Photos!
Trevor has been busy downloading and optimizing our Lake District holiday piccies all day. He will be building an all-encompassing gallery of the 200 photos we snapped during our stay. But, for now, here are 20 pics that I threw together in hopes of providing a wee taste of our travels.
30 May 2002, 22:05
faceless
People told me that for the first little while, I would see him everywhere -- getting off the streetcar, walking down the street, disappearing into a crowd.
But it hasn't been like that at all. Maybe it's because I know that he would never be walking down the streets of Toronto, that he would never be emerging from a subway or streetcar. Maybe it's because I watched him die, and I know that there is no possibility of him coming back. Perhaps that's where my situation differs.
I don't see him on every street corner or on everyone's face. Instead, I only see things that make me think of him. The old man whistling on the train into Manchester. Trees. Buckets of walking sticks. Boats. Campfires. Hotdogs and cashews. Commercials for Old Spice and Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum. Flannel shirts. Saturday mornings.
29 May 2002, 21:05
showdown at the wrynose pass
I haven't had much time to blog about (or put up the piccies from) our adventures in Cumbria, but here's a story to tide you over.
As I mentioned prior, it was rather wet in the Lake District during our holiday. So, on the few nice days we hiked up "mountains", and on the many wet days we checked out some lovely little towns.
On all of our trips abroad, Trevor does the driving and I do the navigating. We both like it that way. But as North Americans accustomed to wide, open roads, we must always acclimatize ourselves to the narrow, twisty, and sometimes downright scary roads of the English countryside and mountainside. So, after Trevor had a day of driving warm-up, I decided to take us down an "unclassified" (not to mention 2000 year-old) road through the Cumbrian Mountains.
Note: the sign that I read indicated simply that the road was not suitable for light trucks or coaches and that it may be dangerous in winter.
Enter the Wrynose Pass. I am convinced now that the road is not actually a road at all, but someone's practical joke gone horribly wrong. 20%, 25%, and 30% grades. One lane only, with lay-bys no more than little gouges dug out of the mountainside. Hairpin curves -- sometimes whilst plunging down declines that I wouldn't even walk down.
Enter the Minis. Apparently, we decided to tackle the Wrynose Pass as some kind of Mini car rally was being held. Every few minutes we would need to pull off to the side to let a gaggle of striped, flagged, and bright-coloured Minis fly past.
Enter the rain. On one particularly steep mountainside, we pulled over to let another group of Minis through; however, the pavement was wet, and this time we couldn't get a proper grip. So, the car started sliding back, closer and closer to the side of a 1300 foot cliff. I got out of the car to help navigate and watched in utter terror as the car wheel got to about half a foot from the cliff's edge. Minis were backed up coming down the hill. Various other vehicles were backed up behind our car. It must have been a sight.
Finally, one frustrated driver emerged from his miniature vehicle and helped us out of our predicament. And, traumatized, and terror-stricken, we continued on to the Hardknott Pass which was (unbelieveably) worse. Apparently, Hardknott is the steepest climb in the country. Then it was a 1.5 hour drive back to the Inn -- this time around the mountains instead of through them.
And, of course, we went on to drive a few other scary Cumbrian backroads -- but even those single-laned, stone-walled, steep-graded, sharp-turning "unclassified" roads (the Kirkstone Pass, Honister Pass, and Whinlatter Pass) paled in comparison to the Wrynose and Hardknott Passes.
28 May 2002, 20:05
home
After a long, but relatively turbulence-free flight, we arrived back home yesterday afternoon. I would have liked to have blogged each day's travels and events, but the absence of an Internet café made blogging a bit impossible. Yes, we could have driven to a café somewhere, but being without a computer for a week was surprisingly refreshing and welcome.
It rained every day in the Lake District, but that didn't stop us from enjoying the stunning beauty and remarkable feeling of the area. On brighter days we climbed 650-foot hills (Easedale Tarn) and 1000-foot hills (Helm Crag, Alcock Tarn) and hiked through pastures and dales teeming with life. Right now it is lambing season and every hiking path winds its way through sheep-filled enclosures. On rainy days we drove all over the countryside -- as far south as Blackpool and as far north as Gretna Green and Hadrian's Wall -- down narrow, winding, plunging, roads not fit for man or beast, as well as beautiful and open country roads. We visited bustling, crowded villages and tiny cottage towns seemingly closed off from the rest of the world.
We ate too much, took a lot of pictures (gallery to come), and laughed a lot. There were tears, too, of course, but they were welcome. Dad was with me the whole time.
26 May 2002, 10:05
bye
See you soon! I'll be back in a week!
17 May 2002, 14:05
right between the eyes
It's just hitting me tonight: we leave tomorrow. Whether it's raining buckets or my nose is sniffly, we're getting on a plane and heading across the ocean. I can't believe it.
The bed is full of clothes, coats, and shoes. There's no way it's all getting into the suitcase. I don't know what to bring. Will it be cold or warm? Wet or really wet? Do I have enough hiking grubbies? What if we go somewhere posh? My three pairs of shoes (can't call me Imelda) will have to do.
