I am bad at writing on here in the summer. I work long hours in the heat and then there are so many things to do when I get home like Taste of Edmonton or camping in Jasper or seeing Cirque Shanghai and Capital Ex. And that's just this week. But right now I am laying in my hammock in the backyard and looking up at the tree above me. Its been real hot today. 28 degrees actually. There's a birdhouse on the tree and the mom bird is sitting in the doorway watching me as she flaps her wings like crazy inside to cool down the babies. Its pretty cool actually.
I went camping in Jasper this past weekend for the first time. I know I know, I've lived in edmonton almost 7 years now and had never made a visit to Jasper. It was beautiful. I got off work early and so Patrick and I rolled into the park as the sun was making everything golden. The lakes and rivers, the trees and mountains, the sky and even the goats were amazing. On Saturday, we went hiking. Well, we went climbing...okay, it was more like scrambling, but for someone like me who has never really um, hiked, well, anything, it was a challenge. Patrick, who works in front of a computer every day, loved it and ran ahead over shale and tree roots and ridiculous inclines. I, who work physical labour every day, struggled to the top of every rise and spent a good few minutes trying to catch my breath at each one (note to self to ask doctor about asthma next time I have an appointment). All in all, I made it well above the tree line and ended up stopping only about 30 minutes short of most everyone else I was with, so I'm proud of me. I'm kind of glad I stopped there while the others continued because it gave me a good amount of time alone at "the top" of this incredible mountain. I did a lot of thinking. I spend almost all my waking hours with people. I wake up, drive to work, drive in the truck and work all day with my crew, come home, go to Patrick's or he comes here and there are friends and roommates and crowds of strangers at the festivals I go to and so I am very rarely alone. I do love being with people. Especially now that Patrick is living in town, but there's something about unsolicited solitude (I think Bethany once or twice has made reference to this...or even maybe coined it?). But as I sat there, hunched behind a rock to stay out of the wind, looking over the valley that I could see well past Hinton, I did a lot of thinking. Mostly I thought about fear. I'm not someone who is easily scared, but lately I've found I've allowed myself to live out of fear too often. I thought about the friends I have who I have a connection with that is often beyond explanation. I thought about the kind of lives I see them having. I thought about how they see my life. I thought that those people are the most important to remember when you start making decisions based on fear, limiting yourself, being too cautious, because they, more than anyone else have a reliable vision of your potential. I don't really know how to explain this, but the friends I have deepest, least explainable connection with, I feel are most reliable and trustworthy when it comes to having a perspective about your unknown future. That wasn't a good way of explaining it. I don't think I can. I can only feel it. My computer is low on batteries though so I must stop here. Maybe I'll pick up this thread again once I've had some time to think of it off a mountain top.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
the colour of our planet from far far away...
I haven't written here in a while. No real excuse this week. It has been raining quite a bit and so I've had a decent amount of time off - also known as time without pay, unfortunately. I've been doing a lot of photo processing and some laundry and cleaning of various areas of my life.
I've been doing a little reading as well. Not as much as I'd like, but a little. I've started "The Diviners" by Margaret Lawrence again. So far, so good. I like the feel of that book.
I've also been paging through my quote book recently and came across this one from the book Gilead:
"Acknowledge that there is more beauty than our eyes can bear, that precious things have been put into our hands and to do nothing to honour them is to do great harm."
I love that.
I've been doing a little reading as well. Not as much as I'd like, but a little. I've started "The Diviners" by Margaret Lawrence again. So far, so good. I like the feel of that book.
I've also been paging through my quote book recently and came across this one from the book Gilead:
"Acknowledge that there is more beauty than our eyes can bear, that precious things have been put into our hands and to do nothing to honour them is to do great harm."
I love that.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
like a chariot at the trumpet call when we're all unsaved....
I've started a few blog posts in the past week. Never really got further than a sentence or even a couple words. Each time I open the post, I scratch what I had done and try again. This time though, I decided to open a whole new post and just share with you the only words left hanging in the past one I've been trying to construct/reconstruct:
"There was a point last week where I was holding a half full garbage bag of weeds with my teeth..."
-------
That being said, I see a pretty big discrepancy between the life I lead at work and the life I lead when I'm off the clock. There is some cross over. I have a struggling but beautiful garden which I water every day while I practice hack...which isn't much different than what I do during the day hours. But for the most part, I lead a bit of a different life away from work. Should you have met me yesterday afternoon, you would have seen me stretched out on the grass at the Edmonton International Jazz Festival, clean (well, relatively at least), wearing casual flowy (even bordering on feminine) clothes, leaning up against Patrick and drinking a beer. The only tip off to my day job would be my tan legs ending abruptly in very very white feet which are hidden in steel toes all day long.
