Wednesday, 21 March 2012

  • La Plantation D'arbres


    School is weighing heavy. At this time of the semester, it always does. Next week holds three deadlines - two major and nerve inducing. When I think back to this time last year, there are elements that are the same as well as some encouraging differences.

    Last year: I was stress- central, wondering if I was crazy to think I could head cook for 50 planters in the bush, taking required courses and scrambling to finish four classes. There were a lot of pep talks and a few tears. I was stepping down from my role as a Director at Atangard and while I thought (and feel now) it was probably for the best, it was a hard decision. I care deeply about Atangard and know that without sacrifice and committment, it can not exist. I felt like I was letting Atangard down by stepping back. While feeling a bit scared to tackle the new challenge of planting, I was eager for a new experience that was far away from Atangard and from school.

    This year: Though I have nearly finished two more semesters in the meantime, treeplanting feels less than 7 months ago. But, like last year, I am ready to get out of the books and back into the bush. I am stressed about projects, yes, but not at the same level as last year. Though this may seem crazy to Tim (a new addition to my life since last year as well, who I am thrilled to lame and embarrassing levels about), I have taken many more breaks from school this year and it has come down a few notches on the importance scale. That few notches of change, I feel, brings it to a more healthy and sustainable level.

    (WARNING: RANT TO FOLLOW, FOR REFLECTION, JUST SKIP TO THE LAST PARAGRAPH)

    So, you may or may not have seen the video So You Want to go Treeplanting. It is pretty funny, but technically I am only allowed to think it is so funny, because I am "only a cook". For a moment, let me just mini-rant against this sentiment. NO, I am not a treeplanter. NO, I did not plant any trees this summer and I NEVER spent a day on the block. But, I did get multiple burns/scars from the oven, insanely hot pans, steam (seriously) and boiling water. Sometimes mice were my first company while making breakfast at 4 30 AM. I averaged 5 hours of sleep a night. I had to chip apart massive amounts of bacon that refused to thaw in the morning, with my fingers alternating between so numb they didn't work and so numb they throbbed with a weird shooting pain. With my insistence on chopping massive amounts of vegetables (and probably the way I chopped, to be honest) I now have a carpal tunnel type thing going on. When your (planters) day was over, I was still working. I was also working before you got up. So, don't tell me I didn't see the tough side of planting!

    I hope you found that moderately amusing or I'll be very embarrassed. All that aside, I am excited to go back. Treeplanting can be a pain in the ass, as evidenced in the video and in my rant. But, it's also kind of awesome. Yes, I got sick of my tent by the end of the season. But I loved living outside all summer. I liked working with my hands instead of only my brain. A day of hard work does feel good and it does feel honest. Last summer, it was so easy to be present. Cooking, and most of the other positions out there, demand a lot of attention and energy. So, useless worrying just doesn't happen nearly as much as in normal life. I do a solid amount of useless worrying, so I mark that in the bonus column. I didn't have a lot of time to read and to reflect as I had kind of hoped going out there. Looking back, I don't think that's a bad thing. Being present is gift enough.

    So, vive la plantation d'arbres!

    Soon enough.

    Elizabeth






     

Wednesday, 14 March 2012

  • Currently
    The Old Man & The Sea
    By Ernest Hemingway
    see related

    Words.


    Radish still life by Tim Robison Jr.



    I am surrounded by words. Words in my head, unwritten. Words on papers and files, forming assignments. Words in textbooks and on government websites that make my head hurt just thinking about decoding them. Poems that I don't have time to write and reflections scribbled down on a sunshine-y bus ride. Words that I am holding in, bursting to say. Some will be said eventually, some never need to be. Worries formed into never-ending strands of words, no commas, no periods, just everlasting, snaking lines of text. Words forming ideas, inspiration, exclamation!

    I am amazed each time I write a paper (or on the rare occasion that I manage to finish and show someone a poem) how the process of committing it to paper changes it. How brilliance seems somehow absorbed by the paper. How stark it looks, how vulnerable, lying there on the white page!

    I have written before and I write it again - I am trying become better at listening as talking comes far easier to me. Is it not a kind of listening while I read? But books are not people. People deserve an ear, not a mouth (as do books, but it is much harder to hurt their feelings).

    Books are different creatures. Books are there, silent, waiting to be read. An oasis of peace amongst all the words and worries. I know that shouldn't make sense, to find refuge from words amongst them, but for me, it absolutely does. My deep love for words is one of the reasons I love poetry. I have a whole shelf (a small shelf) of poetry, come borrow some! For it is in poetry that words shine - unencumbered by story. I adore a good story, but words are not the star of novels.

    In a rambling post on words, you are not going to escape without a poem.


    LOVE SONG by Pablo Neruda (translation by William O'Daly)

    I love you, I love you, is my song
    and here my silliness begins.

    I love you, I love you my lung,
    I love you, I love you my wild grapevine,
    and if love is like wine:
    you are my predilection
    from your hands to your feet:
    you are the wineglass of hereafter
    and my bottle of destiny.

    I love you forward and backwards,
    and I don't have the tone or timbre
    to sing you my song,
    my endless song.

    On my violin that sing out of tune
    my violin declares,
    I love you, I love you my double bass,
    my sweet woman, dark and clear,
    my heart, my teeth,
    my light and my spoon,
    my salt of the dim week,
    my clear windowpane moon.

    -Elizabeth
     

Friday, 02 March 2012

  • Ah, Paris...Part 3.


    I bet you thought it was never coming. But, I have finally gotten around to it! My mind drifts back to the August spent in France fairly often, though it seems longer ago with each visit back in memory. As for what I have been doing in the last half month - school, mostly. Though I also got to spend two weeks with Tim during our reading breaks (in Saskatoon and here in Abbotsford) which sufficiently distracted me away from blogging. Nonetheless, back we go, to Paris.

