Archive for April, 2006
It’s most fantastic when you don’t even know what’s breaking your heart the most. …there’s the traditional ended-relationship candidate–which I’m sure is involved at the very least, but leaving-Ireland is putting up some steep competition I think.
In London I was discussing with one of my cousins, the idea that information (about stories, and land, and history) gets passed down through our genes. It’s a strange idea, but it’s the only way I can explain the way I find myself taking in a huge breath and my heart warming as the plane comes through the clouds to reveal the Irish countryside. It’s the only way to understand what Jung had to say about the unconcious. …It’s a fascinating idea.
It makes living in a place like Canada all the more interesting though. I’ve started to put together that one of the things that makes me feel the most ‘at home’ about being in Ireland is the sense of humour shared by people there. There is a biting sarcasm that is universally understood and enjoyed by everyone–and I love it. I come home, and the biggest point of adjustment is slowly toning my sarcasm back down to acceptable Canadian levels.
My cousin and I talked about this too though. About how sarcasm comes from a dark or sad place, and about how protective it is. And that to be someone dependant on it, it was probably extremely healthy to be conducting one’s life surrounded (at least part of the time) by individuals who don’t thrive on the same sentiments.
I think that’s probably right. I think it’s probably a fascinating oppurtunity to live in a place as metropolitan as Toronto, with so many differant races and languages and personalities and traditions all mixing together.
But damn it feels good to go home. And it can be very hard to leave.
April 27th, 2006
1. The little signs coming down from the cieling that say “moving sidewalk about to end”. I mean really. If the person can’t see that the moving sidewalk is about to end right out from underneath them, how in God’s name can they be expected to notice and read a tiny sign 5 feet above their head?
2. The man whose 18-month-old daughter wailed for nearly the entire flight from London to Toronto, glaring at me toward the end of the flight when I sneezed.
April 24th, 2006
“Take care of yourself,” he said.
And at first I thought he meant over the weekend in London, the plan being me, a certified sleep addict, spending 2 days with my cousin who can’t fall asleep–isn’t it wonderful that depression can show so many different forms?–but then I realized he meant more than that.
He meant always.
And the tears came instantly, because the truth was that more than anyone in my life he’d taught me how to do that–how to be responsible and to take care of my body and self.
The statement was drenched with love and yet it settled on my heart with a pang of irony that cut deeper than I felt I could express.
Growing pains suck. And the world is a fantastically big place.
I love you.
April 24th, 2006
So I’m coming toward the end of another stay in Ireland. The more frequently I come here the more the sensation of it feeling like “home” in a bizarre way that I can’t describe morphs into a solid belief that it simply is home (along with Toronto and Guelph). It’s just home. Simple as that. I love Cork. I love the phenomenon of a huge family. I love my aunt, my uncle, my cousins. I love my Dad’s partner Kay, and I love my Dad.
And as I get closer to having to come home I get this indescribable anxiety, because I know that time is just going to start to move faster and faster when really I want it to slow to nearly a stop. Before I know it I’ll be on the plane home again. And it’s not that I don’t love Toronto: I do. I am very happy at home. But somehow I never get the sensation that if I’m away from Toronto it’s going to disappear. I get that sensation with Ireland. It’s like I’ve this deeply engrained fear that I won’t make it back.
I want so badly to know my father. And I’m making it over more often, and I do know him better than I ever have. …
Growing up you know, when people would find out that my parents were divorced, and would give me a look of sympathy I always felt a need to explain that it really wasn’t a big deal at all. My dad had left when I was young enough that it didn’t affect me like it does alot of kids. It was just the fact of how my family was. My dad didn’t live with us.
The point was always that it wasn’t a big deal: “He’s practically lived in Ireland my whole life!” I’d say.
Now the same words are hitting a very differant note for me. It’s like “Holy shit. He’s practically lived in Ireland my whole life…”
April 18th, 2006
Did you know that alchohol is the only drug which causes agression?
That’s right. You name the terrible, awful drug you ‘ve been warned about and how bad it is for you…and the truth is: in a number of ways alchohol is arguably worse.
And that’s the one we’ve got as legal. …Makes lots of sense doesn’t it?
April 10th, 2006
I stumbled across one of the most interesting thing I’ve read on the statistics of drug-use and drug-abuse among adolescents in a long time (for those who don’t know me very well: keep in mind that this is an area of intense interest for me and I seek out information about it often).
“…it has been shown– and this is of vital importance, from the perspective of policy and prevention –that adolescents who never experiment with drugs (not even marajuana) tend to be as maladjusted as (although somewhat differantly from) actual drug abusers; that is, significantly more maladjusted than occasional users.”
I’m interested to hear comments on this…is it surprising/obvious/unbelievable?
April 9th, 2006
It’s been a very hard week on my family when it comes to pets.
Max was the most amazing dog you could ever hope for. My grandma said once “If I had to like a dog, it would be Max”…and from my Grandma, that’s quite a compliment.
Loving, smart, playful, tolerant (Ropee)….
…but old. And with Patches gone…..well for all their apparent bickering they were obviously closer than they seemed.
If you see Roger this week. Give him a hug. He’ll need it.
April 8th, 2006
The Jesus Papers is a new (apparently) non-fiction book by Michael Baigent explaining that Pontius Pilot did not kill Jesus, but only pretended to, in order to pacify the angry masses that wanted him dead. …
…I don’t have much to say about that really. To me it’s much like what was in the Da Vinci code–interesting as hell*, but entirely beside the point when it comes to my faith in God and my belief about who and what Jesus was.
The reason I’m writing about it is just that I wanted to share what “The Voice” just said about it on CBC: “This pretend crucifixion is a bit of a relief, because all this time I’ve only been pretending to feel guilty for my sins.”
Brilliant, frankly. …this is me laughing heartily.
*reference not intended. It was noticed by the author during editing and removed, but has been resurrected in virtue of its ironic value
April 7th, 2006
I wish the world was flat like the old days
And I could travel just by folding a map.
No more airplanes or speedtrains or freeways;
There’d be no distance that could hold us back.
-deathcab for a cutie
That being said: Ireland on Monday!…DuDE! I cannot even express how awesome this is. ….efffectively this will be my third time back in under a year….soooo happy :).
That is all.
Happy weekend.
(p.s. sorry for the sparse postings. ..paper season..you understand…)
April 6th, 2006
This is my beautiful cat.
She was born, a long time ago when I was about 3. She was a barn cat. I wanted to name her Sitzu after our first cat, but my Dad suggested “Patches” instead. I was at an age where ‘labelling’ things interested me lots, and she did in fact have lots of patches of colour on her, so I was comfortable with that name.
I loved her lots.
……..that’s all.
Click here for more gorgeous pictures, and a couple depicting her relationship with my brother.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gardenofdaisies/tags/patches/
April 4th, 2006