You wouldn't have guessed that I spend my mornings and afternoons pulling weeds and garbage out of mulch beds and ditches and water features and construction sites. You wouldn't have guessed that I have the ability to heave a 50 pound garbage bag of dog shit into my one ton dump truck and cart it to the city dump. You wouldn't know that I can securely strap two john deere Ztrack mowers onto a 12 foot trailer in less than 2 minutes and should one of those 4 straps come a little loose, that I can jump out at a stop light on Anthony Henday drive and tighten them all back up before it turns green. aaaand...you'd never guess I can carry a bag of weeds with my teeth while fielding a phone call from the subdivision supervisor and directing my crew onto the next task. So many life skills. ha.
I have been reading a lot of poetry lately. I can't read poetry in my head. It's always, most definitely an out loud thing for me. The words slow down when I speak them. They don't just fly through my head while my eyes run along the page to catch up. Instead they linger in front of me, I can see them, dissect them, turn them over until I can feel the pulsing of their meaning. Patrick moved here this week. Moved. Permanently. I am so happy and have so much more to say about that but I can't translate it from smiles into words yet. Anyway, seems how Patrick is here now and part of everyday life, he's been getting to/having to listen to some of the poetry that has been surrounding me lately. I've become completely taken with Lisel Mueller recently and so have been seeking out her work. Today I like this one:
Why We Tell Stories
1
Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground
and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers
and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened
and learned to speak
2
We sat by the fire in our caves,
and because we were poor, we made up a tale
about a treasure mountain
that would open only for us
and because we were always defeated,
we invented impossible riddles
only we could solve,
monsters only we could kill,
women who could love no one else
and because we had survived
sisters and brothers, daughters and sons,
we discovered bones that rose
from the dark earth and sang
as white birds in the trees
3
Because the story of our life
becomes our life
Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently
and none of us tells it
the same way twice
Because grandmothers looking like spiders
want to enchant the children
and grandfathers need to convince us
what happened happened because of them
and though we listen only
haphazardly, with one ear,
we will begin our story
with the word and
"There was a point last week where I was holding a half full garbage bag of weeds with my teeth..."
-------
That being said, I see a pretty big discrepancy between the life I lead at work and the life I lead when I'm off the clock. There is some cross over. I have a struggling but beautiful garden which I water every day while I practice hack...which isn't much different than what I do during the day hours. But for the most part, I lead a bit of a different life away from work. Should you have met me yesterday afternoon, you would have seen me stretched out on the grass at the Edmonton International Jazz Festival, clean (well, relatively at least), wearing casual flowy (even bordering on feminine) clothes, leaning up against Patrick and drinking a beer. The only tip off to my day job would be my tan legs ending abruptly in very very white feet which are hidden in steel toes all day long.
You wouldn't have guessed that I spend my mornings and afternoons pulling weeds and garbage out of mulch beds and ditches and water features and construction sites. You wouldn't have guessed that I have the ability to heave a 50 pound garbage bag of dog shit into my one ton dump truck and cart it to the city dump. You wouldn't know that I can securely strap two john deere Ztrack mowers onto a 12 foot trailer in less than 2 minutes and should one of those 4 straps come a little loose, that I can jump out at a stop light on Anthony Henday drive and tighten them all back up before it turns green. aaaand...you'd never guess I can carry a bag of weeds with my teeth while fielding a phone call from the subdivision supervisor and directing my crew onto the next task. So many life skills. ha.
I have been reading a lot of poetry lately. I can't read poetry in my head. It's always, most definitely an out loud thing for me. The words slow down when I speak them. They don't just fly through my head while my eyes run along the page to catch up. Instead they linger in front of me, I can see them, dissect them, turn them over until I can feel the pulsing of their meaning. Patrick moved here this week. Moved. Permanently. I am so happy and have so much more to say about that but I can't translate it from smiles into words yet. Anyway, seems how Patrick is here now and part of everyday life, he's been getting to/having to listen to some of the poetry that has been surrounding me lately. I've become completely taken with Lisel Mueller recently and so have been seeking out her work. Today I like this one:
Why We Tell Stories
1
Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground
and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers
and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened
and learned to speak
2
We sat by the fire in our caves,
and because we were poor, we made up a tale
about a treasure mountain
that would open only for us
and because we were always defeated,
we invented impossible riddles
only we could solve,
monsters only we could kill,
women who could love no one else
and because we had survived
sisters and brothers, daughters and sons,
we discovered bones that rose
from the dark earth and sang
as white birds in the trees
3
Because the story of our life
becomes our life
Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently
and none of us tells it
the same way twice
Because grandmothers looking like spiders
want to enchant the children
and grandfathers need to convince us
what happened happened because of them
and though we listen only
haphazardly, with one ear,
we will begin our story
with the word and
Thursday, June 11, 2009
you are the blood flowing through my fingertips...
