glad to see they're aware

I wasn't going to comment on the election but I love this

and while we're on the topic...

I don't want people to get the wrong idea. Even though I am (frequently) homesick, I do not want to move back home. I miss it; I miss the ocean desperately and always, I miss red leaves in the fall and I miss fresh fish at dinner time - but I have no desire to move back there. Nor do I hate this province where I live. And I don't live here because of some feeling that I "have to" - in order to have work, or whatever - that seems to afflict so many of my fellow transplants.

I live here because I want to. I live here because I love the people, I love the vibe of my life here. I love Canola yellow fields and their intoxicating smell. I love how sunny it is here in winter (but no, I don't love -30, although the first time each year my nostrils freeze does make me giggle). I love the smell of hay at harvest time. I love the long straight roads. I love the prairie horizons. I love the hoodoos and coulees of the southern province. I love the vibrancy of the arts scene in this landlocked city. I love the festivals. I love CKUA and CJSR. I love the proximity to the mountains which will be forever awe-inspiring. I love the fact that there are cowboys here. I love the Eskimos and the Trappers and that if I want to see professional teams of four different sports play, I can. I love love love the northern lights.

There are things that I don't like, I admit that, but for the most part, I love this place. It's home. I know its confusing to have two places you call home but that's the way it is. It bothers me when people talk like this is the worst place in the world to live. I used to talk that way about Moncton. I MOVED.

I chose to live here and I think that means I should make the most of it, something I haven't found it difficult to do. I may still bitch about Alberta drivers and about the cold and about the government. And I still think Telus and Alberta Health are abhorrent to deal with. But I love this place and the people I surround myself with. That's what this place is to me. And it's not half bad.

at a crossroads

I'm unsure as to why now, when I was feeling pretty good about the path I'm on, I suddenly feel like I've come to a fork in the road. I feel like something needs to change, although I'm not sure what it is. I am overwhelmed by this strange feeling - sometimes it seems like I want to go, just go....somewhere.

There is a sameness to all of it that, right now, is not the kind of sameness one takes comfort in. And in fact, the things I usually take comfort in feel oddly too tight, restrictive in some way I cannot define or understand. It has manifested itself in this tightness in my muscles, this inability to relax, this difficulty just breathing.

I don't want to listen. I don't want to speak. I feel like I've had these coversations before. Even the songs I've heard and smiled about and sang along with (in my head at least) are not comforting. Even the music feels monotone.

I'm not sure what this is. Maybe I do have a slight case of wanderlust. Maybe I'm unconciously homesick. Maybe I need to dance to unfamiliar rhythms. Maybe I need to kiss a stranger.

Maybe I just need to hear some waves.

I think I may have gone too long without recharging my natural rhythm with the sea.

It almost echoes in here...

I'm trying to think of something to write that will be ground breaking or controversial or something... something to elicit comments. I suddenly feel like I'm all alone.

I watched two movies last night that I didn't like the first time I watched them. No, that's too small a statement. They were the source of abject disappointment the first time I saw them... to the point that I stopped watching the second one; turned it off. I'm talking about the Harry Potter movies.

I guess when a movie is based on a book you loved; and you (perhaps unfairly but, given the timing of their respective releases, inevitably) compare it to another book adaptation that to say the least, measures up well to your expectations (LOTR).... well, I guess there is always the possibility of disappointment.

And I was. Very disappointed. And I have been vocal almost to the point of anger about that disappointment.

But this time around, maybe because my expecations weren't there, maybe because I was in my living room as opposed to a theatre (I was only in a theatre for the first one), maybe because it's been awhile since I read any of the books, maybe because I was on muscle relaxants.... there was a certain charm this time around. I'm still not a big Dobby fan; and I still think the centaur looks like something out of Clash of the Titans; and I think the relationship development in the books is far superior than the abbreviated version in the movie; and the growth spurt of Ron Weasly and Draco is just creepy... but they were fun to watch this time around.

I'm mostly writing this because I was so vocal about NOT liking the movies that I felt like I needed to publically declare their "not-that-bad"-ness.

So there. I did. And I hear the third one is pretty good.

I guess I retired early....

I was once a performer. Really...I was. I once sang and played instruments in front of actual people.

Total instruments = 4... with a couple licks on a few more learned for the sake of being able to play them. Although I only really stuck with one for more than a couple of years... the geeky band girl played flute and picollo for 8 years. Eight! First flute in a band that regularly won gold at provincials (does any of that really mean something?).

And I sang. In choir (church and/or school) for 14 years! Lead or principal roles in four musicals. Solo bits in songs of all kinds. (There were three of us who once made our music teacher cry - in the good way - singing three part harmony on "My Lord What a Morning.") I sang my heart out for years. Continued to do so even in the much more casual dorm jam sessions, working out harmonies with friends, singing the Mummer Song with the Newfoundland girls.

But now, whoever that bold girl was has retreated to status of observer, of fan, of music afficionado, patron of the arts. Indeed it may be the only shy part of me, but it's shy in the extreme.

Most of the time I'm fine with that. Most of the time being a shower singer and a road trip rock star (singing alone in the car) are just fine. But lately I've wondered what it would be like to sing again. Or to play along. And I'm a little sad about the fact that... I'm pretty sure I won't (in spite of the extremely softly murmered harmonies that once in a while escape while I'm sitting there - no one can hear me in the loud bar after all).

That's the rub you see. I spend far too much time with "real musicians" and music critics to ever dust off the old vocal chords or polish up the old flute or tin whistle. And who knows? Maybe I actually can't anymore (Lord knows my last stage experience was a disaster). My inside ear hasn't had alot of practice lately (and when I say lately I mean years).

Who knows?

My mother actually started taking piano lessons at the age of 48. And she's getting pretty good.

And weirdly, I actually have a certain affection for people who sing for the utter joy of it, loudly and off key, in church or during the national anthem. It's just that I can't bring myself to join them... and today I think that's sad.