a gift

This morning I had the "graveyard shift" at the hospital -- the 2:00 AM - 6:00 AM watch over Dad. I spent the early morning hours crochetting in a big comfy chair that looks through the doorway into Dad's room. Time passed by without event. I just busied myself with yarn, listening to his breathing and the CDs playing in his room. Whenever I heard him cough or call out in a dream, I would ask if he was alright; sometimes he was lucid, but most times (as is now more and more the case) he was not. At 5:30 he got up to use the bathroom and I helped him back to bed. About 15 minutes later I heard him get up again, and I met him just inside the doorway. I asked him what was wrong, and he said, "Nothing. I just wanted to tell you that I love you". Then he gave me a big hug and kiss and told me that it was time for him to get back into bed.

I will never forget that moment.

26 March 2002, 20:03

home for a rest

It's a beautiful sunny day here. I've slept for nine hours and I am drowsily staring at a huge mug of tea and the computer monitor. The T.V. is on in the other room -- Trevor's flipping between a cricket match, BBC World, and the Gameshow Network. Streetcars are rattling over the bridge outside; people are going to work, delivering mail, moving into new apartments -- going about their daily lives.

That is something that I needed to do for a day: come home and do some normal, everyday stuff. For the past week I am either at the hospital, ferrying people to the hospital, going out for food to bring back to the hospital, or letting the dog out because everyone is at the hospital. I haven't watched T.V., read a newspaper, flicked on a radio, or checked news online.

Instead, I have been spending a lot of time in Dad's room (or the ensuite living room) with my family -- immediate and extended. Whether Dad is asleep or awake, he is with us. There are stories from Dad's siblings about what he got up to as a child -- and beyond childhood. Friends and neighbours drop by with well wishes and stories from work or about the town. There are visits from aunts, uncles, and cousins who make us all laugh. Sometimes we all just sit in silence, memories filling up every millimetre of brain space.

And sometimes we almost allow the stories and laughter to make us forget why we are even there.

25 March 2002, 09:03

i'm ok

These days I am spending my time at the palliative care unit of the hospital, and I haven't had much time (or energy) to blog. There is so much I want to say but all of it is incredibly private, swimming so quietly and close to my heart that I dare not disturb the surface right now. But I am ok, and I plan to continue on being ok. If my Dad has taught me anything, it is to be strong, but also to never be afraid to show emotion -- whether that be sadness or spine. There's been a lot of both around here lately. Right now, I'm shooting for "ok".

21 March 2002, 23:03

walking the dog

Everywhere I went walking Benny, people said hello. Strangers smiled or stopped me so that they could pet the little hyperactive, too-clever-for-his-own-good puppy and talk to me about their dogs and the other Jack Russell Terriers they know. A biker's black Lab got away from his leash and ran across the road so that he could play with Benny, and we tried for 15 minutes to catch Scout while the biker's breakfast burned on the stove inside. And on Union Street, when Benny was chasing a little white fluffball named Maggie up and down the white chainlink fence, her owner appeared in curlers on the porch of the old stone cottage and invited me in for tea just because our dogs got along

Having lived in cities for eleven years, I keep forgetting what it is like to be in a small town. People smile at you as you walk by. They ask you how you are and are interested in the answer. And when they know that you have returned home due to the illness of your father, their kind and sincere words can be like blankets against the cold.

17 March 2002, 18:03

thank you

Thanks to those of you who have written with your kind words and concerns -- I am sorry that I haven't had time to respond. I'm back now from a visit back home with my family. Time continues to move onward; therefore, so must this blog.

16 March 2002, 23:03

mine

Nothing can prepare you to hear those words that, once delivered, hang suspended in the silence like they belong to someone else. But once uttered, they belong irretractably to you, and you cannot deny them. They become yours. Painfully and unbelieveably yours.

11 March 2002, 20:03

for tom

Tom McGuirk was a larger-than-life, gentle, and kind-hearted man. He was his own person, and was never ashamed of his thoughts or feelings. His laughter let you know exactly how happy he was, and in those rare silent moments, you knew that he was either harbouring some hurt (or catching a few winks). His presence filled up a room -- as did his love for Trevor's Mom. He told many stories (often many times over) and one of his stories found its way into a poem I wrote a year and a half ago -- one that I read at his memorial service last spring. It has been almost a year since he passed away, and I just realized that the U.S. literary journal The Morpo Review has published my poem for Tom in this month's issue. My own little memorial for a great man.

