To the Brim

So, I don't know if it's the impending days of Christmas that got me this morning... the lingering thoughts of Remembrance Day, maybe? Or, could it be the current health-crisis my best friend's father is currently going through that has me feeling so emotional? I was on my regular bus this morning when I was literally swamped - I was going to say swept away, but rather than being knocked over I felt completed blanketed by it! - by this feeling of pure love. It just seemed to explode over me, cover me, smother me, this pure pure love for the most important people in my life. It was a wonderful feeling, and I wish I could hold on to it all the time, because it just feels so RIGHT. I honestly feel full to the brim with it.

I chose to express my love to those special people through a very modern medium - text messaging - but that doesn't make it any less real or any less true. Love love love. I love it!

Why God created backpacks.

I clicked on the 'awesome' button at Hyperbole and a Half and got sent to A Simple Apology. There are some uber-hilarious drawings by the site's creator that cracked me up, but none more-so than this one:

Refreshment

I went on a sunny autumn walk during my half-hour lunch break today. The sky was bright, the day star was warm on my skin, and there was a perfect fall breeze. I didn't have my cellphone or other way of telling time so I didn't want to go too far, so I just went down the street and around the business park where my company is installed. I made a pit-stop in 7-Eleven, partially out of habit, and partially out of a desire for *something*. A slow amble through the shelves still had me leaving with empty hands, which I guess is a good thing. 

Today is the third day of my new life, and there were a couple of interesting things that occurred. One, I had no desire to stop at the store on my way to work to get a diet coke. Usually I feel like heading into a day without at least one 591ml bottle of the stuff is the surest way to death. But, this morning, my mouth had no desire for it. The second thing was that short stop at 7-Eleven. Feeling as world-weary as I do today, I should have been grabbing at anything and everything with a calorie count over my daily intake amount. But, I didn't. Good for me :)

Going for a walk was a great idea, though. It was perfect; walking let me rest my eyes, enjoy some natural vitamin D, soothed my nerves with necessary solitude, and gave me a few moments where the relationship between my body and I was based solely on the need to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Riotous

Textures

Sometimes when I'm playing photographer I like to take pictures of things that you can almost 'feel' with your eyes. You know onomatopoeia? It's kind of the same thing, except instead of words that sound like the sounds they stand for, it's images that feel like the subjects they're of. Below is just a series of random pics from the last month or so. 

This is a close-up of a cement pillar outside the Clareview Superstore. I had the day off, and to save the hassle of dragging a prickly 10-year-old through the torturous (to him) project of grocery shopping, I went in and bought all the things we needed and then waited outside for L and the kiddo to come pick me and my packages up. There was a few people also hanging around the front of the store, either waiting for a ride or scoping out an opportunity to take off with one of the bright orange pumpkins being displayed under the store's outdoor canopy. 

This is the pretty little leave that decorated my place at the dinner for L & C's wedding on Saturday. It was a buffet, so there was no plates at our seats, just a lovely white napkin with a specially placed leaf atop it. I love how you can see the veins in the leaf, which is an actual natural item and not some plastically-produced product!

This picture is from outside my building. There are all these cement planters with bright coloured flowers in various states of seasonal decline. The dandelion fluff and/or spiderwebby type substance makes everything look fuzzy and soft. I didn't dare test out the actual textures, though!

Another flower from the planters outside my building. I love playing with macro on my camera and seeing how close I can get without making things blurry. This petunia (pansy?) looks so soft, like velvet. Makes me wish I was a little like Thumbelina so that I could curl up in the center of these beautiful heart-shaped petals and have a nice, long, afternoon nap.

Autumn

Wedding Bliss

My good friend L was lawfully wedded to her long-time partner C this past Saturday, October 2nd. They held the ceremony outside at the Sunridge Ski Resort, and the reception directly afterwards in the resort's ski chalet. The location was absolutely perfect for a fall wedding - the open vista at the rear of the lodge showcased the beautiful river valley in all of autumn's colours, the weather was deliciously cooperative and the sun swept everyone and everything with a golden brush. L and C kept the actual marriage rite short, with a lady person doing the honours. I honestly did not expect to cry at this wedding, and told my companions as much before the ceremony began, but as soon as L came confidently down the red-carpeted aisle, her face lit by the gorgeous smile you can see below, I started bawling like a baby. I've known L since 2002, and we've been well acquainted with the changes in eachother's lives, the ups and the downs, the good, the bad. She is so important to me, and to see her so breathtakingly happy made my heart feel so full.

 L, in her fairy-tale dress, her lovely autumn bouquet in hand. 

The sun was shining directly in her eyes, which explains the slight squint.

The ceremony begins. The actual dialogue that the bride and groom exchanged was much less flowery and effusive than I would choose for my own wedding, but that is because L and C ARE much less flowery and effusive than I am. Each word suited them perfectly, and the emotion threaded through the words was much more real and much more important.

