who ya gonna call?

Well, it's November again!

And that exclamation point is about all the excitement I can muster.

I have to admit I am suffering from a bad case of "bad news": a dear professor of mine from St. Thomas was killed just before the weekend. There is a link at the bottom of this post to a CBC article detailing what the police have released about the case, and which also talks about Professor John McKendy's life as a worker for peace. It's a terrible tragedy all around.

Compounding my sadness is a general exhaustion due to a busy weekend, which, although wonderful, brought more emotional strain. Suffice it to say: I'm beat. I need retreat.

However, there are still good things. There is a new dart board in my life - and let's face it, what every woman needs is a good dart board. Mum brought home some half-price cheese and chocolate from a local deli that closes every winter. Also, as well as plenty of crying, I've been doing lots of laughing. There's something about doing lots of crying that also loosens my "humour muscles", and so I get silly.

Which is why, when I woke up this morning and changed my calender to November, I saw the drawing and immediately decided on captions for it. Once I'd made them, it was only a matter of photographing it (because there's very little that happens in the run of a day that I do NOT photograph, haha), and sharing it with you.

(Incidentally, this photo also provides a great example of a script typeface, and I don't mean my own handwriting. Yes, that's right, I'm still mad for fonts!)

To Grandmaman, from whom this calender was a gift, many years ago: I hope you don't mind my defacing the illustration. It was for my sanity.

I hope you are all well. And if you're going through something rough, may you deface a calender, and enjoy it.


***


For more details about John McKendy's life and death, see the following article:

"RCMP close case in Fredericton professor's slaying."

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.

slow like molasses in February

So I'm taking my daily walk, earlier today, and I find I'm in a scene that could have come out of the movie "Twister". I'm all bundled up, walking along a dirt road, which in winter could be more accurately described as an ice road: a bed of silvery ice with a thin covering of powdery snow. This road winds its way through the woods, and at times along a small bay. This stretch I'm on could be an extension of the water for all the wind cares, as the roadway is only a few feet above the lake, and there are no intervening trees. It's a bright, sunny day, but the wind — well, it doesn't howl, so much as ferociously swish, as it comes off the lake, funnels down the head of the bay, and blows straight over the road, pushing powdery snow crystals over the snowbank and into the path of any cars that might be there. And over and around me — a sturdy human bundled to the nines and coated on one side with fine snow, like an accessory on my pants. I'm also wearing big sunglasses, which keep my eyes from flinching. I'm thoroughly enjoying this: determinedly walking forward when possible, stopping and turning my back to the wind when it is too high, in order to watch ribbons, clouds and yes, twisters of snow powder dance past me and skid over an open field.

It's here that I think: "If there's one thing in February that's not slow, it's the wind!"

As I keep walking, trying not to slip and fall, yet still go fast enough to raise my heart rate, I keep mulling over this idea of "slow". I've been thinking about this word a lot lately. In trying to do things more slowly, I've realized that I've spent a lot more time in my life trying to speed myself up, so that I've gotten quite good at evaluating my speed, but have hardly any practice at mindfully being slow.

"Hey!" You might say. "That sounds like Buddhism! Are you going to talk about Buddhism?"

And, if you know me fairly well, you might also say, "Isn't your father a Buddhist? Wouldn't he have had an influence on you in this regard?"

Well, yes, it does sound like Buddhism, but no, I'm not going to bring Buddha into this, although Buddhists like Pema Chodron do have some really good things to say about meditation, and bringing a sense of mindfulness into daily living. And yes, my father is a Buddhist, and I did meditate a few times with him when I was younger.

But I'm not a Buddhist, and so my treatment of "slow" comes from my own daily life, and my observations of myself over the past year, learning out of necessity how to slow... the heck... down.


*


About a year ago a very large wrench got stuck quite firmly in the gears of my mental machinery, if you'll allow the metaphor. In university, with my plate piled high and in danger of spilling everywhere, I had exhausted my mind and body. You know when you're at a point where you're dog tired, and you have so much to do, but you can somehow pull reserves out of somewhere to carry you through? Well, I had no reserves left. None. At that point my body, sick and tired of having its anxiety attacks/red flags ignored, simply could no longer get out of bed. I had no energy for anything, and that included making food, which I'd have to rest for, then talk myself through, then go lie down again after.

