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Holy hump! I can hardly believe that it's coming up on a year since my last post.
Much has changed here on the blogs. Much is the same. So it goes. I've been checking in from time to time - wondering how you're all doing - but my ability to login is sketchy, and getting sketchier. So, I figured I'd take advantage of this successful login to leave a few words.
...
My decision to leave Montreal for Toronto at the end of '07 was one that was strongly guided by intuition...by a gut feeling that this move and the timing was 'right.' It has proven to be so, in every way.
I am so happy in my work that I feel fortunate to get paid to do it. I have been deeply touched, hundreds of times over, by the people I serve; by their lives, and by their deaths. Through it, I am learning to live well.
I am also learning to love well, and to be loved well. My Artic Man and I have had some great adventures over the past year or so; both in The North and here. My family and friends adore him, and his have welcomed me with open arms. What do I not love about this man? He has an easy smile, and his default response to the 'stuff' of life is a contagious chuckle. He is adventurous in life and in love, but never reckless. He is immensely kind - not just to me, but to EVERYone - (a difference, the significance of which has become so very clear to me over the past couple of years). He leaves no room for doubt about how much I am loved and valued. And, I think..."Ahhhh, so this is how it's supposed to feel."
Despite the distance to travel in between, there was no other option but to sort out a life together...and it is done. We have made a home together here in Toronto, and though he travels to The North for business, there is only ever enough time in between to miss one another and begin to look forward to the 'reacquainting.' His intentions (and my own) have been clear from the first day we met and, as a few of you may already know, on Boxing Day, returning home on the train, he proposed. Without a moment of hesitation, (and, oh-so-romantically), I said, "Uh...YEAH!" :b
Yay!
Several of you have been brought to mind over the past while. I hear that many of flocked off to FBook and, though I haven't succumbed to the pressure to open an account there, it's something I'm considering more and more. If and when I do, I'll be sure to look up those of you I've connected to over my time here. It would be great to know how you're all doing.
This will most likely be my last post, but it seems fitting that this blog should end with the same intention with which it was started a few years back. This blog - the writing and reflecting, the connections made - was a big part of my life for awhile. Looking back on older writing shows me how things have changed, how I have changed and...it's all good. Thanks to all of you who've been a part of that.
I am one happy grrl. (It feels soooo good to be able to say that).
With appreciation to you all and for the experience of this community and its writers,
I made it back from Nunavut (nearly 2 weeks ago, now), with all my fingers and toes intact. Now that I've returned home, I think back on some of the earliest words I exchanged with 'The Sailor' when I asked him what drew him to (and kept him in) The North?
In his words...
"...back [then], it was for the adventure. Once I arrived, the place charmed me. The unforgiving land (that doesn't suffer fools) is an attraction and a challenge. It reminds me of the ocean. The Arctic, like the ocean, has a way of exploiting errors in judgement; severely punishing those who take her lightly. I like that I need to be prepared, that I need to keep my eyes open and be on my toes. The reward is the raw beauty of the landscape."
And, now I know better what he was saying.
My time there was an adventure; the land (an entirely new experience for me, as I'd never before been above the treeline), was incredibly beautiful. It wasn't as flat as I'd expected, but rolling and rugged. The quality of light was entirely different. The midday sun sat low in the sky, (a strange muted daylight), but glinted, blinding, bright white off the smooth snow and jagged sea ice.
While there…
I went out with a dog team of 10 for an afternoon. Powerhouses, those dogs; built to run and happiest when they’re on the land.
I ate seal, both raw (very sushi like) and cooked (tastes more like a slightly fishy beef liver), and muktuk (whale skin and blubber); difficult to chew when raw, soft when boiled, dipped in soy sauce. It has what I could best describe as a sort of grainy/nutty flavour. These foods are known in The North (along with other native creatures that are hunted, fished, trapped - caribou, char, rabbit, duck - as 'Country Food')
We headed out on the snowmobile, pulling the qamotiq (sled) full of supplies and gear, to...'the middle of nowhere,' (a small cabin that's known to and visited by a very small handful of people). Along the way we spotted an Arctic Fox (what a treat for me!) and I snapped a few pics.