    ---

    Beth and I left Marseille still a little sunburnt, but with a spring to our steps. We were going back to PARIS, who we only flirted with for a day before heading to off the countryside and Camille at the beginning of our trip. She beckoned us back. We did so much in the week or so we were there together -  art thrills, finding falafel so good it blew our minds, Beth saw the Eiffel tower for the first time, we ascended Notre Dame and met its gargoyles, and the saw children with their boats in the heat of the day in the Jardin de Luxembourg. A week wandering the streets of Paris at will. Glory, glory. On the flip side, we had to hold tight to our wallets - so many tempting things to spend money on, were kept awake by strange roommates, and munched the daily, sub par, breakfasts our hostel offered.
     











    I was so excited to take Beth to the Louvre and the Musee D'Orsay, to the halls of art that had held so much awe for me in 2003. But, they didn't stir her, or to my great surprise, me, in the way I expected We still saw some jaw-dropping paintings, of course (see above). But, this time the Louvre was crowded and loud, full of flashes and clicks. For me this time, more wonder was found outside the galleries. In the twilight reflected on the Seine, while we ate dinner perched beside it. In the locks placed by lovers  and friends on the Pont des Arts. In how the Eiffel tower seemed to appear around every corner, yet every time I was surprised. In popping out of the metro - from the dark, fluorescent tunnels to be greeted by a site like the Arc d'Triomph. I didn't realize how big it was before. In the fact that we were discovering Paris at our leisure. I thought over and over, this is such a gift.

    Though in 2011 the streets stole my heart, there was still some amazement to be found within gallery walls or in the case of the Pompidou Centre, the very walls itself too. Centre Pompidou was Beth's favorite this trip. I was ecstatic to see Matisse, Giacommetti (old friends) and meet a new one, Brancusi. There was a 2 story tall photobooth downstairs that printed out massive posters of your mug, but since the line was 2 hours long we opted for the smaller size, below. We each have one.


    "What may seem pure sketch is a pure expression of humanity without pretence" - Jean Genet of Giacommetti.

    I also wrote, Art teaches you how to see, what it is possible to see. Modern art is so jubilant!


    I am leaving out so much. Like meeting up with friends from home (Steve and Jordan), and how Beth inspired me to collage the crap out of my moleskin. We sat on the cool tile floor passing her scissors and tape back and forth. We read books and we rested from all the walking.

    But as wonderful as it was, Beth had a flight home to catch and the last leg of my trip was to be solo. I felt  little lonely when she left (and quite a few times after) but also excited to travel by myself for the first time. My alone time will be detailed in Part 4. Much sooner to come than this one, I promise.

    'Til then,
    Elizabeth


     


Tuesday, 14 February 2012

  • Love Ever After

     
    In keeping with my (normal) opposition to popular and/or commercialized things, I didn't have much use for Valentine's Day until five years ago. It was around then I interned with Kal Barteski in my last semester of graphic design. Kal is not a mushy mush woman, she's strong, inspired and inspiring. And, Valentine's Day was her favorite holiday. I was shocked. When explaining, I can't remember how she put it exactly, but what she said was something along the lines of It's a day that all about love. Celebrating the people and the love in your life is awesome. Probably a horrible paraphrase on my part. But, her attitude towards the day has changed how I feel every time February 14 rolls around.  


    Lauren Fleishman is doing a pretty amazing project. It is called Love Ever After. She says:

    Love Ever After will share the love stories of couples who have been married for at least 50 years. Inspired by a letter my grandfather wrote to my grandmother during World War II (and rediscovered after he passed away in 2007), I began photographing and interviewing couples in the New York area as a way to preserve their stories and to illuminate our universal experience of love. 


    I've shared some of the photos and words she's collected below because they are pretty wonderful. I hope you enjoy them. If you want to support her project, click here. See more of her work, click here.




    I was having a problem in school because I had to write a music paper and I had never written anything about music. It was my mother who had suggested that I go see David because he knew so much about music. So I went over and I thought maybe he would write it for me! But he said no, I'll help you but you have to write it yourself. He always had very high standards. After we wrote the paper together he asked me to go to a party with some of his army friends. You know, I had never thought of him romantically! He looked at me the way a man who has just come out of the army would look at a sexy woman.

    —Sheila Newman, Flatlands, Brooklyn.






    We met each other at a dancing party. It was January 1938. My friend invited me to the party. He said there were a lot of beautiful young girls. Another cadet with high boots had approached her but she didn't like high boots and so she said no to him. I was the second one to approach her, I had a different uniform, but I'm still not sure if it was my uniform or my face that attracted her to me.

    —Yevgeniy Kissin, Midwood, Brooklyn.


     

    Now I am going on 88. My wife is 85 and I'm only wishing for another 5 or 6 years of life. This is all we want. We don't want to live much longer. As a matter of fact, I always say to my wife, I wish I could reach 94. This is the aim of my existence. I'd like to see my grandson earn a living and my granddaughter get married. We want them to be happy the way we were.

    —Moses Rubenstein, Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn.


    I'm blessed to have a lot of love in my life. Sometimes I don't have the good sense to be thankful for this. But today, I do. Happy Valentine's Day all.

    - Elizabeth

Monday, 30 January 2012

  • Currently
    Ceremonials
    By Florence + The Machine
    see related

    Shake It Off.


    I've been thinking about a lot of things. I've been feeling a lot of things.

    For me, thinking and feeling are largely wound together. To think is to feel - to respond in a vital and engaged way.
     