I'm laying the the back yard in the hammock. Its warmer out here than it is inside. Summer finally arrived today. 29 baking hot degrees. I loved it. I worked for Habitat for Humanity today. It's hard for me to explain just how much I loved it. I had to wear jeans and a t-shirt in the blistering heat and so ended up sweating buckets, but it was beautiful. I like building things. When I woke up this morning, I heard the paving guy outside doing the finishing work on the sidewalk by my newly paved road. He was singing. At 6 am. All to himself, while he pulled posts from the ground. At that moment, I knew it would be a great day.
The birds above me in the tree are squawking loudly at me. I don't think they like me swinging right under their nest. But I feed them, so sometimes you just have to put up with it. Sorry birds.
Buck 65 is playing on my iTunes and I am in a pretty perfect space. My garden has been hurting in this painful drought but I plan to spend most of tomorrow laying in the backyard in my swim suit, practicing hack, reading and jumping through the sprinkler as it waters the garden. I remember Bethany spending large amounts of time weeding the garden this time last year. That's not something we have to worry about right now as nothing...and I mean NOTHING is growing except for the odd dandelion.
It's sometimes hard to remember that my life is what I choose it to be. With so many circumstances out of my control lately, I feel like I've been swept along without any ability to know really (and yes, I'm fully aware of what this sounds like) who I am. There have been glimmers though of me reminding myself not of who I am, but who I want to be. Each moment, each circumstance, each decision and response has the potential to bring me closer to that person I intend on being. There's no space for me to say "well, I'll do it this way this time, but ..."
I've been trying to act in a way that doesn't follow what I feel like doing now, but how I think the person I want to be would act. I've been discouraged by the amount of times I find the discrepancy between the two, but also encouraged by the discovery that I do indeed have the strength and courage to follow through on these decisions. It gives me faith in myself and hope for what comes next.
As I say that, I'm reminded of a poem by Galway Kinnell called "Prayer"
Whatever happens. Whatever
what is is is what
I want. Only that. But that.
The birds above me in the tree are squawking loudly at me. I don't think they like me swinging right under their nest. But I feed them, so sometimes you just have to put up with it. Sorry birds.
Buck 65 is playing on my iTunes and I am in a pretty perfect space. My garden has been hurting in this painful drought but I plan to spend most of tomorrow laying in the backyard in my swim suit, practicing hack, reading and jumping through the sprinkler as it waters the garden. I remember Bethany spending large amounts of time weeding the garden this time last year. That's not something we have to worry about right now as nothing...and I mean NOTHING is growing except for the odd dandelion.
It's sometimes hard to remember that my life is what I choose it to be. With so many circumstances out of my control lately, I feel like I've been swept along without any ability to know really (and yes, I'm fully aware of what this sounds like) who I am. There have been glimmers though of me reminding myself not of who I am, but who I want to be. Each moment, each circumstance, each decision and response has the potential to bring me closer to that person I intend on being. There's no space for me to say "well, I'll do it this way this time, but ..."
I've been trying to act in a way that doesn't follow what I feel like doing now, but how I think the person I want to be would act. I've been discouraged by the amount of times I find the discrepancy between the two, but also encouraged by the discovery that I do indeed have the strength and courage to follow through on these decisions. It gives me faith in myself and hope for what comes next.
As I say that, I'm reminded of a poem by Galway Kinnell called "Prayer"
Whatever happens. Whatever
what is is is what
I want. Only that. But that.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
sleep on the floor, dream about me....
Tonight I should be sorting laundry. Or processing wedding photos. Or calling my grandma. Or making a lunch for tomorrow. But the sun was so beautiful, I couldn't do any of these yet. I've been sitting on my back porch reading poetry and sipping wine and reading poetry. I've done a lot of poetry reading lately and it has been good. Very good. Hard to explain good. Tonight was a Hafiz night. I have two to share:
--------
Resist your temptation to lie
By speaking of separation from God,
Otherwise,
We might have to medicate
You.
In the ocean
A lot goes on beneath your eyes.
Listen,
They have clinics there too
For the insane
Who persist in saying things like:
"I am independent from the
Sea,
God is not always around
Gently
Pressing against
My body."
----------------
The pawn
Always sits stunned,
Chained, unable to move
Beneath God's magnificent power.
It is essential for the heart's coronation
For the pawn to realize
There is nothing but divine movement
In this
World.
-----------------
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
now if my sky should fall...
