when

you

love

somebody

THIS MUCH

words

don’t

do you

justice

______________

I am cherishing these last days as just the two of us, being mindful of how our world will change when another little one makes his way into our world. There are new days ahead.

Found objects, Prince Edward Island

The final piece, now hung in our office / art room. Paint, India ink (Sabrina’s lettering, my words,) and collage on craft paper. I originally thought I was making a piece to be cut into pages but decided in the end I liked it too much whole.

_______

Closer…

[Grab images and drag to a new window to look closer]

[poetry / freewrite]

I am here today to give myself

permission
to take all of the twine
the knots
the dirt-sand-rock-thorn lines
and bless them
smile with my mouth
my eyes

what I mean by that is

I want to live open
extend my arms
out
give way to the new things
lift eyes to grey skies
lover’s hand
and grasp with the strength of a giant

last wednesday

I sat with my one-year-old
reading the ugly duckling
the ripped pages
painting a pretty picture on the floor

and we danced
cheek-to-cheek
on whatever was playing on the radio
her warmth to my warmth

I am craving

more of this
the untethered moments
the knowing
that this is life at best
life at present
life given
life to be grabbed
life not foresaken

and I want the beautiful

when I was little I wore

dresses that matched my sister
and it made me proud
I wanted to look the same
next to her olive skin

the colours were

pink, white
sweatshirts with happy and sad faces
dresses in fuschia and aquamarine
there were yellows — warm

I remember how

we’d go to the playhouse
dad built in the backyard
the one with the real house windows
that opened and closed
we’d sit on the black spackled roof
and laugh at our brothers
dressed like batman and robin
jumping from roof to lawn
and be secretly jealous of their bravery

I wore my hair

long then
but I’d liked it short
the time I cut it in my friend’s bathroom
with paper scissors when no one was looking
and wore it the same way to my dad’s wedding –
a perfect tomboy in a pale blue dress

Tomorrow I leave for a charming, Atlantic coastal house on the shores of Prince Edward Island to work on my life’s dreams. It’’s an Angela Ritchie ACE (arts, culture and education) camp being hosted by a longtime creative hero of mine, Sabrina Ward Harrison (whose work I was first introduced to by my dear friend Avital.) I’’ve been reading Anne of Green Gables in preparation, and between that and reopening Sabrina’’s book Spilling Open, I am being confronted with an abandoned way of living — Anne’’s insatiable desire for all things romantic and Sabrina’’s altogether raw confession.

Yesterday I was talking with my friend Sara and trying to explain how I felt about this trip. With my tongue uncharacteristically tied in knots, I finally spilled the truth that I was feeling NERVOUS.

I am nervous to go to camp.

Like the nervousness I felt before going to a Calvinettes camp-out when I was eight. Except today it’’s an adult nervous. Like I’’m fooling myself into believing that I can see all of the potential potholes ahead.

I’’m not nervous the girls are going to tease me or the boys won’’t think I’’m pretty. I’’m not worried I’’ll forget to bring my bathing suit or that it will rain all week and we won’’t be able to sing or roast marshmallows around the campfire. I’’m worried that this trip, this camp, this first four-day sojourn without my one-year-old, this meeting of a creative hero, this writing assignment, won’’t be all I desperately hope it will be.

Something deep, DEEP, in me wants to fling myself into this week with the unhindered expectation of a five-year-old. I want to believe with my twenty-year-old-heart (the better, freer, lighter heart) that this will be IT. The marker. The moment. The chapter changer. A time so affecting that I’ll hold it up as my Everest climb. A culmination of so so so much. And something (SOMEONE) tells me it is. And I want to believe it.

Oh god, do I want to believe it.

But my adult self tells me to be careful. To not care too much. To not get too excited. To set my expectations just a little bit lower.

And my five-year-old/twenty-year-old self is telling my thirty-one-year-old head/heart to fuck-off. To ““do what you did at first”” (Revelation 2:5). To BELIEVE.

That my God (the God I am so unsure of, the God who ever clings to me, the God of my youth, the God of the universe) is love. And that he WANTS me to believe this with every single inch of my being. And to not hold back.

And somewhere behind my ribcage, behind my separating bones, screams YES.

The yes of my two-year-old, five-year-old, twenty-year-old, pre-period, pre-heart-smash, pre-confusing-years, pre-church-mess-ups, pre-career-detours, pre-falling-out, pre-self.

Yes.

Yes. It will be.

Yes. I believe it.

Yes. There is love ahead.

Yes. There is more.

Yes. The daring will be worthwhile.

yes. yes. yes.

good. good. good.

love. love. love.

amen. amen. amen.

echoes my thirty-one-year-old heart.

And tomorrow I leave on a jet plane. And all shall be well. And all shall be well. And all manner of things will be well.

Yes. Amen. Let it be.