    I'm taking 5 classes this semester. I put a lot of pressure on myself to perform and succeed. I think I should be able to do "everything" (the definition of everything varying) by myself if I plan it out well enough.

    I'm not sure if this combination of things are a cause of my increased anxiety and anxiousness levels since the beginning of the semester. Maybe. Whatever is the cause though, 8 or 9 o clock finds me feeling exhausted and drained. Too much thinking and too much feeling. Existing in a state where my switch off button is malfunctioning and my speed button is set to hyper. A weight in my chest. Nausea visiting my stomach. Thoughts racing. I find it very hard to concentrate on reading, which is the bulk of my workload at the moment, my thoughts skipping from one stone to next. A memory here, an item on my to-do list there, something I read in the news yesterday and so it goes. Then, a shake of the head, a physical act, to reset my thoughts. It works for a few minutes and I highlight diligently. But soon enough, skip, splash, scramble go my thoughts. I have lists everywhere, neon to-do's and highlighter scrawls of ideas. I feel frustrated about my apparent lack of control over this state. I feel frustrated that I can't calm down. I have no neat wrap up to this ramble, nor is it a call for sympathy. Just a recognition, an acknowledging.

    Perhaps part of what I'm feeling is contained in my body, chemically. But I do not doubt that I contribute to it with the expectations and framework I construct for myself. Some times I dance it out to a great song...

    I'm done with my graceless heart.
    It's hard to dance with a devil on your back, so shake it out. Shake it out.


    But, for a longer term fix, I increasingly think I need give more consideration where and how I spend my time. Today I     read an interview with Mike Mills in Wilder Quarterly and I really appreciated what he had to say. Plus, he references Gary Snyder, which put you in the "has their head on straight" category in my book.

    "The older I get, the easier it is to tune out the different radios: the internet radio or the “worrying about your career” radio. You just get tired of doing that. I'm good at being anxious, but less and less so. In the middle of the woods you just forget about everything. It’s overwhelmingly alive and real and happening in front of you, sort of enveloping.

    [American poet] Gary Snyder writes about this idea that there's no better way to get better connected to the wilderness than to be afraid of a mountain lion or a bear. That really reprioritizes our lives in such a radical way. It unravels this world of the internet that we're all stuck in. Any time something prompts you to dissolve our world, a world that pretends to make sense––the world of images and mainstream stories––suddenly they stop making sense. Any time you break out of that, it’s sort of a “punk” moment. When I'm worried about an avalanche or getting lost or which way that bear was going, it’s not unlike when I saw Public Image Limited play for the first time in Los Angeles in 1980––just breaking apart what you thought was the most important story.    "

    I hope that as I get older, I get wiser. I also hope that I can connect my life in a significant way to the natural world. Sustained contact with dirt, trees, water and all sorts of creatures dulls the static in my head and helps to dissipate the heaviness. It does not make life perfect, but I think it makes me better.






    Photos from the summer plant, 2011.


Friday, 20 January 2012

Saturday, 07 January 2012

  • Currently
    World Without Tears
    By Lucinda Williams
    see related

    At the Turn.


    Back at my desk. Almost more than any other place these days, when I am back sitting here, I am home. Of course, as someone whose heart has pieces in a few different places, the word home conjures up quite a few different images. Inside different houses and different arms. But right now, I lay my hat in Abbostford. Sharing a room, bed and house. A house that, upon my return, as it always does, holds changes. Above our bed, there are  big paper flowers hanging. I like them. In the dining room, two of my paintings - the two I am most proud of, hang on the flanking walls of the dining room. I feel honored. I like them there too. I am sure there are more subtle alterations to discover, but for now, I will sit at my desk, finally sitting down to write.

    As is probably obvious to regular readers of this blog, it has been a challenge to find time to write in the last months. But, as I hope to always realize, with change, there are some things that can not be left behind without losing a part of one's self. For me, one of those things is writing. I have resolved, as much with the start of a new semester as a new year, that I will make a time and place to write during what promises to be a very full four months. Thankfully, I have returned to the Lower Mainland rested and full (in more ways than one, seriously, despite trying not to cram my face constantly, I can barely remember what hunger feels like).

    The holidays were long and luxurious, full of family. I was not greeted by icy winds and freezing temperatures - the weather was balmy in comparison to what I expected. A very mild winter fell in Saskatchewan. But still, there was enough snow and cold for skating outside, walks by the river, multiple layers and rosy cheeks. Presents were over the top this year and I feel a little bit like that lady in the IKEA commercial yelling for a getaway car. I start 2012 very blessed, and very supplied with all sorts of lovely things.

    I am very thankful for all the new and most unexpected things given to me in the last year. The landscape of my life looks so incredibly different than it did so one year ago. For this year, I wish for a year of gatherings - of food and love and friends and family around tables.

    Happy New Year.

    Elizabeth

Tuesday, 06 December 2011

  • Ah, Paris...Part 2.


    Now, where was I?     Read Part 1 here.

    Beth and I were in Montpellier, looking a Brassai exhibitions and having perfect outdoor cafe breakfasts.
    Two things I left out from our time in the country - playing our first game of petanque and having yummy aperatif's. I had Muscat for the first time and it was lovely. Alcohol with a touch of honey. Before we left Montpellier, we hit our first beach and had our first dip in the Mediterranean. Below are some pictures of typical beach babe activities - laying around and of course, playing crib.




    From our window, I believe the second row of windows, the middle three, I wrote the following:

    From my top bunk - I have begun sleeping the top bunk for the first time in my life and have been enjoying the vantage point - I saw the day come to Marseille. With the sea in the distance, each row of houses received the day in turn, until it reached us in an old chateau called Bois Luzy on a hill, 7 km away from the sea. I think I have finally let the vacation settle in. I feel content and unafraid about the days I will spend alone in Paris, more sure now that I will find a routine and a pace all my own.

