that's so sick

Now, I wish I could say that I got this in the mail - or better yet, hand-delivered - this week, when my friend Joel found out I was sick. That would be pretty rad - or even, in the hip lingo the kids use these days, "sick".

The real story is pretty awesome too, though. My friend Mel and I were planning to go see a free concert of Joel at Granville Green in Port Hawkesbury, last summer, BUT I got sick. She, being the trooper she is, went anyway with some other folk, got this CD and got it signed for me. Frig Joel - she's the one who rocks. (Well, perhaps they both rock. I mean, he's Joel Plaskett.)

For some added authenticity, that's my couch, my leg in sweatpants (that haven't been changed in days) and my blanket underneath the CD.

Yup, you guessed it - a big fat flu bug came and took residence in me this week. It moved in on the weekend and is only now showing signs of maybe packing its bags.

It's thrown all my carefully-made plans into a tailspin. You know the saying, "Man plans, God laughs"? Yeah, that's been this week. God is laughing, like, super hard. "Oh, you think you're leaving on Monday for a trip that's going to include four different cities? And you'll be back in three weeks and start work pretty much the next day!? That's a GOOD ONE!! You're funny, you know that, kid?"

Yeah. A whole lot of unknowns around here at the moment. Not that life and what's to come is ever, really, known. I know that. Or, do I? Maybe that's why flu bugs come around, to teach us that. Over and over. And oh how I've been schooled.

Things that have been keeping me happy (or at least, not depressed) during my week of enforced rest:

- Q with Jian Ghomeshi. (A radio show on CBC - I'm too lazy to provide links for these things - Google is there for a reason.)
- LoveLife with Kal Barteski. And all the other blogs I usually follow.
- VaginaPagina - a community on LiveJournal that's all about women's health. It frigging rocks (just like Joel and Mel) - 30 000 other women providing answers to each others' questions about everything. And I do mean everything. There are new questions every day and I've been reading it religiously.

I don't know about you but when I'm sick my attention span is SHOT so I'm going to leave the list at three items. And probably go to sleep.

real life vs. the movies

OK, how is this even possible?

At Christmas-time, I cut out George Clooney's head from a newspaper. I affixed it to paper with glue. Then I wrote on it, "Have a gorgeous holiday!" (See above.)

It's still up on the wall, underneath the Christmas wreath that is also still up. The other day someone pointed out to me - thinking it was already clear to me and done on purpose - that it's a pun. George + gorgeous = George-ous? BUT IT WAS NOT ON PURPOSE.

How did I MISS THAT? Oh Em Gee.

I'm torn between being impressed about my swift subconscious and embarrassed about my not-so-swift conscious mind. Oh dear.

***

We're still having seriously mild weather around here. And I'm still seriously interested in your thoughts and feelings on the issue. (See last post.)

Secondary roads are being closed early this year. They're closed in the spring to heavy trucks, and this year they're being closed three or four weeks earlier than they would normally be.

I'm enjoying the mild weather, somewhat. I'm not enjoying the feelings of "Oh dear god, is this how it starts?"

***

I've been sick all this week. And so I've been watching more movies than usual. It's making me think about real life vs. the movies. I jotted down some thoughts in my writing journal and I will share them with you here.

Scenes with music: In movies, most scenes have some sort of musical score. In real life, we have to play our own music. Sometimes the music is weirdly wrong. Have you ever started making out with someone only to realize that the music is ridiculous, or strange, or in some way detracting from your intimate moment? And you both lie there awkwardly until the person whose room it is gets up to change the music? We're so used to movies using music to "lubricate" a scene, as it were, that we supply it in our own lives. A lot of the time I feel dependent on the musical background. Go to my bedroom to hang out, and the first thing I do is pick music. Get in my car to go somewhere, same thing.