B, the very-pregnant maid of honour on the far left, did an amazing job, as did her tiny little wee bun in the oven. She's known L since they were in kindergarten, so I can't imagine how emotional she felt watching L marry her soul mate.

K, getting very poetic with the beautiful leave garnishing his seat at the dinner table.He insisted on a do-over with the leave moved so that the top point of it was up at his thumbs, but the resulting image didn't turn out nearly as well as this one. 

 

Lovely table decorations scattered across "kiss cards" that were left for the guests to fill with anecdotes about the bride and groom, who agreed to kiss whenever one of these stories was shared with the couple.  

As a perfect ending to the evening, L and C had a candy buffet for everyone to partake of. The picture above is of the depressing and desolate remains. Those pretty dishes were once filled with yummy candy and chocolate, before the celebrants descended.

My favourite parts of the evening were as follows: not having to wait for hours between the ceremony and dinner while the wedding photos were done; the colours, the colours, the colours!; how happy L looked; the fantastic mix of music (especially hearing "Kiss to Build a Dream On" by Louis Armstrong!); the slideshow; watching C's parents dominate the dance floor; the way B kept making me laugh every time we spoke to eachother; and all the hugs! Yay, weddings! Happy happy love love. Congratulations, my friends. 

Toothsome Twosome

Toothsome: 

1. of delicious or appetizing appearance, flavour, or smell

2. attractive; alluring

Hello, heartbeat? You should probably slow down, now. 

Yes, they're gorgeous. But, seriously. Slow down.

 

Nobody knows this, but under his suit you'll find 

blue tights and a cape.

Only he knows where that hand has been. 

Though, I have a fair idea.

Bounty

Lianna's coworker brought her some apples from her apple tree. Since my lady isn't so fond of this particular coworker and isn't one to pretend otherwise, I warned her to be careful not to pick the poisoned one.

Friends Forever

Homecraft Nouveau

Just wanted to share this little piece of funky/beautiful. This is so distinctly not the kind of arts-and-crafts project I could see my female relatives recommending. Where's the yarn? Where's the macaroni? What it IS, though, is quite possibly the coolest craft I have seen in a VERY long time. Made by the intrepid creator and writer of Epbot and Cakewrecks, Jen, and her equally amazing husband John, this desk is so gorgeous and creative I want to steal it from their house. Or, you know, make my own. 

Just one angle of the penny-pocked desk-top

Visit here to see more amazing pictures and a step-by-step tutorial of how they changed an ordinary piece of wood into a fantastic, rustic, steampunk-inspired piece of furniture.

Bypassed Bonbon

The following are all the types of chocolate bars I have received over the 10+ Halloweens spent trick-or-treating:

1. Oh Henry
2. Kit Kat
3. Crunchie (yuck)
4. Aero (only okay if you're pretty desperate)
5. Dairy Milk (boring!)
6. Crispy Crunch
7. Mars Bar
8. Skor
9. Snickers (ew)
10. Three Musketeers
11. Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
12. Reese's Pieces
13. Smarties
14. Glossette Raisins
15. Glossette Peanuts
16. Caramilk
17. Hershey Cookies'n'Creme
18. regular boring Hershey
19. Wunderbar (blech)
20. Coffee Crisp
21. M & M's
22. Peanut M & M's

Not ONCE have I ever dumped my bag of goodies on to the kitchen table and found, immersed in the sea of candies, chocolates, and other assorted teeth-rotting yumminess, a scrumptious treat-size Rolo!

How can Rolos be anything other than traditional Halloween fare? Why did they not make the cut? Did I just not go to the right houses? Live in the wrong neighbourhood? Move to the worst province in Canada?

Raspberry Swirl

This morning I caught a later bus than usual and found myself sharing public transportation with a boy who had the most beautiful head of red hair that I have ever seen. I first caught sight of him while we were waiting for the approaching bus to pull up to where we waited. The bright autumn sun seemed to seek him out, glancing off the dark red copper and making the colour so rich and vibrant it took my breath away. 

I have ALWAYS wanted red hair. Beautiful, thick, long red hair. Maybe curly, maybe straight, that's not really important. All that mattered - and still matters - is the colour. I long for red hair, the kind of heavenly red that you want to sink your senses in to. Anne of Green Gables, my hero in so many other ways as well, had what I coveted so strongly - a bright braid of red. But, she despised it! So, while she was struggling to come to peace with the hated hues of her hair, I was stewing with jealousy. I'd be more than happy to take on her burden, if only she wasn't a fictional character in a favourite book.

Why red? Well, I don't really know. I guess you could say that red hair is a symbol of everything I've never been - fiery, passionate, rare, exciting, eye-catching, electric. Red hair is common in the Irish and Scottish, two parts of my four-split heritage and the two cultures I align myself with most strongly. Or it could just be that red is my favourite colour to look at and to live in. 