Although I kept thinking, "One more week away from school and I'll be fine," it became clear after a month that there wasn't going to be an amazing rebound. So I pulled the plug on school, and I came home to Cape Breton. I have been here since last spring, living a slower, quieter life than I did before, building my energy back up slowly. Ever so slowly. It's been damn hard, it's been chock full of lessons, and it's been frustrating and rewarding, both.

And the word that keeps coming up is "slow". As in, slow down. As in, tasks done slower still get done, and time passes even when you're voluntarily putting the brakes on. That's what it feels like — like I'm in some sort of vehicle, a train or a car, say, which is constantly getting faster, just a bit faster, and I have to learn how to gracefully and smoothly apply the brakes, enough to travel at a balanced and manageable pace.


*


This, by the way, is a lot harder than it sounds. For illustration, imagine the last time you took time off. A day, an hour, a week, whatever it was, truly off. No work to do, no kids demanding attention, no-one calling on the phone. Time and space truly yours. Did you automatically make the switch from "On Task" to "Relaxing"? I'm going to guess "no". Even in a whole week off, it takes a while to adjust and be able to willingly pause and stare out the window, say, while sipping tea, not caring how long you do it for. And "real life" — schedules, demands, community — never really go away, so it's a rare person who actually gets a whole week undisturbed. (You're most likely to get time like this during a retreat of some kind, including, yes, Buddhist meditation retreats.)

So the trick is to apply those brakes whenever possible, whether it's time off or not. Remembering to take deep and slow breaths, for example, and using that time to gain perspective on whatever is speeding you up. Then there is actually physically stopping the body from following habit. I find I even have to say aloud, "No, I'm not going to read while I eat lunch, I'm going to eat, and look out the window." And by doing this, practicing it each time, I'm slowly — there's that word again! — learning how to apply the brakes with grace.


*


One reason my so-called "time off" keeps teaching me to slow down is because it has to. I have to learn how to adapt my pace to my energy level, otherwise I'll just keep burning out. That's a fact, and that's the necessity part of it.

But there's another interesting aspect of this "time off" that I keep remembering. It's the thing I recall when I'm getting anxious about trying to get a certain number of things done in a day, and it is this: there are no deadlines for this time, except those I impose on myself. It's a stunning thing to think about! That I'm able to work myself up about my productivity and output, all on my own, even now, when literally no-one else cares! What I mean is, I'm no longer in the academic environment, where productivity and output really matter, and where deadlines are a large part of the lifestyle. People around me here care about me, and how I'm doing, but not about whether I get four, five, six, or — heaven forbid — zero things done in a day. So when I get agitated about the number of things I want to get done that day, I have to stop and realize that this pressure is coming from inside me. This discovery has been truly amazing to me. It's like I've isolated that voice inside, which exists to drive me faster, and I can hear it continuing to push, even when I'm in a place where constant pushing is no longer necessary.

And yes, that voice serves a purpose. But if I listened only to it, I'd be a mess. I'd be afraid to slow down, so afraid to press on those brakes. And this is true whether you're like me, enjoying a stretch of time with few deadlines, or in the thick of things with deadlines all over the place. I'm proof that the world doesn't end when you slow... things... down.


*


There are a lot more things I could say about slowing down, and as time goes on, I probably will. But there's only so much I can write in one post, right? For now, please leave your thoughts on "slow" in the usual place. But, you know, there's no rush. :)

all quiet on the eastern front

When I started this blog about four years ago--I'm not certain how long anymore, especially now that my archives have disappeared--I was living in Whistler, BC, on my own for the first time at 18. My audience was only Janice at first, and a handful of other friends who wanted to keep tabs on me. When I travelled back across the country and then made plans to travel to Australia at 19, it was a great way for people to keep in touch with me, and I with them, without having to do the mass-email thing, and it worked out pretty good.

Two things happened: I started university here in New Brunswick, and I became more aware of my audience. The first means that I'm now staying in one place, more or less, and spending a lot of my time writing essays and their ilk, so not only do I have fewer exciting adventures to chronicle, but I also have less energy to do the chronicling with. The second means that I realized more people than I thought occasionally drop by Huminbean's humble address, which has an effect on what I write about, or the content. This means sometimes I think a post is too personal, and sometimes a post is not personal enough. The same goes for political.

I'm not professing that I consider myself and my posts boring; I don't. And I think the level of reader commenting attests that I'm interesting enough that people stick around long enough to read to the end. I'm also not saying I don't like having such interest; I love having you here. I guess what I'm saying is that over time I've realized that my topics have become concentrated, due to either having written about something already or to not wanting to write about it because it's too personal and details will expose the guilty and innocent alike. And we couldn't have that!

