Happy New Year!!!

 Happy New Year!!!

Here is to the end of 2010 - good riddance!!!

Here is to learning SO much in such a short time span - and here is to a much better year!!! 

  

2011 here I come!!!

And here is to good friends like Gallo and Disaronno to bring in the New Year - and no, I am not drunk in this pic!!! 
And wait, of course, there are my girls and my family without which I could not have ended this year in such style and with such confidence.

Live, Love and Laugh in this New Year.

A Tiny Munchkin Named Sebastien

I have just finished folding the heavy gray protective sheets that we have to place over the display cases at the end of each day when the kiosk is closed - and when I turn around, there is a little boy in the space between my cash counter and the display cases.  Normally, this area that I jokingly call my office is reserved for paying costumers, but I am thinking at the moment that I can make an exception for such a cutie!!

Upon getting closer to him, I see that he only reaches me about mid-thigh and as I place my hands on my hips, he is still unaware that I am even there!  So, I stand behind him with my be-ringed hands resting on my curvy hips, arms crooked and legs straight, look at him with a mock angry face and demand, "Qu'est s'que tu fais la toi?"

He spins around, perplexed that there is someone talking to him, and glances at his father, who has wisely stayed out of the restricted space, for reassurance.  My smile erupts from my face as I crouch down in front of this dirty-blond haired boy, our eyes at the same level.  I poke at a small wet stain on his little protruding belly with my index finger and ask, "Qu'est s'qui c'est passé a ton chandail?"  His light grayish blue eyes look into mine as he responds, "J'ai chapé d'l'eau."

"Oh!  La villaine eau!  Tu l'as tu chicané pour avoir tombé sur toi?"  I seriously implore this adorable youngster dressed in a gray turtleneck and faded blue jeans.  He shakes his head and continues to look at me, his head now bowed in shyness.

"C'est quoi ton nom toi?"  I inquire while still crouching.

"Sebastien."  He mumbles, smiling only at the corners of his mouth.

I extend my hand and say, "Moi, c'est Marie-Eve.  Enchanté Sebastien."  When he doesn't take my hand, I ask him whether he knows how to shake hands or not, to which he replies no with a shake of his head.

"Et bien, tu prends la main de la personne, non cheri, l'autre main, et la, tu donne un petit coup comme ca."  I gently shake his miniature hand in what seems like my pretty big one.  He holds on to my hand after I am finished shaking his because he does not know that he is supposed to let go! 

After I have given him this short lesson on hand shaking, he flashes his tiny teeth at me in a mischievous smile while his chubby cheeks stand out, ready to be pinched.  He darts between the two modules so as to rejoin his father and I unfold myself, watching him running away in the corridor while his father follows slowly behind. 

A Little Angel

Throngs of teenagers, young families and savvy shoppers are milling around in front of my kiosk while my co-worker and I are just standing there, staring at all of these people in utter amazement.  Shopping bags full of bargains are being lugged around by the slow-moving crowd and I am feeling slightly claustrophobic as I wish that I was still in my quiet apartment.  The buzz of all of these people talking, laughing and shouting is overwhelming and so Lacey and I are trying to keep ourselves occupied by talking about our latest boy issues.  I give her advice that I should be following myself and we end up laughing at our foolishness - she IS a Pisces like me, so she and I can relate on so many levels in matters of love.

Then, a young couple stop in front of one of the counters and I am about to tell them not to lean on it, because that is what people have been doing all day so far.  So, I walk up to them, getting my polite-yet-don't-mess-with-me bitch attitude ready that I use with the sweetest smile imaginable... and then I am confronted with the sweetest dark brown eyes you have ever seen.  My heart instantly melts as I look at the young man's gorgeous little baby girl and then I remember who they are - he had stopped by during my first week and I had cooed and awed at his daughter for about half an hour if not longer and then her mother had also shown up and started chatting with me.  I was not wearing my glasses when I first spotted them at my counter and so I am only able to tell that it is in fact the same small family that I met during my first week when I am close to them.

We start talking when I have realized who they are - the young man seems relieved that I remember him because he had not seemed too sure at first when I did not know who he was!  But I would have recognized his beautiful daughter anywhere!  He is holding her while his pretty girlfriend or wife is taking a look at our rings at the display counter;  I am still smitten by the little pink bundle he is holding and so I make his fatherly pride swell once again by telling him how sweet, pretty, cute and wonderful his tiny daughter is.

He then holds her out to me, over the counter, and I happily take her into my arms, amazed that this stranger would hand over his daughter to me just like that.  I cradle her little wiggling form in my arms, holding her little butt in the crook of my right arm while keeping my left hand on her small back.  It feels so peaceful to be holding this beautiful baby in the middle of the hustle and bustle of Boxing Day chaos! 

I take a moment and hold her out a little bit away from me so that I can see her pretty little face.  She looks like a small Spanish cherub because of her chubby cheeks and curling black hair that is circling around her perfect miniature ears.  Her big brown eyes that are almost black are wide and staring into mine and her tiny little lips curl easily into a smile as I make those silly baby noises that everyone makes when holding a baby.  I bounce her around a little on my right hip and implore her parents to let me keep her for the rest of the day.

Finally, I decide that I should go back to pretending to be working with Lacey and I imagine that this young couple want their daughter back so that they can continue their shopping.  Before handing her back, I ask them what this calm and quiet little angel's name is, and the mother responds proudly and with a smile, "Marie-Ange".  And I think that there could not exist a better suited name than that one.       


 

Quebec City, Episode Two (November 13th, 2010): Oh! The Places You'll Go!

The day has started off in the most incredible manner - I am standing near a wall of floor to ceiling windows, Quebec City in all of her glory spread out below me:  the Parliament building with its impressive grounds directly in front of me and its turquoise colored copper roofing, miniature people walking around taking pictures or jogging;  a little further away are the embankments where I can see a bit of morning fog still lingering where the ancient walls continue to protect this beautiful city to this day.  I lean against the cool glass, hands resting on the railing and stare out towards the river while trying to calm my restless mind.  It does not take long before the charm of this old city spread out before me has me under its spell and I am smiling dreamily.

The seminar is about to begin, so Manisha and I take front row seats like the good TESL students we are.  It is kind of early still and I am hoping that I can stay awake, but I know that Manisha will gently nudge me awake if I do in fact nod off.

Once the man in front of us begins to talk, I am instantly alert and attentive;  he had seemed harmless enough at first glance with his tightly curled longish black hair, thick rimmed glasses and unpresumptuous black collared shirt and trousers, but the fire and passion exuding from his every word and gesture tickles every nerve in my body.  Here is a fellow teacher with the same ideals on how to use literature in the ESL classroom, whether it be with beginner level or higher level learners - what he is describing is my philosophy of teaching English as a second language through literature except he is voicing it with such eloquence, excitement and drive.  His speech is resonating within me as though I am a guitar and his every word is pulling, strumming or picking my strings.  I have always wanted to marry my first degree to my second and here is a teacher who has achieved that!  I sit and listen, transfixed, and there is no longer any danger of my falling asleep!

Once he has finished and received a well-merited round of applause from the appreciative crowd, the young woman accompanying him begins her own presentation.  She hands out little pieces of different colored paper and asks all of us to write down our biggest wish that we will then drop into a symbolic well that she has taped to the pillar beside her and to my left.  I hastily scribble my own wish down on the florescent pink square of paper, my fragile heart already pounding and my mind already racing back to Montreal where my wish could come true...

She begins to explain her lesson plan and describes each step as we go along.  The wishing well idea ties into the overarching theme of the Dr. Seuss book entitled Oh! The Places You'll Go!, which is what she begins to describe next.  She tells us that as her students at this moment, we shall listen to her read us the story and she asks us to follow along by looking at the pages being projected onto the wall directly in front of us.  I settle into my seat, happy as a clam because I am going to be read to and so I begin to listen to her slightly accented voice.

For those of you who know both the story and the circumstances of my life at this particular moment in time, you will understand why my eyes quickly swelled up with tears and my head sadly dropped onto Manisha's comforting shoulder.  Bless her heart, she was familiar with the story and so she knows why I am so affected by this tale that appears to be being read only to me on this glorious morning;  she pats my resting hand and lets me keep my head on her shoulder while I take the conference program and hold it in front of my face in embarrassment. 

