Anyone for a roadtrip?

It occurred to me that I don’t take road trips nearly as often as I used to, or as often as I’d like to and when I do, they are very purposeful. Drive here, do this, drive back. I’ve been thinking for awhile how to remedy the situation and I think I’ve come up with an idea.

Secret Random Roadtrips!

Now this only works if I have someone to do this with (or perhaps multiple people) and, of course, I’ve thought of it going into probably the worst time of year for road trips but hey…

Here’s the idea.
1) Pick a friend willing to have an adventure of sorts.
2) Pick a route/destination. Any day trip will do, so probably max 3 hours out of the city – be it a pretty place just because… to sit and read or take a walk in nature, a fun restaurant or café nestled in some small town, a giant thing, an adventure spot or historical site.
3) Give your friend a prep list: appropriate dress i.e. boots/sneakers for hiking, a book to read if the point is to relax, always bring a camera!
4) Provide snacks for the road that work with whatever is planned.
5) Head out… but without telling the friend where you’re going.
6) Take back roads whenever possible. Highway drives aren't very exciting.
7) Relax and Have Fun!

I think this would be the most fun with a few friends and to trade off who takes the lead. Also there are lots of ways to add to it… themes you could choose, creation of road trip playlists, and lots more.

So... anyone for a roadtrip?

Random story and gratitude

I have a birthmark on the big knuckle of my right index finger. An irregular splotch of melanin on an otherwise redhead-pale hand that, if you squint, *might* look like the top half of South America.

When I was a baby, just brought home from the hospital, my grandmother tried to wash it off. She was convinced it was some sort of dirt, a small stain of iodine (or something)that somehow fell only on my wee baby-sized knuckle. I know this not from memory of course but from having been told, at some point in the past, and remembering the telling in a strange concrete way that almost becomes memory, except you know that it isn't.

I can picture it, quite vividly. My tiny grandmother (my grandfather built her cupboards shorter just for her and everyone in the family has to stoop to do the dishes there) gently holding a tinier me and scrubbing away at the offending mark. I picture my baby-self cuddled into her soft pillowiness and wondering what the fascination was with my finger and why was she scratching at it when everything else about this moment was warm and soft and comforting.

My grandmother has always been soft to me. Her skin always feels powdery and well cared for while her substance, her flesh and body has always been just slightly rounded, pliable, welcoming, cuddle-able. No harsh angles, nothing hard about her. She is still that way, getting a little softer all the time - as people do. But she has softened too in her ways of dealing with the world. She tears up now every time we grandchildren, and great grandchildren leave for far off homes (and not so far off homes). I imagine she wonders now when she might see us again. (Or "if"? Perhaps at her age it becomes "if" though I choose not to think about that).

I have realized in recent years just how lucky I was to have four living grandparents so far into my life. I've lost one now and it was more difficult than I was ready for and I know everyone is getting older... but it was truly wonderful to be able to know them all as the bullet-proof, wonderful, magical Santa Claus types a child remembers but then have the opportunity to get to know them again as an adult.

I am very grateful for that.

It's been awhile (again).

Summer was so very busy for me; so full of running around and building and trying to soak up what little summer I could... and then, at the end, three weeks of the kind of summertime bliss that I haven't enjoyed since I was a kid. A real vacation with someone I love, and love to travel with (we're lucky it's both, it isn't always the same).

And now...

Now I'm having trouble settling back into the real world, the new job, the living alone again. It's harder than I thought it would be.

Can't we just go back to the seashore?

e'town

This week has served as a reminder, an illustration, of how much I can simultaneously love and hate this town I live in, this northern city that is now my home in spite of being too far from my ocean... or any ocean at all.

First my car was broken into and a bunch of stuff was stolen. I am only thankful that I no longer keep music easily at hand in the car as that would have been too much. The things that were stolen were things that one at a time, in isolation, may seem unimportant... no big deal. But they were things that meant a lot to me... collected over time, some for a purpose: my "tools of the trade" for my beloved sideline "job", put together over years of experience - and some simply for sentiment: a personalized leprechaun keychain from Ireland brought home by a friend, my favourite gig shirt ever and (believe it or not) my collection of band buttons that adorned the ceiling of the car itself, collected over a decade or more, some bands that don't even exist any more....

It made me angry and sad. And as much as I know car theft could happen anywhere, it happened to me here, in broad daylight, in the parking lot outside my workplace... and the things stolen had very little value except to me... and I felt myself resenting the people who did it and this city where I live for producing them.

Irrational? Perhaps... but I was very angry, and simply disappointed that this could happen - here. And I hated it.

But then came the weekend. The sun shining and the first of many outdoor gatherings with live music and happy, beautiful people frolicking in the sun.

And this gathering was extra special in a myriad of ways. Put together by a local filmmaker as a Project on sustainability. Starring a cast of characters including three members of one of my favourite bands in town, and our very own poet laureate (who's induction as such was another reason I love this city), the coolest looking string section ever and a full stage that even included kettle droms. This was a unique hipster symphony of original music focused on this city, ideas of sustainability and this generation and how it can get over it's apathy and love the city enough to become responsible representatives and to simply try... try to be more aware, try to be more vocal, try to realize that you are a voice that will, in fact, be listened to. An anthem to stick it out in this western city and work from within. In spite of it all.

It was wonderful day - perfectly sunny and hot with abundant fresh lemonade available and lots of beautiful people, dancing kids, bare skin and parasols of every colour to protect from the sun. (Even a Nova Scotia tartan umbrella which made me extra happy - I want one!)

And, again, I love this town.

NB

I left those days behind and it's an odd sensation to come across a random reminder.

Tea time thoughts...

This is my week to drink tea, reorganize, transition, write here and there, regroup, rearrange and begin anew. I am hoping to become more regular here and also to write copious amounts in the 5-star notebooks or various bound bits of paper I have been neglecting.

Bear with me... it's a bit of a process.

April has been a difficult month. Filled with proverbial April showers and all-too-literal Alberta snow...

I lost a friend this month. A friend who was everyone's entertainer, a constant joker somehow conveying love and joy even when he grumbled and swore about something that struck him and brought out his comical ire. A lion tamer of sorts on stage, I have witnessed him tame many a hostile crowd. The banter has gone awry! I'll miss you Joe.

I finished at a job I wanted to love but couldn't. It seemed the perfect fit from outside and I so wanted to succeed but somehow, when all was said and done, it seemed better to go our separate ways, this job and I... before someone got hurt.

And now another someone I know, a friend of many of my own friends, a "theatre person" in the small circle of theatre people, is missing. Missing for almost a week now.

And this has made me think about how easy it would be to become lost in this world. How easy it would have been *then* and *then* to simply slip away. I think I am past that now, settled and happy in this moment - enough that the thought of getting lost seems foreign but remembering when it did not.

This simultaneously scares me (how easy it would have been, could have been, almost was) and inspires gratitude for the moments and the people I now fill my life with.

hugs and much love... and hope for a safe return...