    We had continued to follow the coast as we (sadly) left Camille and continued onto Marseille, which we chose instead of Cannes or Nice. Although our hostel was in the literal boonies and a little strange (beautifully old, maybe haunted, strange and open at odd hours), we found that we like Marseille. One of my favorite mornings of the tip was spent there, walking around a beautiful and quiet neighborhood with narrow streets and colorful buildings. The quiet! The quiet was a relief to me. A found sanctuary in the early morning. Speaking of such things, we also came upon a massive, beautiful striped Cathedral. Like the "Beetlejuice" cathedral I saw on my first time overseas (in Italy).


    Cathedral de la Major. I entered, expecting the enormous stone to provide a reprieve from the heat, but like coming into the presence of God, it wasn't the reprieve I expected. It is not deliciously cool in here as I expected, but it is quiet and in a very gentle way, truly reflective of the greatness of the Creator. I have always found solace in the cathedrals of Europe, even knowing the histories and perhaps misspent money of these tremendous structures, the misplaced glory. But do they, have not they provided a sanctuary for the weary and searching? Do they not provide some insulation from the busyness of the streets and sea outside? The echoes of a choir remain as one walks among the columns. The gifts of gold and velvet seem out of place to me sometimes, but never the stone. The humbleness of it seems fitting, though humble, nothing extraordinary perhaps, able to become something truly great in the right hands. People move more slowly, quietly, carefully, inside cathedrals - if only the whole world could be treated the same.









    It was very hot in Marseille. We beached, I burnt. We read, we walked. We fought, we made up. We made supper and washed it down with wine. Every city had a different feeling, somehow more apparent than in the newer cities of North America and Marseille had its very own...something. The awkward thing is, is that that thing, is utterly indescribable.


    In Part 3, on to Paris. Stay tuned...



Friday, 25 November 2011

  • Ah, Paris...Part 1.


    It is hard to find time to blog these days. This morning, I slept in - and it was completely glorious - got dressed in study apparel and left my room in search of coffee. I had some time with pen and paper, my desk in the daylight and a one and half cup Bodum. There have been too few mornings like this this semester. Come Christmas holidays, mornings like this will become the norm. 18 days 'til my fist morning of freedom, and 19 'til Saskatchewan and all its snow greets me.

    A little while ago, I realized that I hadn't blogged about my France trip! While I can brarely beleive this, it is indeed true and I will begin to remedy that today. A friend of ours is coming back from France on Monday and before she left, she asked for Beth an I's tips, tricks and suggestions. Giving her the low down was a lovely walk down memory lane and I'm more than game to go back again. It really was the most wonderful month.

    Beth and I interspersed our sight seeing with trips to cafes, Starbucks, and parks to rest, read and journal. The result is that I have a pretty kick-ass moleskin section documenting Paris. Voila! Round one. I will begin in chronological order. The companion to these, really, is all the letters I wrote. Tim probably has the most complete literary documentation of my trip. However, in lieu of offering you that, my journal will have to do.

    ---

    The morning after I arrived, meeting Beth in Paris on an overcast day at Gare du Nord, we hopped on to fast train that took us to Montpellier. To Camille's waiting arms. To sun! And palm trees! And our beautiful French friend. Who, took us to this this glorious place...



    I know right? I was pinching myself. We met her wonderful parents in this dream of French country house.
    Camille's father, Achille, went out all the mornings we were there to pick Cepes - the king of the mushrooms! - which is the mushroom you see in the second moleskin below. They actually loved my Roquefort and Cepe illustratons and commissioned me to paint ones for them. Which I did happily, if slightly disbelievingly, as their houses were filled with wonderful art. Part of a tradtional French meal is several varieties of cheese, which come after the meal and before dessert. Below are some of the ones we tasted, all delicious. Pérail, Tome, Laguiole, and Roquefort. Roquefort actually comes from the region, Averyon and Beth, Camille and I went to the Societé Roquefort caves. Camille's mother was an incredible cook and I sat in the kitchen, helped a very little and mostly asked questions and wrote down recipes for Blanquette, Ratatouille and lovely stuffed tomatoes.

    Click on moleskins to see them larger. If you wish.




    When we were back in Montepellier, while Camille went to work, Beth and I wandered around Montepellier, shopping, easing, and resting. We also got to go to a free Brassai exhibition. He is quite a famous photographer, but I had never heard of him or seen his work. this is what I wrote while looking at the photographs:

    The colors! the colors were beautiful - and he knew how to use his camera. It makes me want to get my act together and learn about shutter speeds and aperture, ect. It also made me want to take more shots at night (tripod).  Remember to trust your/my instincts - don't worry if someone saw it before or if it's "touristy". No one will have seen it exactly like you. Trust yourself. Stop being so afraid. What are you really afraid of?"

    I love art - I love seeing art - because it moves me. To thought, emotion, realization...to truth.







    To be continued....





Wednesday, 09 November 2011

  • Le Changement.

     





    First shot by me in Paris, August 2011. Sub-par, but lovey, calligraphy on the Pont de Solferino.
    Second shot by Tim on the shores of Slave Lake, July 2011.


    Change is in the air. And it's not the seasons or the semester or the upcoming municipal elections.