For those of you not familiar with Dr. Seuss' gem of an epic story, but you are aware of my situation because you either know me or have read this blog from the beginning - first of all, go and read the book so that it can change your life - suffice it to say that this particular children's book is about following your heart and how difficult it might be to do just that.  Here are a few excerpts that particularly moved me on that morning:

"You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own.  And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go."
[...]
"Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen,
don't worry.  Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening to."
[...]
"You'll be on your way up!
You'll be seeing great sights!
You'll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights."
[...]
"Except when you don't.
Because, sometimes, you won't.

I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly, it's true
that Bang-ups
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You'll be left in a Lurch."
[...]
"You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
                                             The Waiting Place...
...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday Night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That's not for you!"
[...]
"With banner flip-flapping,
once more you'll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you're that kind of guy!"
[...]
"I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.

And when you're alone, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won't want to go on."
[...]

Thus, here I am, sitting in a room atop the Hilton Hotel, thinking of the high places I have reached and the scary places I am walking through and have yet to pass through, musing about this waiting place that I feel I am always finding a seat... feeling as though it is ok to be in such a place as long as I recognize it and move on when it is time... and with Quebec City at my feet and Manisha by my side, absorbing some of the pain and misery emanating from my body, but also sharing in the joy and happiness that has also poured forth from my heart and soul, I know it is time to stop waiting around.  I know that I will go many other places besides this waiting space because I am choosing to follow my heart and I am deciding that life is an adventure that I want to actively grab a hold of and experience fully.

The timing of my discovering this book, in this place, with this particular friend sitting next to me at this specific time in my life could not have been more perfect.  I am both saddened, excited and scared all at the same time, but knowing that I have some incredible lady friends to hold my hand and to help me through some of the scary places, makes my heart feel a little less heavy. 

As the book describes, all of the places you go are part of a journey, and whether you walk through it alone or with others, you will make it...
so here I go!

How Do You Know?????

How do you know that you have the most amazing, bestest, most greatest girlfriends in the entire world - no, make that the entire universe?

She calls you to make sure that you are ok when you do not come home at the time that you usually do - she even apologizes sweetly about it by starting her sentence with, "I know I am not your mother, but..." and you cannot help but vow that you will at least try to text her when your plans have changed.
When you are feeling ravenous and you are about to eat the entire contents of the fridge or the fridge itself, she gently reminds you of a conversation you two had not too long ago about how you both needed to help each other not eat entire bags, packages, jars and containers of stuff... and then she does not get insulted when you decide not to heed her words of wisdom by going to the dep and getting a big bag of chips AND chocolate!

She shows up at your work, completely unannounced and unbeknown to you just to brighten up your day with a bear hug and the most beautiful smile.  The only reason you know she is there is because you get a text from her saying "I am at your work, where are YOU?"  Meanwhile, you were getting food and had left your kiosk unattended - oops!! 
She tells you that you are beautiful and amazing even though you are currently having a fat, bloated and get-out-of-my-face day - and she will not allow you to say anything else other than a grudging "Thank you" through tightly pulled together lips and a suppressed sigh of irritation at having been called such things.

She brings you macaroons because you briefly mention that you miss a particular person showing up at your work with coffee - the sweet, gooey, fruity, chocolatey, caramely and flakey taste of each macaroon momentarily making you forget... almost... but the smile on her face when she gave you the tiny white paper bag overtakes even the lingering taste of the  macaroons in your mouth and, after having devoured them, you are left with a smile because of her thoughtfulness.
She gets you the same EXACT earrings you bought with her in Quebec City because she recently found out that you had lost one and had consequently been unable to wear them because 'them' had become an 'it' and you cannot possibly just wear one of a pair of earrings.  She sweetly gives you a tiny brown box with a red sparkly ribbon tied on it while a mischievous light dances in her eyes - and tears of happiness swell in your own when you open up the box and see what is inside.

She stays with you the whole night when you have gotten completely shit and piss-faced drunk even though it had not been in her plans at all to do so - and she does not even make you feel an ounce of wishing that she was in fact in her own bed rather than listening to a riled up and inebriated midget talking and laughing as though the present company she is with is deaf... she even tells you the next day that she had a good time despite the fact that you are both in last night's clothes and you have only had three or four hours of sleep.
She gets just as riled up, excited and crazy as you do when you start making plans together and you both end up feeding off of each other's energy - who needs Timmy's when you have her by your side?





She takes the time to help you create a profile on a dating site that you do not even end up signing up for because you are too cheap - and she does not even call you on it even though she has wasted her time to make the profile to begin with.  She even gets excited for you when you talk to her about the potential dates you have met on the other, free site.
She creates the most awesome looking tattoo design even before you have mentioned what it is that you want exactly and she has started it before you have even asked her to design it for you in the first place!
And what do you know, when she shows you the finished version you realize that it is exactly what you had wanted.

She wears a crazy hat to go bowling because she had worn it the last time the two of you had gone together and she looks just as amazing and funny as she did the first time she wore it!  Perhaps the hat gave her some good luck because she did pretty well!     
She goes on and on about how much weight you have lost and how gorgeous you look, but she does so in such a genuine and celebratory way that you cannot help but sort of pat yourself on the back along with her!

Ladies, hats off to you all for being the gorgeous, beautiful, intelligent, caring, thoughtful, patient (especially with me), generous, genuine, hilarious, talented, gifted and amazing women that you are!  Each one of you has made my life that much more beautiful for being a part of it.

New Traditions

Let me be completely honest here and admit that this holiday season has been pretty difficult for me thus far.  Thoughts of what we, as a couple, were going to do together starting this year swirl in my head like melted whipped cream in a cup of hot cocoa.

I keep thinking of all the great company and wonderful food I am missing at the moment:  his nonna, his aunt and uncle, his mother, father and sister that were like my own family and the coquille Saint-Jacques and the cheese and sausage stuffed crepes cannelloni his mother has made every Christmas.  Crawling into bed at the end of the night, completely stuffed and just drunk enough to drift blissfully off to sleep curled and wound around each other after having exchanged a few drowsy but loving words.

We were going to put up our very own Christmas tree this year in my apartment with the ornaments we bought last year, we were going to start buying each other a new Christmas ornament every year and, lastly, we were going to annually commence watching Christmas themed movies together.  So, seeing couples walking around doing their Christmas shopping together frays my already weathered thoughts and the constant drone of Christmas carols playing in the mall makes me slightly nostalgic... ok, very nostalgic.  My tree has been up for about a week now or more, but a lack of motivation and metal hooks has left its branches bare except for two amazing greeting cards I got from my two girlfriends.

My mind, even though it keeps mentally rewinding time, is also trekking over hills, sluggishly flowing rivers, barren trees, snow-covered fields and snow-capped mountains, speculating, deliberating, analyzing, pondering... thinking of what was and what could potentially be.  Wondering if the same thoughts are racing through his mind while at the same time assuming that no, he is not thinking of me, even in the slightest, small and insignificant manner.  I picture his smile and imagine his laugh while at the same time ordering myself to focus on other things... and then mentally kicking myself when I cannot.

Thus, while I am being haunted by ghosts of Christmases past and teased by possible future visions, I am also very aware that I need to focus on the present moment even though I am awkwardly sandwiched between two very different worlds and very opposing desires.  In order to remain in the present time, I have decided to start my own traditions thereby creating and enabling brand sparkling new memories to occupy that space between my ears.

One such tradition is having a Christmas potluck with my ladies - wine, good food, excellent company and lots of idle chatter, but absolutely no men allowed.  Dressing up and playing hostess to my wonderful and hilarious girlfriends and not having burned the house down while having attempted to cook them some edible dishes is something that I will now look forward to every year.  I have also decided that Christmas day will no longer be spent gorging mindlessly on food, but will rather be enjoyed by giving and devoting my time to feeding those much less fortunate than I;  my family might even join me next year.  Christmas breakfast with the family has also been introduced into my life and theirs so that the rest of the day can be spent in a much nobler and aforementioned manner.

I will also, at some point this week, when I have gotten those bloody hooks, bravely hang all of my ornaments on my naked and pathetic-looking tree while taking the time to reflect on my present circumstances rather than on those passed and those that are yet to, or might never even, happen. 

Plenty of Fish?

So, I am on a dating site... have been for a little less than a week.  Let me begin by saying how skeptical I am about the whole thing - I am very skeptical about the whole thing.  My best friend convinced me to create a profile though and so I did.  Thus, I am out there.  On a dating site.  It always seemed to me that these things were sort of a last resort... and am I at my last resort already after almost and only three months of being single?  God I hope not...

