Related post.

Arriving at our office building at 5:45, every one looked at each other blearily. Laughing and talking a bit nervously we stood and waited for the bus that would take us to the airport. I am not a morning person so I sort of stood to the side nursing a coffee, taking a scanning video of the crowd, part of it but not quite.

The bus arrived and everyone packed in, noting the absence of our Swedish colleagues (was this a hint?) Indeed it was! We arrived at the airport and checked in: we were going to Luleå, Sweden. The flight there was filled with sleepy yawns, but the relaxed camaraderie of people sitting next to each other that actually know one another. (Very different from sitting next to the sweaty stranger who wants to talk about their upcoming family reunion and their mother's pie or arrogant business person that needs to tell you all about the deals they have closed recently --- although I must admit I like these stories too... but not too early in the morning.)

On getting near to Luleå we quickly realized that there was a dense snow storm ... so we circled the field for about 20 minutes with the countdown to landing on the monitor varying from 4 minutes to 10 minutes and then back to 4 again. We landed in the middle of the most beautiful snow storm, windy and blustery but not cold, the air fresh.

After arriving at the hotel we were quickly invited for "drinks" outdoors in a park across the street from the hotel. Yes. In the middle of the snow storm and driving wind, we stood around and networked, drinking a sweet spiced hot wine and huddling together. Actually, it was great. I missed snow. I missed that coldness that makes you alert and happy and joyous.

OK> I'm writing too much so let me summarize:

• a strange event involving driving in the snow (since I have never done this the entire time I grew up in Canada (?!). I think that Canadians are missing on a great market: driving foreigners around in the snow, as an event that people pay to do),
  
  
• wonderful dinner with speeches spoken while standing on top of chairs each more outrageous than the last somehow becoming a tag team game,
  
  
• talking to new colleagues I had never met before but who surprised and delighted me with their diversity, intelligence and humour,
  
  
• dancing in a local club with colleagues I know and love and who pleased me with their happy little kid faces as they danced uninhibitedly (the club has a local nickname: the chlamydia club... but given that we were there with colleagues this was not a deterrent),
  
  
• a dramatic last dance involving lots of overposing and spinning,
  
  
• lingering in the lobby of the hotel with old and new friends (no longer just colleagues) not wanting it to end but aware of our full day to come, glancing at watches but not wanting to be responsible,
  
  
• a painful wakeup on Friday morning after just a few hours sleep and having used up all 8 of my "drink credits",
  
  
• everyone sitting in the lobby blinking at each other silently and hoping no one would be loud for at least a while,
  
  
• transport to a frozen lake and dressing up in big skidoo suits, everyone looking like oversized children and smiling in the joy of being warm on a cold snowy gorgeous day with the swedish sun remaining low on the horizon for its brief 6 hours,
  
  
• going on a dog sled ride through a winter wonderland and keeping each other warm on long sleds, the dogs barking eagerly, and the hangover miraculously disappearing in happiness, burning cold cheeks and laughter,
  
  
• walking through snow laden forests with the trunks bent over double and aiming branches at colleagues who end up with snow covered faces (don't worry, I got as good as I gave),
  
  
• skidooing through the woods and being surprised (after the dogsledding) how unpleasant the smell of the burning gasoline is but loving the rush,
  
  
• letting go and falling backwards into the snow then making snow angels while a kettle sits on a wood fire on the snow awaiting tea,
  
  
• laughing while watching polite colleagues take turns and throw snowballs at each other when the recipient is prepared (much better to barrage, but I wasn't going to tell them this)
  
  
• wishing we could stay and make forts and just stay there instead of...
  
  
• back to the airport, everyone sleepy and happy and gentled by the days, and then
  
  
• sitting in the airplane with an equally silly colleague, having wine bottle races (there is an explanation but too difficult to describe, not a drinking game but something involving a tilted tray), pretending we are in a roller coaster when we hit a patch of turbulence (whoooohooo), and making faces every time someone attempts to take a serious picture, and generally having the most fun on a plane I have ever had (usually I'm bored, impatient and uncomfortable.)

So. No need for cynicism or an unpleasant debrief.

It was wonderful. I had a fantastic time and discovered with joy how sweet, smart, and fun my colleagues are. Perhaps the weekend was not extreme but it was great.

There are times when I really fall in love with the people that I meet (not in a romantic way but really in a joyous "aren't you cool, I wish I knew you better, do you want to be my friend" kind of way) and this was one of those times. I'm glad I have a weekend to recover.

If I actually get to editing the videos I took, I will attempt to put something non-incriminating up.