Happy endings: Or endings at all. In real life there are no endings. The credits never roll. If something does end, like a person's life or a phase of our lives, you're still in it, still in your own life. Exam time used to be so irritating this way. Nothing was ever finished. The end of term didn't end in a big bang, a finish worthy of a movie. It kind of petered out, faded slowly. Nothing conveniently wraps up, because even if one thing does, the "camera" of life keeps on rolling. Always. Constantly. This is why romantic comedies, for all their charm, drive me NUTS. Because romance and getting together with someone happens to be very little like the big-screen version.

Re-takes and awkwardness: There are no re-takes in real life! Sometimes I say something and wish fervently that I hadn't said it, that I could have a do-over. But no - I never get that chance and neither do you. Awkwardness's true home is in real life. Any bits of awkwardness in movies is actually a clever distraction, and not awkward at all. This is because we all get to share in it, laugh at it, and feel good about how other people can be as awkward as we can. Real awkwardness is nothing like this. It's, well, it's awkward.

Anyway - those are my thoughts on that, for now. Back to the soup, the Kleenex box, and the couch. Sniff.

Do you have any go-to cinematic classics and/or cheesy flix that make you feel better/distracted when you're home sick? Do share.

the busy

Another busy week. It's funny how "busy" is both a cross to bear and a badge of honor. We are busy women, therefore we have a right to be here. I am busy, hear me roar! I am so busy, busy busy busy. I am needed by all these projects, therefore I am needed, therefore I am worthy.

I'm not suggesting that we're making all this busy-ness up. I know that especially for those with kids, it's how life is and you just swim with the current and struggle to keep up with it all. I know for those of us without kids, it can still get pretty damn busy. Some of us are students, thrashing around with our theses, trying to pin them to the ground. Some of us have jobs that keep us challenged and running from one project to the next. Some of us, on top of our jobs or maybe until the next job comes, have other projects taking up our time.

I was sick last week. I got a cold - and I nipped it in its bud. I kept it at a low level by lying low, resting and drinking herb teas. Now I'm back to work. My throat is still tender and I still cough at the itch every few minutes. Part of the reason why I went back to work was that I was needed - but part of the reason was that I needed it. I didn't like being at home, half-able to do stuff and half not. My house is beautiful and my bed and couch are comfy - but - I like who I am when I'm dressed in "office casual" and at the library, doing one of my two jobs.

Waves come onto the shore in cycles. I learned this last summer when I visited friends who live literally right on the beach, their house a scanty twenty feet from the Atlantic Ocean. You have to know waves to surf them, and you have to know waves to be safe from them when the ocean is stormy. Apparently waves come in sets of six or so. Six little ones. Then six bigger ones. Then six little ones. Then six even bigger ones. And back and forth, going to really big and then back to really little. So if you see five little waves and you think, "Oh, this is safe, I can stand really close to these waves," be careful because the next set is apt to be a big one.

The reason for this rambling about waves is I've been thinking about lessons. How we learn lessons. We tend to think that we learn the same damn lessons over and over and over. But maybe each little lesson that we learn - each time - is just a wave in a bigger cycle. A little wave making up a bigger set, a longer pattern.

When I was sick last week, I learned (yet again) about slowing down. I learned, yet again, that you CAN slow down. That when you do stop something, when you do say "No, I can't work today," and stay home, the world keeps spinning on its axis. The sun still moves through the sky. People elsewhere still go about their own daily lives. Lots of nonsense and some good stuff still gets published on the Internet (whether you're there to read it or not). You breathe. In and out. You keep breathing. You rest.

Going back into it, into my schedule, into my "life" (as though my scheduled events are all that keep me together, are all that make ME), I'm trying to remember to breathe and take it all with a relaxed attitude. Yes, I could take the crammed book deposit box with all the books to be discharged as a stressful thing, along with the people who come in and need my attention, et cetera. Or, I could do the book discharging in as relaxed a way as possible, remembering to breathe, remembering to sit up straight, remembering to take a second here and there and zone out entirely. Because if I can't do the perfectly normal tasks of my job and my life in a relaxed way? I don't want to be doing them.

