Inspired by the CBC? Hell yeah!

Okay, one more post before my head hits the pillow. I had to get this out. It was too good not to share, and you'll never guess where I got it from... CBC.

I have a guilty pleasure. Yes, just one of them. I try to watch CBC's Being Erica every week. It's a novel concept - time traveling to fix or learn from your mistakes - a bucket list of regrets and potential do-overs. And in tonight's episode, I heard this gem:

"Your past mistakes and bad decisions are in the past... your future is spotless."

Gotta love it!

Hello, my name is Simon

Well you know my name is Simon,
and the things I draw come true
Take me
take me
take me
Over
Climb the ladder with you

At least I think that's how the song goes for Simon in the Land of Chalk Drawings.

I think I stopped drawing in Grade 8 where my pictures still included big, fluffy clouds, rainbows and hills. I was also good at drawing eyes - one eye only - cause the other eye always came out a little lopsided and certainly not the mirror image of the other. Today was my first day in the next set of art classes given by my friend Sir Robert of Norval. I was nervous because a) I didn't know the theme of the class and b) it may mean that my secret of being able to draw only rainbows and fluffy clouds badly may be revealed.

This is one of Robbie's latest pieces and incorporates the texture and "run" techniques I've learned in his class.
Isn't he great?

I can't draw a straight line, and even with a ruler I'm a bit off-centre. I think that's just a reflection of me really - off-centre, a little skewd from the norm. But today it was all about perspective, learning the two-point perspective of why things in the foreground appear larger, more substantial, foreboding and things in the background appear smaller. They're still there but just a little out of reach and smaller. Today I learned that I can draw, if only I give myself a little perspective.

So here it is: my perspective. I get weighed down in the little details, sometimes too focused on the whole picture to see what's right in front of my face, the first steps I have to make to instil change. Change in me, change to my present situation, no matter what it is, it's all about looking at the perspective and the flow of the walk, of the road, of the river I have to navigate to end up on the horizon and just a little closer to my goal.

I'm being cryptic but that's just because I'm not certain about my whole goal, the reality of where I want to end up. A new job? Definitely. A career in writing or communications? Probably. Living a life closer to my real self? Most certainly. So, I will deal with the things in the foreground first, the painting in of the trees before taking on the river at the widest point.

I've mapped out my travels and put pencil to canvas to sketch out the outline. Next it's onto colour, the painting in of the sky, river and rolling hills before I carve out the trees, the larger ones first and then smudging in of the details.

All I know is I'm excited about getting into the paints, feeling the softness on my fingertips and the texture of the canvas. I'm excited about the journey and getting my hands full of paint in the process.

The Dancing Queen of Suburbia

Shhhh... I have a secret boyfriend. Don't tell The Man. Though if he reads this post then the cat is out of the bag and I really should have never put a cat in a bag in the first place.

I've been lax in writing because I'm still reeling from our chance encounter, this secret boyfriend and I. It happened about two weeks ago on a grassy knoll with tiny fairy lights flickering. It was so beautiful I think I even heard music playing.

Was it in my head? The music? Nope. It was on the lawn seats of the Molson Ampitheatre with Toronto skyline in the background. Does it matter if there were 10,000+ other people in attendance? Billie Joe didn't seem to think so as his soulful eyes searched the crowd to find me. A pointed finger and a full moon later and I was reeling. It was meant for me. Out of the thousands of people bopping and weaving to 21 Guns or whatever other song on the list, he looked for me and instantly I was transformed, my hair flipping in the wind, my hips moving and my arms outstretched for the embrace I was sure was coming next. It didn't matter that he'd have to crowd surf about 50,000 feet, he'd find me.

I started to write this post a few days ago in the confines of my Cell Block C cubicle and I shivered with every word I typed. I hate to say that I think it was the dregs of my Sinus/Ear Infection but it was shivers nonetheless. The Man knows but doesn't really know how deep my love for Billie Joe Armstrong goes. The Green Day concert was just his front to find both of us in the same city, the same venue, breathing the same August wind.

This summer, my travels have been relatively close to home: Toronto, Kemptville, Quebec City. But it's nowhere near BJ and his gyrating. I don't think I'll ever be someone who would travel the world following a band. I know there are people out there (and probably in this blogosphere) who would but it's just not me. BJ has to come to me. And under a mid-August night, he did and I loved every minute of it. It's just too bad the restraining order keeps me so far away from him.

Okay, I jest. There is no restraining order and although I love my BJ (that sounds so bad but oh well...) I am pretty sure I would not know what to do or what to say if I ever had a chance to meet him in the flesh and not just from a distance. I'm kind of shy like that and I definitely holds me back.

I remember when I was wee and I would meet new people, even my parents' friends, and I would hide between my dad's legs and peek out to catch glimpses every once in a while. This shyness still rears its ugly head every once in a while with a bout of tongue-tiedness and the inability to walk into a group of people and immediately start a conversation with a group of strangers. It's worse if I find them attractive or, god forbid, actually genuinely like one of them. I go red, get flustered and all forms of communication slips from my grasp. I'm just thankful I don't resort to grunts and guffaws the like of my ancestors, the neandrathals. They may walk upright but they can't for the life of them use a full sentence of comprehensive words. Maybe I have more in common with them than I think...

I was a little tongue tied in Quebec City, where I again met up with a crowd of people I hadn't seen in almost 10 years. I was nervous at seeing them all, given how much I had changed physically. Gone was the trendy hairdo, the svelteness of my youth. But, after a few minutes of hiding behind some well-placed legs and I began to find my own voice. It didn't matter how much I had changed on the outside; I was still the same on the inside and that was what mattered.

