This Week in Pictures: the Weather Edition

April 25th, 2013

Are. You. Kidding. Me. 

Biggest snow puke of the Winter. The few days before, we had FINALLY started to see the brown earth from underneath as ice gave way to thaw. I was not impressed with you, Mother Nature, on this day. Especially not with the cyber reports of epic sun down the West Coast.

We had plans to BBQ in the sunshine this weekend, man! And go canoeing! 

*Fist Shake at Sky*

Toronto

This was a trip that I decided to go on; then not go; then go on-- several times over.

When you become one part of A Couple, the thing they fail to tell you is that you become very, very used to having your person around. Making decisions with your person. Sitting across the table at a restaurant with your person.  Exploring new and old territory with your person.

And the operative word in those sentences, is 'with'; a preposition that usually accompanies the presence of another.

In my extreeeeeemely single days (which I believe spanned all the years post high school and well after graduating from University), there was no need to use the word 'with'-- it was implied that Joann would be making the decision, eating at the restaurant, exploring the territory...with herself. And while that is largely written to make use of parallelism and is exaggerated to fit the point, it is true that despite having gorgeous, wonderful friends and family, I only relied on myself, when it came down to it.

Independent Joann was very fierce in those days. I think I did my fair share of scoffing at girlfriends who got lost in the depth of their partners (though I doubt we called them 'partners' back then), who became a part of a sticky pact. Girlfriends who made clear demarcations that this new person was a VIP, and thus made time for him, talked about him, held the importance of his happiness on par with hers. I'll never be like that, I thought.

I'm sorry if it was you I scoffed at. Because, well.......... now I get it.

That interdependence does not equal codependence.
That it is valid, and true.

Life in Pictures: Mapril

After we shook off the hibernation from our eyes in February, it's been pretty zoom zoom from there. I was hardly home in March-- flitting from one coast to the other for Spring Break, a staycation at Kathleen's with her chickens and hospitality, and then in windy Whitehorse to learn myself up real good at a counselling conference.

Here are some brief images from Nikki. Toronto post coming up next. 

Saturday morning ritual

Apparently, Spring

We had a freak cold snap this past week, where temperatures dropped to minus 30 in the mornings. For now, it is dangerous to start imagining and trusting in the concept of 'Spring'. There is little evidence of it yet, though it has warmed up to -5 again as I type.

While I wait for crocuses to bloom and the annual putting-away of my snow boots, here are some odes to the beauty of what Winter can be. (Have fun with your T-shirt weather, everyone else.)

On Creating

These days, people always shoot their eyebrows up in surprise when I tell them that I majored in Theatre in university. I suppose being an introverted individual, living in a somewhat isolated + isolating community of 800, doesn't automatically lend itself to being a natural match for a life in the Dramatic Arts.

BUT.





From the age of 15 (when I was part of my first play, Audience) to the age of 25 (when I moved away to London), I was on stage. A lot.

I have been a green oompa loompa. A student revolutionary in China. The greek goddess of wisdom, Athena. I've dropped trou and displayed granny panties on stage; been cast as the "sassy lesbian"; played the awkward and disillusioning aftermath of a sex scene in Vienna, in 1900. I directed and created and starred in an ensemble-based show, called The Secret Keeper, inspired by the Postsecret website--which was simultaneously the single most rewarding and shit-my-pants inducing time of my life.

I (almost) fell in real love once, on stage. With a boy.

2012 in Pictures

Being the daughter of a photographer, I have photos that document everything: naked bums, tears, chickenpox, awkward bang lengths, dubious 90's fashion, sisters, prom, every Christmas present unwrapping event...... even photos of the first production I was in at UBC: meaning, either my mom or dad snapped pictures from the audience with the flash ON as I was PERFORMING.

 I am a self-professed and oft-accused photojunkie myself. Perpetuating the stereotype, I love taking pictures of food. Meals that have been prepared with love, scarfed down in an instant, immortalized forever. In those moments when I don't have Nikki with me, and end up not capturing the vibrancy or joy or what have you on film... sometimes it haunts me. Sometimes I feel that much more enveloped in love when I know that there will be proof later to look back on.

 This all being said, 2012 was probably the year in my adult life that I have documented the least. Chalk it up to the events of last year, or learning how to be more in the present moment, but I really don't have very much. So in this year in pictoral review, there may be some gaps here or there; big pockets of time missing.

We'll see. In any case, I'm betting there will be lots in 2013 to photograph.

                                              -------------------------------------------------

In 2012, it was cold,

Looking Back, Looking Forward

Dear 2012,

    Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

You are over. You are done. I survived you. Not only did I survive you, but-- truly, really-- I Lady Lazarus-ed you; I arose from the ashes of some serious heartache and became more Me and more grateful than I have ever, ever been.

There was a point when I wanted to (and many times, did) scream expletives at you and rail my tiny fists against your dim sky. Where some OJ Simpson around your uncooperative neck would have satisfied my despair. It was a very narrow corridor I paced inside my heart; horizons so far away.

Old perspective: "Take THAT, 2012!"