Michael and I used to have a little joke about T-dot. Whenever we’d mention the big smoke we’d burst out in the Radio Free Vestibule song “Don’t want to go to Toronto…” For those who have no idea what I’m talking about, the song goes like this:

I don’t want to go to Toronto
I don’t want to go
All of the blocks are square
None of the streets are twisted
None of the streets are paved with bricks
There’s too many elevators in Toronto
Not enough stairs in Toronto
Not enough stairs
All of the food in Toronto is made of edible oil products
They don’t have bagels in Toronto
They have doughnuts
Doughnuts made of edible oil
I don’t like doughnuts
They don’t have bagels
I don’t want to go to Toronto
People don’t have faces in Toronto
They have cigarette ads instead
They listen to your phone calls
There’s a tower in Toronto that controls people’s minds
It’s illegal to possess brightly coloured balloons in Toronto
Illegal to own brightly coloured balloons
All of the children in Toronto must wear suits
Even the girls
Three piece suits
The buildings in Toronto have no windows
I don’t want to go
Everyone lives in sub-terrainian caverns…
Nobody goes to the bathroom in Toronto
They have a special operation
They have it removed surgically
There’s a tax on all wicker goods in Toronto
There’s huge buildings with no windows
And streets with no curves
And inside you find little girls in suits
Running around with black balloons
And munching on edible oil products
The kids don’t have names
They have numbers which are assigned to them at birth
They’re called three hundred and eighty seven point seven
Four hundred and twelve point nine
And they all have cigarette ads instead of faces
I don’t want to go to Toronto
I don’t want to go
I have plenty of wicker goods
I don’t want a tax on my wicker goods
I like going to the bathroom
I don’t want to go the hospital
I don’t want to go to Toronto
I don’t want to go
Do I have to go to Toronto?
Do I?
Do i have to go?
I don’t want to go…

You get the idea.

So, you can imagine my delight when four weeks into our time here I am NOT chanting this song on a moment-to-moment basis. In fact, I’m not thinking about it at all. (Okay, maybe once in gridlock on the 401, but generally NO.)

I like it here. I like the green spaces. There are far more than I thought, especially in our pocket of the city. We can bike down the Humber River two blocks from our house all the way down to Lake Ontario — all of the way downtown, to the Beach, to the ferry that takes us to Toronto Islands. We are buying bikes this weekend and Madeleine is SO EXCITED. She repeats “Madeleine, ‘May-May’ (her auntie Brittany who owns a motorbike) bike-cull” a thousand times a day. She’s pumped to go bike riding and so are we. In fact, Michael is even considering commuting downtown by bike which would cut his commute by 30 minutes, get him out in the fresh air, and be generally AWESOME — straight down the river, past the lake, then up past St. Lawrence Market and BAM! he’s at the office.

Photo care of BikingToronto.com

The house is getting it together. It’s livable, not clean. But that’s how I roll. Tidy. Slightly unkempt. Pretty things here and there.

Our office is a disaster and hopefully we’ll be able to tackle it some more this weekend. AFTER we buy bikes. And test them out. And drink coffee at the Outhouse — our coffee shop a few blocks away.

And I am meeting cool people. I met a Kiwi mom at a little Anglican church on Easter Sunday and ran into her again today.

They’ve invited us over for a weekend brunch. And I met a lovely British mom and Madeleine may start going to the same home-based daycare as her daughter who’s the same age.

Okay. Daycare. This was not part of the plan. I’d planned to stay home with Madeleine full-time as usual, trying to tuck my writing projects in here and there. But it is JUST NOT WORKING out. Go figure. We are trying to set up a whole new home, plus get all of our ID switched over, buy every single piece of furniture, attend to midwife appointments, etc, etc, ETC. And I am not the kind of mom that stays up after the kids are in bed and does stuff. NOPE. I clean up dinner (sometimes, sometimes my lovely husband does,) hang out with said hubby, wash my face, brush my teeth, read a book, bed time. And I don’t get up early either. So, this leaves me Madeleine’s one to two hour nap to GET STUFF DONE. Me stuff. Creative stuff. Writing stuff. Work stuff. And it just doesn’t cut it. Plus, I have a list of about seven projects I want to complete before baby numero deux shows up (PLEASE DO NOT COME EARLY KIDDO!!) and the one-to-two-day-a-week nanny option we found fell through. SOOOOOO…. daycare. Madeleine THRIVES with other little kids. I mean THRIVES. She walks into a family centre, takes one look at me, and says “BYE MAMA” and that’s that.

Madeleine at the Early Years Centre in the Junction

Madeleine and Julien Ducklow playing back on Bowen

But the thing with this daycare is they have a minimum of three days a week for part-time and I was thinking more like one or two, but THREE. I don’t know if I can handle being away from her that much… BUT, if we love it. If SHE loves it. Then we are going to give it a try. Three days a week. For a month. And we’ll see how it goes. And a part of me is just buzzing at the idea of all that I can do with THREE DAYS A WEEK. Oh my sweet goodness. Literary submissions! Articles submitted! Non-fiction written! Meetings with professional folks WITHOUT MY ONE-YEAR-OLD. And there are quite a few of them coming up…

Wow.

Another thing I like about Toronto is my rad aunt Astrid. She’s an actor and Madeleine and her met for the first time yesterday. I think they (and we) are going to be fast friends.