Blogdom's an interesting place, to say the least. Where else do you have the confidence and confidantes of a personal journal, combined with the somewhat-widespread publication and the lack of control over readership of an actual publishing deal, besides in an autobiography? And aren't those usually published after the author dies? Yikes!

So if it seems quiet on this eastern front, it's only because I've either written about a form of what I'm doing right now, before, or because the real news is too personal to write about. This is what's going on in my life right now; if you're particularly interested in a subject, leave a comment and I'll see what I can do. And yes, that's a request for your interest.

• University. Third year--lots of work to be done! I'm studying Sociology--Modern Theory, Sociology of the Family, Statistics and Research Strategies--as well as English--American Literature. We're reading Walt Whitman for that at the moment, but I just finished a paper on Chaim Potok's "The Promise", which is all about Judaism in America after WWII. As for the Sociology, I'm gearing up to do my Honours Thesis next year, and I'll be planning the proposal in the Research Strategies class. I want to do it on food and the sourcing of that food, networks, and some other stuff I haven't quite sorted out yet.
  
• My relationship with the "soyfriend", Dan. This one falls into the category of "my own personal business", but I can tell y'all that it's good, he lives here now, and I think it's pretty rad. I get to see him nearly every day and I can't think of anything else I'd want more.
• Figuring out what to do next year/this coming summer, in terms of an apartment (I might have to move because my dear old landlord might need to live in a retirement home) and a job/potentially travel (for the summer). This is all up in the air right now, but I'd love to make it out West for Dan's graduation, and see some of the West coast again, and maybe even spend a little time on a WWOOF farm again. It would also be pretty cool to work with a professor and gain some experience as a paid lackey in academia. We shall see what we shall see.
  
• The Boost Your Eco film fest, being planned by a group of lovely/hilarious students, of which I am one. It's going to be on the 9th and 10th of February, and soon there'll be a website I can point you to.
• Staying balanced and happy and spending enough time on my own, too.
• Being in Fredericton in winter--mornings walking to class with longjohns on, watching your breath make clouds and come out your nostrils like a dragon's, hopping over and around snowbanks, having your boots make puddles on the floor in classrooms.

cold, snap!

It was so cold today that...

...I wore longjohns under my jeans, and on top, a long underwear shirt that luckily looks like a real shirt (both by Stanfields), which I then covered with a zip-up hoodie. And then, of course, my warm winter coat, my scarf, my hat, and the hood of my jacket. My hands warm up fast when I'm walking so they were fine glove-less; actually, when I wear mittens and walk at the same time I get irritated. I let Dan wear them, though, and he took pictures of Fredericton's hot springs (a vent of some sort) and me daring to breathe into the frosty -22º morning air (with a windchill of -40º, which I certainly felt later on in the afternoon when the wind picked up).

...the snow squeaked underfoot, all day long. The sun shone, though, so that was nice.

...walking outside for more than 20 seconds, my nose began to hurt. Hurt!

...all the doorways on campus had a little bubble of cold around them, on the inside. The windows in the cafeteria were frosted up. My windows here at home have a little rim of ice on the inside, at the bottom. I'm still wearing my longjohns under my jeans.

...I stopped to talk (briefly) to a professor friend in the courtyard and he wasn't wearing a hat. "Are you crazy?" I said. "Yes!" He replied, then went on: "Also, I kind of like this weather. It makes it so Alberta can't make fun of us!" I suppose so. Part of why I'm enjoying this cold Arctic front is that it makes me feel tough--I'm not dead yet! I'm still running around on the squeaky snow, red-cheeked and alive!

...my archives got frostbite and fell off. I'm working on getting them back, though, so worry not.

Did you leave your house today? If you don't live in Fredericton, what's the coldest it's ever been where you are?

on getting on with things

Well, that last post has been up long enough, I think, and even though I haven't got a fantastic one to take its place, this one will have to do.

So it's 2007! My dad says he likes the sound of it better than "2006", and part of me agrees. There's something aesthetically pleasing about 7 that you just don't get with 6. 6 is fair, it's balanced, it's divisible by nearly everything, so you'd think it'd be more likeable, whereas 7 is a little more bad-ass, and to quote Stevie Wonder, "very superstitious". However, when it comes to the year, there's a zingy ring to 7 that pleases the ear. Hard to explain, and highly subjective.

