Icebergs.

Life is funny. I think it's the unexpected things that influence our life paths more than all the things we plan. Things like when I was placed in a French class (instead of my first choice of Spanish or second choice of Latin), or the chance timing of meeting someone and falling in love, or starting a new hobby. Sometimes change feels like a river whose path has shifted a little, and sometimes change is so dramatic that it creates a rupture, leaving behind only a Before and After.

I think about how my life's own Before and After as I stare into my closet and consider why I no longer wear certain outfits. Perhaps internal change is a lot like an iceberg whose only manifestation is the relatively small bit on the surface. We can grasp what's visible, but understanding its actual depth and nature is more difficult.

Most of the way through Q1.

So far 2015 has included some of the busiest months I have ever had. But this time has been good, mostly because in all the busyness, winter has gone by with me often in a survival-auto-pilot state. That might sound negative, but not having time to think too much in the depths of winter has actually been a relief. Supposedly February was the coldest in over a hundred years, but I was so busy going from one job to another that I hardly noticed. In fact, I was often loosening my scarf or removing one mitten because I was warm from jogging to try to catch the next bus so I wouldn't have to wait 6 or so minutes for another one.

Drifting toward darkness.

Around here it's clear that the darkness is gaining on the light, a little more each day. I just googled to find out when the winter solistice is (December 21), so that I will know exactly how long I have to hang in there before the light starts making a comeback.

Plié.

Tonight I had my third ballet class. This fall I decided to push myself out of my comfort zone and sign up for an adult beginner ballet class. I had been vaguely considering the idea of taking ballet for a couple of years, but it seemed rather scary. Besides, it was too late. Who starts ballet as an adult anyway?

Last January, I almost signed up, but instead I registered for a semester-long live-model drawing studio. That seemed more manageable at the time, when I was in the depths of winter. Through it I was able to reconnect to visual art again and find healing in it. But the idea of taking ballet stuck with me, and I decided that this fall I would do it. I created a worst-case scenario idea in my head, and then once I had envisioned the absolute worst that could happen, I realized that it was nothing compared to what I've survived in the past. I had nothing to lose, so I bought my leotard, ballet shoes, tights and other ballet stuff and signed myself up. The receptionist asked if I would prefer to register after taking the trial class, and I said no. I didn't want to be able to back out.

5 Years.

Five years ago today I moved to Québec.

What my life is like now is nothing like what I thought it would be on that day I crossed the border and moved to Canada. I came here to be with the person I loved, and once I left my country, he became my home. It wasn't a conscious decision; it just happened in my heart when I displaced myself for him and we got married.

When that exploded and the ground beneath me finally stopped shaking, I realized that I would need to gently dust myself off and redefine "home" for myself. I had to figure out a path forward.

Sage.

A year ago yesterday, my life was suddenly blown apart with one incredibly brief sentence. Tomorrow is a year from the day my now-ex-husband walked out of our home to be with his girlfriend.

If you had asked me then to imagine what my life would look like now, I would have been completely incapable of it. At that point, I could not begin to imagine my life without my ex. My mind couldn't even process what had just happened, let alone my heart. In the beginning, each morning I woke up from a few hours of sleep to re-remember what had happened, after having forgotten while sleeping. Eventually I began to wake up remembering. It took time to accept that things weren't ever going to go back to how they were before, and I don't think I will ever fully understand what happened because it was all so dissonant to absolutely everything I had believed.

Résilience.

This morning I watched this video about a goat that made me cry. The concern and commitment of the caregivers was moving, but it was seeing the little goat's determination that left me with tears running off my face and dropping onto my sternum. The goat kept going, despite adversity, with an attitude that I interpret as thankfulness. And not happiness, but joy. I was taught from an early age that joy is different than happiness because it is independent of external circumstances.

The other day I saw that a library in my town had added the word "résilience," written in huge silver capital letters, all across one side of the building. It's much larger than a billboard, and I took it as a message of encouragement from the universe to keep going. It is a reminder that that we can bounce back from adversity, that the human spirit is strong.

Death and resurrection.

Where I grew up, Easter Sunday was important. There was usually a new Easter dress and sometimes there were hats, but there was always an abundance of pastel-clad people. And green plastic tinsel grass inside bright cheery-colored Easter baskets with chocolate, Paas-dyed eggs and jelly beans.

Until this year, I didn't really have much experience with death. And it turns out, resurrection feels pastel-colored only if you don't know what it's like to go through some sort of death.

My possessions are staging a rebellion.

So. My laptop broke on Monday night late, and I had to buy a new one on Tuesday because I have a freelance translation contract to finish for Friday. It was supposed to be delivered Wednesday, but it was not.