I learned, yet again, that it's not worth it to me to live in a rushed way. But what I realized a second after that is what's harder to put into practice. That: it is up to ME to then slow things down. To take those seconds to stare off into space, and not punish myself for it. To literally put brakes on myself - and apply them. Meaning - when I'm rushing from one thing to the next, I have to notice it, then pull at myself as you would at a wayward horse or a runaway car - put the brakes on. Slow it down.

Why run when you can walk?

friday is the new thursday

Well, not really. I mean, I really meant to get a post out yesterday, because Thursday is my blog-posting day, and I don't like saying I'm going to do something, and then not doing it.

But, well, life. What can I say? Life got in the way. It's pretty handy to be able to sum up in one four-letter word - LIFE - all the events and weather and moods and people that make up our daily interactions, but there it is. This week, life and some of its aspects took over and pushed blogging to the end of the priority list.

I started my new job at the Baddeck library. At home, I finished varnishing the tall pine bookshelves that I got a local carpenter to build for me. I luxuriated in being HOME - which felt better than good after being away for two and a half weeks. I harvested my crop of tomatoes, as well as a neighbour's plums, and ran batches of them through the dehydrator. I'm still getting over my cold, and then my neck, back and hips gave out. Well, no, they didn't fully go out on me, but it was very painful to turn my head at a 90-degree angle, and walking and bending was difficult. (And, you do a fair amount of walking and bending working in a library.)

There is still some pain, but it's going away. I'm not really sure what happened to make it painful in the first place! It could be the start of another cold or virus - some people report aches in strange places - or it could be ... a lot of things. Rather than list them, I find it useful to realize that no matter what the issue is, some good REST will probably help.

It's funny what a little swine flu will motivate you to do. Because there is a society-wide fear of a pandemic - and rightly so, because a pandemic is no fun, people - we're all being extra vigilant about visible illnesses. So I'm getting over a cold - which may or may not have actually BEEN the flu - and there is a fair amount of stuff on my plate. But, because of swine flu, I keep thinking, "OK, it would be a good idea to rest and not overdo things. I want to keep my immune system in tiptop shape. I don't want to get sick with a superbug." And then I cut things back a little and don't feel all that guilty about it.

But run that little scene without swine flu, and instead I feel really guilty. But, it still makes sense to take care of yourself! It still makes sense to get lots of rest and keep your body healthy!

If it takes a swine flu scapegoat to make people like myself slow down and rest and not overdo it, then I'll take that. I just wish we didn't need a scapegoat, that taking care of ourselves was a higher priority than that. You know?


Pictures

Top: tomatoes laid out on a table to ripen. Varieties: Cherry Grande and Sweetie.
Bottom: Plums quartered and loaded on a tray of the dehydrator, ready to be dried to prunes.

the producer

So everything was going really great and then - I got a cold. Or a flu, I'm not really sure. The symptoms started on Tuesday, I was at work but felt rotten, with a sore throat and feeling generally fatigued. I bought a bag of Ricolas and pushed through the day, even though I wanted to just burrow into a big duvet and stay there.

But since then it's gotten worse and I've stayed home from work. I miss it, I miss the library and the group of people I've been working with this past week, and who I won't see for a while after this week is over (and that's if I go back to work before the end of the week).

While being sick isn't fun, with a very runny nose, a sore throat and a cough, and a mildly elevated temperature, it's actually been a little bit nice to be able to slow down and just rest. I'm at my friend N's house, so while I'm not home in my own place, this place is as home-like as someone else's house can be, I think. And, they have a deck overlooking their big, green back-yard, and some leafed-out maple and apple trees. So, I've listened to my body, and gotten some easy Tetra-paks of organic soup, some tuna and crackers, and some fresh fruit, and I've been practicing the moment-by-moment art of taking care of myself. Which means, a lot of sleeping, and since it has been nice out, sitting on the back deck listening to crickets and the rustling of the leaves.