10 March 2002, 18:03

this is not [really] here

After our late morning/afternoon photo appreciation of downtown Toronto, we ended up at the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) and found ourselves buying a ticket for the YES Yoko Ono exhibit.

It wasn't quite what I had expected.

Of course the War is Over campaign and Bed In was represented, but there were a lot of other pieces that surprised me -- sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way. I enjoyed the This is not here room with YO's handwritten phrases on the wall. The Instructions for Paintings from 1962 was an interesting and surprisingly refreshing approach to art creation. I liked how the Sky Machine offers cardboard pieces of sky -- vending machine style -- and Morning Pieces where future mornings could be bought and viewed with small pieces of labelled glass. And of course, the famous all-white chess set that urges viewers/participants to simply Play It With Trust.

The rest was a little beyond me, and the tremendous amount of reading caused my interest to wane. The Bottoms film seemed to be just a bunch of naked arses walking away, and the 20-minute recording of YO hacking up a lung didn't work for me either. And although it drew the largest crowd, I missed the point of the film that featured a fly landing on hairy nipple as a sub-human voice gurgled and hissed. Strange indeed.

I'm pleased that we made the effort to see the exhibit, but 1960s art doesn't appeal to me quite like those Elizabethans and Romantics.

09 March 2002, 20:03

Windows

The photo version.

The text version:
I love windows. Simple, unadorned windows. Ornate, exquisitely-glassed and sculpted windows. And Toronto is full of them. This morning, Trevor and I walked around areas that showcase some of Toronto's downtown architectural treasures, camera in hand. When we took a look at our day's work, I realized that most of my snaps were of windows. King Street has some of the prettiest windows -- especially those glitteringon the top of the red brick building near Church Street. And then on Colborne Street (nestled between King and Wellington) gorgeous stories of windows rise up above the street. Turn around and a trio of thickly-paned beauties grace the grimy back alley. Toronto Street offers the view of O'Brien's pub behind the Tom Jones building, and across the street is the magnificent double-towered King Edward Hotel, stretching up into the sky. Further along, a shop window on Adelaide reflects windows across the street, and a building offers a bit of old beneath a bit of older. The last picture we took was of an abandoned, half-constructed concrete building on Temperance Street. About four or five stories up, one of the grey windows betrays an orange mass that looks like a pool of grotesque faces. It was creepy end to my window-watching.

09 March 2002, 19:03

donate blood or visit the uk -- make a choice

When I was donating blood today, the nurse asked the usual questions (i.e. "Have you ever paid for drugs by having sex with a man who has ever had sex with another man who may have bumped into an intravenous drug user at the checkout since 1977?") and she reached the (much less sexual) question that always irks me: How much time have you spent in the UK and/or Western Europe since 1980?

Because Variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease (vCJD -- human form of "mad cow disease") is contracted as a result of "the consumption of beef products contaminated by central nervous system tissue" and "represents a theoretical risk of being transmissible through blood", the UK and Western Europe are now on the "danger" list for Canadian blood donors -- right up there with the Malaria-ridden countries. This means that we are allowed to spend up to 3 months in the UK (and I'm already halfway there, tsk tsk) before being placed on the donor blacklist. End of story. It doesn't matter to them that I am a vegetarian and have never consumed British beef; once my visits to the UK total 3 months, Canadian Blood Services want no part of my nice, free-flowing, healthy, life-saving, red stuff. They wash their hands of me. Out damned spot, indeed.

So, it looks like I have six weeks left in my lifetime to visit the UK -- a country that I love -- or I will have to stop donating blood. Either that, or I continue to visit the UK on the sly -- perhaps under an assumed name, confessing my travels to no one. Permanently in hiding from the blood police.

07 March 2002, 21:03

more photos

Want to see more photos of the happening QQ neighbourhood? Trevor went wild with the new camera today and whipped up a classy little Harbourfront photo gallery.

