, do your ( my) best to be the example-setter for the next few who will sit here.

What a beautiful November morning. Lighly dressed, fluffy violet scarf, warm coffee, Babs singing on the radio, I look inside my own personal wants and the only arm I see pointed at me is my own. I grab it and hold on, I am the only one that can move myself forward.

This change is still climbing the rotating stairs. ( You know the 4 steps at the gym that never have a top...no climax!) Those stairs....towards ?

I saw " This is It" last night  and it left me in greater and everlasting awe of the man we call the 

 " King of Pop "

The production was spectacular, beautiful and bitter sweet. Such talent and professionalism, truly art. Loss.

I have to say that going into the movie I wasn't all expecting to be left, well.... speechless and somewhat lost afterwards. A sense of what if has filled my heart and the responsibility that goes along with acknowledgment quickly followed. Watching such brilliance, kindness and respect shown towards his peers has brought upon both sadness of his missing and an undying admiration for his talent. 

I always listened  and listen to MJ, and even followed the ongoing drama that was his life. I never believed it. I always trust too much, perhaps it's my whimsical look on life. I like to think that we are all good, intentioned and willing. Maybe I was wrong, maybe naive. I like the memory I have of him as an artist and as a giver that he was. Isn't that afterall how we  all want to be remembered? What a sad life. What a lonely life...what a Genius.

Some people are put on this planet to stay a while, leave their mark, endure and struggle, smile and scream and then in a blink of an eye disappear as quickly as we first met them. Life is short Yes, but sometimes if never grows past first sight. The sadness in all of this is that we are left to apologize and regret what could have been and He is not. The loss is always harder for the ones left behind. Ironic. We are still here and we are still trying to take the glory.

We are now left to recognize and work with the gift.

What am I going to do with mine?

.................Sigh

Wish it were Thursday.

I started a class, where I revealed myself...and "greatest sorrow". Really?

Bought a new comforter and pillows, coffeemaker and grinder. New.

Prepped the Christmas windows and danced ( well sort of) never really could sway and be smooooth all at once. Practice? no, born talent. Yes, but not this kid.

Is everyone enjoying the summer?

I wasn't sure what shoes to wear today as I am going to an event after work and wanted to wear flats. Which is great for daytime wear but come 10pm my toes would be screaming for cozy somethings. So I opted for nude pantyhose...the flats still look great, obvious and very Coco with the outfit chosen and I get that little bit of extra coverage for the late hours of gallivanting.

I consider myself quite the pro when it comes to multitasking out and about. For instance, yesterday I left home 115ish to make my 2pm appointment But! in the midst of travelling south on the extra slow Sunday train I realized that I needed a nail file. No big deal right...but I really needed one as I had been procrastinating a horrible broken nail fixer upper. My mind started to work out my route since I now had to not only factor in time getting this must have but also how to still make my appointment. I was to get off at College...walk west to? ahhh, yes, I think there is Pharma Plus at the corner of Bay and College...pop in, get acquainted with the layout and head for the nail stuff. Pick quick, pay and walk down Bay to Elm, right on Elm to St. Elizabeth and tada I'm there.

And I did just that. Aisle 3, said a sour man...the sun is out and we are in spring coats! What is there to be sour about when asked where one could fine nail polish ( imagine I would have asked for something as specific as a nail fine...geez, fear! Picked the first flashy hot pink nail file, paid, spontaneous change of route, straight to St. Elizabeth and across to Elm. It just felt right and I'm a believer that when in doubt don't! I didn't and I made it. 

From the top:  class

Writing from the Body is the name of my course. It's a 4 week workshop type class, just 13 of us. I was lucky number 13. Harassing the prof with emails and phone calls gets you places, got me off the wait list. Ha!

It is just what the name says...we write from The Body. From ourselves, experiences, fears joys, whatever our Body is filled with. Very much like therapy. Write it out and get it out. It's amazing how I have been writing and writing but there is still something not connecting my critic to my prose.

We were taught and exercised how to acknowledge our critic. Hear him/her...mine is a she. Listen to her and push her aside when writing. The critic needs to be silenced and awakened when it's time to edit. Keep the pen writing ( keys clicking) even with blah blah blah. Don't stop, continue the simmering, and watch the flavours fill the page. 

So that was class one. Did 4 writing exercises and anticipating Thursdays as if they were Dec. 25. Who doesn't love Christmas morning...well, I am in love with my Thursday's. It's a time to share with my 12 classmates who are all there " because of a passion" one that may or may not fully blossom but one that is here and it feels right.  All together now:

"When in doubt don't" ..... no doubts here.

