Where the Heart Is...

I'm home.  Or, at least, I think I am...

My last couple weekends have been spent in the home of my childhood.  An amazing woman passed away and another amazing woman is expecting twins and I was brought back to celebrate life in all respects.

It got me thinking about family.  I never really realized how far the word "family" extends for me.  Two weekends ago I had a birthday meal at the family home of two of my ex-boyfriends.  They're brothers.  And it sounds weird and it breaks all the rules, and believe me, it sounds even weirder if you know all the other connections and rules that have been broken and blurred, but what it really boils down to is that some people come into your life and that's that.  You're in their life and they're in yours, and life is better that way.  That family is family to me.  I adore them all so much.  And when those twins are born (the ones inside the belly of my best friend in the world, the friend who is married to one of the abovementioned exes) I will be as excited as if they shared my blood.  All of those people in that family share my heart.

And at the funeral, at the celebration of life, I saw more family.  Women and men who saw me grow up, and still pray for me on a regular basis.  These are people with whom it's okay to just pick up where we left off.  It reminded me of how rich my life is.  Oh, how easy it is to forget, in the drudgery of the day to day, how many beautiful people I know and love... Let me not forget again soon...

Next weekend is Easter.  I have no real Easter plans to speak of, and I'm thinking of going back home.  It's strange, because that city stopped being "home" for me about four years ago; and all of a sudden, my heart is right back in the middle of it.

Don't get me wrong: this is home too.  This is who I am right now, and I am so happy here.  But it's strange to once again feel ties to another place.  I feel connected in a very tangible way to a life from which I thought I had somewhat separated myself.

I think, maybe, that once a place is home, once a person is family, a part of you is claimed forever... in the nicest of ways...

Colombia, Te Quiero

I wrote this on the plane on the way home from my most recent adventure.  I went to Colombia.  It was amazing...

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I want to write about the beauty that exists in the people of this world.  I want to tell you about the adventure I just took and about the love I experienced.  I want to describe the blue scarf hanging around my neck, the earrings dangling from my ears, and the bracelet hugging my wrist, all given to me by people who have very little of their own...

I want to write this all down, document it, so I can remember the overwhelming love, gratitude, joy... and humility... but when I try to put it into words, it just seems stale.

We've heard it all before.  A young traveler goes away, sees some mountains and banana trees, discovers a new culture, and realizes that the world isn't really that big after all.

I won't tell you that story, because it's only really  new when you've just lived it.  I will say, though, that I had one hell of a week.  I drove through Colombian mountains in the back of a rickety old van.  I stood under a waterfall.  I hugged an old friend and made some new ones.

I learned to communicate with more than just words.  I learned how to make ajiaco and empanadas.  I learned that a Colombian airport luggage search is much smoother when you are smiling through the tears that are streaming down your face.

Most importantly, I learned (or was once again reminded) that people are good; that friends are everywhere; that life is beautiful.

I wish I could write my adventure in blog form so it could be understood, through eloquent metaphors and brief moments of wit.  The thing about this kind of adventure, though, is that it needs to be experienced to be understood.  So I guess all I can say is that maybe you should make the trip yourself.  Go to Colombia.  Ask for a guy named Jake.  Tell him I sent you.

Up, Up and Away

I have the heart of a traveler.

I just love going to new places and exploring and basking in the beauty of things I've never seen before.  I love the familiarity of walking through a place I've read about in books.  I love feeling so alone and yet so connected to the whole world at exactly the same time.  I love traveling.

It's strange, then, that the last time I really travelled (with the exception of a weekend trip here and there) was five years ago.  Five.  That's about one sixth of my life.  It's been one sixth of a lifetime since I explored the world.  But don't worry -- that story will soon change.

I'm going away.  Soon.  I will visit a good friend in a hot place and see his life.  I can't even tell you how excited I am about this.  I've packed my belongings into a small carry-on suitcase.  I've bought travel insurance.  I've painted my toenails.  My stuff is sitting at the door all ready to go, and I'm certain there's no way I'll be able to sleep tonight.