07 March 2002, 17:03

NEIMAN MARCUS COOKIE RECIPE: Getting back at the Crooked Cookie Co.

For Caitriona

07 March 2002, 16:03

One week. Two Spirit of the West moments

Within a week I have new-found appreciation for two of SOTW's songs: First, over IM with Jim in Venice who saw the real "little man":

"We made love upon a bed
That sagged down to the floor
in a room that had a postcard on the door
Of Marini's little man, with an erection on a horse
It always leaves me laughing, leaves me feeling that of course
if Venice is sinking I'm going under"

and, the realization from watching an episode of Frasier that the "M" word was actually an artist:

"In the shadows of Modigliani
The German punkers lie
Each with a dog with a bit of string
And filling half the sky
The Koln Cathedral offers calm
And quiet expectations
Then Elvis lit a candle on My day of revelations"

06 March 2002, 23:03

a walk around my neighbourhood

I felt inspired by Blogging a Dead Horse's photo-trip around his neighbourhood, so I thought that snap a few piccies around my neck of the woods. I live on Queens Quay; it may look like a typical city street (with atypical streetcars), but a few metres to the right is Lake Ontario where many boats are moored for the winter. The two 21-floor "towers" of our apartment building are separated by a water courtyard: a basin of water that flows under the road from the lake. It's always filled with various waterfowl who live here year-round on bread scraps and scary bits of plant and fish matter glowing at the bottom of the basin. On my short walk to work along the lake, I pass by the outdoor skating rink and the other tall ship, Empire Sandy, which is docked for the winter months. And yes, in case you are wondering, it is quite grey and chilly these days.

05 March 2002, 22:03

show tonight

We're off to see South open for Elbow tonight at good old Lee's Palace. As with most bands we've seen playing there, I'm expecting it to be an incredible show.

04 March 2002, 08:03

waiting (dad update)

So, his blood tests and x-rays are finished. He had the MRI scan at 1:00 AM on Thursday, and the hour-long bone scan on Friday. His system has been exposed to so much radiation these past few months, he should glow. Just a week or so and the mystery will be solved.

03 March 2002, 20:03

and it's not the rubber plant

It smells briefly of latex -- slightly chemical and dry. And although I can sometimes smell it in the mornings, for the past week or so it has consistently appeared in the evenings when we are sitting on the couch watching TV. (And of course my throat and nose are dry and scratchy -- obviously psychosomatic symptoms). We've moved furniture, checked under tables, and investigated various items plugged into the power bar, noses sniffing for a source to the peculiar smell. However we just can't seem to locate what may be emitting the ethereal odour. Perhaps our neighbours in the apartment next door are experimenting with smoking rubber? Or this?

03 March 2002, 19:03

the saskatchewan disease

Although "depopulation" (here, not here) is a growing concern in developed nations, according to the article I read this morning, Saskatchewan is Canada's best example. People are high-tailing it out of the rural communities in the province -- which, btw, contains 46% of Canada's arable land -- and heading for the greener pastures of... well... anywhere else. Stores, chuches, and schools are closing up and the villages are dustbowling into ghost towns. Apparently, it's called the "Saskatchewan Disease".

02 March 2002, 22:03

clickety-click, watch out for digital camera pics

Oh goodie! I'm so excited. Today we finally made the purchase. Why is it taking so long for the battery to charge?

02 March 2002, 17:03

evening blogging

Please note the complete absence of daytime blogging. After Dooce's dismissal and the discussions that surfaced in its wake, for the past few days I dared not let a bloggable topic even cross my mind, lest I be tempted to load up my MT screen and let the posting time serve as evidence that I may be blogging from work (even though I do blog on my own time). Unfortunately, some great thoughts did attempt to permeate my anti-blogging mind-wall, but I held the fortress strong, telling myself that if something was worthy of blogging, it would be just as interesting in the evening. Sadly, by the time I would be seated in front of my PC, all potential topics had eluded me completely.

One thing I did want to blog this morning is that today I wore a pair of jeans to work that I haven't been able to wear since university (back in '93). That made for a particularly good Friday.

01 March 2002, 22:03