    It's much closer to home (and heart). My friends are falling in love. It felt like we were the perenially single group, with other groups getting married, couple by couple - domino style. Last fall, there were shrieks of "It's beginning!" when a swack of us began relationships - some lasted, some didn't. However, over the last year, there has been a slow and steady shift. Significant others whom we have come to love and begin to know and invite into our family of friends (or literal families) are here to stay. Indeed, some of these people I have no wish to imagine life without - getting ahead of myself as always, I already view them as my dear friends future partners. In some moments, I feel like we are too young for this - have we hit "the age" already where this is an appropriate course of action? Yes. Yes, we have.

    And so, in other moments, it seems natural and joyful and to make utter sense. I am thankful to see my friends happy and with people who care for them so deeply. Seeing them begin to face the hard questions and navigations that come on the journey towards marriage is kind of wonderful, and often inspiring. It must be said that we are not all uniformly on this path - there are still singles among us and my assumptions about people ending up together may still prove false.

    Perhaps, though, this change/shift remains more often on my mind because I have been part of the shift. I left for treeplanting single and returned not. For me, for us, the challenges of a long distance relationship have come along with all the others. And, yet, it is undeniable the change being in a more serious relationship has brought to my life. Priorities are shifted and focus alters - there is a new landscape to learn. One with not one, but two people to be considered.

    Dan and Vicky - you're engaged! Congratulations again. Can't wait to celebrate with you when you are both back on Canadian soil.

    'til next time,
    Elizabeth


Sunday, 30 October 2011




  • FRIDAY:

    The drear is here. Or rather, the dreariness of late fall/winter in the lower mainland is here. And it is at this point in semester, I think, where school begins to get to us. Furrowed brows, stress meltdowns all begin to visit in succession. There is a brief (all too brief) relief after midterms end, but soon enough final projects must be started and finals creep closer (as does Christmas, thank goodness) with alarming speed. Last day of classes is Dec. 5, a mere month and handful of days away.

    SATURDAY:

    I awoke to a scream. Dramatic, no? When you wake in house with children though, I have learnt that this is less dramatic and more ordinary. Sharalee had a gang of Atan-girls (to escape the Atan-jail) over for chocolate and wine and a sleepover and so our morning was full of tumbling blond curls, running feet, pink waffle onesies, "ghosts" (children with blankets over them making spooky sounds) and an incredible breakfast spread. Yum. Thanks Sharalee.





    SUNDAY:

    Today, my first conscious thought was that it was quiet. The music was still pounding last night when I went to sleep at 1 30. Our room is probably the least affected by the noise from below, but the bass was pounding as I drifted off. It has gotten louder with each change in management. But by the morning they are dj'ed or danced out or whatever it is they do down there and sleeping off their alcohol intake and here all is calm and quiet and perfect. I mind grey days the least when I wake at a leisurely hour to their soft light coming through the window. It's neither insistent nor especially beckoning you to get up and start the day, just there for whenever you wish to get up and join it.

    My take-home midterm is done, though this fact doesn't seem to have actually registered. The less than amazing marks I've been getting recently on papers has me doubting my academic writing skills. Perhaps it is simply my disproportionate amount of papers for a single professor. In any case, I am glorying in a night away from the books.

    Illustrations by Eda Akaltun. Love the palette and collage effect. I was nuts about collage as a teen/pre-teen.

Tuesday, 18 October 2011

  • Currently
    The Moth: Audience Favorites Volume 1, Eleven Stories
    see related

    Eucharisteo





    My Mom sent me a book. A book called One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. With it, she sent a letter with pages of quotations copied out that she thought I would appreciate. The book itself is full of highlighted lines - ever a student and teacher, my mother. I get it from her.

    I've been reading it before bed and it really is a beautiful way to ease into sleep. The central theme of the book is eucharisteo. Eucharisteo = thanksgiving. Chara = joy. Charis = grace. She describes these as "a triplet of stars. A constellation in the black."

    I am certainly taking things from her words. This is one book I want to read slowly, so it is little things in each reading that are gleaned. She wrote something in the bit I just read that I identified with. It was, "I have lived the runner." Yes, this is something I know too. Always worrying, thinking, planning, breathless and tired, but at the same time scared to slow and stop. What is it that I will find when I am not busy, not seeking, not pushing? What if, when I stop, there is nothing there in the silence? When I did slow I began to understand what is to be found in the quiet. When I think of the wonder and fullness that is to be found there, it can calm my agitated spirit and draw me back from plunging forward into a relentless schedule. I still have a full schedule, but it is not fueled by the same insistence and fear that I once had.


    "Light on soap film, its energy traveling, reflection, refraction on a wall,
     a few millionths of an inch thick.
     Light waves permeate and collide, crest to crest and crest to trough.
     Yellow marbelizes into indigo dark. I do see this. I do hold it.
     This is where God is." -Ann Voskamp


    Things are going well this week. I find that often enough a rough set of days are followed by ones that re much calmer and happier (and even if it just seems that way in contrast, I honestly don't care. Placebo affect me anytime.) I got a good mark back today to balance out some disappointing test result in French last week and encouraging words from a prof to temper niggling doubts about my scholarly suitability. I'm thankful for the balance. So, I will take the encouragement and let complement object direct pronouns absent themselves from my brain for the time being. Au revoir, mes amis et bon débarras.




Thursday, 06 October 2011

  • Currently
    Teenage Dream
    By Katy Perry
    see related

    Saskatoon Dispatch


    I am sitting in the U of S (University of Saskatchewan) Arts Library, which has a stellar lounge-y study area complete with a Starbucks, comfortable and roomy chairs and tables and walls of windows displaying the fall foliage. I first heard of this solid study roost when Tim mentioned, disgruntled, that he was unable to find a place in the engineering library last Wednesday to do his math homework and had to go to the arts library instead. However, this morning, the Dean of Engineering sat in the chair across from me and said he comes here to "reflect and see people he hasn't seen in a while". If it's good enough for the Dean of Engineering, Tim, then it's good enough for you. I bet the engineering library is boring anyway.