On Tuesday I came home and walked in the door and the lights wouldn't work. I thought it was the light bulb. I tried two and determined that it wasn't. Then I thought it might be the fuse. (The fuse box is a mystery to me because it is the old kind of fuses because the apartment is 100 years old.) After someone else checked for me (and I made notes of which fuses do what!), I know that all the fuses are fine.

The process of elimination revealed it is a problem with the contact in the lamp itself (for one of the non-working lamps) and a timer explained the other non-working lamp. The timer is now adjusted and that lamp works now.

Wednesday night I tried to go to meet someone to borrow a laptop to use until the new one arrives and to see if there was anything to be done for the broken one. I got in my car and turned on my windshield wipers. They started up then stopped in the middle of the windshield on the first swipe. So I couldn't drive anywhere because driving any significant distance without windshield wipers in winter in Québec is just not wise.

Detangling.

I've only been to an actual grocery store twice since S left. Even in normal times, going to the grocery store is not my favorite chore. I think most of my dislike has to do with the process of hauling all the groceries out of the store to the car and from the car up to the apartment. I particularly disliked it in my single days, but it became fun when S and I did it together because I was with my favorite person in the world. We would often stop for poutines for dinner just before so neither of us would get hangry.

But that day in mid-July I found myself at the Fruiterie 440 holding a package of mushrooms and trying not to cry.

Thankful.

I have an amazing group of friends, and I am thankful beyond words for them. Friends from long ago and from recent years; those that are here and those that are far away. Even friends I have not yet met in person, and the new friend I made as I got off the plane at Midway airport in Chicago last week.

I am thankful for them all.

Broken.

It's been 4 weeks and two days since my world fell apart.

But I am still here.

Surrounded by the devastation of broken dreams, I know I have no choice but to try to figure out how to get the hell back up.

They say the grief process is not linear, and now I can say I agree with that. There are just so many triggers. I never know when I'll encounter one, but I am trying to just let myself experience the pain as the waves hit.

And hit they do. While at work, walking down the street, climbing the steep stairway to my apartment, or hanging out at a BBQ. I am getting used to crying in all sorts of places. Thankfully I am surrounded by a supportive community.

They say the only way out is through. So I am trying to make my way through.

I find solace in the river and water. Usually I walk to the water on my lunch break because it helps somehow. I am thankful for working near the water, loving friends and family, Booboo, daisies, waterproof mascara, sunglasses and my favorite dresses.

The worst month of my life (thus far, and I surely hope, ever) is over. Here's to a less bad August.

Living Abroad (and Reflecting on Home)

I just read Chelsea Fagan's What Happens When You Live Abroad. Feeling inspired to write, I opened up a new post and quickly started to entitle it "Leaving Home." But then I stopped. What do I mean when I say "leaving home"? It surely isn't as simple as that for me. "Leaving One Physical Place for Another and Discovering Something New About Home" might be closer.

The other day my dad sent me a few emails with charts of our genealogical history going WAY back. Back to the "Old World." When I looked at the branches going back over several hundred years, it's clear that our roots are mostly in the general region of my home of origin. Basically my ancestors established themselves in one state and made their way to the neighboring state and stayed there. This is the state where I grew up, as did my parents and grandparents and others before them. Our family history is definitively there. But when I go back far enough, there is that one very distant ancestor who was born in England then died in the "New World." He is the one that changed the path of our family tree by leaving everything that was familiar to make a life in a new place.

And here I am, an immigrant in another country, with the realization that I have made a similar jump that impacts our family history. I feel a little like I betrayed my roots and The Sense of Place of my family.

Patching things up.

Over the last few years I have been focusing on being more eco-responsible and really incorporating the reduce-reuse-recycle thing into my daily life. When we moved to this apartment almost two years ago, we tried to look for things we needed at second hand shops first, and that preference has continued, though we don't really need much these days.

I've started re-purposing old things we have to meet new needs. It's been a fun challenge. Learning to sew has opened up so many more possibilities of modifying my clothes or making stuff out of repurposed t-shirts. When I patch up a hole in my favorite shirt or in my most comfy jeans, I get a thrill from the pioneer feeling of it all. I love feeling resourceful and making stuff last longer.

There are more green changes I'd like to make in the coming months. One goal is trying to find somewhere to buy eggs without packaging. I've heard the market in town sometimes has eggs, so I am going to give that a try in the coming weeks. I'm also working on improvising patterns to make some fun clothes I'll wear out of my large collection of unworn, old t-shirts. And I am really looking forward to growing some some herbs and veggies on our back porch again this year...only this year I'll elevate the containers of edible things so the local outdoor neighbors' cats can't get in them.

Anybody else have any eco-friendly goals to implement this summer?

A new chapter.

Photo credit: S

I finally finished the project I have been working on since moving to Canada. Though it took longer than expected, it is completed and I am pleased with how it came out.