My transition into the new year was a lot of fun, although I paid for that fun the next day by having a hangover that I couldn't quell even with my classic Club Sandwich with Fries Covered in Gravy (no culinary delights there). We partied in Sydney with some friends and made it to several different parties, not really sure where we were at times or whose house we were in (or whose Toblerone bar we were stealing), but that's all part of the fun. The next morning when I woke up there were five kittens to play with, which were the very same ones Kevin tried to eat the night previous. Cuddling with kittens (not eating them) on New Year's Day is a pretty awesome tradition I might just have to start.

And now I'm back in Fredericton, back to school, starting new classes for the semester and jumping back into planning the Film Festival with the rest of "Boost Your Eco!" (Which I'll probably write more about as the weeks progress). The classes are all pretty righteous so far, one of my professors is kind of a mad scientist of Sociology, who mutters and rambles and waves his thin arms and quotes Albert Einstein and trembles a little. Another professor is like a very kindly grandfather who likes to tell us stories about Statistics, and who, when he is taking attendance, says a soft "um" before every person's name, like he is considering whether to offer them tea or juice.

I also like how the further I go into my degree and the more Sociology I take, the more people are familiar to me in my classes; we develop a kind of comradeship. Of course there is the flip side of that, that certain people become infamous from other classes, but that's all par for the course, I suppose. (Pun not intended.)

It's easy for me to get all caught up in the schoolwork, in the readings and things due, and be stressed about it, but I think the most important thing for me to remember is that if you just do the thing, and put as much energy into it as you can at the moment, it will be done. And that's what I mean by getting on with things; like this post, for example.

What are you "getting on" with?

(You can also write about "getting it on" but please be aware that's an entirely different subject.)

thief!

It seems to me that my regular hours and activities have gone missing!

I don't know quite where they went but I think I can attribute the disappearance to Christmas Break, which appears benevolent but is actually a thief in disguise, waiting until you least suspect it to sneak up and grab all schedules you were attached to, all activities which were the backbone of your day, and replace it with those you always wanted to do but never had time. This thief of course thinks you won't suspect, so bedazzled will you be by the sudden opportunity to lie around, watch old episodes of "Sex and the City" and eat lots of chocolate along with dill pickle rice crisps, but then after a few days--alright, let's be honest, more like a few weeks--you realize something is amiss. Something is afoot! Something is a...nother word for wrong. You can no longer reach the old schedules or rely on your body clock to get up at a certain time of day! The horror!

But Christmas Break is not to be feared. It goes away of its own accord, chased off by the bigger and badder Second Semester. Now there's a frightening creature! Trailing papers, schedules and commitments in its wake, it swiftly overpowers Christmas Break and its mamby-pamby thieving ability. Realizing the quick demise of the Christmas Break's reign of terror helps one to enjoy it while it lasts. The positive side is that someone--a birthday girl, in fact, a spring chicken who happens to be Dan's momma--just put a wineglass with Kahlua and milk in front of me, I've only been awake for 5 hours, and I've already walked in the park, climbed in a tree, and done a bit of reading for a paper due next month.

The only thing left to figure out is what to do for New Year's Eve. The last two Eves I spent on the couch due to illness, last year eating Kahlua ice cream and watching a Queen Latifah movie, and the one before that with Janice, who was also sick. This year there is no set party, although one might arise given time and gumption. And gumboots?

To quote Margaret Whiting, "What are you doing New Year's Eve?"

PS I also want to draw my readers' attention (at least, those who know, love or otherwise feel emotion towards one Kevin Lionais) to the latest and greatest link on the left, "Prove It Kevin!" As per Kevin himself, "Merry Crassmas." That is all.

the break we've all been waiting for

Tintin, Captain Haddock and Snowy are also happy that it's time to go home!

But who wouldn't be...

After a semester like this one, it's both mindboggling that it is actually over (I keep thinking maybe I'm in a dream) and really relieving. I finished my take-home exams on Tuesday, passed the last one in, and since then have taken full advantage of the fact that I have nothing pressing to do in order to lie on the couch, doze off, drink tea, watch silly movies (like Wet Hot American Summer, and 200 Cigarettes--love a good Paul Rudd double bill!), read "The Fiery Cross" (number five in the famed Outlander series that I just can't seem to get enough of, no matter how uncool it might be), and now, pack up some bags and head for home, Cape Breton.