It's worth it.  The plane ride may be expensive, it may rain the whole time I'm there, but to sit here right now, having this feeling that I'm having...  Oh yes, it's worth it.

Old Friends and Snail Mail

I had forgotten what your handwriting looks like. Seeing it today made me remember all the notes we used to write each other, back when you were Nathoo (with a silent h) and I was Mushmellon (because we thought it was cute). It's the handwriting that made me miss you the most.

I came home today tired, knowing that I couldn't stay. I had essays to mark, and I had to get to a coffee shop immediately so I could focus. Just enough time to pick up my hat and my iPod and a snack. I walked into my building and there, leaning against the door, was a package. It was the size of a cereal box, wrapped in white paper. Addressed to me. I knew what it was at once.

It was sunshine and baked goods and Toblerone bars and a book and a CD and a dinosaur and a hand-written letter. And it made my day beautiful. No matter what may have happened at work, no matter what might happen later as I pour over these essays, February 22nd is officially a beautiful day.

It's beautiful because you remembered, because you did what you said you would. It's beautiful because of the picture you drew on the second page of the letter, and because of the fact that you heard me say I love Toblerones. It's beautiful because I don't understand the plastic dinosaur, but I'm pretty sure that was the point. And I'm smiling. And that's a beautiful thing at the end of a long day.

I'm going to leave one of the Toblerones in my mail box, along with another handwritten letter. This package could have been sent back to the post office were it not for my heroic mail carrier and his willingness to enter my building.

The world is full of good people and beauty and small plastic dinosaurs that make me smile. Thank you, Nathoo, for reminding me of that. I will call soon.

Not Yet, Emily Dickinson...

Well, I didn't get flowers and I wasn't anyone's valentine (unless my sister counts -- she and I had a lovely evening filled with angel food cake, strawberries, whipped cream, and The Bachelor). My probablydate (which was totally a date) ended up being on the Tuesday. Dinner and a movie at my place.

He's kind of great. He did the dishes after dinner, he brought wine (as promised) and dessert (as a surprise, from his "favourite Italian place"). He was polite and courteous and sweet.

I saw him again today. He picked me up and brought me to his place, where we played a board game with his roommate (Lord of the Rings Risk -- totally lame, but sort of fun; and I won, which made it a whole lot better). He made me dinner. He said I smelled nice and he kept finding excuses to touch me. He was so attentive, and he looked at me in a way that made me feel special.

And... yeah, you guessed it... I'm just not that into him.

Like I said, he's great, but it's just not there. I don't feel like we have anything to talk about. I feel like we're just not really connecting. I enjoy his company, and I could easily go on a fifth date with him and probably even a sixth, but I'm starting to feel like there's no point. This isn't it. This isn't Him.

I wonder if He even exists...

I saw a 30 Rock episode recently in which Liz Lemon, frustrated by yet another failed relationship, gives up. She dons a fanny pack and buys a cat named Emily Dickinson and ties her hair up with a chip clip. She resigns herself to the life of an old maid. I'm not there yet, but the whole premise certainly did resonate with me. I'm not getting any younger.

That being said, I haven't lost hope. There are still many men out there. There are three, in fact, that I've recently met who could easily be potential Hims. Only time will tell. And as much as I often think otherwise, I really do have lots of time...

Shmalentimes

I mentioned a while ago that I recently reconnected with an old friend from university. When I asked him what he'd been up to lately, his response was, "Well, I've been going on a lot of first dates." I laughed, because there's truth there. As a single in the dating world, first dates abound. Second and third dates, however, are extremely rare. In all my months on The Site, I never once went on a third date; a second, only thrice.