I relaxed and relaxed and relaxed and got lots of good lovin'.
I also kicked his butt at Scrabble, (okay, kicked his butt once, won marginally the second time), and had my own butt kicked at darts.
I met The Sailor's friends, and got to know more about this wonderful man through the place he has called home all this time.
I'm not sure I knew the meaning of COLD until I visited there. As you can see by the pic; the moisture in my breath frozen to exposed strands of hair. He kept me warm; full-on spoiled me for the week. It was hard to leave him, but it won't be long before our next adventure together.
The next time I visit there may be as much as 22 hours of sunlight each day. Yes! The Sailor and full days of sunlight! My Valhalla!
Ahh...the call of The Great White North. If you get this reference you must be a) Canadian and/or b) a fan of SCTV.
While most people this time of year are using their vacation time to head to warmer climes, and escape the cold and dark and snow of winter, a_grrl just *has* to do things a little differently. (Yeesh) On Saturday morning I’ll be heading to The Arctic (Nunavut) to spend a little more than a week with ‘My Love’ in the place he has called home, on and off, over the past decade. Yeah. Straight North...where today's temp was -50. (Whee!)
When we’re not ‘making up for lost time’, I'll be treated to exploring the North; heading out on the land with a dogsled team one afternoon, taking the snowmobile out on a clear night to find a good spot to view the Aurora Borealis (Northern Lights). During this trip I will, apparently, be both wearing and eating seal. Oh my.
I'm sooo looking forward to the adventure, (and to the time with my man). He denies it, but I sense a hidden agenda; to make a_grrl fall in love with The North, (which might not be so difficult considering that the pic I've attached is a view - during warmer days - from the porch). Sigh.
2 more sleeps! 2 MORE SLEEPS!
(Send warm thoughts!)
Okaaaay! Backtrack!
First off…big thanks to Noisy n’ Sunny n’ everyone who offered up their birthday wishes here Hip, hip to Atyp! and here not just any grrl... last week. Finding these greetings really put a smile on my face and made me feel all warm n’ fuzzy. It made me want to come back and...well...blog.
At the end of September I got my motorcycle license. I haven’t even bought a bike yet, andThe Six Million Dollar Nan ™ is already imagining herself on the back, flyin’ down the highway with a red scarf tied around her neck. Now, there’s one for the family photo album! The training course was fun. One of the instructors said he’d never heard anyone ‒ let alone a girl ‒ cuss quite so much over the course of a weekend. Go figure. :b 2 words...road trips!
S'been awhile since I've blogged, I know. I’ve spent much of my time, otherwise, falling truly (madly, deeply) in love with a certain sailor. atypical grrl's first date boner, my man in The North. A truly wonderful person, he meets this, What I want..., and adds a few points to the list that I hadn't considered. Not a day has gone by since we met that I haven't felt immensely lucky and blessed, and loved.
Boner (according to 'Wiki') - 1. A blooper, a small mistake having an amusing effect, 2. A blunder, a spectacularly bad or embarrassing mistake.
So, it's my first date with the sailor. We are, fittingly, going sailing. The Fall leaves are beautiful. The day is mild enough, and sunny. We have made the nearly 3-hour road trip to the boat, chatting and laughing along the way, listening to music.
We arrive at the boat and he gives me a quick tour. We unpack the essentials, fix a snack, settle in for the day, get cozy and talk some more. During a pause in the conversation he says,
"So, just let me know when you want me to give you a lesson on the head."
*awkward pause*
I'm wondering if he noticed me twitch, the raised eyebrow, or the ever-so-slight look of 'WTF?!' as I'm thinking to myself, 'This is so not the way to get into my pants, or, to get me into his."
atypical_grrl: "I...uhm...er...I. I think I'm good, thanks. I mean...you know...I'm self-taught, or uhm...something. Er...yeah."