But while my instincts are spot on, and I know that I have to follow them to truly get better and kick this cold's butt, I still feel bad calling in sick for work. How weird is that? Actually, it's not that weird, or at least, it seems to be normal, based on the people I've talked to who all feel the same way. But it's still messed up - I feel that I'm not being "productive" or that I'm not "tough" if I call in sick. I also feel like my boss or co-workers are going to be disappointed in me, or think I'm lying. Not that any of them have said such a thing! But I think we all believe somewhat in a cultural "productivity myth" that goes something like: being productive is the path to being a Good Person. Being sick means you are not productive. Therefore, being sick means you are not a Good Person.

To top that off, we seem to have a belief that goes alongside it, that only weak people get sick, and that if you can't just push through, you're weak.

Here's a funny twist on the word "productive": I called the Nova Scotia Health Hotline (811) today, to get a nurse's opinion on my cold symptoms (and also on the toe I stubbed, badly, yesterday, and which is now slightly swollen and bruised, but that's a whole other story). The nurse was asking me about my cough.

"So, your cough, does it bring up anything?"
"Like, mucous, or sputum?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Yes, occasionally."
"OK, so it's a productive cough then..."

So apprently I'm actually still "productive," even while I'm staying home sick. Ha!

Do you dread calling in sick? Or are you fearless advocate for your own health? I'd love to hear about it.

eye declare

So I got an eye infection!

I thought my eyes were just really irritated and dry from being on the computer all day at work yesterday, and when I got off work my brother said, "You look really tired, like your right eye looks weird." I checked it out: it looked a little bloodshot, but that was all.

I lay down on my bed to relax, and my right eye started weeping - fluid coming out of it, and draining off down my cheek. One-eyed crying. I got up and said to my family, "I think there's something wrong with my eye!" Mum checked it out and said there was nothing in it. I decided that the best plan was to lie down and let it be. So I did.

After about two hours, and a short nap, I got up and looked at myself in the mirror. My left eye was fine, but my right eye was swollen, half shut - I looked like I'd been in a fight! I could still see just fine, but I looked way worse. The lopsidedness struck me as funny, but I was getting worried.

I called the hospital and talked to a nurse. She said that it sounded like I could wait the night, and if it was still swollen in the morning, to come in. But I thought about it and decided to go in that night. You never know with these kinds of things, and I'd rather have peace of mind and have it looked at soon.

Mum drove me in. The air was cooling down, and we both remarked on how cool it was for July. After I saw a nurse for triage, and then sat a little bit in the mostly-empty waiting room (and watched some of the Michael Jackson memorial on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall), the doctor called me in. Mum came with me, and sat quietly off to one side. The doctor used a light to shine in my eye and had me look down, and over. She spoke economically, meting out her words. "Conjunctivitis," she said as she washed her hands.

She went and got me a little bottle of antibiotic drops. "Replace these in the next few days," she said. Meaning, go get some from the drug store, and bring them here when you can. She gave me two pieces of paper, both taken from her bright-yellow prescription pad: a prescription for the eyedrops, and a note for my employers. In remarkably legible handwriting it said: "This is to certify that the pt was seen and advised to rest for 24 - 48 hrs."

We drove home, and the full moon was low and golden over the Bras d'Or lake, just rising. Half the time I had my eyes closed; it was a strain to keep them open for long.

I slept well. And today, I've been resting, not working. Part of me is bored, and part of me is glad. The bored part was happy to do an hour of work this afternoon, and the glad part is happy that it's over now, and I can rest, close my eyes, think about eyesight and gratitude and health.

The infection doesn't hurt, but is more like a strain. And I'm taking my drops regularly, and drinking lots of fluid, and marveling at the wonderful system that is my body. Hopefully I can remember to actually REST, too - I have a propensity to try and "get stuff done" during the time when I'm meant to be at rest. But, I've had a lot of practice in the last few years with actually resting, with letting things just be, so I'll call on that now.

