I was thinking about pies as I got on the subway tonight. Somewhere between Spadina and Dundas West my thoughts turned to my grandma.
She used to bake pies; in fact every autumn her and my grandpa used to head east to the rich orchards of the Okanagan Valley where they would stay for several days and collect apples from their friend's farm. I remember tagging along one year with my sisters and parents. I remember watching the juicer squeeze the apples dry and I remember watching steam rise off the juice as it was heated on the outdoor stove. I remember my runny nose and cold toes, a reminder that winter was just around the corner.
We had to go collect a ladder in the orchard one time. And as my grandma and I set out, the owner of the orchard warned us that a bear was spotted poaching apples from the trees just last week. I was worried, my grandma wasn't. We found the ladder in the dusk, leaning against a tree and I carried it back, trying to shove my worry away.
I remember her sensible tan shoes walking through the trees, along the orchard trail.
She died of cancer when I was in grade 11. She passed away with dignity in her bed, surrounded by family. I had experienced death for the first time and I didn't quite know how to deal with it all.
That was the year 2000 and today as I rode the subway home I ached in my heart and throat because I missed her.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
winter boots
I like my roommates.
Mark's a teacher, he just got engaged and he is extremely patient when we make to much noise in the living room after he's gone to bed.
Dan and I go for runs in the park together. I always seem to go out a bit to fast and he always makes me keep the pace until the very end.
Enoch spent hours painting my room for me . . . just because.
Its been almost two years since I packed my life into two suitcases and moved east. I moved to a city I had never visited, to a city where I knew no one. For several months I could count my friends on one hand. I moved to Toronto in the heart of winter and refused to buy winter boots. To be honest I'm not really sure why I took that stand. I think it was because I had never bought them before, in Victoria there is rarely a need, and I balked at the idea of spending my hard earned cash on things I thought were ugly.
That first winter I didn't have enough money to buy snow tires for my car. I drove across Ontario and Michigan, through Illinois and Wisconsin, Nebraska, Pennsylvania and New York with bald summer tires. In retrospect it wasn't the smartest of plans, there were a number of occasions I almost ended in a ditch. I remember the first time I drove through Manhatten that winter, I was just a guy from an island on the west coast of Canada driving through afternoon rush hour traffic trying to get across the Brooklyn bridge without getting killed.
I sat tonight and listened to Nat King Cole and blew smoke rings towards the ceiling. As the thick smoke from the hookah spun languidly through the air I sank into the couch and thought about my two years. I thought about what had changed and what I still want to change. I thought about my roommates and friends and appreciated the risk I took in packing my life up and moving 3 time zones away.
I think its probably time to invest in a pair of good winter boots.
Mark's a teacher, he just got engaged and he is extremely patient when we make to much noise in the living room after he's gone to bed.
Dan and I go for runs in the park together. I always seem to go out a bit to fast and he always makes me keep the pace until the very end.
Enoch spent hours painting my room for me . . . just because.
Its been almost two years since I packed my life into two suitcases and moved east. I moved to a city I had never visited, to a city where I knew no one. For several months I could count my friends on one hand. I moved to Toronto in the heart of winter and refused to buy winter boots. To be honest I'm not really sure why I took that stand. I think it was because I had never bought them before, in Victoria there is rarely a need, and I balked at the idea of spending my hard earned cash on things I thought were ugly.
That first winter I didn't have enough money to buy snow tires for my car. I drove across Ontario and Michigan, through Illinois and Wisconsin, Nebraska, Pennsylvania and New York with bald summer tires. In retrospect it wasn't the smartest of plans, there were a number of occasions I almost ended in a ditch. I remember the first time I drove through Manhatten that winter, I was just a guy from an island on the west coast of Canada driving through afternoon rush hour traffic trying to get across the Brooklyn bridge without getting killed.
I sat tonight and listened to Nat King Cole and blew smoke rings towards the ceiling. As the thick smoke from the hookah spun languidly through the air I sank into the couch and thought about my two years. I thought about what had changed and what I still want to change. I thought about my roommates and friends and appreciated the risk I took in packing my life up and moving 3 time zones away.
I think its probably time to invest in a pair of good winter boots.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
of falling leaves and new beginnings
It was beautiful yesterday
I wandered through the park with my pipe and some friends. We walked past the soccer fields, past the drained and lonely swimming pool and onto tree framed, leaf covered paths. It was love, walking with good people, kicking up the crunchy leaves with our feet. We talked about deep and weighty issues, about faith and relationships and more.
The smell was fantastic.
I recently returned from spending almost a month in Costa Rica. The smells were different there. Cars and quads spitting fumes across the dirt roads, the smell of the friendly neighbourhood stray dog nuzzling his nose into your hand, and the ocean . . . the ocean with its spray and salt, the smell of being wild and untamed. So too with the earthen and ancient scent of the jungle, treading amongst the trees felt like trespassing on a territory that was never meant for humans.
I took pictures but to be honest I don't know if i want to put them up. I don't want to remember the trip by little picture vignettes. I want to remember it by the sound of crashing waves, of being woken at 6 every morning by monkeys on the tree outside my window. I want to remember the sudden torrential rainstorms that create rivers in minutes only to be replaced by sun an hour later.
I want to remember dodging potholes, and haggling with taxi drivers. Of tipping our boat on the river and thinking I might die as the white water sucked me under. I want to remember seeing an armadillo crossing the road, a toad jumping across the path in front of me, and a poisonous frog climbing a rock as i walked by.
It was a good month and now I've returned home to falling leaves and cool temperatures. A new stage has begun, one which I am terminally optimistic about. There is nothing I can do about my optimism, fantastic beginnings are afoot.
I wandered through the park with my pipe and some friends. We walked past the soccer fields, past the drained and lonely swimming pool and onto tree framed, leaf covered paths. It was love, walking with good people, kicking up the crunchy leaves with our feet. We talked about deep and weighty issues, about faith and relationships and more.
The smell was fantastic.
I recently returned from spending almost a month in Costa Rica. The smells were different there. Cars and quads spitting fumes across the dirt roads, the smell of the friendly neighbourhood stray dog nuzzling his nose into your hand, and the ocean . . . the ocean with its spray and salt, the smell of being wild and untamed. So too with the earthen and ancient scent of the jungle, treading amongst the trees felt like trespassing on a territory that was never meant for humans.
I took pictures but to be honest I don't know if i want to put them up. I don't want to remember the trip by little picture vignettes. I want to remember it by the sound of crashing waves, of being woken at 6 every morning by monkeys on the tree outside my window. I want to remember the sudden torrential rainstorms that create rivers in minutes only to be replaced by sun an hour later.
I want to remember dodging potholes, and haggling with taxi drivers. Of tipping our boat on the river and thinking I might die as the white water sucked me under. I want to remember seeing an armadillo crossing the road, a toad jumping across the path in front of me, and a poisonous frog climbing a rock as i walked by.
It was a good month and now I've returned home to falling leaves and cool temperatures. A new stage has begun, one which I am terminally optimistic about. There is nothing I can do about my optimism, fantastic beginnings are afoot.
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