*a second, longer, awkward pause as his mind works, sorting out my response and the confused look on my face*
the sailor: "Uhm. It's the toilet. The head...is...the toilet. That's...uh...what it's called."
*one more awkward pause as atypical_grrl looks sheepish and tries to recover gracefully, and realizes that there really is no graceful recovery from this one...except to laugh.*
And the first date is off to a stellar start!
I may be able to swear like a sailor, but the comparison pretty much stops there. And, who ever thinks that a first date will involve a lesson on how to use the toilet, anyway?!
She has been watching me all morning ‒ sideways glances - considering her approach but knowing, intuitively, that I need some space; that I need to not talk about it any more.
In the afternoon I go outside to get some air, collect my thoughts. I am embarrassed by the way that I feel. Am I not stronger than this?
Sitting at the edge of the ravine, I hear her coming, but don’t turn to look. She sits down quietly beside me and says nothing, for awhile. I can almost hear her thinking and when she speaks, her ‘point of entry’ is a simple question.
“Where does it hurt?”
Without thought ‒ instinctively - my hand goes to the base of my throat, palm resting between collar bones, fingers spread upward, as my eyes well up with tears. I am choking them down along with all that has been left unsaid. She says nothing. Just closes her eyes and breathes with me until the worst of it subsides.
This was the last week for the run of Evil Dead: The Musical here in Toronto. I scored some tickets for the Thursday night show, and was glad I did.
We had a bloody good time. It slayed me. (har har)
I was a little disappointed that tickets in the 'splatter zone' were sold out, as I was hoping to leave the show dripping with blood, but I did manage to get drunk, and catch some flying gore on my shoe, so I was satisfied.
Full of spoofy goodness and ridiculous one-liners, you don't have to be a fan of the campy horror flick to enjoy it...but it helps.
If you ever have the chance to catch this staged version, it's a good laugh.
I’m on Day 4 of a headache. It’s not terrible, but it’s there…and annoying, and uncomfortable. Maybe it’s the weather? The change of seasons? Where'd the summer go?
This was part of a film I watched at work the other day, and it has stayed with me. Simple, but powerful. "A single breath separates us from death." This is not much of a separation. 'Remembering death' necessitates seeing life differently.
Remember this? i don't want a pickle... It’s a little late in coming together, (the summer got busy), but the plan is in place. Last night, I came home and said, "Fuck it." And, now I’m signed up. By the end of September, if all goes well, I will be licensed to ride. I’m already saving up to buy a bike next summer. I'm excited, and nervous, and proud of myself. Next summer? Road trip. My friend has given me a new nickname. "Sexy bitch." Now, I have to live up to it.
All I need to know today I learned from listening to Bob Dylan’s album ‘Blood on the Tracks.’
This book has been (surprisingly) recommended to me by a couple of people. ‘He’s Just Not That Into You.’ It actually makes me a little nauseous that there would be some truth in a glossy pink and green self-help book. Ugh.
I miss the Montreal two-cheek kiss. I've tried to keep the tradition going here in Toronto, (actually, I've just slipped up and forgotten that it's not the way the locals do things), and it's been met with some odd and squirmy reactions. People are funny. I think I'll keep doing it anyway, and hope it catches on.
I read it, first, as being a little bit ‘yay, God’, but…upon second reading, I decided I like it. "Live your life in such a way that when your feet hit the floor in the morning, Satan shudders and says...'Oh shit...she's awake!"
Belief in evolution and a scientific understanding of how the world works does not take away from any of the awe and wonder of it. These are my thoughts just before I crack open Richard Dawkin's 'The God Delusion,' this weekend...
<------- That's Chester over there on the left. Cute, hey?
If you want to get all technical about it, then...
I stole him...
from a child.
I prefer to say that I borrowed him for awhile. I liberated him, with good intentions.
Here's the thing...
