Swimming naked in alphabet soup

Saturday, February 17, 2007

A letter

I found this while going through old writings. It touched me so much and reminded me of things I have occassionally forgotten.

How much of ourselves are just stories we tell ourselves in the heat of the night or the lull of the day? How much of the inward vision of ourselves is built from personal vows, as tears are wiped away from eyes or hurt words escape our lips and arms are flailing? How much of that inner image is comprised of childhood wounds, damage and disappointments? How much of our internal character derives from what we tell ourselves we should want? How much room do we allow for our real, private truth, desires and dreams? How much time is allotted for such things on a daily basis? Is there any? If there is time and space allowed for our inner truths it’s not near enough. Our inner child is fighting to get out and play and we keep them behind a solid fence, unable to see our current reality, incase they would cry and kick and scream over the unhappiness which is our lives.

It’s 4am. I only left you 3 hours ago and I miss you already. This deep yearning for another being surprises me. This longing is a scary reaction to your absence, scary because I never really wanted to need anyone. Or did I? The better I get to know you, the more about myself I learn. I have begun to realize that many aspects about myself, I thought to be true, were in fact fictional stories I told myself, to protect myself, to portray a façade of a harder person. But if I’m honest with myself, I never wanted to be that hard person, the person with an inpenetratable soul. I wanted to be open. I ached for the connection. I craved the opportunity to be vulnerable, despite my outwardly notions.

I always dreamed of you. I dreamed of such a bond as we share. I hungered for a worthy partner to spar with, laugh with, cry with and grow with. I always wanted to want someone that I couldn’t get enough of. I wanted to want that someone who couldn’t get enough of me. For a long time, I thought that I wanted too much, that I was being unreasonable. I told myself stories about the need to be happy with what I had. I shushed my nagging gut feelings that there was someone out there for me and sat myself down citing some wise relationship guru, “No relationship is perfect.” Of course, this is true. No relationship is perfect. But some relationships are worth the moon and the stars. That is the difference that escaped me before.

While really asking myself the difficult question, allowing my inner child to come out to play and kick and scream, I tried to understand my core, my personal truths. What is “real” is to me? Who am I really? What do I really want? This was no small task, I assure you. Some truths came more quickly than others. The initial one to pop into my head, “This world is unjust.” This is my first truth. Sad really, that the first idea that popped into my head about the reality, in which I live, is so gloomy. But this was the truth which was most apparent to me, after I closed my eyes and cleared my mind. Deep breath.
However, my second truth came shortly after. Deeper breath and then, “This world is beautiful”. This instantaneous yin and yang demonstrated to me the constant strive for balance I have, and the strive, I think, I share with the world, whatever “the world” may be.
Ok. I have to say, I was pretty impressed with those first two truths. They were solid. They were my inner truths that I based my life and existence on. What other inner truth did I have? I sat for a moment trying to clear my head completely so that my next truth would come to me freely. It wasn’t a moment before it came to me, and I was overwhelmed to tears. If there was anything in this world that was true, I knew it was you and I. Me and you. If everything else in the world came crashing down around my ankles and there was still me and you, you and I, then I would be happy. You are my truth, my touchstone, my reality check. You and I have something together that we could never even dream of apart. You and I share a deep-tissue, heart-wrenching kind of love that is written about in epic novels or passed down from generation to generation to remind people that such a connection can and will really happen. I think we both knew of our potential the first moment we ever met. I remember looking into your eyes and seeing behind them, into you. I remember feeling like you could really see me. I shied away at first. Then you shied away. We’ve both taken our turns in trying to withdrawal, but never really being able to do so. I think deep down we knew our truth. Our subconscious knew of our connection before we did. Somehow, we knew of the power and strength we could have together.

Words are just words. Often they mean nothing at all. If I thought that you didn’t understand or feel my truths, I wouldn’t bother letting writing this to you. However, it’s because you understand and feel my truths, it’s because I know you comprehend all this, even without these words, is why we have us. My truth, our truth. You and I. Me and you.