Back to Happy

Happy.

A word that is thrown around to express emotion, positive agreement and similar to I love you and I'm sorry...not usually expressed from the soul.

We discussed this several posts in but I feel the need to re-visit this one.

Mainly since I am happiest at this exact moment, was happy since the first light ( which today was at 6:17am)....there was a waterfall in the walls. Ha! and I continue to recognize and cherish this feeling of awareness.

Pause.

My weekly horoscope read the following:

I'm not a horoscope-r but find it amusing to pick it up from time to time. Stumbled upon mine today which read the following. Very 11:11 of it...signs are big right now for my change and everything else.

I quote:

" Life CAN be easy, Taurus, but you have to end your addiction to the uphill climb ( it's the downfall of being the zodiac's hardest working sign).....

.....on Wednesday dreamy Neptune ( a planet that is supposed to be some sort of trigger tool...not sure yet) waves its wand and gives your career a giant sprinkling of fairy dust. Your unique offerings trigger the attention of some true power players..."

Hello Andreea could this be any more....ummm, obvious. If airport personnel were to direct my flight path than maybe it could be that obvious but for now this is it. My weekly thoughts have taken me to really and truly believe that signs are all around us until it's time to get our act together and do something about them. Then they go away. Mine are still everywhere, so I'm not there yet but I am taking them, stuffing them in my pocket, breathing them in and loving what they do.

I've been struggling with this idea of: am I really doing this....I actually willingly will commit to several years of doing just this...writing, analysing, processing and thinking.

I mean come on, it's fantastic to be able to pick this up and toss it aside, use the lame 'old excuse of taking a breather and researching topics. Poke! Fine, works great for Monday - Friday @ work and play but in the real world, profs and " groups " and more of this, I'm really asking for it. Hmmm...bring it?

Back to one. I am happy. This is what I love. The way my mind feels rushing through ideas and phrases is such a high ( and I've never, swear on BA's voice, ever even tried the Real High) but I can tell you that this is better. The blood is rushing through my veins faster than the thoughts jump onto this affair we are having.

Hate to admit it but will give credit where credit is due. You were right...and you know who you are when you said to stop focusing on what others are not doing and just do me.

Look at all the goodies that have come out of telling me to be me. The discovery of an ability ....and the idea of knowledge. Rather self-centred have you but what the ****, this is me.

Reset

We made it.

I realize that 29 is the...MY new 90.  As soon as midnight hit I was stiff, mobile? Not going far. There was no intoxication involved...come on...it's me...hello Andreea. Leaning, swaying into my back seat neighbour I was pooped. This is absurd, I'm not even 30 but my aches and pains and the thump thump thump is loud and clear. I'm on my way.

Freak night out was looong and even longer in the morning hours...we were all celebs, what a night. No pictures please.

*Please note costume change:

Cleopatra was actually Nefertiti. Magnificent. Hand made head dress ( gems, glue gun and all) Mavlous Darrling! 

For several moments throughout the night I remember why dress up is so much fun! It's just that...dress up. I am not me. I am another person all together and on Saturday I was ...wait for it ~~~ Harmony . Peace! HA!

Morning came. November 1st...already but not soon enough.

See as mentioned in last post I love the winter! Love it. The scenery is to die for. ( I hate that expression, but it works)  I dare one to try to compare a crisp, snow kissed morning where the snow is so fresh the slightest wind picks up the top layer dusting and creates shapes to be rendered in one's imagination TO A : sunny day. Go on. Try. The comparison stops at the sun. 

A sunny winter day....the world is all a glistening.

My dear readers, crazy I know. It's now Nov 2nd and I'm already projecting myself into 2010 where the snow is settled and the mounds are freshly capped, oh...2 to 3 times a week. HA! if I'm lucky.

Oh, so back to the 29 is 90 statement. 4 hours of fun and I was exhausted. Waking up was a strain and oh gosh all the mirrors eek! stay away, that can't be me, I'm only 29...where did all those waves of baggage come from....pass me the flannelette's and glasses, no glamour today. Pity.

At my volunteer placement I am privileged to be with 2 lovely ladies, 88 & 91 years old:

1 is travelling to Australia ( last year was India and the previous years far away places like that) during the holidays (  wants to see Kangaroos, of course she does)....did I mention Alone! Yeah. And the other is on public transit, works 4 jobs ( the volunteer making 5)

A sense of humour for late night, on ladders, direction here to there, and up here please, moving shelving, carrying stock and all with A Wink and A Smile.

Need I say more.... what headache?  That's what it's all about.