Last night a gang of us went out for Gill's birthday to the Snooty Fox, a local drinking establishment with half-price appetizers on Wednesday nights. It was raining out and the booth I was in was right by a window, so I got to stare at Regent Street and the cars passing and the rain coming down. I said to Neal, who was sitting across from me, that that is something I really like about cities, watching the rain slick the streets, and the colors of streetlights reflected on them. I know I'm a country girl at heart--too long in the city and I feel cooped up, and dream of long rambles on dirt roads, yes, while wearing gumboots--but there are some really comforting things about cities too. Busses to take you where you want to go, cafes to spend hours in, and pubs for half-price red pepper and feta dip, within walking distance of your house.

Today I was downtown running some last-minute errands, and on the walk home I was just looking at everything, soaking it all in. I know two weeks isn't a long time to be away from a place, especially a place I'm getting to know so well, like Fredericton, but time is passing so fast these days that I know things will be subtly different when I return.

Some things will be not so subtle, too--there'll be new classes to get into, particularly Research Strategies which will be getting me into "thesis mode" for next year, my last--and of course, Fredericton will be welcoming a West Coast resident in January. Steph joked the other day, "If I could knit, I'd make him a sweater that says 'Dan' on the front and 'the one you've all been waiting for' on the back!" Part of me is glad she can't knit, but part of me also thinks that sweater would be really funny.

I'm off to Nova Scotia (Halifax first for a stop with the Fuller dames) and then Cape Breton by tomorrow! Hope you are all enjoying a break from something...relax first, then tell me about it.

countdowns

2 hours til I am done this paper.

4 days until I am done all my take-home exams, and can finish off the bottle of maple wine while scratching my "Set for Life" scratch ticket that I won a few weeks ago.

7 days to Cape Breton.

8 days to a massage from my mother, certified massage practitioner.

11 days to Dan!!!

17 days to Christmas.

18 days til the Baddeck Fire Hall Boxing Day dance.

24 days til 2007. (What the?!?)

2 months exactly until Boost Your Eco! begins (the film festival).

2 months (roughly) til my brother Mat comes home from the Ukraine.

4 months less 3 days until the last day of classes for my third year of university.

4 months, 14 days til my 23rd birthday.

1 year, 5 months until I have a university degree.




5..4..3..2..1.... What are you counting down to?

fun activities

Well, if the Internet is going to be here, it might as well make me happy.

I say this because lately I've been struggling with addiction. Not the kind that robs you blind or keeps you from having meaningful relationships--although as Janice, Kate, P-Len and Cameron can attest, today I did begin my gambling addiction with a little "Set for Life" with the girls. So maybe I shouldn't speak so fast, but as far as I can tell right now, my addictions are relatively harmless. But that doesn't stop them from being addictive! I'm talking about Facebook, blogs, emails, and all the other nonsense on this old web that tends to keep me coming back for more, and not always sure why.

So since I didn't win the little friendly stare-eyes competition with the Internet (it always wins! damn automatons that don't blink) I figured I must concede. But that won't stop me from using it for my own fun and indulging in making lists with all y'all, so without further ado...

Pleasant Diversions!

(i.e. procrastination, what you do for fun on a Saturday morning or a Tuesday afternoon, the little joys in life that are free or else under 20 bucks, treats for the self for passing a really hard test or for no real reason at all, et cetera...)

My five favorites:

1. Internet coloring books. Save above image and then print it off. Use crayons or glitter pens or if you're feeling particularly adventurous/messy, finger paint with real hot chocolate. You might want to do that last one in the privacy of your own home, unless you are in fact six years old. This ties in with Janice's latest post about how awesome kids can be, and how we often--we being college students, of course--don't see many little kids, and tend to forget that all the other age groups exist.
2. Fashion magazines, whether sassy or conformist. Just make sure you've got a shaker of salt in your Fendi imitation handbag--and maybe some Gloria Steinem for good measure--and you'll be alright.
3. Hot chocolate. Either mixed at home or topped with whipped cream from your local coffee shop. Nothing better.
4. The Red Room at the library--as Jan said, the sense that you're trespassing in some old rich man's personal library, which besides for the trespassing, is true, since it was Lord Beaverbrook's personal collection.
   