    We, the Dean and I, had a nice chat and although he didn't know Tim, (what!? the Dean doesn't know every student in his faculty? I can't believe it) he said as he left that I should "help keep Mr. Roth's nose to the grindstone" so either they are secretly mentor and mentee or engineering is just a long haul. I prefer the former.

    The bit of the University I saw walking here from under my umbrella was really beautiful - old stone buildings, lots of trees and I'm reminded of those university and college campuses you dream of attending (think Rory Gilmore smelling books in the Yale library), full of history and with massive libraries and even bigger traditions. When I was younger I thought all institutes of higher learning looked like that and of course assumed I would go to one. Speaking of younger selves and youth, I loved this quotation I read on  Swiss Miss this morning. (Illustration below by Luke Best and stay tuned for a Regina Dispatch in the next couple days!)

    “Over the past week I’ve twice heard twenty-somethings wonder whether kids growing up today, kids who were practically born with iPhones in hand, will still have the capacity for wonder. Yesterday as a present for his first day of second grade I brought home an erasable gel pen for my iPhone savvy six year old. After a brief demonstration, he spontaneously hugged me, “I’ve been waiting for this pen my entire life!” I think the kids are alright.”

    - Raul Gutierrez




Thursday, 29 September 2011

  • Currently
    Little Joy
    By Little Joy
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    A Blog in Parts.


    This is a blog in parts. Written on different days at different times.

    (Today, Thursday) I'm sending early birthday shout out to my roomie Elizabeth Mans! I can't believe that we've known each other for nearly 3 years. You are so wonderful. You are silly and funny and crack me up more than anyone else. You also drive me crazy sometimes, but since I return the favor, I figure we're good. And if that never happened, I'd have serious worries about the depth of our friendship. Does that make sense? Because as much as you can annoy me or hurt me sometimes (usually without knowing) - it's by that very same token that I can tell you secrets and listen to your advice and observations about my weaknesses. A deeper connection comes with more emotions. I am really excited to give you your present. But, perhaps something more meaningful that I'd like to do (there is much room for improvement on this, I know) is to be a more caring and open friend/roommate. To find time to do things together in the busyness of boyfriends, homework and life and enjoy the time we have as Beth and Beth.

    I love you! Happy Birthday!


    (Wednesday) The air has a bite this morning. Fall is coming (or has come, I really should be more aware of the dates that seasons officially hand off the baton) and the the morning air has taken a sudden drop. I rearranged my schedule to accomodate both toonie tuesdays (cheap night at towne cinema) and 8 hours of sleep. The gym will not happen in the morning today but in the late afternoon. While it may seem to ridiculous to shuffle things around for a movie (what can I say? It's the light in my study life come the end of the semester), I also welcome a variation on the routine I've set up for this semester. One of the hardest things for me near the end of the treeplanting season was the unbroken routine. By the end, we'd figured out what worked best timing-wise and doing things in that order just made everything less stressful. But, it also made the day more like drudgery than discovery.


    (Last Sunday) This week's recipes: Roasted Tomato Soup with Broiled Cheddar (grilled cheese sandwiches combined with tomato soup - perfection via Smitten Kitchen), Zucchini fritters which I'm going to eat with a poached egg as per her suggestion and something with eggplant. Since eating the best falafel I've ever had in my life in Paris, how impeccable the eggplant was has left me hankering to learn how to create eggplant that delicious. It was so soft, but not mushy, packed full of flavor - cumin was one discernable spice - but also somehow carmelized and melted in my mouth. I wish I had more time to cook, but alas, during school books call.

    -Elizabeth

Thursday, 22 September 2011

  • Currently
    Bon Iver
    By Bon Iver
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    Back.


    I'm back - to Atangard, to school, to my room, to the blog. Hi.

    This September is so different than last fall. I am one million times less of a stress case and I am revelling in it. It is not just that I am no longer a director, although it is certainly a part, and not working so I am able to focus on school - there has been a shift. I can feel it. Though the when of this shift is roughly known, (sometime between getting on that bus to Prince George and touching back down to Canadian soil from France on September 5) the how, the why, etc. is more mysterious.

    Did my need for perfection wash away in the dishwater and the steam that shrouded my glasses every morning? Did it dissipate in cauldrons of imperfectly seasoned stew and soup that I managed to nearly and (sometimes totally) burn on the Weatherhaven stove? Or was it in France where for my 9 days alone, my companion was the question, "What do I want to being doing at this moment?" and then doing whatever it was sans judgement of cultural coolness. Did I go see Cowboys and Aliens? Yes. Yes, I did. 

    I spent so much time denying myself any sort of pleasure last year, I forgot how to relax. I forgot how to prioritize with any perspective. The answer to 'what are you up to?' was always studying. My expectations of scholastic brilliance, the needless striving for it and the pressure I put on myself last year is something I hope I can leave there. I do still want to do well and work hard and learn - but not because I need to do so to be worth something. Instead, I want to do my readings, turn in thoughtful and thorough papers - take the notes I've been given and hope that at the end of the term I will not feel an explosive sense of rage if I receive an A minus. (Ridiculous, I know.)

    Treeplanting - was hard, but good. I miss parts of it sometimes, but less frequently as I settle back into life here and finally transition into school mode.

    Paris/France - was wonderful. After I got into vacation-mode, there was no turning back and I enjoyed every bit of it. Well, minus awkward encounters with hostel roommates and the ubiquitous smell of urine.




