Came home early from work, watching Police Academy 1 on the futon, drinking coconut water, eating chicken rice soup and gold fish crackers (extreme cheddar).
It’s hot and humid outside.
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Foraging for Saskatoon berries along Grace in the heavy morning humidity. Picking a handful and eating them heading southward. Trying to keep cool walking in the shady side of the street. Meeting for Americanos and hitting yard sales with future roommate. Purchasing framed Southern France art deco drawings for the bathroom. Watering and admiring the solanum, prickly tomato plant in my garden. Building earth brick beds with children and youth. Eating fried clams in Queen’s Park North while observing toddlers knocking over floaty balloons filled with helium. Watching younger cousins play “Grounders”. Watching Rose Ave. children playing “Shark” along the vacant portables. Biking along Queen’s Quay. Dodging mini vans and BMWs. Attending panel discussion on colonialism, imperialism and capitalism organized by No One is Illegal at Ryerson. Drinks on a patio with new and old friends. Flirtatious banter. 3:00 am poutine and pop drinking with Montrealers on stoop. Dancing to old school music. Gin and tonics. Getting hit in the head by a flying soccer ball. Drinking a lot of water. Being combative and head butting people. Trading flat yellow shoes for white high heeled sandals to provide relief to fellow female-kin. Stumbling in said heels. Biking through Trinity Bellwoods. Buying myself flowers in Parkdale. Kitty cuddles. The Black Keys’ Brothers album on Repeat. Dancing in my underwear to Sleigh Bells. Taking my cousins to the park. Gelato in Little Italy. Fresh farm eggs from Tony. Pondering. Duck and quail eggs experimentation in the kitchen. Cooking stir fried ginger and onion blue crabs feast for maman-daughter sleepover. Splurging on dark chocolate at the fancy confectionery shop down the street. Shots of sambucca. Swollen lips. Reading L’élégance du hérisson in the park. Waking up sweaty at 2:00 am and 5:00 am regularly. Writing in the wee hours of the morning. Going for Brunch at Grace’s and Mia’s. Savouring congee, runny eggs, pickled vegetables, fried dough patties, and okra and tomato dish. Random solo evening bike rides downtown. Giving away spring garlic in St. James Town to Portuguese lady. Admiring little houses north of Queen West. Staring at the stars on patios and lying down on slides in the playground. Playing on the swings — trying to go as high as possible without getting too dizzy. Petting Great Danes and hounds on the street when the owners/guardian are not watching. French films about love. Speaking French to my cats. Mentally naming things in Vietnamese on my way to work. Xe dap, nha, xoi. Markham BBQ. The Dad brigade at the Commun. Spitting and crying infant. Baby smells. Random encounters and connections. Getting children to fight over sugar snap peas. Skype conversations with long distance friends. Evasiveness. Visiting Amber at Urban Harvest and eating croissants and drinking carrot ginger apple smoothies. Listening to the Wu Tang at 5:30 am on a Monday. Regaling friends with sordid stories. Water play. Making do. Making plans. Outdoor free concerts. Red currants. Sore muscles. Siestas and power naps. Slanted tree out front of house. Toronto Underground Cinema and outdoor films. Fixing the brakes on my bike. Helping others fix their bikes. Fundraiser parties. Laughing by myself. Neil Young. Strolling for hours in the city. Macchiatos on Harbord in the afternoon. Falling in love with beautiful and stylish women on bicycles every day. Sundresses. Dirty feet. Pink nails. Fashion blogs. Broken hearts. Joyful. Old Crushes. Eating too many nem nuongs. Bad 24 Hour Vietnamese food. Giant dandelion gone to seed blowing in the wind at 4:00 am. Wood chips. Breathing in the pre-rain air. Random capitalization. Not being afraid. Doing “Chinese medicine shots”. Checking out community gardens in the dark. Making others grin and laugh. Strategizing and planning around exciting summer youth project. Cordless power drilling. Stumbling on a Beehive Collective workshop over the weekend. Precarious job security. Watching dogs at the dog park. Enjoying my own company enormously. Lettuce from Pasquale. Co Hang’s delicious chocolate cake - a cross between a cake and truffle - not too sweet and a perfect balance between airyness and density. Sitting on storefront pipes commiserating. Bonding with little cousin and letting her dictate what shoes I should try on for fun at the mall. Tasting raw rhubbarb in the garden. Endless texting. Never getting tired of Abbey saying the latin names of plants outloud. Homemade beef jerky made by Leslie in exchange for watering her plants. Being inspired. Being tired. Milk bottles filled with water strewn across the apartment. Disarray. Eating a lot of kale. Wishing I could do a cartwheel. Propagating. Spring garlic all-purpose pesto jar in the fridge. Having friends over for impromptu dinners. Going to bed too late. Waking up too early. Creating. Dynamics. Excited for what’s ahead.