Labels: absurd holiday fun, beauty in unexpected places, being alive, dancing, delightful, there are beautiful unique and quirky people in the world

There's a ground-floor apartment close by that has fantastically gaudy lawn ornaments on the small two-foot wide strip of garden that runs along the building. Flamingos, spinning red and green fans, and leering garden gnomes keep each other company alongside fake flowers "planted" in the garden.
Shining white Christmas lights are strung loosely from all of the windows, and they remain there the whole year. Lit every night. Everything else in the street is grey and brown. And I smile every time I pass it.

It's kinda beautiful-ugly-vulnerable-bold in its garishness.

It reminds me of the early personal websites with their winking cherubs, cringe-worthy midi files and wildly coloured backgrounds with illegible red and green text. Somehow despite the dubious (a personal judgement) quality of their web design and my limited appreciation for "Uncle Art's collection of mold, fungus, and spores," it is pretty cool that Uncle Art taught himself how to to create a page. (Uncle Art is 72. He is arthritic and types with the index finger of his left hand, his knuckles gnarled. He was a biologist and teacher for many years. He has a story to tell.)

(I just have to mention this, cause there is someone out there who has a collection of "old pictures" of Jesus. I wasn't quite sure what to make of this. I thought that maybe they were joking, but they were very serious and earnest in quite a sweet way. I wonder if they have the shroud yet. Maybe that doesn't classify as a picture?)

Or the chain of signatures spraypainted along the walls of the Amsterdam metro in the dark tunnels where the trains whiz by, people leave their mark in complex artistic or simple scrawling graffiti. I wonder when they do it, since I look for them but have never seen anyone there. Maybe they do it after the metro stops running for the night. They're pretty brave really, there in the dark. I feel sorry for the guys who seem to run out of paint or get caught, since what is left is a half filled in bubble letter at the very end of a word, just short of complete. The disappointment.

Somehow, I've suddenly started to see all of these things as something really fantastic. It's a surprising enlightenment.

Labels: a little bit of blah blah, beauty in unexpected places, being alive, interpreting and reinterpreting

I have been thinking a lot about grace lately. By grace I'm not referring to poetic movement... But more that part of ourselves that gives extra chances. That sees the damage in all of us, the faultiness, but also sees the potential for great beauty amidst ugliness or unpleasantness, and sometimes because of it.

A friend of mine once described the most incredible thing about her relationship with her husband. She said, "We heal each other every day." And as soppy as that sounds, to me this is grace: this sort of loving that knows the worst but loves anyway.

I need lots of grace from everyone who knows me. I hope I give as good as I get.

I am sometimes scattered and selfish and bold and assuming and emotional and too blunt and hiding and distracted and loud and bawdy and shy and afraid and truly angry about nothing and everything and sometimes, I am just awful.

But I also love deeply and am creative and empathetic and productive and occasionally even nurturing and I laugh easily and truly delight in the people I know since they are all beautiful in indescribable and extremely individual ways and sometimes, I am OK, and I even love myself a little. (Don't worry, I'm not breaking into some awful song at this point... bear with me.)

I just think that we all have these things in us that make us react in ways that sometimes bruise each other or even maim more seriously, that we are sometimes not doing the best we can, but we're doing that crazy dance of forgetfulness or holding it together or being purely selfish or disappointed... Our worst selves are sometimes there and embarrassing and much louder than our best selves.

And we see this worst self in others too and see them doing stupid things and saying stupid things... but that we need to have grace for those moments. And that isn't to say that we let people abuse us or take unkindness... but that we weigh it all out. And when we find that seed of empathy that grows to grace, to express it as sincerely and honestly and with as much healing as we can possibly provide. And other times we defend ourselves without being cruel, because that is just unnecessary.

Because sometimes, the ugliness isn't about the recipient. Sometimes, it's just wounds on display. I think that grace is a beautiful thing.

How this all fits into the big scheme of things, I have no idea. It's just what I was thinking about today. Thanks for listening to the babble.

Labels: being alive, beliefs, grace, interpreting and reinterpreting, moments, the soppiest blog entry *ever*

So my work is flying the entire company (including all of the branch offices) away for an overnight event. The thing is, we won't actually know where we are going until we are at the airport. They say it is a three hour flight, they have booked the entire plane for just our company, it will be minus 10 to minus 20 degrees, we need sunglasses, and the theme is "Going to Extremes" (woo. or whatever you say about these sorts of tag lines). People have been in my office repeatedly trying to figure out how far we can go in three hours by drawing little circles on my world map poster.

Outside of my mental images of us shivering in dirt huts beside meager fires, hunting for our own food (squirrels) a la Ray Mears and then chewing the skins for clothing, I'm having a hard time pinning down our destination. (In my more optimistic moments I hope for Lapland or Iceland... Snowshoeing! Skiing! Skidooing! And then you would hear a heartfelt "Woo!")

