i think i felt a heartbeat

“Contemplation often makes life miserable. We should act more, think less, and stop watching ourselves live.”
Chamfort (French playwright, 1741-1794)

sex without love

I can barely write in my own journals these days before shutting the cover and finding another distraction.

I don't know if I'm afraid of writing honestly or that it's just been so long I've forgotten how. I want to get back to that place where I can write freely, without being self-conscious or weary of who's reading.

It's been a month of endings, many endings and a few beginnings. I don't know where to begin in describing my emotions within all of them.

Last night I joined my mother and three other great writers in attending an intimate evening with Sharon Olds, and we listened to one of the most unguarded, sensualist, raw female poets whose writing has ever crossed my path.

Long strands of soft grey hair pouring around her face, Olds chanted about breasts, periods, a violent childhood and a husband who left her. Men and women in the crowd thanked her for breaking down the walls that stopped them from speaking about the body and everything else that is beautiful and taboo.

"If that's not inspiration for being honest," I said after the show, "then I don't know what is."

Sex Without Love

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
Gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth, whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

-- Sharon Olds

call it off

The Omnivore’s Hundred

I've seen this list on a few blogs, and have also had it emailed to me. The Omnivore’s Hundred is a list of 100 things
that every good omnivore should have tried at least once in their life. The list includes fine food, strange food, everyday food and even some pretty bad food - but a good omnivore should really try it all.

Here are the rules:
1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment here at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp (Maybe? I eat a lot of fish I don't recognize...)
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar (Not together, but would be nice)
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk (the yoghurt)
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal (A long time ago...)
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine (Never. And I'm Canadian!
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

*I have crossed out nothing, I don't want to limit myself in the wild world of food. Although some may take a while for me to try, I have been an adventurous eater since I was a little girl...

growing young with you

I was born three days after your birthday, and you always said I was the best birthday present you ever received.

Over the next few years you would see me learn to talk, scream, and speak in French. You would watch me grow cautiously into adolescence and hate the world for throwing puberty upon my body. And throughout all of these stages you would, and still do, make me feel like a gift.

It is hard to find someone that can look past all of your imperfections. You make me feel like I deserve the best and that I can do anything I please.

When I'm around you I realize I've taken some of my best personality traits away from you. I can only hope that at your age, I look, think and act as youthfully as you.

After Thanksgiving dinner a family friend talked to me about you. He said, "It's amazing how everyone ages differently. Like Rob, he does it so well, he looks at least 10 years younger than his age."

You do. But what else do you expect when you've lived your live healthfully, remaining calm in stressful situations, keeping your mind stimulated, and finding the humour in life every day?

Here's to another year of working hard, laughing harder, and beating the clock once again.

Cheers dad, I love you.

the long way home

We left the warmth of California and drove into the dark grey sky of the Oregon.

The clouds grew heavier as the night grew darker, and heavy raindrops flew onto our windshield. When we finally saw a sign for a hotel, we pulled in and stayed the night. The hotel, more like a lodge, was luxurious, and we ate dinner in the dining room while snow fell from the sky. Somehow, we had gone from summer weather to winter weather in one day.

We hit the road again early the next morning and drove to Portland. We wandered the small city, and perused Powells bookstore, where I spent the entire time gasping over the food and cooking section, settling eventually on The Amateur Gourmet, a much anticipated read from one of my favorite bloggers.

As the magic hour took place (a film term my dad just taught me, when the sky goes from day to night and the lighting changes), we drove out of the charming city and back onto the highway. I have stared at more roads and road signs in the past few days than I care to for a long time. Eventually we stopped at a cheap motel on the side of the highway. Far from the luxury of the night before, it was time to cut corners and deal with the dirty smell and scratchy feel of motel sheets. Other than some rowdy boys upstairs, and some creeps in pickup trucks trying to talk to my mother up as she grabbed water from the car in the middle of the night, we slept just fine.

We woke early the next morning and packed our bags. I threw on my dress and stumbled to the breakfast room. The advertised Belgian Waffles I had anticipated were cups of wet batter sitting beside a cheap looking waffle maker. I settled for stale cereal and a white english muffin. My parents, wise things with patient appetites, waited for better food along the road.

After many more hours of driving we made our way into British Columbia, and I smiled to see the trees, mountains and ocean once more. This is where I'll be living, again, for the next month or so.

We had fun on the road, but sometimes the best part about travel is coming home.

leaving San Anselmo in one piece

The streets of California are not made for walking.

Crossing the street this evening a car moved into me, and pushed me forward a couple of feet before stopping. Thank god it was moving slowly. I jumped out of the way, looked at the startled driver, and moved my way back to the sidewalk.

I am still perfectly intact, but amazed by how it feels to come so close to having your body and dreams snapped up in a moment. A few seconds, and a little more speed could have had me in a wheelchair.

Luckily, I am fine, and it made it safely to an authentic Mexican restaurant for spicy prawns, flour tortillas, rice and refried beans. California can always redeem itself with Mexican food. Near death experience? Give me some hot sauce, fresh corn tortilla chips and homemade salsa and all is forgotten. Promise.

Tomorrow we leave this sunshine state and head up into Oregon. I'll miss the sunshine, and the comfort of our friend Carol-an older belle for Carolina- and her cozy home, but am looking forward to new scenery, new tastes, and hopefully some safer sidewalks.

i'm leaving my heart in san fransisco

I held my love one last time in the glare of the airport hotel bathroom. The light hurt his eyes, and I held him tight before saying goodbye. It will be over a month until he visits me in Vancouver.

I took two rocky plane rides to begin my latest adventure. Flying to Minneapolis, to San Fransisco, where I joined my brother and my parents to celebrate my cousin's wedding. From here I will drive to Vancouver with my parents, where I will do my internship at CTV before heading off to visit them in France. With all this travel lined up, I take a deep breath, and feel like myself again. The excitement of life and unexpected pleasures run through my body once more.

Our first destination, San Fransisco, has been a celebration. The wedding took place in a small town outside of the city, an old hippie community that has also turned into a gay community in the past 15 years. I've never been in a small town that felt so open minded.

We stayed in a small kitschy resort of small cottages, other family members in different themed ones across from us. Ours was something along the line of a wilderness mountain theme.

Our first night relatives poured into our cottage to say hello, drink in hand, and for a notoriously distant family we talked late into the night. We feasted on real, spicy, Mexican food, and I licked my fingers and praised California.

The next day my cousin, soul mate, and inspiration, was married. She married in the backyard of a friends house, with a Mexican day of the dead theme. An alter commemorated friends and family, gone but there in spirit. The dark skies cleared up, and they exchanged honest vows, danced to Johnny Cash, fed each other cupcakes, and enlightened all my ideas on how a marriage should take place.

Once again, we feasted on Mexican food. I licked my fingers and praised California once more. I made my first wedding speech, to the woman who has made it to every wedding whether she had money or a ride to get there.

The after party was at a gay bar on a leather fetish night. They are a pretty crazy couple after all. I took pride in introducing a group of young gay men to my parents: "...yeah, we go to gay leather nights together all the time."

We wished the couple all the best, and left back into the city the next day. We enjoyed the sights and sounds of San Fransisco, ate clam chowder and crab, tasted garlic ice cream at The Stinking Rose restaurant, and headed out to a friend's house where I write now.

I am hoping to find my writing again over the next few months. To find parts of myself I have forgotten. If there's anything I appreciate in life, it's a change of scenery and a new adventure.