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A couple evenings ago on my way home, I met a friendly elderly man. It was very cold and I was sick of being stagnant and waiting for the Parliament bus so I decided to walk towards Castle Frank station, at the very least moving to stay warm. It was just getting to be dark, and as I was crossing the street, a man, perhaps in his 70s dressed in a toque and carrying a rucksack on his back, looking like he was planning to travel far, approached me comfortably and asked if I was walking east, and if so we could keep each other company - walking with someone always speeds up the passing of time when it is cold - which always seems painfully slow when you’re on your own. I told him that I was actually walking towards the TTC station but would be happy to walk with him even for the short little while.
He asked me where I was from. I told him where my parents were from and where I was born. Since he had asked me, I asked him too where he was from.
“Nowhere,” he said with much indignantly, “I do not have a country… as the Americans have destroyed my homeland. Yugoslavia does not exist…”
And so we talked about American intervention and invasions, commiserating over world politics for perhaps 5 or ten minutes. I am not sure. It was just a short connection, one that felt so normal and natural. One that should happen more on cold blistery evenings as well as sunny warm ones. Ones I get to engage in regularly working outdoors in the neighbourhoods that I work in.
Whenever my mother and father visit they bring me food and household items. Usually my mother will call and ask if I need or want anything. I will usually say that I don’t. Today my mother called at 10:30 am and asked if I needed moisturizer. I initially said no but then recanted. She asked if I needed anything else and this time, I was clear that I didn’t. Not that that matters.
So my parents arrived two hours later with my aunt in tow. Not only did they bring me moisturizer, but my family swarmed me with the following:
- a jar of homemade pickles made by dad
- a bag of purple and green tomatillos that my aunt picked from who-knows-where
- little packages of beef jerky, dried apple chips (from Costco I can imagine)
- rice pudding cups and yogurt (also Costco items)
- a giant opened bag of parmesan flavoured baguette crisps (Costco!)
- a bunch of bananas (”Eat a banana a day!” my mom stated as she came at me with the bunch)
- a gallon of vegetable oil
- a bottle of extra virgin olive oil
- loose packs of gum
- two litres of soy milk
- dried sausage cut up in a bag
- a Chinese moon cake
- a box of Ziplock bags
- a roll of parchment paper
- a roll of plastic wrap
- two tubes of toothpaste
- four bars of soap
- toilet cleaner
- 1 24 pack of toilet paper rolls (SCORE! I hate buying toilet paper)
I probably forgot something. Oh, on top of the moisturizer, my mother also gave me a tube of lipstick and lip gloss. I don’t wear lipstick, or lip gloss even, ever. Essentially the aforementioned donated items are a result of my parents still not being used to having the kids moved out of the house and their inability to resist a deal or sale. And my mother wanting to pawn off some of the stuff she hoards in the basement that she discovers she has too much of. Also, I have a feeling they are worried that I do not make enough money and want to just genuinely help me by furnishing Steven and I with ‘essentials’. It’s not bad for the most part, but I basically end up with more things that I don’t really use or use quickly. I still have three rolls of aluminum kicking around.
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Paul, a regular garden club goer in the winter, came into the Winchester garden yesterday. A dedicated indoor gardener at the age of 7 or so, he has a tendency to make a mess and say quirky things. He picked some mint leaves during the garden tasting tour that he absolutely went crazy over - declaring matter of factly to his buddy “Mmmmmm! This smells so good! I am going to stuff this leaf up my nose… and call it my lucky leaf.”. He left the garden clutching the mint right under his nose, ready to go through with his claim.
I don’t know where to begin! I have just gotten back from a jam-packed 5-6 days in Ottawa for Dig In! and the Food Secure Canada Conference. Dig In! was a workshop development retreat organized by Check Your Head!, the National Farmers Union Youth and the Canadian Biotechnology Action Network which brought together 11 people (+ four facilitators and a couple note-takers) across the country to design a workshop on food sovereignty using popular education tools. We piloted a workshop at the Food Secure Canada Conference on Sunday, after having only met each other 3 days prior and getting together for two days to explore issues related to food sovereignty and sharing our personal experiences. The whole group was fairly diverse and wonderful: we had a farmer from Saskatchewan, a dairy farmer from a small town near Ottawa, a Kenyan farmer now farming in Canada, a farmer CSA farmer from Guelph (three of the farmers were women), educators, activists, a First Nations social worker from Manitoba, community organizers, a few students, urban and rural agriculturalist hopefuls and I am sure I am forgetting other important details.
It was one of the most intense periods of my life and I went through a whole range of emotions: I was inspired, energized, hopeful, stimulated, saddened, frustrated, angry, and overwhelmed. I laughed and cried (at least 3 times!). What probably heightened this experience is that since Obama’s been elected U.S. President, I have slept less than 6 hours every night, except for a couple nights. Maybe about 3-4 hours on average.
I also learned more about myself and am possibly more excited, dedicated and passionate about my career/life path…
More later!