The danger is that the more positive imaginings might lead to disappointment so I'll stick with the bleak ones. That way I can be prepared for the worst and potentially ecstatically happy if my sweeter dreams come true.

Of course I've also pictured the scenario where the plane goes plummeting onto a remote mountain top and we have to decide who to eat after the airline rations run out. Should we base it on performance reviews (after all it is a company event), on bulk (who will go the furthest when divided up) or on who is easiest to catch? I'm morbid. I know. It entertains me though.

Here's some instructional Ray Mears content.

And I'll fill you in on where we went after the event.

Labels: being alive, participating, sometimes anticipation is half the fun

Last night, I dreamed that I woke up in the middle of the night, so I got up and went for a walk into the dark quiet. All over the lawns of the park across the street, people were lying, silently looking up at the stars.

I looked to find an empty spot but was afraid that I would get wet from the grass. I stood in my spot, looking up, thinking that it was enough until someone said, "You can't do that. Stand that is. You have to lie to down to see it properly. Don't worry, you won't be cold."

I stood for a moment, indecisive and unsure, until a girl came and asked me, "Is that spot free? Are you leaving?"

Which was enough to convince me that it was my spot, so I lay down, saying, "Sorry. No." The grass was unusually warm and soft. And then the air smelled like tuna and the dolls started dancing the rumba.

Labels: being alive, i don't try to interpret dreams, signs

Yesterday, I waited, on the cold damp green-peeling-painted park bench, for something to happen.

Two dogs passed, ahead of their owner, running together lopsidedly holding the same stick between them. I could smell wet dog. Their owner did not greet me but looked at me strangely as I sat there dripping and drinking a carton of chocolate milk. Perhaps he smelled wet human. I was envious of his umbrella and the way the two dogs lay down their stick in front of him. Asking. I watched them as they rounded the corner away from me and further into the park.

After they were out of sight I looked around hoping for something undefined. But now I could only smell the chilled soggy earth that lies under the graying grass and felt trickles of rain on my scalp, down my head, under my scarf and onto by back. And could only see the misty dead dullness of the sky that seemed unmoving above my head and feel a snot-filled sneeze growing about to unleash itself into my woolly mittened hand.

I forgot my kleenexes, you see.

Labels: being alive, interpreting and reinterpreting, moments, sighs, story

She reveled in the aloneness and quietness. She passed the pile of laundry in the hall and went into the bathroom.

She filled the tub with hot water and poured in bath salts and then gradually sank into its burning fragrant wetness. Happily, she opened the book that she had been reading well into the night before, after deciding that its possible damp wrinkling or immersion was worth it.

She read for hours, absorbing other people's stories, longing, anger, desire and humor. Occasionally, she refreshed the tub with hot water and welcomed the swirl of heat around her legs and waist. The tips of her fingers and toes became swollen pink raisins and her face beaded with sweat.

And the stillness of the day percolated into sadness about nothing and everything.

Great big drops of it. As if sucking in the water from the tub, meeting with her heart, and emerging in her eyes, down her cheeks, and returning to the salty water again.

Labels: being alive, moments

At her yearly New Year's gala (cocktail hour) Tom's mother always "did herself up." The very popular event brought the neighbors of the 5th floor together once a year for inexpensive champagne, chex mix in bowls and tiny hot dogs on toothpicks.

As his mother aged and could not longer see herself in the mirror very well, her makeup slowly migrated away from its original locations: her eyebrows became surprised arches floating ever upwards on her forehead and her dark red lipstick made a saucy circle around the outside of her lips and on her teeth. In addition, due to her no longer nubile body, his mother insisted on wearing a tight corset that prevented normal breathing and made her pop out small flute-like exclamations (I'm ... so... glad... you're... here!). Her push-up bra created a sufficient shelf of unibreast that could be used as a handy table for drinks and nuts. Her dresses were always a loud swirl of colour and silk ruffles and she smelled of cigarette smoke mixed with hairspray and a surprisingly musky and intoxicating perfume.

All of those who greeted her inevitably ended up with large red lip marks on their cheeks, and a joyous memory of the enthusiastic old lady who loved everyone enough to dress up for them.

Labels: being alive, story

I'm starting to think that I live more in my computer than in the real world lately. . . and that this is decidedly unhealthy. It limits my senses to sight and sound for the hours I spend staring at the screen, because while I could lick the keyboard occasionally (surely some crumbs are in there somewhere), sniff the monitor or put sandpaper and velvet on my desk to stimulate myself further, there is an unreality about living life this way. Certainly, the time I spend on my bike to and from work fills me with well-being in a way that time in front of the computer never does.