And, the short time I have spent on this web-site has gotten me to muse and ponder over the great mysteries of this dating world that I have entered.  First, are there really plenty of fish in the sea as the site so blatantly claims?  So far, it seems like there are plenty of potential losers in the sea... but what can you really know of a person from a profile created for a dating site?

Second, what are the rules and guidelines one must follow when what you are seeing and reading is completely divorced from a tangible reality?  Ok, yes, do not worry - I know that you do not invite a man to your house... I am blond but not THAT intellectually challenged!  What I mean though is, do you email first and how many before you meet?  What message or vibe are you sending a guy if you instant message each other?  Do you call that person if given a telephone number?  In this scary technological world of ours, what is a single gal to do?

How can you follow your heart if all you are doing is looking at a pic and then emailing each other or creating a space with words on a fictional platform?  Have I mentioned how skeptical I am of all this?

In this muddle of chatting, texting, emailing,instant messaging, googling, Facebooking... where is that energy created by two physical bodies meeting each other?  And let me tell you something, you have to be pretty damn good with words in order to convey what a charming, witty and sexy woman you are.  Because really, in the end, all anyone is getting from this whole experience are just that, words.  Words that are prettied and gussied up in order to entice and lure...

And what of the expectations that are lined up and set sky high as a result?  Phew, do not even get me STARTED on that!

On the other hand, is this cyber dating world any different from the at times even scarier actual and physical one?  Not really.  Except when you meet someone for the first time, you sort of see what you are getting right away instead of building up such anticipation.

With all of that having been said, there are a few potential not-so-loser-ish men who have contacted me and I might go on my first date next week... he likes Yeh! yogurt, so he might be a keeper!

At the very least, some very interesting and funny blogs might come out of this whole experience!

What Size Ring is my Girlfriend?

I have been working at a jewelry kiosk for the past two weeks and I have been enjoying being back in the retail world - except when people mistaken me for an information station, which I stress, I am not, but I will not get into that right at the moment!  I love rings and I am selling them, so it is a win-win situation for me!  My new pitch should be, "Simon's is that way - do you want to buy a ring or two from me now?"

So, a very tall and imposing gentleman walked up to me today and came a little too close for my liking while I was on the other side of the viewing cases.  I was mindlessly placing the rings back into the semblance of order and his coming up from behind me had surprised me - I, as a result, backed up.  He then tried again, but this time he whispered, glancing in the direction of a woman's retreating back, "You see that girl?  I'm gonna marry her."  He then grinned at me as wide as his lips would allow him to and his deep, soil-colored eyes twinkled like stars.  "Could you tell me her ring size?"

I, as a woman I can only presume, became super excited and very giddy at this prospect;  of course, it does not help that I am also a hopeless romantic, which means that I am a complete sucker and I am miserably foolish in matters of love and romance.  At this point, I was also wondering what sort of ring size magical voodoo he wanted me to perform, seeing as his girlfriend was walking away from us and, I am pretty good, but without my glasses and without her being close enough to even see her hands, how could I possibly tell him her ring size?

I bit my tongue in order to restrain the sarcastic remark that wished to escape the confines of my mouth and told him simply that I needed her to try on at least one display ring in order to help him.

So, he called her over and I began my sales pitch, as a matter of appearance, to this young woman who seemed more interested in walking away than listening to me describe the fantastic rings right in front of her nose.  I made up some excuse about how her boyfriend wanted to surprise her for Christmas, but that he needed my help to find out the size of the rings that should go on her finger - and she did not give two cents about anything I was saying, she was just humoring me and her boyfriend, who was letting me do my thing.

However, when I casually asked her how long the two of them had been dating, her eyes had lit up in the same manner his had become alive when he had revealed to me his New Year's plan to ask her to be his wife.  A contented smile also played on her plump lips as she continued to look at the ring that she had picked out to try on - conveniently enough, on her ring finger.

She walked away soon after while her man sidled up to me and asked me, as quietly and as discreetly as he could, what size would fit his beloved's significant finger.  I told him, wished him luck and he winked at me as he walked away to join his potentially future wife.

Ahhh... love!  Such a joy to participate in when it is happening in front of you and to other people, yet so complicated when you're the one smack in the middle of it.

Quebec City, Episode One (November 12th, 2010): Keep Your Eyes on the Road and NOT on the Cute Guy!!!

A group of us are walking towards the Hilton Hotel, pumped to start this day of seminars and presentations all about the wonderful profession we are entering.  The sky is clear, the air is fresh and I am walking arm in arm with my soul sister Manisha, the enigmatic geek that I love so dearly.  We are talking and giggling, as we usually do when we are together, and we are so excited to be in this city.  When we look down the street, all of Quebec City is spread out before us and it feels as though we can conquer the world - or at least this small part of the immense planet we live on.

As we begin to cross the street, I make a stupid joke because the electrical banner above a doorway of the building in front of us is advertising a Science conference of some kind - and Manisha and I both have a thing for nerds it seems.  So, I am saying how there will be lots of sexy geeks and nerds milling around right next to where we will be attending our own conference;  I look at Manisha, giddy at the possibility of all those potentially hot geeks just down the street from our location, and I just have to laugh.  I tell her that we should skip our conference altogether and attend the Science one instead - think of the possibilities! 

As I look at the sign again, my eyes are drawn to two figures across the street from where we are.  Two dark haired gentlemen in suits - oh my!  I elbow Manisha gently in the ribs, nod my head in their direction and continue to size up one of them in particular.  The sexier of the two finally looks up and our eyes meet - I continue walking without looking in the direction of the traffic.  I am, at this point, smiling like a fool and walking right into oncoming traffic!

I feel my arm being yanked back at the same time that the fine young man puts up his hands in the "Whoa, back up" or "Slow down" hand gesture while grinning gorgeously.  I hear Manisha giggling at me as she begins to pull me across the street so that we can in fact cross safely - I come back down to earth and smile foolishly at my stupidity.  The four of us pass by each other - I chance to look back at the guy and he actually looks back at me at the same time;  another smile is exchanged between the two of us and then the moment is gone.
Just another silly instant shared with my girl and I thank the stars every day that she has been placed in my life.  Now, if those same stars could just place a fine-looking man in a business suit in my life as well, then all will be good with the universe!

Mini-Putt with Laurent in the Snow

Soft snow is slowly falling to the ground, covering the center of the city with a down blanket and muting the sound of traffic where I am playing mini-golf with a charming fellow named Laurent.  We are both bundled up against the elements: he is wearing a long blue down jacket with the hood pulled over his purple-tuque covered head while I am wearing black from head to toe except for my salmon tinted hat and scarf.  I have come to the disturbing realization that my bomber jacket makes me look like a cuter version of the Michellin Man and my ego has been only slightly affected by this.  My uncovered hands are freezing and I am not sure why I have not brought gloves or mittens.

There is a buzz of activity around us;  various people are walking by, some partaking in the activities, others merely passing through.  Security is discretely milling around, making sure nothing gets out of hand, and some of the participants are huddled around the two metallic camp-fires that are making the air smell as though we are in the middle of a campground rather than in the heart of Montreal.

Laurent and I take turns passing each other the putter so as to hit the ball - a lot is at stake and it has become quite a serious game.  Laurent, his green eyes sparkling, has told me that if I lose he will take me out on the weekend.  Of course,  I have responded that he will be seeing me all of this weekend no matter what the outcome of our game might be because I am volunteering for this event organized to help individuals like Laurent who have no homes.  So, I play along, not seeing the harm because we both know that this is a joke.
I have thus far won both holes and Laurent seems to be feeling less confident than when we had started the game.

We get to the last hole and I am holding Laurent's coffee while he plays - it is a very tricky hole because there is a wooden block that you must hit dead center in order to get the ball anywhere close to the objective.  As I approach it, I am thinking that there is no way  I am going to get this under four strokes.  Laurent, the gentleman that he is, allows me to go first.  I drop my ball in the center, wiggle my hips theatrically and take a swing, closing my eyes so as not to witness my horrible shot - I hear a distinct TOCK - my eyes snap open to see that the ball did in fact hit the block right in the middle where it was supposed to and it is spinning towards the hole... but it misses by a fraction of an inch.  I easily tap the ball in and then dance around screaming and hooting as though I have just won a million dollars and not a simple golf game.