    Photo by Beth Mans.

    It's good to be back.
    -Elizabeth





Wednesday, 22 June 2011

  • Spring to Summer.





    VARIOUS BLOG ENTRIES, WRITTEN DURING SPRING PLANT ---


    I like it here.

    I like the quiet in the camp (save for the birds and the generators and the reefer refrigerator kicking in and the ants and rustling of tarps) during the day. But all of these sounds are so different than the insistent noises of a city. Gentler, and more welcome than honking horns, subs blasting rap, tires squealing and sirens.

    Today, the thought I can't think of any other way I would rather spend this summer - came unbidden in the middle of a very nice morning. A good morning in which I finished breakfast clean-up by 7 30 (I wake up at 4am and breakfast is a 6 00 and 6 30) and was ready to start on easy supper prep, leaving a solid stretch of hours in the middle of the day to nap, read and sit in the sun. Today was the very first day I got a break long enough to do all three of those things. There have been many days  where there have been no breaks, especially in the first couple shifts. (5 days on, 1 day off, repeat)

    Today however, was glorious. Somehow things are getting easier and quicker. It is indiscernible to me how exactly this is happening - I don't feel quicker or more efficient - but I must be. I am incredibly thankful for this mysterious lengthening of downtime during the afternoons and the decrease in stress levels around supper time. We have been at the same camp since May 6th - we leave in a week and half for Alberta where we will finish out the summer in several different places (tba).

    I have thought about writing many times and have put thoughts into letters (they are coming to all of you slowly, I only scrape together time for about two a week, but they will come. Thanks for the mail and messages you lovely humans) but I feel less of a pressing need to record this experience. Perhaps this is because I think I will be back again or because I am so much more present here than I normally feel. I am taking photographs, which are their own sort of record.

    ---


    The gravel pit has been good, but is time to move one. It is tired of us/we are tired of it, it is time for change. And so, in 3.5 days we pack up this camp into a reefer and our fleet of cars and trucks and scatter for a week or so, reconvening in Alberta in Slave Lake. There, we will get back our missing crew (who went to assist another camp get their trees in the ground in time to finish out a contract). The camp feels quite different with out them and they eat half as much. It is nuts. I will be glad to see them return.

    I am finally irritated with this job. Raging as I was doing dishes yesterday, I was fuming "Why would anyone do this job!?" Scrub scrub, chip, chip at a burned on pot, my fault of course. My ears and not the water were steaming, but I have simmered down considerably now and almost feel a sense of relief that the frustration has come. I had expected it long before now. I have come to enjoy doing dishes very much and I wonder if this will remain so after camp, as it has always been on of my least favorite tasks. As Beth wrote, the feeling of plunging hands into warm soapy water, wiping (or determinedly scrubbing) things clean is satisfying. A break from all the chopping and rushing and worrying. Swish swish gargle. In and out, back and forth. A peace settles.

    BETH MANS ON DISHES : I love doing dishes. There is no time pressure, the water is warm and comforting, there is usually a window to gaze out of - maybe you hear the chatter of your friends as they settle into the living room - some with books and feet tucked beneath them - others cocooned in afghans on the floor- the movement of my hands under the water, the confused, muted sounds, the retrieval, the scrub down, the inspection, the rinse off, the air dry, the towel dry, the put away, the opening and closing of cupboards.

    I only reach Rem cycle in naps now - it almost as my body has acquiesced to the schedule and now accepts its nightly quotient in two doses. I have only dreamt twice while here, but I feel healthy and well sustained for the most part. Maybe it is the outdoors. Cure for bipolar - live outside. I am chock full of references today - Andrew Solomon said something to this effect when speaking about depression and the ceremony they hold in Senegal. The whole community comes together to lift you up, gathering around and cheering you on as you cleanse these evil spirits through ceremony. The sun shines, fresh air surrounds you, there is drums and music and dancing - is there any wonder that this helps? Of course it does.

    ---


    TODAY

    I sit on a bed, cross-legged in the Nova Inn in Slave. Tim is out looking at blocks, Gloria and Andrew are napping, the gently barely there hum of an air conditioner the only sound in the room. Jordan is on his way here, with most of the camp trickling in today and tomorrow morning. Break ends tomorrow. Then, we plunge into the summer plant. It will be hot, sticky, and bug filled. Crossing fingers, the frustration and bliss will even out for a balanced rest of season.

    Here's hoping,
    Elizabeth



Saturday, 18 June 2011

  • The Plant.





    I take a lot of pictures in the morning. When it's on - when the sky is clear and and the light pure and bright - there are few things to equal it. More practically, it's one of the few times I have when everybody is in camp to have a moment to pause, sit and eat, and bust out the camera.







    For those of you who don't know, the stunner with the green toque is Gloria, my assistant cook. We spend ridiculous amounts of time together. This day, we sat in the sun enjoying our morning coffee and breakfast (oatmeal) while watching everyone gather their things and get ready to head to the block. Water bottles filled, lunches packed, breakfast gulped and boots tied. Banter optional. Below is Andrew, Gloria's husband and my former Atan-roomate, squinting into the early light. I would have been up by a couple hours already at this point - these photos being shot between 6:00 - 6 30 am.













    Suppertime. Sam Glasgow's hands below. The eating tent is called the Weatherhaven and although breakfast is served out of the kitchen, supper is laid out here. I serve, they eat. Some days the last thing I want to do is go dish out food to the gamut of hungry, grumpy, happy, exhausted, grateful, and frustrated planters. But, it's part of my job and once I get scooping and asking about days and seeing their comically, utterly dirty faces - the dread has usually passed. It's been hard to adjust to serving planters vs. Atangardians. My home spoils a cook - everyone is so grateful and full of grace - for taste, for quantity, for effort. Encouragement comes in bounds. It is not so here, not to say that there aren't many wonderful people who daily come into the kitchen and offer thanks and compliments to Gloria and I, because there are. But there are also their opposite and although they are smaller in number, they are harder to forget and brush off.

