while my guitar gently weeps...

I go to the city dump a few times a week. For my job, not as a hobby or anything. But I like it quite a bit. It always gets me thinking. There is so much waste and destruction of nature, but at the same time there is so much life. There's the usual sod strips and household garbage and such. But then there are also ripped teddybears and old sofas and shelves and stoves and clothes. There are all these remnants of life.

On one of my last trips, I was unloading my dump truck and there beside me was a tricycle. On the very top of this pile of discarded life things, was this perfect, red trike. It was in excellent condition, all wrapped up in a clear plastic bag to keep it clean. It was a "mercury" - so old school - and it was beautiful. As I finished up with the tarp on my truck I kept on looking at it and thinking about it and wondering why it was there and who it had belonged to. I decided I couldn't leave it there. It was so sad and so perfect and so old, too old to leave under all that rubble of life. So I pulled open the doors of my truck and threw it in. I brought it home, took it out of the the bag, cleaned it off and its now sitting in my garage.

I want to photograph it. But I want to photograph it back at the dump. This week I think I'll ask the landfill guys if they don't mind me coming back with it for a quick shoot in the near future.

I asked Jamie if she knew of any family at the mustard seed who could make use of it, so I think once I'm done shining it up and taking its photo, I'll bring it there for someone else to give it new life.

till i can gain control again...

I didn't plan on it. I'm not even sure I would have liked the idea if it was posed to me, but somehow or another, this afternoon I found myself strolling down Whyte Ave in the pouring rain.

I stopped at the bank on the far west side of Whyte and then decided to make my way east. I managed to hit that peak moment where the rain picked up from its constant drizzle and became a full out pour. About half a block in I reconsidered. It wasn't cold, but it was a little chilly. People were rushing past me with umbrellas and raincoats with the hood up and I was wearing nothing more than jeans and a wool sweater. But, if you're gonna get wet....

So I kept on. And before I knew it, I was grinning and laughing and waving at people in restaurant windows who were pointing and smiling. A few blocks in, I stumbled upon a man asking for change, huddled between the overhang of two buildings. (Nothing unusual about that on Whyte ave) He had on a jacket and jeans and old black runners that let the puddles pour in through the rips and tears. He was grinning at me and said "how's your day sunshine?" I smiled back and stopped to chat for a little while. We talked about the beauty of the rain and the way people with umbrellas rush to get out of it while people who had no shelter - people like US - reveled in it. The way he said it took me by surprise a little. Looking down the street, I suddenly I felt more connected to this man hunched over with his hat out in his hand than I did to those shoppers scurrying under awnings and shaking their umbrellas out. I was sharing my day, my rain, my joy with him and when I looked back at him we both grinned and knew it.

Before I left home I had stuffed all my extra toonies and loonies lying around my room into my pocket for some unknown reason. I usually don't walk around with 5 pounds of change in my jeans, but today I did. He never asked me for money but before I walked away, I dug my hand into my pocket and poured whatever I had into his hat. He just looked down and laughed as I skipped away back into the deluge.







*I know, giving change to people who are begging on the street doesn't solve any problems. Many people I know complain about how its probably just supporting a drug/alcohol habit and it would be much more effective to donate to a street ministry or buy food/coffee/clothes/etc for the person. And while I understand this point of view, I think sometimes that it doesn't matter and its more important to connect. I shared my afternoon in the rain with him, my change is a far smaller gift.*

next thing i know she's watching me writing to her in the snow...

I dedicate this blog to words I like the sound of. These are some of them...


fedora

swish

cerulean

penelope

futon

addendum

neep

mesh

chisel

orsino

lift (only when the "t" is articulated)

whirl

slip

trouser


*i'm not stopping here because that is all i got, i have many more*



This section will single out words I would never dedicate a blog post to because they sound horrible.

dollop.

pallet.

panty.

phalange.

orifice.

schedule. (particularly when pronounced "shed-ual")

mature. (likewise, when pronounced "ma-tuure"..but "mat-chure" is also grating)

need to know if you're letting go...

Tonight I began another book on my list of works to reread.

'For Me and My House' by Sinclair Ross. I read it in my 2005 Canadian Lit course and something about this dark, rainy day made me think that it was a good choice when I stood in front of my bookshelf. I've found a few underlined passages from my 2005 read, and have decided this time around, to label each newly underlined passage with the year. It is strange to see what stands out to me now, only 3 years later. Here are a few excerpts - taken completely out of context - that have caught my eye thus far:

"what he is and what he nearly was - the failure, the compromise, the going-on - it's all there - the discrepancy between the man and the little niche that holds him."

"To have him notice, speak to me as if I really mattered in his life, after twelve years with him that's all I want or need. It arranges my world for me, strengthens and quickens it, makes it immuve to all other worlds."

"These...threaten to be the scaffolding of his life."

"In the car Paul said thoughtfully that that was the worst penalty inflicted by education, the way it separates you from the people who are really closest to you, among whom you would otherwise belong. Himself now, a ranch boy with a little schooling, he fits in nowhere."



Find my original list here:
http://briinbangladesh.blogspot.com/2008/01/cant-you-see-its-in-me-cant-you-see.html

streets were made for horse and cart...

Its 5:51am. I am layig in bed, my computer on my chest moving in time with my breathing. I close my eyes and try to forget that the world is waiting for me again today. Curling up under the warm weight of my laptop, warm between duvet and down pillows, I have slept a full night's sleep, but I feel like I could still do more. Instead I let Angus and Julia Stone sing me awake and I stretch out my arms. The last words of the book I finished yesterday echo through my head:

"Go and get your things," he said. "Dreams mean work."





*on a complete side note: my arms, shoulders and face are just starting to be tanned from the few nice days we had last week and when I shuffle past the bathroom mirror in my tanktop, it makes me smile to see the outdoors reflected on me already*