Laurent looks worried now as he places his ball square in the middle of the field.  He swings, hits the ball and it goes flying behind the block... so he has lost.

He turns towards me with a sheepish grin on his bearded face and informs me that I have won.  I congratulate him on his valiant effort as he takes my ungloved hand in his covered one and brings it to his mouth.  His gray and white whiskers tickle and scratch the top of  my freezing hand  as he plants a gentlemanly kiss.  He tells me while still holding my extended hand that he is disappointed that he has lost, but that he can still take me out this weekend.  I gently decline, take my hand back and smile at him while thinking that in his situation, a date is perhaps one of the last things he might need after the basic necessities of food, shelter and clothing.  But are we not, all of us, whether we are living in mansions or living on the streets, looking for love and acceptance anywhere we can?  And though I cannot give him that kind of love, what I do have to offer him, which I do with all of my heart, is basic human love and contact.

A short but pleasant time spent playing mini-golf on a snowy day in the middle of downtown is what I was able to offer this man and his smile, laughter and gallantry was more than enough to repay the little effort it took from me.

A Battle of Three

In this game called life, which team captain do you choose to follow?  Which part of yourself do you let take the reins of your fragile and vulnerable chariot?  Which aspect of your being do you succumb to and allow to steer you towards the endless possibilities of paths that all open up and branch off into diverging directions?

For many people, their heads are the natural leaders of their fates.  This rational and logical aspect of yourself looks at all of the facts and judges any given situation from an analytical distance.  This intellectual part nudges its horn-rimmed glasses sliding down its aquiline nose, rolls up the sleeves of its paisley shirt, ruffles its mousy-colored hair in a nervous yet pensive manner and declares, "Ok, let's look at this."  All of the details are set out, laid bare and examined thoroughly.  "This is how it is and you should do such and such because of this reason," you might hear your mind proudly whispering to you after it has gone through its thought process.  It will then rub its hands together briskly as though the matter has been settled and retreat until the next dilemma arises.

However, your heart, like the drama queen it proudly is, arrives on the scene and immediately scatters all of the neatly piled flow charts, diagrams, graphs and dissertations your mind has convincingly and painstakingly put together to form its argument.  Your flaky heart looks at all the supposed physical evidence against it and sneers menacingly, thinking rudely out loud that all of this bullshit logic does not make the slightest sense.

"What about how you feeeellllll," it haltingly and pleadingly whimpers, making you instantly feel the gambit of emotions it magically unleashes into your system like a poison.  A mixture of happiness, elation, excitement, nervousness, sadness, anger and countless other cousins of this treacherous and mischievous trickster inhabiting your chest parade around displaying their pret-a-porter collection suited for this particular occasion.  Your long, shaggy haired and disheveled heart stands back and crosses its arms petulantly, pouting and looking down at the ground because you are taking, for the moment, your head's side.

Your heart is like a child playing on a teeter-totter - one minute you are completely over the moon and the next you are left wondering what the hell it is that you are doing exactly.  Sometimes though, your heart has a rare but lucid moment when it is completely convinced of how it is making you feel and you would subsequently put your hand in fire, so sure you are of you and your heart's shared emotions.  During such moments of truth, when your heart is not under the influence of any emotional narcotic or stimulant, you know what it is you want and need and your heart does its victory dance as though it has scored a touch down.
On the other hand, because your heart is so fickle, unstable and yet so loyal to the passions and emotions it harbors, your mind at this point interjects and tells you to consider the rationality of it all. 

But are you really listening to that stiff and stern voice of reasoning at this point when your heart has spoken?

And, if this battle wasn't complicated enough, there is a third player that enters into the arena and muddles up any of the moves you were considering.  The butterflies, the nausea not connected to indigestion, that sinking in the pit of your stomach, those pins and needles, these are all the work of your primordial physical aspect, namely your body.  It is the keeper of those pesky butterflies it decides to let loose out of their jewel-encrusted and golden enclosure to pester your stomach at the most inopportune instances.  It is the one who drops the anvil in the middle of your belly right before you go into an exam that you have not studied for.  Your body is the one who lets you know something is wrong that you are not seeing by making your chest muscles constrict around your galloping heart as though to protect it by getting closer.  Those sweaty palms, that heat rising from your toes, those tingles and waves of desire, the quivering, trembling and shivering that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room your are in, the millions of delicious goosebumps - also all the incredible prowess of your physical shell that is more often than not taken for granted.  Your body is not controlled by your mind or your heart and reveals things neither other aspect of yourself knows or can even fathom.

So, what do you listen to in the end?  Is there ever a magical moment when all three coincide and you are able to make the best decision, or does it have to be a constant choice between the three?  Perhaps the only way to follow your path is to listen to all three and make a judgment based on what feels the most right and to not regret, no matter what, the choices you make or the paths you follow.  If everything can be viewed as being a learning experience, then no decision, whether taken with the help of your head, heart or body, can ever be seen as being inherently wrong.

Dancing to Nat King Cole's "Unforgettable"

The chairs are all taken and the mostly male crowd is hungrily eating the meal being served to them cafeteria-style.  They are all still wearing their winter coats and boots, the huge tent only providing a certain amount of warmth from the cold outside seeing as both makeshift doors keep opening and closing, allowing an icy draft in every time someone enters or leaves.

The GO Team have set up their karaoke machine on the right side of the tent and the regulars are already there, waiting for the music to start.  Stephane, a young black-haired man who had told me last night that he had wanted to slit his own throat but had decided to slash his wrist instead, is there, waiting with the microphone in his hand.  He had sang with us the day before, belting out tunes like Marjo's "Illegal" and Bon Jovi's "Dry County";  he cannot carry a tune to save his life, but he sings with all of his heart and he seems to enjoy it, so there is no harm being done.  I sing a couple of songs with him again today, my arm around him, his bandaged arm around me, just singing our lungs out like the cold outside does not matter and his attempted suicide has not occurred.

An older woman with pulled-back gray hair, a yellow coat and glasses held around her neck with a colored cord has just requested Nat King Cole's "Unforgettable".  She stands in front of the small television monitor, takes the microphone and begins to charm the restless crowd with her incredible talent.

Meanwhile, I see a man sitting down by himself, grinning toothlessly at me while I am singing along and making a fool of myself.  I decide to extend my hand towards him as though I am a very gallant man asking a pretty woman to dance;  he looks at me with an even broader and even more toothless smile and a twinkle in his milky eyes.  He takes my hand in his own weather beaten and papery soft one, stands up and puts his other hand on the small of my back.  We make small circles together, his snow hat is perched on top of his head as though waiting for the right moment to fall off and his over-large jacket is covering a very small and frail frame.

At the corner of my eye, I see another older woman standing near us and so I gently turn my dance partner around so that he can now dance with her.  They join together and enjoy the rest of the song, perhaps forgetting for a moment that they might not have a warm place to sleep later on tonight.

An Inspiring Love Story

I met the most wonderful and beautiful young woman on Monday at my new job and it is just so silly how alike we are - it must be our shared astrological sign or something.   Her greenish-gray eyes sparkle with life and they reflect her inner beauty which in turn matches her stunning exterior;  she is tall and slim with thick dirty blond hair and she possesses the most catching and contagious smile you can imagine, her grin coming straight from her heart that is precariously pinned to her sleeve in the same manner that this fellow Pisces wears her own.  She is an absolute joy to be around because every word bubbling out of her mouth is full of enthusiasm and happiness and she exudes this amazing positivity that warms up my insides like only a cup of vanilla oolong tea used to;  perhaps being in love and having found her soul mate has something to do with her exuberance along with the journey she has been on for the past two years in order to find herself;  the intensely soul-tingling and gratifying love she has now found is the culmination of this quest and I wish to share her story with you.

When she was twelve years old, she met an eighteen year old in a bowling alley she was playing at with her family;  the two of them had as much fun together as their age difference allowed them to and she remembers that she had felt what any typical twelve-year-old girl might feel when faced with a cute boy.  It turns out though that their paths were to merge once again because a couple of months later, he actually moved into her house!  You see, her family played host to young hockey players wishing to play in that area and he so happened to fit that description.  Thus, they lived under the same roof together for a long period and became very close friends who would have very challenging and meaningful life conversations, though she was still only twelve.

