Well, my chest cold has broken into a lovely cough with stuffy/runny nose to match. But I do seem to be getting my energy back, albeit in small spurts. It was enough for me to take Daisy on a walk around the block this morning. And I really should’ve taken the camera with me when I did. New summer flowers have been popping up everywhere while I’ve been cooped up inside. Roses and tiger lilies, especially. They’re everywhere and they look gorgeous. Note to self: Remember to take the camera next time we go out.
And because I’ve had more energy, this morning actually resembled something closer to a real morning, rather than me just getting up and moving directly to the couch. Which reminds me. I did have “plans” to settle on a rhythm to my days, something that everything else will free-flow around as I see fit. So I’ll be posting my shot at putting virtual pen to paper and thinking up a routine that works tomorrow.
PS – What the HECK was the name of that show from when we were kids where two teams of two children had to do ridiculous things, including making some disgusting concoction that the other had to eat the most of before the time was over. I seem to recall flour and M&M’s and peanut butter but…. What the heck was the name of that show?!
 When I was young, I used to dream of being a writer. I had all sorts of fairytale-esque story outlines tucked in notebooks all over the place. I remember during my babysitting years, telling two of my charges a bedtime story based on one of these story scraps I had. Inevitably, their parents returned home before we came to the end of the story and I left for home. The next day, their mother called me. Apparently both girls were desperate to know how the story ended. I had to tell them that I didn’t know how it ended because what I’d told them was all I’d made up.
I used to be a voracious reader as well, inhaling anything with even somewhat intriguing cover copy. As I got older, school readings became more important than anything else and my love of reading dwindled under the weight of being told what to read. But my love of writing never really faded. It did, however, quickly move away from the fictional towards the introspective and autobiographical. As I grew up, and there was less of a chance that my siblings would sneaking a peek, my journal entries became much more self-reflexive, without the fear of reprisals. When I write today, it continues to be self-reflexive, and I am buoyed by all the like-minded blogs I read out there from equally introspective women. (Peruse the blogroll at the side or email me for recomendations if you’re interested.) Even my reading has turned from the fictional to the non-fictional, even so far as the autobiographical. I’m picking up The Gentle Art of Domesticity again. It’s a book I’ve owned for a while but didn’t have the energy to devote to the kind of digestion that it deserved. During this month, I think I’ll have the clarity to take it all in, especially since my own goals in life so closely reflect those pages.
My mother still thinks that I should write children’s books. It’s true that I do have a vivid imagination. But I’d much rather write about this life as I experience it. The joy and pain, the ups and downs. There’s a whole section in the library for autobiographies, mostly those of famous people who have done wonderful or terrible things. But what about the autobiographies of simple people, doing simple things? To me, those are the more important. They are the true reflections of a society, of a life, of a time. So that’s why I write, to preserve my memories as they happen. To write my own autobiography as a testament to the simple and to the good.
What I would’ve bought today if I had any money at all:
Five of these gorgeous photo albums to put all our photos in. Getting them out of my childhood Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse albums and giving us the ability to print more of the backlog of photos stored on our computers.
Cool, money-free thing I did instead:
I bought this tree more than a year ago when I was part of my first and only craft show. Since then, it’s been collecting dust at the top of my craft closet. Because I’m always so frustrated at not being able to see my jewelry, thus remembering what I have to wear, I decided to pull it down and actually use it. The little momiji doll was a gift from my sister. I love that little doll. Makes the whole thing look so much better.
So yesterday was something, that’s for sure. After that last post, I started looking up all sorts of stuff about the countryside. Then my mind turned towards farming and how cool it would be to have an organic micro-ecofarm. I even asked Dave what he though about it. But like the level-headed half of this partnership that he is, he stayed typically reserved and noncommittal.
Well, I went back to my research, looking all sorts of things up. But the more I researched, the less sure I became. What if this was me grasping at anything again? How could one buy and start a farm with a negative amount of money in the bank, anyway? And that inevitably led to another meltdown. I ended up crying, feeling trapped by my lack of choices in life, worrying about the future, and upset with myself that I’d tried to grasp onto another harebrained scheme again when I promised myself I’d stop doing that.