5. Sunny days in November. Rare, and short, so I'm going to get out of the house and into one of them.
   

Now you.

sleepy bean

I took this picture earlier today to email to Dan along with a bunch of others in a series (it ended with my head on a pillow, a very nice place to be). I think it accurately sums up how I'm feeling nearing the end of a semester that seems to have been revved up from the word "go": damn tired. If I made a list of the reasons why, well, suffice it to say there would be more than one item on it, but that's not really the point, nor what I've learned. And I think on a blog written by a university student, it's important to talk about these sorts of lessons, since my life is not just made up of enjoying snowfalls, going out for coffee with girlfriends, and joyous essay-writing. (In fact, I think "joyous" and "essay-writing" don't really belong in the same sentence. I reserve the word "joy" for things like holding babies, drinking wine with a dear friend, and the first frost.) The lesson is, of course, that there's only so much Leah to go around, and Leah herself wasn't getting enough.

I told a professor I really admire that I wouldn't be able to work with her, and she wrote back to tell me that an important part of success is to know your limitations. Funny how I can tell myself that a hundred times, but hearing it from her has more weight. But when I made the decision to say "no", it added a bit more weight to my own opinion of what my priorities are. It's also funny how we can forget things that seemed so important at a time when things were more balanced: at the end of summer, before uni began, I told myself that my five classes were going to be my priority, that keeping my scholarship, learning lots of stuff, and enjoying my work by also giving myself time off from school were the most important things, and anything more than that was too much to take on. But once I got back on campus, I found I was comparing myself to a lot of other people, seeing what they did or didn't do, took on or didn't take on, and allowing those comparisons to dictate what I, consequently, should do or take on.

As I said to Mum in one of our conversations lately (she's my go-to counsellor, healer, helper) I have realized it is more of an adult thing to do to realize your limitations and make decisions based on that, than it is to take on a whole lot of stuff. Of course, everyone's got their own limit, so someone else's "manageable amount" is my "way too much" or maybe vice versa. And I think as I'm coming into my adult self, this is something I will need to keep remembering, and re-learning.

So what am I going to do about this? Well, for starters, I'm going to read back over last November because the same issues were rearing their ugly heads then, too. Nothing like a little perspective. And I'm going to make sure I get lots of sleep--so much it feels like too much, and then maybe a little more. And as this is a long weekend, I'm going to take full advantage of it, and maybe do something other than schoolwork for a good solid chunk of time (my scrapbook, and oh how painful it is to admit I have a scrapbook, needs last summer put in it, for posterity, and there is always the prose stylings of Diana Gabaldon to spend hours with).

I just wanted to put this out there in case you were feeling the same way. Are you? If not, what do you do about it?

snow! and a treble-barrelled question

It's snowing! It's snowing!

I woke up this morning at the ungodly hour of 7 am (don't ask me why because I won't say, but it IS a good reason) and pulled up my blinds and squealed! Actually, I didn't squeal because that would wake Marlo up, so I jumped on my chair to see out the window better and squealed in a whisper.

This picture is by Jacky, she took it last year in Montreal. It is my desktop picture at the moment, and I urge all of you to do the same. The rationale is that if it feels like it's already December, then half the battle against November has been won.

I like Bethany's idea from the comments box of the last post, by the way. If any professors are reading this, can we have a crayon day, please? Pretty please?

Also, if any professors actually are reading this, disregard any and all comments I may have made about you in the past. One other thing: how did you find me? That's kind of spooky.

Anyway, not to professors but to the weather in general, thanks for all the snow. That's what is making me happy today, "for sho".

Have you gotten snow yet? Will you be excited when you do? What are you going to do about it?

for whom does the closh toll? it tolls for me

Closh --or Claire and Josh, those two love-birds-- are here on thier way out to Ontario. They've got the Wasabi Princess (Claire's motorbike) and the old white Eurovan, and they're making thier way slowly. Last night they stopped by here and we went down to the Snooty Fox for some grub, and it was so good that it took us twice as long to walk home as it did to walk there. Then they played Backgammon while I read my school readings. It was a good evening. They're off right now exploring Fredericton and will be back to bid me adieu and head off. And meanwhile, I have some porridge to eat and some Reading Notes to write...

Also, yesterday, Bourassa (aforementioned hyper English prof) exclaimed, "Cormac McCarthy put out a new book!" and clutched it with white hands in front of the class. He read us a passage--one eyebrow doing a little dance the whole time--in a deep voice, then when he was done, squealed, "Eeeee! Isn't it great?" And just last week, he was Mick Jagger. Who knew.