So I went on a second date last week which was more of a probablydate than a maybedate. Now we're arranging date number three. For Monday or Tuesday. And herein lies the problem. When he asked when I was free next, I said Friday, Monday or Tuesday. He eliminated Friday, and then sent it back to me to make the final decision. But I don't want to, and here's why:

Monday is Valentine's Day.

I hate this day for a myriad of reasons. There's the typical excuse, the commercialism that has turned a beautiful idea into a day where people are forced to spend dollars upon dollars on flowers and chocolates and cards with naked angel babies on them. There's the fact that for some reason men are laden with the onus of responsibility, so Valentine's basically becomes a day where men let women down and then get in trouble for it. And of course, there's the alienation and loneliness felt by anyone who finds themselves uncoupled on this day of days. That's a horrible thing to feel.

Considering the youth of our probablationship, my natural choice would be Tuesday for our probablydate - Valentine's Day would just be far too much pressure. Right??? I know, but I still kind of want to do Monday instead. Why, you ask? Well, there are two reasons, the first of which being absolutely legitimate. I'm heading out on Wednesday for a three-day work trip. I'm going to need to be packed and rested up, so it would be nice to keep my Tuesday night open.

The second reason, though, I'm rather ashamed to admit. I kind of want to do Valentine's Day this year. My relationships over the years have been wonderful, but they've been a little lacking romantically. And yes, I hate Valentine's Day, but I don't hate romance. I miss it. I want it. I want to feel special and beautiful and desired. I want to be wooed.

So I really wouldn't mind some flowers - even if the only reason he buys them for me is that it happens to be the 14th of February. I'll never admit this out loud, but I secretly wouldn't mind being someone's valentine...

A Date... Maybe

Well, maybe I went on a date last night. A maybedate. It's so strange in the real world, outside of the internet, when men and women are getting together. So uncertain. We play aloof and casual and it's never very clear whether we're dating or just hanging out.

My maybedate last night was nice. He shook my hand when I came in which was awkward and cute. We had coffee... for three hours. I talked a lot, which was annoying (sometimes, no matter how much my mind might persist, my mouth just won't stop), but he talked too, so there was almost a balance. He's smart and funny and he gets my jokes and makes similar jokes of his own, and he likes nature and hiking and he's totally cute.

So it went well, I think. I would love to maybe have another date. Not gonna lie, though, I've realized I'm a little scared again. Do I really want to get back out there, back to that vulnerable place where my heart is on the line? On purpose??? Please, please, please don't let me fall for him just for me to get hurt. The hurt is getting annoying...

The Earring

It's just an earring, but it feels like an end.

It fell out that night in your car three months ago when you reached over to kiss me. I didn't bother to search for it under the seat because I knew I'd be back in that car again soon and I didn't want to ruin the moment with searching. And the world was beautiful and I was beautiful and you were mine, and I got out of that car with one less earring but with one more hope.

When you dropped that earring into my hand today, you, towering over me with the winter cold pouring through my car window, it felt loud. It felt heavy and final and sad. And you didn't smile and we talked of life and its hardships and I agreed that you have it pretty rough these days. And I wanted you to touch me. I wanted you to say that it wasn't over and that you still wanted me and that you were going to keep the earring so I'd have to come back again soon...

And as I drove away, through restrained tears I breathed a sigh of relief; because you gave me back my earring... and in doing so you set me free.

Wonderful and Sad...

I'm sad these days. It's interesting, this specific sadness, because it hasn't taken root. I sigh a lot and I don't seem to feel overly cheerful, but I'm also not crying alone in my basement apartment wishing things were different. It's not a sadness that has become me, but more a state of perpetual lethargy mixed with small tinges of brief sorrow.

Because it hasn't taken root, I can still sit back and look at it objectively. I can observe my sadness. And because I can observe it, I can combat it. I will combat it.