Two weeks have past since my last post. As I write this Patrick is back in the air flying home to Ontario. It's been a much better past two weeks. It's been busy, as I've had to work most of the time and Patrick's been out apartment hunting (and scored a really nice one!) but it's still been good. As I drove away from the airport tonight, the most beautiful rainbow I had ever seen was right out in front of me. I didn't have my camera so I will try my best to explain them. First of all, it was a double rainbow. And a really crisp one at that. No fuzzy line of mist between colours or anything. Both rainbows were clear and perfectly bright from one horizon to the other. The first rainbow though, was a double decker...what I mean is, as soon as the violet band was finished a red one began and another rainbow was right underneath it. No spaces. And then of course, there was another one above those two. Seriously, it was incredible beautiful. Tomorrow marks the beginning of a month of straight work. The grass here is finally growing and I'll be busy cutting and landscaping 6 days a week. And hopefully by the time Patrick moves out here for good at the end of June, things will be a little more under control so I can help him get set up.
In other news, I recently re-read "The Colour Purple" by Alice Walker. I love that book and this time I came out with more quotes I need to remember.
It? I ast.
Yeah, It. God aint a he or a she, but a It.
But what do it look like? I ast.
Don't look like nothing, she say. It ain't a picture show. It ain't something you can look at apart from anything else, including yourself.
----------
God love everything you love - and a mess of stuff you don't. But more than anything else, God love admiration.
You saying God vain? I ast.
Naw, she say. Not vain, just wanting to share a good thing. I think it pisses God off if you walk by the colour purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.
What it do when it pissed off? I ast.
Oh, it make something else. People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back.
----------
Everything want to be loved. Us sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved. You ever notice that trees do everything to git attention we do, except walk?
In other news, I recently re-read "The Colour Purple" by Alice Walker. I love that book and this time I came out with more quotes I need to remember.
It? I ast.
Yeah, It. God aint a he or a she, but a It.
But what do it look like? I ast.
Don't look like nothing, she say. It ain't a picture show. It ain't something you can look at apart from anything else, including yourself.
----------
God love everything you love - and a mess of stuff you don't. But more than anything else, God love admiration.
You saying God vain? I ast.
Naw, she say. Not vain, just wanting to share a good thing. I think it pisses God off if you walk by the colour purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.
What it do when it pissed off? I ast.
Oh, it make something else. People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back.
----------
Everything want to be loved. Us sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved. You ever notice that trees do everything to git attention we do, except walk?
Friday, May 8, 2009
before we turn to stone...
I've been kind of silent on the blog front here for a while. I've had an eventful past few weeks...not necessarily in the good kind of way. Its been rough actually. Really rough. I went home for a week for a break. It was nice.
And now I'm back in Edmonton. Working landscaping. Its nice to be outside again all day, but it's terribly lonely this year.
After work, it's finally the time of year when the sun streams into my kitchen windows for most the evening and I can simply sit and sip wine and enjoy it, but Patrick is half a country away and so that makes home feel kind of lonely too.
I do have Jayda around and though she's become pretty sweet towards me, she mostly just brings me dead mice to deal with and covers my sweaters with cat hair.
I am continually flying back and forth between stable and solid and confident and then in the next breath, feeling as though I am, my life is, completely unravelling. Recently someone asked me what has made me thrive lately. I had no answer. I'm mostly just focused on breathing, trying to only deal with the moment I'm in without being overwhelmed by it, let alone being overwhelmed by the future moments it is connected to.
I have been watching the clouds lately though. All these spring rainstorms we've been having this week have made for some beautiful skies. I like to put my iPod to something epic sounding and just look up and watch the sky and breathe. I got to the shop early on wednesday morning, about 6:40 am, and sat on the side of the gravel road, put on this song and watched the sky...some of it looked like this:
And now I'm back in Edmonton. Working landscaping. Its nice to be outside again all day, but it's terribly lonely this year.
After work, it's finally the time of year when the sun streams into my kitchen windows for most the evening and I can simply sit and sip wine and enjoy it, but Patrick is half a country away and so that makes home feel kind of lonely too.
I do have Jayda around and though she's become pretty sweet towards me, she mostly just brings me dead mice to deal with and covers my sweaters with cat hair.
I am continually flying back and forth between stable and solid and confident and then in the next breath, feeling as though I am, my life is, completely unravelling. Recently someone asked me what has made me thrive lately. I had no answer. I'm mostly just focused on breathing, trying to only deal with the moment I'm in without being overwhelmed by it, let alone being overwhelmed by the future moments it is connected to.
I have been watching the clouds lately though. All these spring rainstorms we've been having this week have made for some beautiful skies. I like to put my iPod to something epic sounding and just look up and watch the sky and breathe. I got to the shop early on wednesday morning, about 6:40 am, and sat on the side of the gravel road, put on this song and watched the sky...some of it looked like this:
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