June 18, 2005

Thursday, February 15, 2007

How feminist am I?

How feminist am I that while at my rehearsal of The Vagina Monologues, I am researching Abortifacient Herbs for an article for the online feminist Zine Empowerment4women.org
I’m trying to scrape up the information that was extracted and then denied to my foremothers.

I am very glad I was asked to read a monologue this year. This is my 4th year. The monologues have done so much for me (what can’t you do if you’ve made University admin scream “Vagina!” and “Cunt!” ?) that I wanted to give another woman a chance. I wanted to allow space for another woman to have space to grow and learn and become empowered.

However, since I am a female president of the Graduate Students’ Union and there is also a fellow female in the role of the undergraduate’s Students’ union- this being the first time where there was ever two women presidents- we were asked to read the spotlight monologue. I was flattered and secretly grateful I could participate again this year. I’ve never experienced anything like The Vagina Monologues. It’s wonderful. Sisterhood. Laughing, smiling, crying, healing, together.

Ok, hafta go back to writing…..

Monday, February 12, 2007

New Flickr account!


I got a new FLICKR account everyone! I've put a few pics on already.


Thursday, February 08, 2007

People in Starbucks are so serious. Hands over-emphasizing each sentiment, statement and opinion. Three women, one in a fur coat, talk in arguing tones about friends in hospitals, waitlists and purchases. Everyone is uber professional. Ignoring the people at other tables since that is the courteous and proper thing to do whilst in a public, corporate coffee shop.

No one looks familiar here, even though this city feels so small sometimes. Everyone looks so important, or is trying to accomplish such. A women yells into her earpiece about the need to finish the report before her flight, completely oblivious to all those around her in seemingly equally important conversations. I do the rude thing and try to eavesdrop to try to understand what all these very important people are talking about in these very important conversations but I can’t piece together their plots or story lines. There are words floating around and I catch a few. Email. Information. Selling. Expertise. Process. Salary. Build. Manager. Hope. Finish.

How cosmopolitan of us. Wouldn’t know if I was in a New York Starbucks. I look around and realize my own part in this play. The lone girl, sitting at a table, typing away at her apple laptop.

Mente, sugar-free, non-fat Latte

Our culture, our lives summed up in a product, Fancy, over priced coffee.

And keith enters from his job interview. “I knocked that out if the park.” Oh, the confidence of the male sex. I wish I had been taught it was ok to exude such assurance. Alas, my femaleness and its training would frown on such a declaration. I try to quickly get over my own envy to return my full attention to my partner. He was glowing, grinning from ear to ear, his face red from the cold outside. “But, I have the worst pit stains, ever.” He shows me the round moist circle under his arm and I laugh out loud. Everyone sweats in interviews. The Fight or flight response to intense, potentially life changing stimuli. However, such an amount of perspiration I have only seen on the bodies of men, women maintaining a drier reality even in high stress situations. I smile at our differences and ask him to recite every word spoken in his interview. He takes a deep breath and begins....

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Yes, I am one of those ridiculous dog owners, but she's so cute I don't really have any other choice

Daisy turned One yesterday. Bless her little heart. So, we had a birthday party for her! She had aunts and uncles sending her birthday wishes all day and some of whom dropped by for drinking and gift giving.

I made her a Doggie cake, with cottage cheese icing, which she gobbled up. Keith gave her wine in her bowl, which she drank up! She got many great and thoughtful presents, including one dog toy that was George W.! She tore off his cowboy boot almost right away! What a good girl we have.

Poor thing, today she was hing over. Sleepy and very thirsty. She hasn't taken her "Pink Ladies" coat of since she got it. She loves it.

I love my puppy!
You say ridiculous, I say affectionate!

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Restaurant Lists: K and H style!

Hans and Kelly List

Favorite St. John’s Restaurants

1. Sun Sushi- Best sushi ever! Hans “because they import ninjas to cook for us!”

2. The Sprout –Best Pad thai ever! People are cool! And YUMMY, greasey tofu strips!

3. International Flavours- Quirkiest service ever, where it’s a privilege to get your food! Great curry. Hans, “cause they have the best, most crispy samosas I’ve ever had!”