Of course at this point, any good love story needs a separation period when the two main characters are forced apart by an act of fate, family or other, while we, the audience, think that the two lovers will never reunite - and that is exactly what happened to our two young lovers - he had finished his hockey term and went back to his own family and they lost touch as a result.  Divided by physical distance, they both lived their own lives, respectively falling in and out of love with different individuals that one can only imagine never seemed to be the right fit for either of them without their knowing why that was exactly so.  Evidently, we, again that pesky audience, know that it is because they were not with EACH OTHER that it never felt right with every person they attempted to share their lives with.

Yet somehow she did know because his image was always lurking at the back of her mind and she would often find herself wondering what he was doing and where he was.  Fed up one day of not knowing, she finally decided that she needed to find him - and she actually did, out of the blue, courtesy of a modern technological tool called Facebook.  She wrote him a message, his message to her got lost, but they did finally and quickly settle that he would come and see her in Montreal.

The amazing part of this story is that she knew, without even having seen him after all of those years, that he was the man she would marry.  She even told him her ring-size in a funny and flirty email to which he replied that he would never forget that number for the rest of his life.  They spent an incredible weekend together during which they both kept staring at each other and exclaiming that they had found each other - not in the obvious way that they were now standing face to face after not having known what either were doing for so many years, but in a way that goes much farther and way beyond every day life.  What they felt and meant was that they had spent all of their lives finding each other and that they had now just completed the cycle yet again in their present lives.

Once they had reunited for the weekend, we can empathize how heart-wrenching it must have been for the both of them when Sunday evening came around and he had to go back to his home and business in Ontario.  By Tuesday afternoon though, she knew that she had to be with him no matter what and that what would be crazy would be to stay in Montreal away from him rather than her going to join him in Ontario.  On Friday, she left everything to go and be with her love so as to start a new life with the man she feels as though was the missing piece of her own life's jigsaw puzzle.

When I listened to her and watched her eyes express the certainty of every word she was saying, I got tingles up and down my spine and goosebumps all along my arms.  I could not help but share in her happiness and to smile as widely as she was while feeling all of the excitement coursing through her body and giving off an undeniable energy that electrified the air around her.  You cannot help but question your own reservations about supposed soul mates after you have heard my new friend's tale.

After hearing her story, I was myself reminded of my favorite portion of Plato's "Symposium" in which he explains through the character of Aristophanes why it is that people feel the need to find their other halves.  You see, at one time in ancient history, human beings were actually made up of two individuals fused together into giant creatures with four legs and four arms;  the three possible combinations were that of two females, two males or a male and a female.  In our unions we were very strong creatures and we were causing a lot of havoc and problems for the gods;  as a result, Zeus logically decided to divide each giant into their respective human forms so that we were no longer the gigantic creatures made up of two humans as we had been - in this manner we were both weaker and yet more useful to the gods because we were more numerous.  However, we were now also single selves longing and searching for that other self to complete us.  And so that explains, at least for Aristophanes and perhaps Plato himself, why it is that some males long for other males, some females desire other females while others want members of the opposite sex because we are each looking for the other half of ourselves from which we were split.  This story also explains how "love is the name of the desire and pursuit of wholeness."  I only have one bone to pick with this story now that I am a bit older and hopefully slightly wiser: a person needs to be whole in and of themselves before he or she can achieve another sort of completeness with that other person who is meant to share, not overtake or penetrate and merge, their life.  

So after hearing my friend's love story, at the very least you will hopefully be happy that such a fabulous woman is following her heart and has found someone she feels she can share her life with while becoming an even better person because of his involvement.  I am not quite sure what I believe, but I know that what has happened to my new friend is real and I can only hope and pray that the same sort of love will enter into my life.  Meanwhile, I will continue my solitary journey of loving myself and becoming my own, whole person - perhaps one day I will find my giant half and I will be even happier than I already am with just being myself rather than a twinned entity.

The Next Best Thing to Sex and Chocolate - A Pastry from Harmonie

I am sitting at the computer desk, my legs on the hard surface where my arms should be, and I am listening to my friend because she needs an understanding ear.  My stomach growls a little as I realize that I have not brought anything to eat... not even a can of tuna that normally finds its way in my bag.  I try to distract my stomach by paying even closer attention to my friend, but that tactic only works for about two seconds before my striking stomach begins its protest more persistently.
Then, a figure appears at the TESL library door and asks, "Marie-Eve, c'est toi ça?" and I am greeted by Sam, an angel, who continues to say that she had been hoping that I would be here.  I ask why and am a little confused because I am so engrossed in listening to my beautiful friend.
Sam merely responds, "Attrape," - my eyebrows do not even have the time to react by shooting upwards before my hands have caught a lovely pastry wrapped in cellophane;  it has arrived from the place that will exist next to my personal heaven where frozen yogurt is SELF-SERVED - Harmonie - a jewel of a pastry shop where the goodies will make any dieter doubt their resolve for the rest of their lives.  One bite from any of their pastries will leave even the most sour of people feeling as light and fluffy as the goodness they have just ingested.
So, I am holding, in my hungry hands, a small piece of sugar paradise and my stomach makes an appreciative noise just to make sure that I understand how excited it really is.  I waste no time at all - the cellophane has come off and a tan-colored and sugar-dusted morsel of bliss with white cream has been torn off - my mouth opens in anticipation and then the taste of sweet bread with a buttery and sugary cream invades my senses.  I revel in the lightness, the sweetness, the softness and the  deliciousness of that first bite;  I eagerly tear off another and my friend goes for a piece as well - I manage not to snatch the sweet treasure from her hands and I merely say, with an affected smile, "That IS my dinner, you know."  After I have taken another piece and languished a little while savouring the taste and feel of it on my tongue, I ask her if she wants more because I feel a little bad, but I am relieved when she says no!  What can I say?  I am known for not being a sharer of food...
The pastry disappears much quicker than I want it to and I am wishing at this point for it to magically reconfigure into another one so that I can eat just one more.  The sweetness has calmed my stomach who has decided that I am not such a lost case afterall since I have provided it with such a treat and I can more fully concentrate on my friend - I may not have been able to share my pastry with her, but I can and do share my time and love.
The smile on my face remains far into the night, all because of a delicious and sinful, yet so short-lived, affair with a pastry.

One of the Quickest, Yet One of the Best, Hugs Ever

We are in the school yard, the kids are running around deliriously because their recess has been extended by ten minutes on account of the beautiful weather and it being the last day of the week.  Red and green balls are whizzing by, hitting the backs, legs and arms of their intended victims while a few of the the sixth grade girls have joined and locked arms as though they will never let go, marching around displaying their close comraderie.  A shrieking and screaming blur shoots by pursued closely by a darker and burlier snickering shape, a cat and mouse game enjoyed by both, even though the young girl does not sound as though she is having any fun at all.
A mauve-coloured jacket bundling up a tiny little thing of a girl enters my peripheral vision and I turn towards her with a smile.  I  stay focused, however, on the hyperactive missiles the students and faculty like to call balls because I know that my luck will not protect me when I am such an easy target.  My tiny sixth grader gets closer and begins to talk to me about the bake sale that will be happening during the parent/teacher night later on.  She is so excited and her little face is stretched into a huge grin that shows off her impressive blue and red braces catching and reflecting the afternoon sunshine.  Her mousy brown hair flutters in the wind while her fur-rimmed hood keeps her neck warm;  her muddy brown eyes are alight with joy and she prattles on and on about how she had to ask her mother and how there was a specific arrangement made between the two so that she could be picked up after her bake sale shift.  She asks me how everyone will be divided up and I tell her that I honestly do not know because Madame Laporte will be organizing that.  I tell her that she will probably be working with the others from our class... and I am interupted by a squeel of joy and the sight of her bouncing and jumping around in a minsicule circle.
She pumps her little fists in the air and continues to jump around.  She then moves very quickly and fluidly so that all of a sudden her seemingly breakable arms are wrapped tightly around my middle - I do not even have the time to smile down at her and to place my own sturdier arms around her before she has let me go and she is off running around, playing with the others.  I smile to myself as I cherish the warmth that such a small gesture can bring on such a brisk and fresh fall afternoon.

