crows to burnaby

When I was a kid, I noticed over the years how every September, everything felt different. It mostly had to do with being immersed in a slightly different world; there was always a new teacher, and usually a few new kids, and even the others would have changed a bit since school let out. And the seasons were changing, and most of all, I would be in a totally different classroom with a different smell, different windows and views, lighting, decorations. New binder or backpack or pencil case, maybe. Different books, different schedule. In the rest of my life, maybe my piano lessons would be on a different day, or I'd have some new after-school activity that would start in the fall. Without being a dramatic change, everything felt like it had shifted somehow.

Of course, scent memory being what it is, I can occasionally encounter some smell that remains me specifically of grade 3 or grade 6 without really knowing why. I don't know what it is that differentiated the years so much, but every school year seemed like a strange rebirth from an old life I hadn't realized was going to end.

I hadn't really had that feeling in years, but it's exactly how I feel right now. At some point in my month away, it feels like I left the old scents and sounds behind, and I came home to find that a new year had started. I don't feel quite like I am who I was when I left. I feel like I cut free some of the things I might have been using to define me, and now that which I think of as "me" is more malleable and less concrete. New job, newly single, new life: I feel untethered and a bit adrift, and I like it.

And, strangely, everything smells different now, just like I'm starting a brand new school year.

I was going to say, I think I need to take a break from blogging, but then I realized that I've pretty much already started.

Basically I've been so overwhelmed by everything going on in my existence at the moment that I haven't even had the slightest urge to blog about anything at all. The mental space isn't there for it right now, and I just feel guilty for not keeping things current.

So let's say March is going to be my month vacation from blogging. If I can't resist posting something, I'll pop in and mention it, but other than that, I'm going to keep my focus on actually doing the things I have to do in the next month. I'll still be on Facebook for little updates and stuff. But on the blog front, I don't want to force myself to come up with things to say when my mind is elsewhere, and I find I don't want to write about the things that are on my mind.

Have a lovely March!

I wasn't that sorry to see the back end of 2007. It had some nice highlights - travel to Tunisia and elsewhere, the release of the ARCTIC album, playing some of my own shows. But heaviness dominated the year, as I started to notice several months ago. By the close of this year, my grandmother had died, my friend's mother had died, and slowly but surely, my marriage ended. Now so many things I'm used to, so many things I've only known one way, so many things are going to change completely.

I'm not generally one to fuss much about holidays, but New Year's is one of the only ones that has much symbolic significance to me. I like markers for time. I like watching the clock change over from 11:59 to 12:00 on any day, really, noon or midnight; there's something about the evenness of the numbers that is pleasing. I like dates that have patterns, like 9/9/99 (I have no idea what I was doing then, though). And I like New Year's to represent in some way what I want for the rest of the year. And I want this year to be better than last year.

So New Year's Eve had some importance to me, but it was also complicated. I wasn't sure I wanted to be at a party - I haven't been feeling all that social lately, or when I do, it might only be for half an evening and then I'm just done, I want to get away. But I also didn't want to sit at home feeling sorry for myself. What I ended up doing was making a reservation at the Wynken Blynken Nod hostel in Gibsons, BC, which is just a 45-minute ferry ride from North Vancouver, up the Sunshine Coast. It's right on the water, and that seemed important to me; I wanted to be outside at midnight, looking at the water.

It turned out to be exactly what I needed, even better than I had hoped, actually. The private rooms at the hostel were all booked, so I'd booked a bed in the shared room. But I was the only one, so effectively I had the equivalent of a cabin by the water all to myself - a big bedroom, kitchen, common room, and bathroom - all for $23. I got some food & drink in town, brought some books and music, some paper to write on, and settled in for the night. When I realized I had more time than I knew what to do with, I loaded up the hostel's VCR with Metropolis, which I'd never seen.

It was quite cold last night, so I didn't spend as much time outside in the evening as I'd intended. The hostel is heated by a most wonderful woodstove. It's been so long since I've used a woodstove, I'd forgotten how magical they are. I loved tending the fire, prodding it and adding logs and being rewarded with cuddly warmth. I wished I'd had something to cook on top of it; I have wonderful memories of warm slow-cooked oatmeal on cold Newfoundland mornings.

Several minutes before midnight I bundled up and sat on a driftwood bench by the water and listened to the waves. I didn't look at the clock; I knew I'd figure it out somehow. And before long, I heard the long deep honk of a ferry horn and distant whoops and cheers echoing across the water. Directly across Howe Sound from me, someone set off some very nice fireworks, which seemed like a personal display just for me. Up the coast a little, multicoloured flares fired into the water. My phone beeped a happy new year text from a friend. It was a wonderful, completely unique and new experience for me - and what made it great was the realization that I'm going to have so many more unique and new experiences like this, starting this year. Maybe they won't all be so joyous, but they'll all be new to me, and I'm very excited about that.

Happy new year.

This year, with everything happening that's happening, Christmas has been somewhat less of a priority. Usually we've done a tree and decorated the place up a bit, but I just haven't really been interested. It just seemed better not to let it be one more stressing factor, and I can't get worked up about buying stuff for people right now. We'll spend some time with family and friends, but it's not going to be a big thing.

As a result I have this weird sort of detached feeling about Christmas this year, like it's something other people do. I'm not bothered or bitter about it or anything, it just doesn't feel relevant right now. I guess this is what it's like for people who've never celebrated Christmas; watching with a bemused calm as everyone around puts red and green and shiny silver stuff all over everything. I went out last week looking to buy new socks, and felt strangely and pleasantly calm as shoppers sweated over finding just the right heated car seat or slippers with tassels on them.

I keep trying to think about presents I could buy for the people I truly care about, but it baffles me. I feel like I only want to get things that they really need, and none of it is stuff you can buy. What do you get for the person who has no time for themselves? For the one who needs some certainty and stability? For the people who need to heal? The people waiting for a sign before they can make the change they need to make - where can I find that for them? If I can't fix these problems, how is giving them a nice poinsettia going to help? If I'm thinking of them, I should be letting them know anyway, regardless of it being December 25th or not.

I hope I haven't put a damper on your Christmas with this. It's just a strange, strange feeling; Christmas is usually a big production you can't help getting involved in, but this year I feel like I'm off backstage somewhere while everyone else performs.

Whatever it means to you at the moment, I hope you enjoy it and get from it whatever you need the most.

This Sunday is July 1, Canada Day. It also happens to be my grandmother's 92nd birthday. Usually every year we go out there and have lunch or dinner with her, and joke that "all Canada is celebrating her birth" and so on.

This year, though, will be her last birthday, since early in 2007 she was found to have cancer that just isn't all that treatable. At 92 it isn't a huge shock - something gets all of us sooner or later. But it must be strange to head towards your birthday knowing that it'll be your last. Most of us don't know in advance.

This year has been, well, bad for things like this. A close friend's mom has been in and out of hospitals since February and it's been a terrible roller coaster ride for their family. Another friend's grandmother just died suddenly. Another lost a brother-in-law. And yesterday Derek, a Vancouver blogger (and father of two young girls), whose blog I've been reading for ages, found out that his cancer treatments failed and he may have between two and five years to live.

I think the first few decades of my life were pretty charmed. Many people deal with huge, personal loss that I can't even imagine, much earlier in their lives. In these cases I'm not even the one talking to the doctors, on the front lines, facing the treatments, and yet the combined weight of all this is still daunting. My plans and hopes for this year have changed because of some of this, and that's still nothing compared to what the individuals involved are dealing with directly. It's nothing.

Is this just what happens when you get older? Is it just statistics? Is this just a wave of misfortune I'm watching, or is this how it goes from now on?