Have you ever had an issue with your eyes? Or temporarily lost or damaged one of your senses?

how to hike the long haul

My laptop got replaced. The one that came back works! Huzzah!

I took a vacation to Pleasant Bay, to stay with friends I've had since I was a little girl. We hiked to Fishing Cove one day (2.8 km down a mountain, then 2.8 km back up again), and then Pollett's Cove then next day. Just now, I tried to measure the Pollett's Cove hike on a pretty good map, using a piece of string, and using the string method, it's 8 km each way. But what the string doesn't take into account is that the trail is about 80% steep uphill or downhill sections, and only 20% relatively flat. (These percentages do not refer to the steepness of the grade. They refer to how much of the trail is steep versus how much is flat.) Wikipedia, on the other hand, says that it is "an arduous 10 km hike".

So that's between 22 and 26 km of hard hiking, in two days. (Or between 13.7 and 16.15 miles, if you swing that way.) My knees were feeling it! But, thanks to my being young and supple, they feel well today. That's pretty good recovery!

I discovered several things on those two treks.

• I should probably get myself new hiking boots at the next possible opportunity. The ones I was wearing were six-year-old Doc Martens, which definitely don't have the same support as they once did.
• It's actually OK, and necessary, to walk as slow as you can up a really steep grade. Once I realized that my hiking partner was also taking it as slow as possible, I let go of the guilt.
  
• I had to slow down and focus on my breathing to make it. The breathing sets a rhythm and a pace that keeps you going steadily.
• Pollett's Cove is much more beautiful and enchanting than any photograph can ever depict. But perhaps later in the month I'll put up a photograph, anyway.

Now it's Labor Day weekend. In the past three or four years, or at least, the years I was in university, this weekend meant the chaos of finishing the summer job, packing up all my stuff, packing it into a somewhat small Volkswagon Golf, and having Mum drive me to Fredericton.

This weekend Mat gets all that chaos as we take him down to his school in southern Nova Scotia. I'm not jealous, not at all -- but there is something of the student life that I miss. There is something about Fall that says "back to school!"

But I consider myself to be perpetually in school now, a school that I control. I'm still doing research and learning all kinds of new things. I direct myself as to topics, and though it's not "official thesis research", nor devising scientific tests, I'm learning what I want to learn, through various means. And there are no deadlines or grades. It's pretty great. The only problem is that most people still recognize university as being the only really legitimate way to learn, if one is in one's twenties. And there are some days when I get down on myself and listen to those inner and outer voices, but then there are a lot of days when I don't.

I guess the bottom line is, I know myself better than anyone else does. I know what I've gone through, from burnout and depression to leaving school and coming home. I know what that journey has been like every step of the way, and I know that many amazing things have come out of it. Too many to count, really! So I also know that even though someone looking at me might see a girl in dire need of going back to university, I know that that's not who I am. I know that I'm actually a girl in dire need of more time here, who is loving being here, actually. I know that I'm in need of my projects, of my one-woman school. Projects like, for example, learning about apples and apple grafting from a local man who's done it all his life. Through all of this, I'm continuing to build my energy back up so I can travel again, and work again.

And slowly, following my breathing and putting one foot in front of the other, it's happening. Even though I didn't think it was OK to do it. And the view at the end? I think it's going to rival Pollett's Cove, if that's even possible.

Have a good weekend.

a dilly of a pickle

It's funny: I used to be quite open on this blog about the minutiae, the massive and even the slightly messy parts of my life. I know this because every now and again I'll read my archives for a given month over the past few years, and I realize my attitude towards blog-fodder was a little more lax than it is now. All writers want an audience, and a large one if they can get it; for blogs, it seems, once you have that audience, you realize it comes with some responsibility. Or at least, having to pay more attention to what you talk about and how, for your own sake.