Chester was one of a collection of 3 stuffed mice owned by one of my favourite little people, 3 year-old 'Plum', in Montreal. The other two, a white mouse named Zouzou and a brown mouse called Lala, are still with her.
The way I saw it, Chester was the least favourite of the mice. In the family vacation pictures Zouzou was featured. Zouzou in the garden. Zouzou with a ladybug. Zouzou sitting in the tree. Zouzou picking strawberries. And, Lala. Lala was the favoured 'snuggle mouse' each night. She slept with Plum. What about Chester?! Chester was being neglected. I found him half shoved under the bed, hangin' out with the dust bunnies and cat fur. So, I tiefed him.
Chester has joined me here in Toronto, and on my travels over the past several weeks. He's been all over the city, and into the forest, to BBQs, near rivers, on motorcycles. He's hung out with Mimi and even ventured across the border to climb rocks in the US of A. And, I'm documenting it all. 'Chester's Big Adventures.'
Plum has just begun to wonder what happened to Chester. Right now, she is away on a vacation of her own, but when she returns she will find her first email postcard from Chester, from one of his first travel destinations.
My goal is to redeem Chester in the eyes of Plum...to make him the cool, adventurous mouse, and then return him to her.
I think I may have more fun with this than the 3 year old...and, I'm okay with that.
(Some of Chester's destinations are not for 3 year old eyes. He's got a bit of a wild streak. It'll be a good laugh for the parents, though).
1) She is 38 and has metastatic breast cancer. Exhausted from this latest round of chemo, she has not left the apartment in days. Her eyes rest on the fishbowl across the room, a single goldfish suspended in the middle.
“He and I have a lot in common. There he is in his bowl, and here I am in mine,” she says, her eyes taking in the room.
Outside the window the birds sing and she wonders aloud if she will hear them again this time next year. They sound so much more beautiful, she says, when you hear them as though it’s the last time. A fat tear rolls down her cheek.
2) She smiles at me and tries to speak, but has difficulty finding the words. We both inhale deeply. The tumours on spine and brain are doing their work. There is the sound of the saline drip. Comfort measures. I am holding her hand ‒ cool, clammy - as she falls off to sleep again. There is no indication of time in this room, except maybe the slant of daylight advancing on the wall. It hasn’t stopped. The garbage truck grinds to a halt outside. Routine assurances. She breathes quietly for a moment, then wakes, suddenly, her bright blue eyes finding mine. “Am I still here?” she asks, with a sense of surprise in her voice.
3) This morning, sitting vigil at a hospital bedside, I watch his protruding belly rise and fall with each effortful breath, his ribs easily counted, heart beating through thin skin. I talk quietly, reminding him of stories he has shared about his work at the airforce base, about nights out with the boys, driving around with the top down, about how he met his wife on a blind date and knew, right then, that she was the one for him.
He is conscious again for a time. He asks if I can get him some ice cream. I do. We trade some of his vanilla for my strawberry. He needs to pee. I help him to sit up, pass him the urinal, give him some privacy, take it to rinse out when he was done, and help him to lie down again.
It's hardly glamourous, but these small moments seem important.
At some point, a far away look in his eyes.
"What's on your mind?" I ask.
"I'm thinking about dying."
"What is it about dying that you're thinking about?"
"I'm thinking that it's taking too long."
I nod, silently.
He stops to listen to a man up the hall, confused about where he is and arguing with the nurse. It is strangely entertaining, and I watch his lips part into a smile, allowing a gravelly chuckle to escape.
"You found that amusing, hey?" I ask, winking at him.
"Yup." he says. "Life goes on."
As I am readying to leave, he says,
"Thank you for coming. I'll see you again, maybe?"
He frames this as both a statement, and a question. We give one another a nod and a smile, and I squeeze his hand as I stand. We are both unsure of the answer. I hope so.
To link to this blog from blog posts/comments, use [blog atypical_grrl], from anywhere else use http://personals.theonion.com/blog/atypical_grrl,
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