An Unexpected Present

We are all gathered around the five ornately decorated pillars and the spinning center-piece, everyone is mumbling or singing along to the devotional hymn that I can only expect to hear and not really listen to because the words and sounds are so completely foreign to me.  I stand with my arms rather politely folded in front of me while a rainbow of saris radiates from the center of the high school gym, their fabulous colors, sparkles and textures offering the location all of the glitter and glitz it needs;  there is really no need for any other sort of decoration when pieces of art are standing all around you in all of the colors you can possibly imagine.
Jasmine, my dear friend's adorable two-year-old niece, comes to stand next to me and so I kneel down beside her, my turquoise and purple sari creating a gauzy cloud around my bare feet.  She warily glances at me as she settles herself down more comfortably on the cold cement floor.
Unlike most children I encounter, she has not taken to me quickly, but I can only imagine that this is due to my overall loudness and blondness being in sharp contrast to what she is used to in her every day life;  thus, she has regarded me all evening as one would look at an alien creature, sizing me up and trying to determine whether or not I might possibly bite.  The fact that she has not taken a nap and it is now rather late also does not help the situation at all;  she has not been, understandably so due to her lack of sleep, too impressed by tonight's festivities and has reserved her smiles for only a very few chosen instances. 
I look up from her angelic face and see an orange and green clothed body backing up towards her tiny legs and so I gently put my hand on the woman's back to prevent the munchkin from being crushed.  I look towards Jasmine again and her dark eyes observe me, her full lower lip protruding thoughtfully as she contemplates this colorful creature squatting down next to her.  I begin to clap in time to the beat, smiling tenderly, careful not to show too much of my teeth in case she thinks I am getting ready to take a nibble.  Her pink swathed legs are slightly bent as she starts to clap out of sync and the miniature sparkles on her arms twinkle as she moves her arms.
From up above, I see the same sari coming towards us again and Jasmine's father decides that perhaps it would be better for his little girl to be in his arms;  however, she does not want to move from where she is so well seated.  She pulls away from her father and resists his attempts to pick her up, oblivious to the legs and feet that do not have any eyes to see where she is located.  I fear that she might get stepped on, so I open my arms to her and hold my breath, expecting her to scuttle away to her father in fear that the alien disguised in a sari has decided to eat her up after all.
But no, she stretches up her arms towards me and I pull her up into my arms, her short legs dangling around my hips.  I think that she is just as surprised as I am that she has accepted my offer and she is not quite sure what to do anymore.  Her brown curls brush my cheek as she moves her body slightly away so that she can continue to clap her hands like she was doing before.  I smile over at my friend, who is wondering how I could have possibly managed to pick up her slightly sullen niece, and I sway slightly to the music, very much aware that a child's trust is such a precious gift that is more often than not so unexpectedly given and received.

And Off She Goes!

The other day, while briskly walking to work through the park on St. Denis, near Prince Arthur, a little girl caught my attention and made me slow down my pace.  It was such a beautiful day and there were a lot of people in the park, milling around and enjoying the sunshine;  dog owners with their canines, tongues lolling, tails wagging, students from l'ITHQ in their uniforms, chatting with each other or just walking around, and other regular-looking folks, not too warmly dressed on account of the mild weather.  I was following my usual path to the school, the huge but non-functioning fountain coming up to my right, the bare trees letting the sun tickle my upturned face, when a tiny little urchin in colorful clothing running away from the trial completely captivated my attention.
What was she running towards so gleefully?  An abstract, dog-like statue directly in front of her;  this blackened and fixed being had utterly mesmerized her to the extent that she did not even notice the furtive squirrel scurrying away up the nearest tree at her approach.  Her gaze was focused and strained on her goal and her little feet kicked up the decomposing yellow, red and orange leaves as she ran, stumbling a little, towards this strange creature enticing her.
She glanced back towards the man accompanying her, as though she needed his approval, his guidance to keep going, her corkscrew curls bouncing in their pigtails and her pink jacket fluttering open a little to reveal a splash of color underneath.  She grinned back at him, slightly turning her impish body and yet still moving forwards, her short arms whipping the air, but she was not asking him to follow her.  No, this was her journey and she simply needed to know that he was there, watching her, his eyes crinkling and gleaming as he smiled back, encouraging her onwards.
Reaching the iron form, she stopped and grinned her satisfaction, her dimples visible even from the distance where I was regarding the scene, and she patted it with her small and dainty hand;  she had made it on her own, even if it was merely along such a short distance and she had reached her objective.  Her guardian had been left behind, and yet he was such an intricate part of her success for having merely been there to witness her flight.

Sharing a Sunset with my Students

Since last week, I have been rather annoyed by the new windows that were installed in my classroom.  You see, the reason for my annoyance is that they have yet to put up the shades on these massive windows that make up the entire left wall of the class;  thus, I am constantly being blinded as I am starting my evening class by the beautiful sun as it is going to sleep behind our lovely autumn-speckled Mount-Royal.  I now usually have to shield my eyes so that I can even see my students' faces and it is rather irksome to have to hold a blue folder next to my face until the sun vanishes. But, of course I am complaining to complain because the view of Mont Royal is beautiful from my class - if only the sun did not shine so brightly at the exact moment when I am first addressing my students!
However, last evening, once the class had begun and we were reading an article, I was distracted by the elements outside once again, but in the most pleasant of manners.  I was actually in the middle of saying something to my students when I chanced to glance towards my left and saw the most gorgeous pinks and purples splattered across the sky where the sun had initially been saying goodnight.  There was a gradation of the slightest blush pink to hot pink and then, as the sky had gotten closer to caress the tree-spiked mountain, the colours had changed to a darker mauve and then to a deep purple.  The colours of the mountain's majestic robe were still slightly visible and so the greens, oranges, yellows and reds were in fuzzy contrast to the flamboyant colours in the evening sky. 
I actually stopped my class and asked all of my students to look out the windows for an instant;  they all complied and we shared a few minutes of simply looking at the sky and commenting on the beautiful show that the earth was putting on for our benefit.  As we contemplated the heavens, I thought again about how the world offers us so much beauty every single day if only we take the time to appreciate and enjoy it.

Leaning on my Very Tall Best Friend

Every young woman needs at least one friend who understands her so completely that she does not need to say anything because this special individual just knows everything.  Nothing needs to be explained, nothing needs to be specified and nothing needs to be added because she simply understands you.  Well, I have been blessed with such a person who has been there for me through everything, even when I had not specifically asked her to be, and she has been such a tower of strength for me this past month that I am dedicating this blog to her as a form of gratitude and as a means of saying that I am sorry. 
Yesterday, after I had called her for the umpteenth time this week and she had let me go because I needed to take my pathetic self home by metro, I started thinking of all the times we had shared together thus far.  One image that kept recurring in my mind was how she would always make a silly joke about how my tears would ruin her shirt each and every single time I would find myself crying on her shoulder and how it would constantly make me smile and then laugh.  I would be sitting in her lap, face pressed against her solid shoulder, her light honey-coloured blonde hair so similar to mine tickling my cheek and she would listen to my mumbles and grumbles until she found the most appropriate moment to slip in her famous joke.  Then, we would inevitably break into a series of giggles that ended with more hugs, more laughter and me foolishly wiping my salty tears away with the back of my chubby hand.
All seventeen years that we have known each other have been spent though, for the most part, in laughing until our sides were hurting and our eyes were streaming with the good kind of tears that only come when you are in the company of someone with whom you can be completely and so vulnerably yourself.  The laugh sessions we have induced upon each other would make any court jester jealous since we have never needed to perform any tricks or tell any wild and crazy jokes;  we just needed to spend a few minutes together and our guffaws could be heard in the next town over.
Sitting down at the kitchen table for dinner with her family was all it took to send us into fits of uncontrollable giggles that infuriated Lori's father to no end.  Shaking his head, turning his greyish green eyes towards us, he would more often than not mutter, "Jesus by!";  Lori's mother, her mouth trying to remain as serious as possible while her eyes danced and expressed otherwise, would try to chide us into being quiet.  Of course, their reactions just fueled the wild fire of our mirth until dinner was done with and we could go and play Nintendo or watch television while letting loose the roars we had so badly managed to stifle while eating. 
And how many times do you think we would be told by her mother or my father to go to sleep when we were sleeping at each other's houses?  Too many than I can recall!  And what would we laugh at while we heard her mother expressing her impatience before coming to Lori's room or before my father would say from across the hallway that it was enough?  Beats me - all I know is that I was always on the verge of laughing-so-much-I-am-going-to-burst tears with Lori around and all it ever took from each other was a look or a small smile.
Well, of course, there were also the times when we were just plain silly with each other.  For instance, during one of my last stays in Lourdes de Blanc Sablon at my father's house, Lori and I were sharing his bedroom and a sneak attack on her did not turn out so well for me.  Even though we had never wrestled or play fought before, perhaps because of my tiny frame in comparison to her much taller stature, I decided to tackle her while she was sitting down on my father's bed, drawing quietly - well, anyone who has seen us together can imagine just what her arm movement to block me could do to me!  I was sent flying backwards so that I fell off the bed, ass first with my legs reaching towards the bed that they had just left.  Not deterred in the slightest by my change of circumstances, I leaped again, only this time, she sent me crashing towards the wall right behind her and I ended up being squished between the bed and the wall.  Needless to say that that last flying session of mine left me stuck in an uncomfortable spot for quite a little while because neither one of us could catch our breaths and stop laughing long enough to get me out.  There was also that time when she made me laugh so hard that both milk and a spaghetti noodle came out of my nose!  I know, I know, what was I doing drinking milk with spaghetti, right?  But that is another story altogether!
Thus, all of the instances we have lived together have always been filled with smiles, giggles, laughs, guffaws and plenty of loud and obnoxious talking;  to this day, we still manage to make each other die of laughter over the phone and while chatting on the internet, but nothing beats a live laugh session with my dearest friend.  And, have I told you that she has the greatest laugh in the world?  Her not-quite-musical laugh is so genuine, high-pitched and full of escalating undulations that you cannot help but want to join in.
Only, recently I have been so concerned with having her comfort me from afar that I have failed to notice her tears starting to stain my virtual shirt.  I have been so worried about the pattern of my own tears that keep escaping from my eyes and onto my shirt or pillow, despite my best efforts, to see that she is needing me to wipe hers and to help her through her own tough moments.  It seems as though my tower of strength, my rock, and my lighthouse needs me to become a supportive scaffold and I can only hope that I will be able to support both of our weights in sadness.