Also, being in recovery makes me self-conscious. There, I've said it. It was a lot easier to go on and on about my daily doings when I was travelling to interesting, beautiful foreign countries or attending university on scholarship. I felt on top of the world, so I wrote like I did. Even if I didn't always feel fantastic, in general things were pretty good. Here's a secret: these days I don't exactly feel on top of the world. I'm taking time off from what used to be my life (school, volunteer activities, living on my own, generally being busy) so that my mind and body can heal. Maybe that part wasn't a secret, since I've talked about it a bit on here and certainly some readers are well aware of it. And like life before this sabbatical, there's a mix of good and bad days. However, I notice that now I ponder more what there is to talk about, and I fear my life -- a life which is smaller now, and more careful, much more personal -- will seem too small, not interesting. On the other hand, there's also the fear that comes from not knowing who's reading the blog; the larger the audience, the larger the possibility that people who actively dislike me might read it, and who might misuse or misunderstand what I'm willingly putting out here. Add all that up and you have one self-conscious writer, and I'm sure I'm not the first to find out that self-consciousness does not make for boundless creativity.

So I think about all this as I'm living my slower, more personal days, as I walk along the dirt roads that are bordered this time of year with goldenrod, purple thistle, "Stinking Willie" and my favorite, Joe-Pye weed. I think about writing for a shadowy, largely-unknowable audience, the quandaries that brings, and I wonder how the people who've blogged for twice as long as I have do it. How do they still come up with things that feel fresh and new to them? How do they stand not knowing who is reading their oh-so-personal missives, yet keep it personal just the same? I've talked about it with other blogging friends, and we all seem to come to the same conclusions: there's a trade-off, and some can deal with it, and some can't. Some bloggers pull up stakes and leave blog-town, still writing in some form in their lives, but no longer in the public domain. Others keep on tapping the keys, and pondering how they feel about the whole business, like me.

For now, I'm staying in cyberspace, and sticking with "huminbean", because at the moment, the pleasure outweighs the pain, pain in this case being self-consciousness. The pleasure, by the way, comes from you folk who comment, and comment constructively. I hope the ratio stays that way.

~~~

Other "dill pickle" related news:

So far, Mission: Dill is going well. This is the mission my mother inadvertently started in early summer when she got the idea that I, being an avid fan of pickled cucumbers flavored with dill, ought to try making some of my own. We know a farmer who can supply us with loads of fresh, organic cukes, and another who grows dill. We grow our own garlic. We have Mason jars, and lids.

So we wrote down two famous recipes: Otis's (his is famous on the North Shore, especially for his love of garlic) and Frank's (the beekeeper who will give us some of his abundant crop of cucumbers). We've also bought pickling vinegar, peppercorns,and pickling salt, although I will admit we bought them from SuperStore, owned by Loblaws. Yes, an American corporation with shady business tactics and an undeniable contributor to people's dependence on fossil-fuel-shipped edibles, not to mention global warming. But, being human and not saints, we do some of our shopping there, in the name of saving time. So that's where we picked up those two components of Mission: Dill.

So far, so good. One thing I know for sure: dealing with vegetables is a lot less of a quandary than that time-honored question, "To Blog, or Not To Blog?" I guess in both cases, time will tell.

~~~

Credit where credit is due: The stylish shot of dills is thanks to this site.

not exploding, just moving (at a slower pace)

"Unless you are utterly exploded, there is always something to be grateful for." (From Bellow, Saul. Herzog. Ed. Irving Howe. New York: Viking, 1976. p.7)

The other day Marlo was reading this book at the kitchen table, and I was reading Scarlet Feather, by Maeve Binchy. She laughed aloud at this quote and then read it to me, and then wrote it out onto a scrap of paper which I tucked into my book for safekeeping. I did that because it seems the sort of advice to keep with you at all times, and it will also remind me of Marlo.