So, I am going to ration. Like any good addict, I need to withdraw gradually so that I don't get the shakes. I'm giving myself an hour a day for the next month, and then wean myself down from there.

I'm going to live. I'm going to pull out my unused brand-new running shoes and go for a wheezing run, meet up with friends, create things with my hands and paper, fabric, and food, make things for other people and myself, clean out my closet (OK, that doesn't sound appealing at all), take classes again, play my new piano (which is arriving next week!!!!), read more, and most importantly... find my muse again. (Who knows, there may be multiple muses... What do you call a male muse? I know that officially there are only the Greek ones, all women... OK, mine are called Hughs.) ... find my hughs again. (Nah. That doesn't really work does it? Clearly, my creativity needs some work.)

I've become such a hermit for the past few months, I think partly out of some strange, good, bad, hard introspection I've been subjecting myself to lately. (The computer/internet is a great escape from thinking about hard things.)

Between the blogs I visit regularly, e-mail, FB stalking, online games and comparative shopping, I add hours to the time I spend in front of the computer at work.

So, no more. I have 15 minutes left in today's allotment and I will shut down. Tonight I want to DO something. And hopefully something that I can taste, smell or touch or see and hear in a different way. I will stimulate my dormant senses, maybe eat a habanero chili pepper, blow my nose repeatedly with tears flowing down my cheeks, stuff several pieces of bread into my mouth, all the while trying to blow my nose, feel the mucus membrane on the inside of my mouth swell, touch my eye by accident ... OK, that's a bad idea. But I'll do something interesting. :)

Look back on ya tomorrow.

Here's to life.

Labels: being alive, brains, choices, interpreting and reinterpreting

She was riding her bike to work, when she noticed the donkeys.

The two donkeys were tethered to the ground with a rope beside the bike path on a small patch of grass between industrial buildings. The donkeys must have been there before, since the other commuters did not slow or even notice the them.

She stopped on the side of the path, letting the other bikers ride by. The donkeys raised their heads and looked with large sad eyes as they chewed slowly. She got off her bike and leaned it against a scraggly tree that was planted beside the path.

Pulling a bag of carrots out of her backpack, she walked towards them tentatively, not wanting to startle them. They started braying madly and came towards her pulling on their ropes. She let them eat out of her hand, their hot breath on her palm, bits of carrot spraying on her fingers and the sleeve of her coat. With her other hand, she stroked their soft but rough manes until the carrots were gone and the donkeys were attempting to eat the empty bag.

She wondered what would happen if she left her bike and rode the donkeys to work instead. She would explain, "They looked bored. I think that they wanted an adventure." But she wouldn't divulge how they reminded her of herself.

Labels: being alive, donkey, truth is stranger than fiction

I struggle with a sense of apathy. Wait, that makes no sense... can you struggle and still be apathetic? Maybe I'm struggling to remain apathetic?

Let's start again. I've recently realized how resigned I have become about many things: the state of the environment, my own (lack of) self-discipline, political issues, human rights... etc.

I feel very powerless over these things, yet I know that action changes things both for the better and for the worst and that inaction on my part has an impact. It's a small impact, I know, but hope is that others who feel the same about specific issues, also act and that our cumulative actions have some sort of result rather than me resigning myself to passive acceptance of whatever the majority chooses.

Wow. I haven't indulged in this kind of introspection since my early 20s. Must have something to do with my pending 40th birthday.

My question now, how do I now evoke a passion for things again now that I have become so overly comfortable not thinking about things. And who do I constructively express my responses and feelings to: I don't really see the point of ranting to whoever passes. (I used to do this a lot. When I was younger, I was known for (embarrassing) outbursts about things that made the poor victim of my blathering both uncomfortable and accused (particularly if they didn't agree with me)... This is somewhat better now (although on occasion I have been known to blah blah *at* someone about nothing of importance, usually while drinking). "He was just the wrong actor for that part. They *should* have hired an actor with a prosthetic limb."

Maybe it isn't about expressing things. In the end, maybe its about finding something to believe in again. I'm my own worst enemy here, since I frequently find justification for the opposing point of view or simply don't feel like arguing.

Maybe it's about really listening and trying to understand what is going on, rather than trying to evoke feelings of passion based on past beliefs. Being honest in the analysis about areas that seem ambiguous.

The risk of not being careful about the opinions I generally too easily leap to, is that not only do I become a massive hypocrite by simply following the crowd, but I am also more prone to stupid passion which is all feeling and no reasoning.

I need to think it through. I'll let you know how it goes.

Labels: apathy, being alive, mid-life crisis