4. The Gypsy Tea Room- Hans,”Cause they serve alligator-which I classify as a fish!”

5. The Keg – for the salmon Neptune and Tuna dishes. Hans, “because they have the coolest staff!”

6. Basho –for dessert and martini’s

7. Giovani Cabotos- because cool people like it

8. Finnigan’s Wake (when it was on the go)

9. Get Stuffed- new place, great food, great ambiance

10. Bamboo Garden- for hans, Kelly no like

11. The Peppermill- Great fish dishes!

Honourable mention -Ponderosa for Little Hans Ponder-GROSSa, says Kelly

Worst St. John’s Restaurants-----ew!!!!

Oscar’s – 24 hour restaurant, bad just bad

Around the world- Hans can’t remember why

That Thai place we can’t remember the name of (where The Athenian is now)

Casa Grande- “raw burritos make you sick”, says Hans


Monday, January 15, 2007

Disgustingly Happy in Newfoudland

Oh my. Life grants me these moments of deep gratitude and I make sure to enjoy them as much as I can.

I just finished this book Mom gave me for Christmas, "This Much Is True", by local author Tina Chaulk. It's a fish out of water story about her, a Newfoundlander who loves everything about this place, a Newfoundlander who wears black on July 1st because it was originally Memorial Day for Newfoundlanders, not Canada Day, a Newfoundlander who just graduated from Memorial University and can't find work so she has to go to "Hell", aka Toronto. It is a delightful and emotional story of her experiences in the 1980s, while in hell. I found myself looking forward to bed time to see what Lisa was up to in her zany but oh-so-relatable life. The city kicks her ass in more ways that I ever thought a city could, but she continues, she survives. There were so many similarities in our stories, sometimes it was down right creepy.

The ending was satisfying, warming and just made me so grateful that I'm still living here. I could still breathe the cool salty air Lisa couldn't wait to taste and hold in her lungs, I could still hear the differing Newfoundland accents she was craving, I could take a drive on any day and watch the waves of the powerful ocean hit the jagged cliffs just like so desired. I'm still here and I'm oh-so-grateful for that. My heart and soul are in this place and I don't have any say over that. Even though I may have a strong desire to travel, see things, meet people and wander the world in my own occasional gypsy ways, this will always be home base. All roads will eventually lead back here.

Pink, White and Green

Between the narrows,
in the purity of the island,
I belong.
Rain, drizzle, fog
bring thanksgiving to the sun.
Floating in the middle of the Atlantic,
still a virgin,
untouched by the rat race.

Stepping off a plane,
I can smell the salt
in the fresh, cool air.
Feels like home.
People around all
talking and laughing
“’Bye, it could be worse!”
Wouldn’t change a thing.

Troubles and wealth,
richer than Voisey’s Bay.
Along the edge,
A Newfoundlander watches
the sea fucking
the jagged cliffs,
over and over and over,
since before the invention of thought.

The waves, cliffs, air, people
all around.
You belong to it,
it belongs to you.
Has your wharf been washed away
by raging storm or dormant government?
The dory turned up in the yard
makes the Newfoundlander’s heart bleed.

My uncle sits and rocks
Speaks of good ol’ days
when he awoke at 4am and braved
the hurricane winds and the 40 foot swells
and came home exhausted and proud.
Another day of his birth rite.
Strange how cold and comfort
can come together.

The island, the place
no Newfoundlander ever really leaves,
where the cod were once abundant,
where everything moves slower-
except the mother tongue,
where there are no real strangers,
where people look after one another
and anything can be solved over a beer.

Where the land and sea will accept you
as the child of nature you are.
She’ll hold you to her bosom,
and warm you to your core,
if you let her.

Was there ever a more beautiful word spoken?
sweet Newfoundland.
Where I graciously call Home.