These pictures are testamount to the fact that Laura indeed kept her word--she IS a keeper, that's for certain--and loaned me her webcam. Also, they are evidence of the fact that tomorrow morning I board a bus for my home, the lovely Cape Breton. And I clearly can't take my eyes off it. Love me, love Cape Breton. Eh wha?

Happy Canuck Thanksgiving to you all. Where are you going for it? If you're not going anywhere, what lovely things will you be doing? I'll be back soon. I want to hear all about it.

But first I need to get my fill of Celtic Colours, Tim Hortons homeland, and of course wear an orange toque when I'm out in the woods. Don't want to get shot buddy! No bye. No that's for sure.

Also, there are still some interesting comments being made about Dr. Jagger, I mean Bourassa. Read them while you eat your pumpkin pie.

this man IS mick jagger

This morning, Prof. Bourassa (click here for a bio and a nice, candid photo, as well as a list of this man's six--count 'em, six--degrees, ye gads!) was in a silly mood.

"I can't get 'Can't Get No Satisfaction' out of my head!" He said. "I think we should all start singing it at the end of class. Today, I am Mick Jagger." Then someone questioned the syllabus, how we had a week of poetry scheduled for now, when in fact we did that the first week and now we're doing Lolita, and his response was, in a British accent: "Fuck poetry, it's all about rock'n'roll!"

Apparently.

Honestly, though, having this one English class floating in the sea of Sociology (forgive the metaphor, but hey) is quite a relief. It helps that the professor occasionally likes to impersonate rock stars. It helps that the view out the window is of the St. John river valley and is quite pretty at 9 am. And I'm not accusing sociologists of being un-fun--Clow and my colleague Fuller are certainly examples to the contrary! But there's something about talking about texts, narratives, books, morals, art, especially with Bourassa, that is such a welcome break from the discussions of contextualization, social theory and metatheory, research methods, and so on. Especially when you can laugh and feel like you're part of a lively discussion (Bourassa should really give tips to other professors on how to engage your students, because honestly, there's nothing worse than a silence aching to be filled after a professor asks something and then stares out at the audience, saying "I've got lots of time! I'll just wait!"), as well as hear exchanges like the following:

Bourassa: So, what else can we say love is?
Student: Love is not lust.
Bourassa: What? Oh god... I owe apologies to more than a few people!

And just like that, fall is here.

Last Tuesday was so muggy my Deviance professor (not "deviant professor", that would be Michael Clow), Stephanie Bruce, had to open the door that goes outside to get a cross-breeze. We were all melting out of our clothes, even those of us in skirts and tank tops. By Thursday, though, in the same class, we were all bundled up and glad to be inside. The sun was shining but the wind had a bite.

The air is crisp, you can smell wood-smoke in it, and the leaves are starting to turn. I wear my apple-red Sew Inclined hat and my silver bracelets as I walk along the sidewalks of Fredericton, and every now and again, as it did this morning, the sky spits a little, just enough to get your coat spotty, and bead on the wool of your hat, but not enough to drench, to freeze. I wear Mum's knitted socks inside my Birks and don't care if not a single fashionista would do the same. After all, even Vogue this month is extolling the qualities of Fall:

"In Autumn those sense-memory-charged pleasures are even more intense. You draw a pair of opaque tights (black or maple-red or apple-green) from the package and remember that boy who took your hand at the fifth-grade square dance. You slip a sweaterdress over your shoulders, rub the cashmere sleeve against your cool cheek, and think of Mom. A new tweed coat smells of clean wool. An armful of gold bangles clicks and clatters with the sound of a woman setting seriously back to business. October...couldn't you just shiver?"

For October, read September, and for gold bangles, read silver. What cracks me up about that paragraph --at the same time as the aesthete in me revels in every image in the panoply that is Vogue-- is that as carefree and "Fall"-like as it's meant to sound, it was carefully put together by the style editors, crafted to evoke memories and sensations, and ultimately, use those delightful associations of Autumn with new clothes to part rich and not-so-rich women from their money, in the great big happy wheel of economy that Vogue services so beautifully. But no matter. When this is my weekend treat, I'm not going to scratch too deeply beneath the surface.

The point is, I adore fall. It's my favorite season. The best things about it are free: rosy cheeks, mingling outside among bundled families at the Saturday market, looking at the array of pumpkins, gourds, red peppers, broccoli, apples, cranberries. Making a big pot of soup at home and listening to some spicy salsa music (my suggestion: Jesse Cook) at the same time. And speaking of color, there's also Celtic Colors, where this year I'm going to get to see Flook, that energetic flute-centred band from the UK that Catriona and I adored the first time around. With my red hat on, of course.