I feel as if I have walked up to some French doors with a beachfront view, flung them open, and stepped onto a weathered wooden deck. I pause in the sun with my barefoot feet warmed by the planks. Closing my eyes to the brilliant sparkle of the sun, I deeply inhale the salty fresh air. The sea whispers truth about life and time and meaning, while seagulls in the distance squawk the pleasure of spring and new beginnings.

Edit: I accidentally unpublished this and am guessing the exact date of the original posting.

Making a "toutou" (Part 2)

After elephant version 1.0, I made some changes to the pattern and started working with the actual fabric. Because the fabric I had chosen was slippery and thin, I ironed batting on the back of all the pieces, thinking it might make it easier to work with.

Then I trimmed the edges, pinned the "right" sides together, and sewed. S made marks for me of where to sew for the leg sections, since they had to be precisely sewn for the sections to all meet up.

I trimmed the edges, turned the fabric right-side out, and stuffed. Finally, I sewed on the ears and eyes. Here's elephant version 2.0.

And judging from the speed at which the adorable birthday girl grabbed onto the elephant's trunk, she seemed to like it. Fun!

Making a "toutou" (Part 1)

I recently decided out of the blue that I wanted to learn how to make little fabric stuffed animals to give as gifts. So this past week I did some research and planning, and then bought the necessary materials. On Friday, I made my first one: an elephant for a friend's daughter's 1st birthday. Instead of using a pattern, I decided to make my own since I figured it couldn't be that hard. After researching some images of elephants, I began doing some rough sketches and decided to base the pattern on the above drawing.

I was originally just going to wing it with the fabric I bought. I think I must prefer having a bit of a sense of risk when attempting creative projects: When having people over for dinner, I regularly try out new recipes, and I often improvise with various craft projects. But for once, I decided to do a practice version.

I got some pieces of old t-shirt from my "to re-purpose" collection, and cut out my pattern and pinned the "right" sides together.

Then I sewed around the elephant and two ears, leaving an un-sewn space in the elephant's tummy. I trimmed the edges and turned it right-side out.

Then I stuffed and stuffed and stuffed. And noticed the trunk was as long as the legs....and that I forgot to make a tail...oops. As I stuffed, the elephant shape altered as it became three dimensional.

Looking at the stuffed elephant, I realized my pattern needed some adjustments to make it look less....horse-shaped. I also decided that the two-legs design looked funny on a 3-D stuffed elephant. S explained how to alter the pattern to make four legs, and made the new pattern pieces for me. So I made some changes and started elephant version 2.0 with the actual fabric...and hoped this one would come out more elephant-like. (To be continued...)

Francisation.

 

In January, I started a 10 week Francisation course that lasted through mid-April. My schedule was 25 hours a week of grammar, writing, vocabulary, oral conversation, cultural topics, and integrative activities. Though I had formally studied French for 7 and a half years before this (high school, university, and a semester in France), I wanted to use the long wait for permanent residency to improve my French to be better prepared to enter the work market and to integrate more into society. I also hoped to add some structure to my days and meet some new people.

This was all accomplished, but the classes were not the French "boot camp" I had wanted for myself. (Though walking 25 minutes to school in a blizzard on Valentine's Day did feel rather like some sort of arctic boot camp. Especially when I got there and was told that school had been cancelled, which meant I had to turn around and walk back home.) Taking the course was a positive experience, and it was good for me to have a reason to get out of the house during those very cold months when my preference would have been to stay in and hibernate. Through my classes, I met a lot of nice people and my French noticeably improved, especially my oral comprehension and ease of speaking. My class had a range of experience levels in it, so the course did not move as fast as I would have preferred (which was frustrating), but I still learned new things and I tried to challenge myself as much as possible with my writing. And I was in an overall more positive mood during those months.

Our class started with about 16 people and ended with 12, since some people started working or simply stopped coming as the session progressed. Almost every person was from a different country; only two countries had two people from each: Japan and Cambodia. I shared a row with a woman from Afghanistan and one from China. Seated behind me to my left were a guy from Cambodia, a guy from English-speaking Canada (the only other native English-speaker in the class), and the two women from Japan. It was interesting to spend time with so many people from different countries and backgrounds.

At the end of the session, we had a week of final exams. I did quite well on them, but I still want to improve my French. I talked with my teacher about whether I should take more classes at the school or study on my own, and we decided it was best for me to keep working on my own to improve, since that gives me the freedom to set my own pace. I have a lot of transcribing to do in French which takes a lot of time (and is quite challenging, so a big plus for my French skills). My French teacher also suggested I take a class at a local university in something that interests me. S keeps reminding me that reading enjoyable, well-written books will really help my vocabulary, so I should probably make French reading a big priority in the coming weeks and months. I already have a couple of books lined up to read, so I guess the bulk of my summer reading should be in French?