Doing the Hokey Pokey with a Dear Friend

So, now that I have your full attention - this blog will NOT be about what you are thinking of, at all!  Besides, I don't think that IT is called that anymore anyways, right?  No, this blog is about actually singing the Hokey Pokey, that meaningless song that is so well known and loved by so many kids, with my beautiful and wonderful friend, Manisha.
Let's start with why we were singing the Hokey Pokey in the first place, shall we?  You see, for our primary pedagogy class, Manisha and I had to come up with a lesson plan based on a song of our choice for Cycle One students.  We had figured that the Hokey Pokey is a fun and action-filled song that would be more than suitable for our targetted learners and we had begun to plan for our assignment with a suitable amount of time left before it was due, but of course, we had managed to leave a lot of things until the last minute, as most students, even good ones like us, tend to do.
So, on the night before our project was due, Manisha and I had barricaded ourselves in the TESL library after having inhaled some fabulous sweet potato burritos with organic sprout salad for yours truly and a quinoa salad for her;  the burritoes had been just the right amount of spice with the innovative addition of my favorite veggie, sweet potatoes, and the usual burrito ingredients: beans, tomatoes, lettuce and cheese.  The vinaigrette on the sprout salad was a tangy pesto taste that complemented the burrito marvellously and I can imagine the slightly nutty flavour of the quinoa salad being rather tasty as well.
Manisha and I had not initially wanted to spend the whole night working, but we were both rather distracted by other occurrences in our lives and neither one of us could concentrate;  hence the reason why we were still at the TESL library at ten o'clock on a Thursday night.  We usually work fabulously together because we complement each other so well, but that night, we were not doing much work other than laughing, talking or listening to various dance songs.  Generally though, we complement each other in the same manner that the sweet potato is an unexpected yet completely perfect sidekick to the burrito combination - I am the off-the-wall creature who comes up with all sorts of bizarre ideas while Manisha is the grounded intellectual who pulls me back down to earth from way up in the clouds as though she is reeling in a balloon as it has begun to float away.  That is partly why I love her so!
We were having an unusually harder time getting to work and staying focused, but we were having so much fun regardless, giggling, chatting about everything and nothing and playing Shakira songs to try to motivate us to keep going!  We did, however, need to complete this project before we both went a little more stir crazy than we already were from having been enclosed within the same four walls the whole day, and so we wanted to get our recording of the song done as soon as possible.  We had propped her laptop on the tiny desk and we were ready to go;  we had gone through the whole song once without any mishaps and we thought we had the whole song down.
As we began to record ourselves, I silently vowed that I would not laugh, which is an incredible feat for me to try to accomplish as any of you know who has the pleasure of counting me as an acquaintance or friend, but I pledged to stifle my giggle reflex nevertheless.  Well, I surprisingly did pretty well until we got to the tongue bit.  You know, when you stick your tongue out and in while having to continue singing with your tongue hanging out of your mouth?  Yeah, THAT part!  I saw Manisha from the corner of my eye, because of course in order NOT to laugh, I could not directly look at her, and I completely lost the little composure that I had been holding onto.  Just seeing her trying to remain serious while mumbling the Hokey Pokey lyrics with her tongue sticking out of her mouth seemed so hilarious to me;  her long black hair pulled back into an "I'm doing school work" ponytail, her dark chocolate eyes glued to the screen in front of her so as not to catch my own smirking amethyst eyes and her posture as straight as a wooden ruler.  She continued to look straight in front of her, her lips turning up ever so slightly as she tried to control herself for both of our sakes while I finally let out the laughter that had been practically choking me from the moment we had pressed the recording button.
Now, tell me in all earnestness, how many of you can say that you have sung a favorite childhood song with one of your very dear friends while you are in complete control of all your faculties, meaning, while being utterly sober?  I can say that I have and that it was one of the best and silliest moments that I have enjoyed in a long while.  Thinking of those few minutes made me smile and chuckle to myself today when I was not feeling so cheerful and I am looking forward to sharing so many more special and ridiculous moments with this friend of mine that has become so important in my life.

A Morning Jog

The air is crisp, my breath is coming out in little cloud bursts floating up to the sky and that peculiar fall smell fills my nostrils.  It is chilly and I am glad that I went back to get an extra sweater instead of just ignoring the cold and marching onwards.  I walk towards Beaubien and make my way to the park where I normally jog, wondering how well I will do considering that my muscles are all still pretty sore from Muay Thai, dancing all night and spinning (in that order).
There is no one in the expansive park this morning and so I am alone with my music, just the way I like it.  The gravel is hard and crunchy beneath my feet, the trees are beginning to lose their vitality as they prepare for winter and the sun is beginning to shine with all of its splendour.  What a gorgeous, but cold, morning!
I had told myself that I would walk at least one lap before jogging, but my feet, having recognized where they are, decide to start jogging right away.  They have a mind of their own, so I let them be, not worrying too much about how fast or slow I am going and I begin to listen more intently to the dance song playing in my ears.  Pretty soon I am going at a steady pace and as I take the first turn, I begin negotiating the number of laps that I think I will run;  I know for sure that I am capable of one because I had jogged a complete lap not too long ago.  But pretty soon, I have jogged that one lap, and my lungs have not collapsed and my feet are still moving me forwards.  What the Hell?  I guess another lap is called for!
At this point, I am feeling great, amazing and wonderful all at the same time and it seems like I could run forever.  The colours of the remaining leaves are vibrant, the sun is competing with them in brilliancy and the air is still biting, but pleasantly so.  I am still alone in the park and my music has helped me get into that zone that is so wonderful to be in when exercising;  no thoughts, just movement and the feeling of blood running and coursing through my body.  Breathing steady, arms pumping, legs striving forwards, feet gently and steadily hitting the ground. 
I have now completed my second lap and I still want more!  I push myself harder and decide to continue, but my body protests by feeling nauseous.  I decide to end my fabulous run by walking the rest of the way, trying not to be too disappointed that I only completed a half lap more. 
I gently remind myself that I already did more than I had expected and stop a moment to admire the beauty around me.  At that exact instant, as the sun is trying to warm my face despite the uncooperating cool air and my favorite jogging song by Infected Mushroom begins to blare in my ears, I am happy and grateful.  I am thankful for all of the events, situations and people that have helped me to become who I am on this Monday morning.  I am also especially appreciative of all the fabulous women that are a part of my life, either physically so far away from me, or right here in Montreal partying with me or trying to softly push me to do my school work. 
I am striving towards being a better person and this morning, on this splendid and invigorating day, I feel as though I have moved two and a half laps closer to that goal.  And, on this day of thanksgiving, I thank everyone who has helped me get to this point in my life, but perhaps more importantly, I am thanking myself for making the decisions I have made and for finally taking the time to care for myself. 