    I am now on the break between the spring and summer plant, in Prince George 'til Monday before driving to Alberta. Although I have come to love my tent kitchen, I'm happy to spend a little time outside of it. (So is my wrist.)









    Above, outhouses, or as called in camp, the shitters (there are four more outside of the frame). They are up out of the pit and away from the eating and cooking areas. However, it's a pretty nice view when the sun is going down. The rays hitting you through the trees, looking down on the camp and the people moving below - it's not abnormal for me to pause for a moment and remember where I am and there is beauty to be found.





    Look for entries written during the season and never posted in the next few days.
    Thank you for the letters. I'm not sure I can describe accurately the warm rush and joy that accompanies their careful opening, receiving, and reading. I think so often of home and all of you.

    So fondly,
    Elizabeth

Wednesday, 27 April 2011

  • Currently
    The Merry Heart: Reflections on Reading Writing, and the World of Books
    By Robertson Davies
    see related

    Eve.





    On the eve of departure, I sit.

    Exams behind me. Summer ahead. A summer which will begin and have its bulk in northern BC and Alberta. The season (the treeplanting season that is) has been pushed back by a day already due to snow and so I am pushing thoughts of heat and sun filled days away. Summer will come late this year. I am nervous. I am excited. I have never done anything like this. The nerves and jitters exist alongside a stream of exhilaration; the exhilaration that comes when you venture into some sort of unknown. Along with learning how the heck to cook for ravenous planters, I very much hope to read and think and write. Whether I will be able to find solitude, that kind of quiet in which inspiration takes root and blooms into idea, in the midst of the day in an empty tree planting camp, I'm not sure. Nonetheless, it is what I hope for.

    I have an ambitious reading list. Weil, Gandhi, Dallaire, Dillard, Tutu. Much to learn and very little fiction. It will be the first time non-fiction outweighs fiction on any trip I have taken. I never thought I'd see the day. : )

    Lately, I feel I grow more serious by the day - I can't quite articulate what I mean by this or sort out if it is even a true estimation of reality. Perhaps I'm growing into something which has always been present in me or maybe I am just sunk in a prolonged period of thought.

    Tomorrow, I get on a bus. For 11 hours.
    To summer.

    -Elizabeth

Monday, 11 April 2011

  • Currently
    Letter to a Priest
    By Simone Weil
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    The Flutterers.


    These are crazy days. I'm spooning the remainder of my breakfast in to my mouth, sticky, lumpy, delicious steel cut oats - an island in milk, crowned with brown sugar - cold by the time of I'm getting to it amidst emails and phone calls to Folklore, Fraser health authority, St. John's Ambulance, fellow Atangardians et al. This morning's coffee is cool on my tongue as well, but I've never particularly minded coffee past its piping hot beginnings. The sludge sits at the bottom of the cup, clearly forming a dark circle beneath the last golden brown sip.

    I find my moments of peace - anywhere with light - while sending off emails, doing homework or scanning recipes, aware that on the other side of my mentally or physically shut door (to concentrate on the task at hand), many more tasks are insistently waiting. Like bits of paper, some ragged, some neat, all fluttering and flapping insistently just on the other side of the door. All the to-do's. Today, my flutterers seem more like troublesome, but loved pets. Other days, they feel more like a pack of rabid crows diving for me, beaks bared, the moment I crack the door open. Nevertheless, the amount of days between me and heading to Prince George are rapidly diminishing. And with each passing today, I worry less about getting everything done. The world will not end if I leave something fluttering.

    My parent's come to visit in a mere 5 days (!) and join them in Vancouver, studying for finals while they explore - taking breaks to show them my favorite bits and roosts in Vancouver and for them to meet, or at least glimpse, so many faces that they've heard me rhapsodize about over the phone. The Ashton's are coming to town.

    On the eve of a different sort of Vancouver vacation - one of buying tents, steady studying, good food and drink and much fast talking and laughing and pointing and smiling to the two people I owe most to - here are a few pictures from the last Van. vacation. The story of a very, very, good morning.










     



    Chronologically -

    The Skytrain platform combined with brilliant morning sun is a wondrous thing.
    I wait for Jamison at JJ Commercial with my treasured and rarely fit in morning activity - a traditional cappucinno/americano and a paper and pen. A simple pleasure/un plaisir simple.
    Derrick et Jamison join. Handsome and wonderful men.
    Breakfast at Bandidas. Jamison, breakfast, riohacha, and a lovely waitress (not pictured).


    -Elizabeth



Saturday, 02 April 2011









  • If I've ever loved anything truly,
    it is light.

    It does not cease to captivate me
    to silence me the truest feat
    to bring every part of me quiet
    to a gentle and steady hum.

    Nor does it cease
    to surprise me with its beauty, its facets
    its ever changing visage
    and thus, the words I bring forth
    to recall it to you
    neither match my feelings or its truth.

    (I am not alone in my affection,
    the clouds too hold its fleeting rosy tones,
    this last bit of day as long as allowed)

    The end of each day the most bittersweet
    the long night laid out ahead,
    just I and the dark.

    Yet it dawns just the same every morning,
    unless one does not wake,
    and in its paleness filtered through the clouds
    or in its brilliant cleansing scorch,
    hot enough to burn away
    all the bitterness built up in the dark,
    I am burnt clean.

    -Elizabeth Ashton




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