Finally, we are checking out the Tim Keller church plant, Grace Toronto, on Sunday and we are very excited that this might be home.

Toronto, you’re ai-right.

Sweet Vancouverites,

If you haven’t already done so, do yourself a favour and head to next month’s letter writing party at Main Street’s Regional Assembly of Text. Rebecca and Brandy serve up a delightful assortment of typewriters, paper, envelopes, rubber stamps, herbal tea and fresh baked goodies the first Thursday of every month. And it’s free. Get there early to secure your spot.

While you’re tip-tapping on the wet coast, Ms. Annie Brandner and I will be starting up our own little Bloor Street club… we’ll keep you posted.

Community garden plots are a hot commodity in Metro Vancouver. Thanks to the awesome folks at the River Market 12 lucky green thumbs can secure a waterside spot this spring. Details below.

EDIBLE GARDEN, SEASON 2

We are looking for 12 volunteer gardeners for our edible garden plots along the boardwalk. We will be planting vegetables like corn, carrots, and beans this season. No gardening experience necessary, just your TLC. We will hold workshops to cultivate your green thumb. Please email Julie at jr@rivermarket.ca

Go get ‘em!

A friend, my counselor Anne, recently helped me see that growing up I couldn’t really rely on family markers so I have grown to rely on the specific markers of a city to create a sense of self, a sense of place. When I move I lose my markers and, in a sense, myself. So it’s important to stake out my daily routines in Toronto right away.

I have never been so thankful for the necessity of food. When we arrive we’ll have breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We’ll also need to go outside so Madeleine and I don’t go stir crazy swimming in a sea of unpacked boxes. So, we’ll walk. We’ll stake out the neighbourhood. Find our coffee shop. Befriend our neighbours. Start looking for a church. We’ll find the fruit and veggie shop. But we’ll do it slowly.

I’ll set small goals: one thing in the house, and one thing outside, a day. And piece by piece we will build a new life.

And yet, our hearts will stay rooted to our loved ones at home. My sweet stepmother who yesterday, on my birthday, stood at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes a swell of tears, as she swung Madeleine in her arms. And my dad, a tower of wisdom, honesty, love. And my mother and stepfather, ever-givers. And my grandmother who, every time she calls, leaves me with a doxology: “May the Lord bless you and keep you.” And my brothers and their lovely wives, and their sweet children who I desperately want to know and be known by. And my amazing sister-in-law Brittany, aka May-May, our housemate who Madeleine runs to as she speeds up on her motorbike at supper hour. And my friends, so many of whom have made the journey to Bowen and rejoiced in this sweet gift of a home, and helped me talk through the fears, and who are never more than a phone call away.

And they still will be. And we have skype. And we have airplanes. And we have a guest room. And we will work at it. And, as my Dad reminded me yesterday (as we swung Madeleine round their gardens – One, two, three, oopsie-daisies — like he did me when I was little) that it will be hard and lonely but that God’s grace is sufficient for us. And I cling to this truth as I type this on a final Pacific morning.

And the things I am looking forward to in Toronto (all tidily tucked away in a file folder I have titled HOPE) are:

• walks along the Humber River
• creating a home in our house
• coffee dates with Annie and Miles
• going to Lil’ Bean and Green Cafe
• exploring U of T
• an incredible retreat/writing assignment in P.E.I. in May
• making new friends
• finding our church
• exploring the St. Lawrence Market
• day trips to the Toronto Islands
• new seasons, new colours
• hanging laundry in our backyard while Madeleine plays in the sandbox
• getting a bike
• the Distillery District
• setting up my space — a room of one’s own — a creative studio/workspace on the main floor
• visitors
• connecting with my Aunt Astrid
• work that keeps me connected to B.C. — www.art-bc.com, sheloves, the light
• flea market /antique store finds
• hanging our art
• voting for Gerard Kennedy
• Toronto Fashion Week, Luminato, IMAGE and Comment journal events, One of a Kind show
• hosting our house-warming party

When I step out the morning has barely risen. And I inhale the untethered walks, brisk, down Fraser Street, a likely hour to start my morning shift, and remember smiling at men with carts already begun their day’s collecting. Like him.

And I enter a coffee shop where we used to sit in the dark hours before children found us, talking with out cause to cease. Rest an unthought.

Oh, how times have changed.

Leaving English Bay, my mouth hangs open, open for wanting to plunge my run-out eight-and-a-halves clear around Lord Stanley’s treasured gift. It, a tarmac. I, taking flight.

And I grin as I pass Delaney’s where you and I sat for our last cup of coffee. Me, now mother. You, intrepid reporter. And Tompopo where she and I sipped miso, after I’d lent her my Jeep — my sweet, charcoal convertible — before we’d even met.

I was like that then, where did that go?

And as my feet pad pavement damp, oh I will miss this sweet lick of cement, I spot Joe Fortes Library — the site of my first CBC remote broadcast, that time with Early Edition, a provincial election spot.

They announced the election yesterday, a government in contempt. At least we’ll have that in Toronto.

And it’s here on this 6 a.m. peel of Denman that I remember myself.