I met up with Francis, my favourite French roommate/brother/friend and even though we were now into a new decade, I was still his "girl," in his circle. It was like no time had passed and I was still that fun-loving, water-fight instigating girl who danced the night away. And danced I did. Arms wide, head back and laughing. I danced like no one was watching and it was liberating.

So, when I ventured downtown to meet up with Billie Joe and his entourage I kept with it... dancing arms outstretched and head held back, taking in the sounds, the sights and dancing like I was the only one there. He was singing for me and I was dancing for him.

We all need more moments like that - carefree and unabashed - regardless of who is there and who is watching. The only person I judge is myself and I'm beginning to like what I see.

P.S. I was going to write about phoque shows and in meeting old friends for dinner and drinks in the city. When I put the fingers to the keyboard I had no idea where it would take me. The rest will have to wait for tomorrow's post. I have so much to catch up on.

You have arrived

It seems that this blog has been my arena to reflect upon and admit my mistakes, idiosyncrasies and foibles. This entry is no different.

My friends all know this already, but here it is: I am directionally illiterate. I know left from right, and if I know that a certain road runs north and south I can usually gauge my surroundings. Until I get turned around. And then I’m toast.

That’s where Gypsy comes in. It’s the nickname I’ve given my GPS, a must-purchase for the directionally illiterate like myself, and I know there are others like me. I can’t be alone ‘because that would be a sad, misunderstood existence. “What do you mean you got lost again!??! You live here for Christ’s sake!” my friends would say, exasperated. But no longer.

Besides giving me directions from point A to point B and breaking it down into left and right turns, Gypsy also tells me what time I “should” arrive at any given place, along with updates along the way when I encounter those pesky automobile harassment squads. They are the motorists who pull out at the last second and decide to crawl through the intersection, never leaving me enough time to complete a turn without encountering another member of the squad. But, my favourite feature kicks in at the end of the trip – those three lovely words – you have arrived.

I have arrived at my destination usually on time and unscathed with no wrong turns, unless I decide that Scribe knows best and Gypsy MUST be wrong. I’ve since learned that Gypsy should be questioned only if we’re traveling through a new section of town that has yet to be registered in her network.

You have arrived. How I look forward to those three magic words. It’s an affirmation of sorts. It confirms my existence, my ability and that the course I chose was the correct one. If only life were like that.

As everyone knows, life is uncertain. One wrong turn, one wrong decision, or even the right decision at the time can put you on another path and your goals and dreams may take a detour or get lost completely. Or, they may take on a completely new form altogether, and that’s okay. It’s okay as long as you have the wherewithal to enter your new location, new vocation or new dreams into the GPS. Don’t know what those dreams are yet? Then you can’t hear those three little words, at least not yet.

There have been many changes in my life in the last year, hell, even the last five years. I changed jobs, changed “careers,” loved and lost only to embark on a new romantic adventure. Do I know where I am, what I want or which direction is north? No.

I know what I don’t want., but I don’t even know the outcome I desire, so I certainly don’t know the steps I need to get there. I know that I’m taking baby steps for now and will get braver with each success, each pin on the new map I’m in the process of creating.

I’m sure there will be a wrong turn or U-turn along the way. I’m famous for them, for self-doubt, for turning back when the destination is just up the road. But, after a few hundred or even thousand baby steps, I’m still hoping to hear those three magic words.

No apologies

It’s quite temperate here for the second week in November. By now, the bitter rains have replaced the sunny sky during the day and by 4:30 p.m. the light has started to fade and we’re again driving home in the dark. Snow flurries are a reality in November too.

But not today. Today, it’s all sunshine and warm breezes, a quick smile to anyone who looks our way, open jackets and nary a boot in sight – unless it’s of the fashion kind and one that would disintegrate in an instant if it meets a snowbank.

This is what I sort of feel like today, all introspective and content. It’s a perfect day to sit in a sun-filled café, coffee in hand and magazine or book by my side. A deep breath in and an exhale, and I’m in deeper.

(Special thanks to Susannah of Petunia Face for the link to this photo)

I’ve been feeling rather introspective these days, trying to figure out what makes me happy and what doesn’t, and what steps I need to take to create myself a joyful life. Sometimes it’s as simple as doing things for me – some retail therapy perhaps? – or having a date every Sunday morning with a paintbrush, a canvas and a group of people learning how to turn their thoughts and emotions into something to hang on a wall. And, sometimes it’s cleaning house, which is on the agenda for tomorrow.

Everything has its place, or so it should. For the past six years, I’ve had tenants, renting out one bedroom and sharing the kitchen, bathroom, laundry room and occasionally the living room. This also may mean a spot or area in the basement for the things that can’t fit in their one room – this also means their stuff intermingling with my stuff.

My last “roommate” and his girlfriend moved out last week. While I miss the hustle and bustle and the socializing, I like how the house feels bigger, airy, more air for me. I like how there is less “stuff” around that’s not my stuff and that I can now find a place for the items I wish to keep. Everything has a place. And so do I.

Whether it’s remaining here in this house or taking stock and moving to someplace new, I realized, in my tranquil, introspective state, that my life does serve a purpose and that I don’t need to apologize to anyone for living the life I want.

The sunlight is slowly seeping, slipping deeper into the trees, and yet I’m still breathing in the rays, feeling happy, content and designed with a purpose.

I want to thank Ange of Signed by Ange for inspiration today. The sunlight helped, but Ange egged it on with today’s gift: an excerpt from Emerson’s Self Reliance.

I do not wish to expiate but to LIVE.
My life is not an apology but a life. It is for itself and not for a spectacle.
What I must do is all that concerns me.
Not what the people think.

Words to live by, Ralph, words to live by.