Seeing my distress once again, Dave sat me down. He said, “Look, I think you’re trying to jump from Step 1 to Step 3 without going through Step 2. Getting to where we wanna be in life is gonna take a lot of hard work and sacrifice, more than we’ve had to do in the past. But you need to be prepared. It’s like that old equation says, any project can only be two of these three things: done with high quality, done on time or done on budget. If you want something of high quality done on time, it’s gonna cost you. If you want something done fast and cheap, you forgo quality, and if you opt for high quality done on the cheap (which is probably a good analogy for what we want from life) it’s gonna take a long time to get there.” Longer than, oh, the five minutes I generally have been giving myself. What can I say, patience has never been one of my virtues.
We continued talking, Dave trying to make me feel better, and me trying to be okay with our current lot in life. I eventually came around to the realization that I end up so easily grasping onto all these random career paths because none of my life goals actually have anything to do with a career. My dreams for a self-sufficient life of gardening, baking and child-rearing has zero to do with working for the man or climbing the corporate ladder. “So,” Dave said, “maybe what you need is some crap job to help you get from here to there. Maybe that’s what we both need.” But we already have crap jobs that pay more than a lot of crap jobs and we barely scrape enough money together every month. “Ah, yes,” he said, “but we currently have dead-end crap jobs. What we need are crap jobs with some growth potential.” So that’s the point we’re at now, thinking about looking for crap jobs with growth potential so that we can scrimp our way from here to a home we can fix up, with a huge yard and/or a little bit of land. So that one day I can feel like something of a suburban homesteader: growing things, making things, raising children and being happy. That’s the real goal. And the real detriment to our current jobs, since it is unlikely that we well ever get another raise or promotion there. We instead just remain in a holding pattern, able to pay most of the monthly bills but forever hounded by the thousands of dollars of impenetrable school debt I have. (Hard to believe, huh, that we both have respected university degrees and we’ve come to the conclusion that all we can hope for in life is getting a crap job?)
Maybe we’ll have to move to a basement in Scarborough, cancel the phones and the cable TV. There are some debts that can’t be reduced, that we’ll just have to keep paying till they’re gone, like our gym debt. It was a good idea, and I’m happy we did it, but getting a trainer at the gym was, in all honesty, way beyond what we could afford and I shouldn’t have made us do it. We all live with the consequences of our actions, I guess.
So I have a month to figure out how to live the next five years on the cheap. Somewhere in there getting rid of my $40,000 school debt, saving a down payment for a home and perhaps even starting a family. Cloth diapers are still nouveau-chic, right?
 Whenever I read British magazines like, say, Country Living, I often get overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia and longing. There is something so different and almost idealized about the British countryside. It seems fuller, richer, more respected, and filled with greater opportunity.
Trying to compare the countryside life I see in British books, movies, magazines and TV to the Ontario countryside is like night and day. (Though, admittedly, I have no experience with one and very little experience with the other.) The Ontario countryside that I’ve experienced is, frankly, little more than urban sprawl. Outside of Toronto is the GTA, which seems to be another name for vast subdivisions of hastily erected houses on too-cramped lots, close by newly erected Smart Centres. (You know, those giant parking lots ringed with various big-box stores.) There doesn’t seem to be any town life or career opportunity close to home out there. It just seems to be nothing but a holding pen for middle-class families whose parents commute the hours a day into the city for their office jobs. Ugh. And beyond that are aging towns whose young people have moved on to greener, concrete-laden pastures. My view may be admittedly biased but it is the view from here: living outside of Toronto is career suicide.
All may know my great dislike for city living. The longer I live here, the less I find things appealing. Especially in this internet age when one can have almost anything shipped straight to their door by Canada Post. In fact, if I could figure out a way to make a living in the country doing something with my hands and my mind that didn’t require a two-hour daily commute back into the city, I think I would do it. The what has never seemed quite as important as the where. Probably because there are a lot of things I could do that would make me perfectly content and have nothing to do with a computer or a six-lane highway. However, one cannot live in the country unless one owns a car. (Or wishes to be completely cut off permanently from the outside world.) Also, I doubt Dave would appreciate the country life as much as I would, nor would he appreciate leaving all our friends behind in the city.