 

Usually I prefer to stay away from dying my hair as I am usually pretty content now with my brownish-auburnish locks. They redden up slightly in the summer, and glow in under the sun in a pleasing way. And, I like to be natural, real. After setting sights on that beautiful colour this morning, though, I'm considering making a stylist appointment, stat, so that I can carry the most beautiful part of autumn atop my head.

Bologna Sandwiches

I'm re-reading a book by Anne Lamott on writing, and one of the exercises she has her writing classes do when the students find themselves creatively blocked is to talk about the lunches they had during their school years. It sounds like an inane enough task, but she proved to her students time and time again how the simplest task can open a world of inspiration. 

When I was a kid in elementary school my brother and I were lucky enough to live close enough to our school that our mom was able to come at lunch time and pick us up so that we could have a home-made mid-day meal. I loved this part of the day, not just because I've been a notorious "good eater" (which means I'll eat pretty much anything in front of me) from the very beginning, but because lunchtime at school was like recess at school, only worse... you know, 'cause it was longer. Eating at home allowed me to escape teasing from my classmates, and the overwhelming loneliness of having to eat lalone in a gymnasium full of kids. Lunch at home always involved soup of some kind, usually tomato with milk to make it extra creamy. Sandwiches would also grace the table, usually roast beef or ham. I loved bologna, and even to this day bologna sandwiches and tomato soup make me long for simpler times.My mom would get everything ready and set out for us before she left to collect us, even breaking up soup crackers in our bowls so that we wouldn't have to. This MAY have been more for her OCD than for us, as I now know the mess a child can make with even one saltine. This early preparation only backfired on us once, when our dog, a golden lab named Dale, propped herself up against the table and proceeded to eat every speck of food that my mom had prepared. She was definitely in the doghouse for awhile after that.

Every once in awhile, my mom would surprise us with a lunch packed in a  brown paper bag and tucked into our backpacks. She would tell us that our dad would be coming to pick us up for lunch instead of her, and to make sure we didn't take our time in the hallway because he was coming from his work to get us and couldn't waste any time. I'm not sure why these random dates would happen - maybe our dad wanted to spend time with us? Maybe our mom thought he SHOULD? Regardless of the reason, every couple of months our dad would pull up outside our school in his dirty old work van.  He'd be wearing his once-white, now multi-coloured overalls and a gray t-shirt underneath. Sometimes he had a beard, sometimes he didn't. We'd pile into the front bench seat of his van, full of paint cans and tools and smelling strongly of chemicals and he'd drive us back to his work, a government-run construction and painting company on the other side of the highway that ran past town. My dad was a  journeyman painter, a title that meant nothing to me until I was old enough to understand that tradespeople had to go to school, too. My dad, brother, and I would sit in the worker's lunch room, which we usually had to ourselves, and eat our lunch. Maybe we talked... I can't remember. All I can really recollect, and mostly because I am experiencing some of the same feeling right now, is a sense of discomfort, a  shroud of anxiety. These visits were never fun, at least not for me. I would feel so awful and uncomfortable and aware of every single passing second during these meals that even being in a vehicle that smells slightly of paint can be crippling to my mental state. To this day I can't figure out why I reacted so negatively, still react so negatively, to these small blips on the tracking monitor of my life. Truthfully, I haven't actually sat down and maybe-d out myself to come to some kind of conclusion. Maybe I will one day. 

For now, I give kudos to Anne Lamott. Once again, she has inspired me to write.

Pain in the Cervical Vertebrae

Seasonal Showers

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
George Eliot

(ab)Sense of Humour

I've found that one of the most difficult hurdles to overcome when starting work at a brand new job is learning what 'kind' of funny I need to be so that my fellow employees will view me as a welcome member of the tribe and not a total crazy-daisy. Everyone likes a girl with a friendly nature and a good sense of humour... but, as I've learned over time, not every one is a fan of of my particular brand of make-em-laugh. For instance, at my newest place of employ, I have found that the wacky vein of humour I like to tap in search of making my coworkers chuckle fails, more often than not, to amuse. It's been a crushing blow to my ego, my consistent inability to say something - ANYTHING - that will entertain the three girls/women/whatever that I share an office with. We're all of the same general age range, we're all relatively normal, we're all devoid of that sinister serial-killer vibe. So, how come they don't understand how funny I am!?

After coming to the conclusion that I shouldn't depend on my own funny bone to guide me, I've been calling to arms the infinitely more humourous writings of some of my favourite bloggers to redeem myself. I've quoted The Bloggess, Hyperbole and a Half, 27b/6, Dooce, Pioneer Woman and Cakewrecks, and have received in return no more than the most placating responses. My coworkers, who I enjoy and adore, DO kindly acknowledge my feeble attempts. Their responses feel like the equivalent of a pat on the head from a solicitous elderly aunt.  Needless to say, its just not good enough. 

I want them to think I'm funny. Think I'm funny! Funny!