Not that going home to Cape Breton is at all comparable to being utterly exploded, as there are many, many good things about home and being there. The sound of birdsong from the porch is one. The restfulness of the woods is another. But this is a big change for me, moving home and leaving here uncertain of return, and I've not yet completely recovered from the rough period that began this past February. Each day is still a question mark, some days are good, and some days I have very little energy and can't do very much. It will still be some time before I'm up to my usual tricks, or up to tackling anything too difficult. It is hard to admit this, because as Chloe said to me the other day, "You're quite a go-getter!"

I was very used to going and getting, it is true, and these days involve a lot of staying and resting. I find it hard to accept the fact that my body wants me to stop and let it rest until it needs no more resting, not just recharge enough to pretend I'm OK. I find it hard to accept that this can happen without my consent! I also find it hard to accept that when it comes down to it, after all my fears that no-one will understand, the person who understands the least is actually myself.

However, when I think about it, I realize that these things that are hard to accept are actually just fine. The harder it is, the better I will feel as I begin to accept them. Does that make sense? The harder the task, the better you feel when you accomplish it.

So, back to the point of this post: I'm going home to Cape Breton. I should also mention that none of the packing that has been happening lately would have been possible without my mother, who came here last week and is spending her week off here with me, helping me every step of the way. It sure makes a difference to have her here to tell me what needs doing, and do the things that I can't.

On Sunday we pack the little Golf and move. In the process I have to get rid of my old monitor, as it barely works right now, and I am going to dump it here and then buy a new one when I get home, a flat-screen model. I made many calls and nowhere in Fredericton is there a place to safely dispose of computer equipment, so unfortunately for my ethics and principles this monitor I've used for five years is going to end up in the landfill. It seems such a waste! Why, oh why, can't recycling technologies and businesses fill this obvious need as quickly as I would like them to? (She cried to the skies, not expecting a satisfactory answer.)

I probably won't get a new monitor right away, so I'll be using my mother's computer on a slow connection, or the computers at the library in town, my old fall-back method for when at home. That, combined with how little energy I've got these days, and the fact that I really do love posting, means I will still post, just not all the time. I just wanted y'all to know.

Allow me to counteract what seem like moderately unpleasant comments in this post with a few "good things", but have no fear, I'm not turning into Martha Stewart:

1. Maeve Binchy novels with their comforting predictability and take-charge heroines.
2. Driving out into the country with Mum, Marlo and a map.
3. The way the indoors feels when it rains out: cozy, complete.
   
4. Lebanese takeaway: falafel wraps, grape leaves filled with soft, tangy rice, tabouleh with lots of parsley, baklava with a melt-in-your-mouth texture.

So, that's all the news at this moment. And if you can't think of anything better to do, some Lebanese takeaway is always a good idea. I'll write again from the little island that could.

*Source of the photograph: unknown. Picked it up somewhere while trawling the Web for inspiration, saved it, and found it again today. If it's yours and you don't want it used, tell me.

after the storm

Wow. Well. Here I am, after a full month of not posting. It feels surprisingly good to fire up the ol' Blogger again, to click on "New Post", to put tentative feelers out into the blogworld --and the world in general-- again.

I can't believe, in some ways, that it has been a month. Each week has brought a fresh batch of challenges, a fresh batch of decisions to make, and feelings to sort through. The "grubby details", as Marlo called them, belong to me and a few close friends, but the truth is simple: I've been sick, am still sick, and am taking time off from school in order to rest and get my strength back. I burnt myself out, more or less, and have had to deal with the consequences, which have been more than I bargained for.

My life has changed since I posted last. The things that remained the same are physical location (Fredericton, New Brunswick, the East Coast of Canada), and the dear friends and family who support this old bean. It's really funny, surreal actually, to stand at the center of your life and watch it change around you, watch yourself stop doing things because you can't do them anymore, and mourn your losses. It's like traveling to a foreign country, not knowing the language or the currency before you get there: you see what happens one day at a time, sometimes one hour or minute at a time, even one breath at a time.