But the more I think about it, the more I wish it were possible. I mean, I know very little about Western or Eastern Ontario. My only experience, as I said, is with the GTA, north to Muskoka and east to Peterborough. An admittedly small sample to be making such broad deductions with. Perhaps I can do a little research. Because I think that the longer I stay in the city, the unhappier I feel. And since I can’t really move to the British countryside anytime soon, this may be a good start.
So yesterday was my last day at work. Stretching before me now is a whole month to figure stuff out. Yesterday was also my friends Ram and Mezan’s respective birthdays. It was a lot of fun to go out for dinner and before we left, Ram was awesome enough to let me borrow his Canon DSLR for a couple weeks. I’ve been drooling over the Canon Rebel series from afar for a while now, and it will be nice to actually get to try one out. Especially now that I have this time off and I want to blog my way through it, having a camera that takes great pictures will be super helpful, I think.
I’m a very visual person, and being able to see the world around me through a camera lens, while I decide which path to take, will be a different and challenging experience. I’m usually too wrapped up in myself to remember to take pictures of anything. Yet, whenever I do, I’m always so happy with them. They end up meaning a lot to me, like my grad photos that I just edited and uploaded this morning. I was happy to have those pictures and with them, the ability to remember that moment clearly. Since I am trying to slow down, be more deliberate and think about things more, the camera should help. I just have to remember not to get so caught up in it that I’m not actually experiencing the moment. The perfect capture every time is not necessary.
But on the side of the slightly ironic, what do you suppose happened today, on this, my first day off? Why, I feel like I’m coming down with something, that’s what. The feeling I had in my lungs and chest this morning was as though I had spent last night puffing my way through an entire pack of cigarettes. Something I have not actually done in a long time, and certainly didn’t do last night. I really hope this doesn’t knock me down for the count, but I was planning on forcing myself to take this time slowly, so this may just be the universe’s way of making sure that I do.
You know, it really is amazing how much of a weight I feel lifted off of me, just since I got the okay from my boss to take this time off. It’s shocking really, especially since earlier this week I could feel myself drowning fast. I’m almost worried that this euphoria will mask some of the goals I have for this time. This feel-good surge will be all too fleeting if I wind up right back where I started after this month is over. I just can’t let that happen. I’ve been letting almost everything blow past me in a daze of unresponsiveness lately. If this is going to work, it will have to be deliberate.
Fingers crossed and here we go.
 You know, it is so much easier for me to wake up when I’m not dreading the day. Most weekday mornings I doze till it’s almost too late, finally dragging myself out of bed after hitting snooze for the second or third time. But any morning I know is my own, I wake up naturally refreshed and happy, long before the alarm is even set to go off.
This morning was like that. The sun rose and I followed, just before 7. Daisy got up with me, ready for her morning walk and so I tied back my hair, threw on a pair of jeans and took her around the block.
I love early summer mornings. There’s always just a touch of cool to the breeze, since the sun hasn’t quite risen far enough to make it muggy and uncomfortable yet. This morning was like that. It was refreshing and awakening. On weekday mornings there’s always such hustle and bustle going on in the neighbourhood, but today was like a Sunday, almost. The streets were all but deserted except for the occasional dog walker or elderly woman watering her garden. Even the pigeons had yet to come down from their roost atop the old school. They still sat up there in pairs and threes, cooing to each other in the weak sunlight.
Daisy, as usual, thought it necessary to smell everything, so our walk was slow. Which was fine by me. On weekdays I all but drag her through her walks, always feeling rushed to get back and get on with whatever else is left to do on the laundry list of daily chores. But no, this morning was leisurely. Flowers always smell sweeter first thing in the morning, right after they’ve opened. I always find it amazing how many flowers can be crammed into the tiny front yards of downtown homes
Eventually we made our way back and, as usual, Daisy demanded immediate feeding before promptly going back to bed for a snooze. But I stayed up, having a cup of coffee, relishing the fact that I had the chance to sit down with a cup rather than having to pack it into a travel mug or buy one on the go. I wish all mornings could be like this: quiet, sunny, warm, calm. Gives me a peaceful feeling that I carry through the day. You know, rather than the frantic and rushed knot in the pit of my stomach that I carry around most days. It’s too bad, really. Something tells me that most mornings used to be like this…a long, long time ago.
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