So when the weather forecasters say things like "Cloudy with periods of rain, winds South 30 km/hr, High 17", I get excited. I fire up the soup pot. I go walk in Odell. I'm happy to be inside with my books. I turn on the Be Good Tanyas, who are good year round but particularly suited to autumnal weather.

Why do you like Fall?

(PS. Thanks to Marlo for the photograph. She took it in Odell Park, last year. She's a fantastic photographer, and lucky for me, allows me to use some of her images to show you guys.)

can u get down with this?

We'll pretend I took this photo instead of stealing it off the Internet. Or, we could dispense with all pretense and just admit that we all steal off the Internet.

Anyway, I'm going to see God Made Me Funky this evening with Lozza and the gang, to get, according to the group's terminology, funkafied. I could use some funk in these here life. I mean, it's already pretty swell, but how could a little funk really go wrong?

I like how the funky people call everyone "U". This is going to take some getting used to! I'm going to have to bone up on the "lingo". Heh. There is nothing guaranteed to make one feel unhip faster than putting the word lingo in quotations.

And already, I feel the creepy cold shackles of university life trying to grab on to me, make me feel guilty for going out on Saturday night, going to funkafy myself. If we can imagine Roxanne Roastbeef Mills (the daughter of C. Wright Mills, an icon of sociology) as a symbol of this sort of nose-to-the-books, no-fun scholarship, she's shaking her strange finger at me. Or would she go dancing too?

keening and moaning

School's back in. It's a little overwhelming to be back in the rush and tumble of academic life, collecting syllabuses--or is that syllabi? or silly busses?--and notes and books and times to meet up with friends and grocery bills and errands to run. However, mostly it is good, it's a good feeling to be back in Fredericton, looking at leaves turning color, everyone's fashions this year (this from a girl who is devoted to Vogue yet whose style remains much the same through the years), catching up with how everyone's summer went. (The go-to response for most people: "Yeah, it was a great summer!" You have to encapsulate it, I guess, for the short conversation. The longer ones leave room for detail.)

My wireless is not hooked up yet, but we're working on it. My classes all seem to be good so far, although I'm working on not being scared of failure. (Hey, don't preach to me about how ridiculous it is to feel that way. I still do.)

My room is pretty much together. There are posters on the walls, new ones and old ones. I seem to decorate a little differently than first year. I'm more selective now. I see the merits of only a few images, spaced out on the wall, as opposed to cramming lots of stuff on there. Old photographs of family members (such as the engagement photo of my lovely grandparents Noble), band posters, postcards, and maps tend to hold forth on this bean's walls.

Today I met up with Kate, accidentally, at the bookstore, and we ended up ranting about keeners. "Down with keeners!" She said. "But wait," I said, "I'm a keener. We're both keeners! What are we going to do?" We decided we're the anti-keeners, or alterna-keeners, as 90's as that sounds. She went off to study her Greek and I went home to do some of my first readings, exhibiting the very paradoxical behaviour that makes us both hate keeners and... succeed.

Hate's a strong word. But still.

How's classes treating all of you? Or, if you're not in school, what are you looking forward to learning about this fall?

Well, well, well. I'm back in the old Freddy-town, back in my bedroom in my apartment on Kings College Road, (the leafy old street), back with old friends, back back back. But, as cheesy as this might sound, moving forward as well. Change is in the air, there's a sense among some of us that we're stepping a little further into adulthood, that this whole University thing is manageable now, that life is opening up in interesting ways.

For example, I am now the proud owner of my first set of real, honest to goodness, new sheets! They are in "Ecru", I bought them from Zellars, and now that they have been washed and dried they are on my bed. It's the little things, really, that make you feel grown-up. It's not so much having money or not having it, as spending it on things that contribute to a more secure feeling, to a house, or to your own happiness as you define it.

School starts Thursday. Til then, I'm acting like a mouse in a nest, busily re-arranging the hay and bits of wood and string til they're just right. Actually, what does a mouse in a nest do? I don't know, I've never observed one. Huh. Well, you understand what I mean.

It's been a whirlwind summer, I don't know where it went, but I have to accept that it's gone, has left some good lessons and some even better memories, and will turn into fall, for better or for worse.