This makes for a more intense experience, for better and for worse. I have certainly become "hyper-aware", as one person put it, of my self, my feelings, my needs and my desires. Having this awareness does not make it any easier to put such needs into practice, but it helps. It also influences what I have to talk about, necessarily! I can't wait for the day when I have a conversation with someone that doesn't include my own issues. But in time, that will come, and I know that having been there for a number of the people who are holding on to the corners of my "safety net" right now means they do, actually, want to be here for me. I'm not a burden as much as I'm just taking my turn at leaning.

What I'm doing right now (along with the physical acts of resting and no longer attending classes, taking a break) is what Clarissa Pinkola Estés calls "homing" or "returning to oneself". She writes about the necessity of this in her bestselling "Women Who Run With The Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype" (New York: Ballantine Books, 1995):

What is homing? It is the instinct to return, to go to the place we remember. It is the ability to find, whether in dark or in daylight, one's home place. We all know how to return home. No matter how long it's been, we find our way. [...]

For some, home is the taking up of an endeavor of some sort. Women begin to sing again after years of finding reason not to. They commit themselves to learn something they've been heartfelt about for a long time. They seek out the lost people and things in their lives. They take back their voices and write. They rest. They make some corner of the world their own. They execute immense or intense decisions. They do something that leaves footprints.

For some, home is a forest, a desert, a sea. In truth, home is holographic. It is carried at full power in even a single tree, a solitary cactus in a plant shop window, a pool of still water. It is also at full potency in a yellow leaf lying on the asphalt, a red clay pot waiting for a root bundle, a drop of water on the skin. When you focus with soul-eyes, you will see home in many, many places. (pp. 283-6).

So I'm homing. I've come through a storm, and now I'm sorting out the mess it left. I'm resting, I'm making good food for myself, I'm taking up things I haven't done in too, too long (writing for myself, drawing with charcoals, pencils, pens, inks, reading a book that isn't for class). I'm mourning the losses, and trusting in something --faith? life? the way things tend to go?-- that the voids will be filled. I'm seeing that indeed they are, one breath, one moment, one day at a time.

Oh and, the picture was taken by Marlo. I like using her photographs to illustrate my writing, because they tend to be of subjects in my immediate environment (since we're room-mates and fellow Fredericton residents and explorers), and she takes such thoughtful and striking photographs. At least, I think so. I also thought that this one, called "iceplants", is both fragile and strong, the kind of strength that comes from remaining, and therefore pertinent. I also really love the colors.

What do you do to go home? What are the endeavors, actions, creations and thoughts that bring you back to yourself? Have you done them lately?

a virtual cuppa

At the moment I'm not up to posting anything personal, because I'm not feeling well. That's really all the Internet needs to know, but it does make for a quiet blog. "Someday I'll tell you why I wasn't able to meet you, but for the moment, I'm still here," as Tom Hanks' character Joe Fox types to Meg Ryan's Kathleen Kelly in "You've Got Mail", which I watched for the umpteenth time the other day. (And it's still as good as it always is...strange how that works with some films.)

So I thought I would post a photo of Marlo's instead, and we can all talk about one or more of the following:

1. The virtues of tea. What's your favorite kind?
2. Time for tea. Do you get it? If not, do you miss it?
3. The qualities of Marlo's photography, not that I know anything technical about such forms of imagery. If you do, what do you think? Can you guess where it was taken?
   
4. The qualities of "You've Got Mail". Have you seen it? Do you like it? Does it make you want to hurl, or curl up with a blanket?
   

boost YOUR eco

And here is the website: Boost Your Eco 2007! For more info...

Miss Bean's taking a bit of a break at the moment. She--make that I--will be back with ya'll shortly, but there's some resting and some sorting out to do. Don't worry, I'm well taken care of, and taking care of myself as best as I can.

Anyway, if you're in Fredericton, you already know about this, and hopefully you're going out to it. If you're not in Fredericton, check out the link anyway, just to see what I and the rest of the Boosters have been working so hard on all year.