Here is some beauty that has found its way into my life recently:

Salad Thursday

My lunch often comes from the cafeteria at work. The selection at the cafeteria is minimal -- in fact, there is only one food option each day. Two days a week they serve something resembling pizza, and two days they serve some sort of pasta dish. But Thursday, sweet Thursday, is SALAD DAY. On Thursday I order a double salad (the size of a dinner plate) with real bacon bits and cheesy garlic bread on the side. Each Thursday I walk up the stairs past the throng of individuals heading down to eat their lunch and receive at least five comments about the size of my salad. It's big. And it's good.

Hawksley Workman

Have you ever listened to an album and felt like every single song describes exactly what you're going through at that present moment? That's Lover/Fighter for me right now. Hawksley (I just discovered his real name is actually Ryan) has the perfect balance of romanticism and cynicism. He finds the beauty in the world, but also explores the anger and the sadness. For those of you who are unfamiliar, do yourself a favour and familiarize.

Canada Post

Two days ago I went outside to check my mailbox only to discover it iced shut. "No big deal," you may say, "just break the ice." Well, this ice is no sissy. This is hardcore Canadian ice, about an inch thick. Now, I am not one to normally be concerned about my mailbox. I get minimal to no mail on a regular basis, with the exception of the weekly flyer that tells me about the bonus Optimum points I can earn at Shopper's Drug Mart if I shop there this Friday. But I have recently found a reason to be mail conscious. You see, I'm expecting a package. It may come today, it may not come for another month, but sometime in the future I have some real actual mail promised to me that has the potential to make my life quite bright. So you can imagine my joy when I came home yesterday to find a bill leaning against my door. Ice shmice -- my mail carrier delivers!

and finally... New Socks

I'm wearing some today. They're black and they're business. They remind me of Flight of the Conchords which makes me smile, plus I like their thickness and their height. I also like that they were on sale.

The Train Game

I was walking to my car this morning, miserably cold, and two thoughts came to me, consecutively.

Thought #1: "Oh, I'm so glad I don't have to walk all the way to the subway."

Thought #2: "But oh, I kinda miss public transit."

I love the subway. Love it. I love the idea of it, how it saves the environment while bringing people together at the same time. I love that a homeless man can sit next to a CEO and it's not weird or special or newsworthy. I love the time that the subway lends me, to read a good book, to finish a crossword puzzle, or to remember how much I love the old songs on my iPod.

And I love the people. I am an avid people watcher, and the subway provides me with the most interesting subjects. Everyone is so different and weird and beautiful. They all have a life story that I can make up. They have interesting clothes and hair and faces and sometimes I even see their smiles, and when that happens it's amazing.

People don't often smile on the subway. This is not news. I think it strange, though, and something that should be remedied; so a few years ago, I made up a game.

Rule #1: Stand on the subway platform and wait for a train to arrive.

Rule #2: Select an individual. Preferably one who seems to be looking out the window in your general direction. Bonus points if they seem really grumpy.

Rule #3: As soon as the doors to the train close, look that person directly in the eye and smile as big as possible. Don't lose eye contact until the subject is out of sight.

In most cases, the subject will have one of two reactions. Either they will immediately avert their gaze and spend the rest of the time at the station avoiding the window at all costs, or they will briefly see me, look away, and then carefully look back. In this second situation, invariably I will see a smile form on their face a split second before we lose eye contact.

It's magical.

I like to imagine what happens afterwards. Do they go back to being grumpy? Or is it like that McDonald's commercial when one person sees a Big Mac and they are inspired to buy one as well and the idea of the Big Mac goes international, eventually feeding the whole world? It's probably just like that. I'm making the whole world smile.

I need to run some errands this afternoon, and I'll be driving Bella, my Pontiac Pursuit (lovingly bestowed upon me by my beautiful and amazingly sassy Grammie Esther a year before she passed away). I'm thankful for this car, and for the freedom that comes with it, but I hope that Bella doesn't keep me from the world. I hope that every once in a while I'll choose to take the train, if for no other reason than to play my silly game and see how many grumps I can jostle...