A Cuddle Monster for the Day

My big, little brother, all one hundred and forty pounds of him, decided to sit on me as I was talking to my stepfather this morning.  Now, this might not seem like anything special to anyone, but when your brother is turning fifteen, you learn very quickly that warm and fuzzy instances do not happen often anymore, especially not those involving him sitting in your lap.  So, still wearing my wonderful flannal pyjamas, I placed my ear against his seemingly immense back, closed my eyes and enjoyed every millisecond, smiling a little sleepily because it was rather early while his now super-sized frame squashed my relatively small stature.  As I hugged him and thought about how big he has gotten, I wondered to myself if and when these short intervals of ours would sadly come to an end.
Well, today was an exception - I got to cuddle with my baby brother twice.  And to what do I owe this lucky circumstance?  Not sure really!  I was just sitting on my parents' leather sofa, a big furry blanket wrapped around me and Patou decided to sit down next to me and drop his head on my shoulder.  He placed his feet next to mine on the foot rest, leaned into me and we watched some television together while making small talk.  His dirty blonde hair was a little rough next to my soft cheek, the blanket was so warm and comforting and I was very content to just sit with him like that for a little while. 
These kind of moments are sort of bittersweet for me because I often find myself thinking of similar times with him as we were growing up.  I did not even want a little brother to be quite frank!  I had been an only child until the age of twelve and I was very happy with my familial status until my mother and stepfather decided that they wanted to have a child together.  I remember that phonecall very distinctly when my mother announced to me that she was pregnant - I told her very honestly that I had never asked for a sibling and that I certainly did not want one now.  So, not only was I getting a half brother, but I was also getting a step brother in the mix because my stepfather was already a father to Tintin;  I went from being the spoiled only child to having two younger brothers... and I was not happy about that.
Thus, when I first came to visit my mom after she had given birth to my new little brother, which was around Christmas time, I remember being determined to remain as grumpy and miserable as possible;  I was also not going to have anything to do with this entity that had entered so rudely into my world.
That only lasted a few days.  One night, my mother asked me if I wanted to feed TicTic his last bottle before putting him to bed and I had reluctantly agreed to do so.  I therefore plumped myself down on the sofa while my mother brought my once tiny brother to me and showed me how to hold him.  At first, I felt strange, uncomfortable and slightly irritated - why was he taking so long to drink his stupid bottle?  My arm was falling asleep faster than he was and I just wanted to go watch tv or something.  But then, I started to look at his small face staring blankly up at me and his miniscule fingers making tiny fists.  I looked at his birth mark, which I had been told a dozen times at least that it was the same as mine when I had been born, and I looked at his mircoscopic, light blond eyelashes.  His eyes had begun to flutter as though he was fighting to keep them opened and I watched his struggle against sleep with a slight fascination;  this little warlock now had me under his spell.  I was unable to look away, and as he fell asleep in my arms, I fell in love with this little creature that I had so unfairly set my heart against. 
That was fifteen years ago and still to this day, it goes without saying, that I love my brother as dearly as on that night that he stole my heart by falling asleep in the arms of my flustered and childish twelve year old self. 

Meeting Bobo on the Metro

Plugged into my Ipod, moving my head along to the beat of Muse's "City of Delusion", smiling just because it is a Thursday and tapping my feet happily, I am off to school to start a long day.  I have closed my eyes and I am in an excited yet contented space, my own little bubble of happiness.  I let myself get carried by the music, my hips trying not to sway too noticeably because, after all, I AM in the metro, not in a club.  My shoulders have a mind of their own though, and they are slightly moving along to the insisting rhythm.  I come back down to earth for a few moments and see an older gentleman in front of me, bobbing his head along to his own music.

Wearing a black baseball cap, a dark jacket and a pair of pale jeans with a hole above his left knee, he looks up at me at the same time that I have glanced up at him.  At this point, I am smiling because we are the only two morons dancing by ourselves this early in the morning.  He grins back, points to his Ipod and gives me a thumbs up;  I giggle back, point to my own and give him the same friendly thumbs up.  We remain in our respective musical trances - his feet moving imperceptibly, his hips moving from side to side while he is twirling his slightly turned up and curled graying mustache. 

The seat in front and to the right of me becomes free and he precipitates towards it, looking at me all of the while.  At this point, I cannot help but think, why is it that I always attract old men?  Do I have an invisible sign on my forehead that reads: Old perverts, Come this way?  I think about why this might be and I begin, as I am sure most women do during these circumstances, to think of ways to let him down.  But, I am smiling nevertheless, hoping as always for the best in people. 

He begins to tell me about his life, in a non-threatening way and I listen while marveling at the silly and crazy people I might meet while letting myself be so open to this world of ours.  This morning, Bobo and I were just two strangers who randomly met because we were both enjoying our music so much;  we connected for a short while in a way that more people should be doing while living their fast-paced and dizzying lives.

Skinny Jeans and Revelations

Last night, I undertook a task that no woman should ever subject herself to more than once a year, if that: I faced the skinny jeans dilemma.  You ladies know what I am talking about - those jeans you bought one day when you were feeling so great about yourself, but that were a little tight for you then and yet you procured them anyways, justifying your purchase by vowing that those pesky five pounds would melt away and that you would fit into these great jeans at some point, only to try them on later that month to find that you have gained weight rather than having lost anything close to those five orginal pounds and yet for some unexplained and masochistic reason you still keep those jeans around at the back of your closet... just in case. 

Well ladies, I had a few of those jeans that I had decided a while back to just give away instead of torturing myself with having to look at them in my closet over and over again... and yet I still thought of them every once and a while, hoping against all hope that I would still, one day, before I really did give them away, fit into them as snugly as if they had been created just for my curves.  I also have to admit that, though they had been thrown into a garbage bag and placed with the other objects that are to be donated, I have on at least two previous occasions, had my dignity shattered by my audacity of trying them all on, again.

Thus, last night when I was faced with the dilemma that I only have one pair of great-looking jeans and I don't have enough money to purchase myself another, I mustered up the courage to give these four pairs of jeans one last shot at changing my mind, and yet I was somewhat skeptical that they would make their way back into my wardrobe.  I had therefore unceremoniously dumped them on my bed before going out with my girls and vowed like an addict that this time I would really give them up if they still did not fit.

I came back home, my feathers having been a little ruffled and my state of mind being a little too reflective for my own good, only to see the pile of my potential enemies waiting to pounce from the corner of my bed.   Well, I figured, I had put them there myself and no one was now forcing me to try them on, so I gritted my teeth, took it like a woman and grabbed the first pair.  I stepped into them, made my way over to my standing mirror in order to capture the whole ordeal more concretely, gave my reflection a tiny encouraging smile, bent down and began to roll the legs up towards me.  I hesitated once more when I had rolled the jeans to a mere few inches near my waist and hips to that invisible line across my buttocks that either makes or breaks a pair of jeans;  a diaporama of images began to flicker in my mind's eye of me having to jump on my bed and having to shimmy my way into them a la Julia Roberts in "Eat Pray Love", doing the "I can fit into these GODDAMNIT" hoppy dance or sticking in my stomach while attempting, quite pointlessly and ineffectively I might add, to somehow tuck in my ass as well - and all of this in a mere few seconds of hesitation.   I looked at my slightly panicked face in the mirror, reined in my courage, took a deep, and somewhat, I won't lie, sticking in my stomach just a little, breath and... pulled that first pair of jeans the rest of the way up... no struggle with the button or zipper, no shimmying, nothing...

I incredulously peered at my reflection, expecting to see the usual rollover of chubbiness where my tummy and hips do not want to cooperate with the stiff material encircling them;  I turned around to inspect the rear view and found that it was surprisingly and entirely to my satisfaction.  Thus encouraged, I quickly stripped to my skivvies, seized the next pair and began the process all over again, minus the diaporama and panic.  The next three pairs were just as easy to put on as the first. 

Slightly giddy from the whole experience, without really thinking about it, I pulled on the sexiest pair of jeans that now fit me, added a cute and form-fitting black top that hugged my girls in all the right ways, added my beautiful chunky necklace and I took a moment to look at this new woman standing there staring back at me wide-eyed and giggly.