Oh well. It doesn't matter. And you know what? I really don't care about the Leafs games this coming week, I don't care who wins Survivor this Sunday, and I don't care who wins the $34 million Super 7 on Friday (ok, yes, I do care; for the first time I'm in the office pool and I bought tickets at the convenience store). What I do care about is that I'm getting away, and I am going to have a wonderful, inspiring, and hopefully kick-ass time.
16 May 2002, 23:05
blood trail
On the walk to work this morning, a short distance from our apartment, we noticed the first drop on the sidewalk, round and reddish-brown. And for the entire walk they continued in a weaving trail along the cement slabs -- right to the front steps of my building: equidistant, dollar-sized and dried blotches of blood.
Sitting here at my desk, alone but for the hum of the overhead lights and the glow of my PC, I am pre-occupied with thoughts of the mysterious haemorrhaging person. How many people can say that they travelled to work this morning following a trail of blood?
16 May 2002, 08:05
mind over body
It never fails: a week or a few days before we are about to go on a trip, I start to get a cold. If there is an event that I just can't be sick for, inevitably my throat will start to scratch up, and my nose will start to dribble. And for the past few days I've felt it hovering in my head and lungs, teasing me. I keep telling myself that it's stress or the weather or the excitement. I keep telling myself that I will not get sick. Because I can't get sick. We are leaving in two days and, to me, this trip is one of the most important journeys of my life. I have to be well. I will be well.
15 May 2002, 21:05
sun worship
In his email he writes about the view of Fiji's Yasawa Islands from a small seaplane: the deep greens and blues in stunning contrast. And he describes stepping into a sea the temperature of bathwater.
In her email she recounts her arrival in Marbella in the Costa del Sol, after having soaked in the beauty of Granada and Cabo de Gata. Cerulean sky, the warmth of the sand, and the hot breath of the Mediterranean Sea in the wind.
Here in Toronto, it's almost cold enough to snow, and for the past week, unrelenting wind has been whipping ice-cold rain across a grey sky, pummelling even the thought of summer.
14 May 2002, 20:05
late lunch
I'm just back at my desk with a few minutes remaining in my lunch-hour. For the first two thirds I read Tuesdays with Morrie, and for the remainder I spent some time writing in a journal that a very kind friend gave to me a few weeks after my Dad died. I have been walking around feeling rather insular today, feeling detached from everything. I still feel like that, but over lunch a bit of peace managed to descend onto my island. I almost wanted to tell someone about it.
13 May 2002, 15:05
thanks, mom
The Gift of Voice
You have given me the gift of words:
the songs and sayings will always have
some timbre of your voice,
will be infused with the history and memory
of you and your mother before you.
You gave me the gift of language:
words that have sunk into my blood
and swim through me every day
reminding me who I was, who I am,
who I will become.
You gave me the gift of expression,
of making words account
for the emotions and passions
that pump through me, sleeping and awake.
You gave me the gift of my first letters,
by putting pen to paper and helping to coax
the words out one by one,
until they came on their own.
You taught me how to be uninhibited,
if only for short periods of time.
Taught me tolerance and charity,
forgiveness, passion, and song.
You gave me the beautiful gift of voice
and I love you every day for it.
(a little sentimental verse from the archives)
12 May 2002, 19:05
a thumbs-up for the ontario court system
As Judge Robert MacKinnon put it: "Marc Hall is a Roman Catholic Canadian trying to be himself. He is gay. It's not an answer to Section 15 Charter rights on these facts to deny permission to attend a school function to celebrate the end of his high school career with his classmates."
10 May 2002, 14:05
i want marc to go to the prom
I don't often follow court cases. But there is a ruling coming down tomorrow from the Ontario Superior Court, and I am waiting on the edge of my seat with chewed-down fingernails and held breath.
Marc Hall, a seventeen-year-old student at Monsignor John Peremya Catholic High School, wants to take his date to the prom. So what's the big deal? Marc's prom date happens to be of the same sex, and while the Roman Catholic School Board claims that they teach acceptance of homosexuals, when push comes to shove, I guess that they simply can't bear the thought of two girls holding hands by the punch bowl or two guys tearing up the dancefloor.
Well, let me back up here. According to this article, the school board informed Marc that he could simply ask a female friend to bring his date as her date so that Marc and his intended date could meet up at the prom. Oh, whatever.
So, Marc, bless him, has taken the school board to court. Tomorrow the courts shall decide if Marc's freedom to be himself wins out over the (state-funded) school board's and their claim to freedom of religion. And tomorrow I hope that Marc and his date enjoy a fab night at the prom (well, as much as one can enjoy a prom).
09 May 2002, 22:05
"The country the world forgot - again"
This morning I was the recipient of one of those forwarded forwarded forwarded emails. And after I managed to scroll down far enough through the ">>"s there was actually an interesting article waiting for me. On April 21, Kevin Myers of U.K.'s The Daily Telegraph wrote a story about the "wall-flower" country in which I live, and its quiet contributions to a world that barely knows it exists. Have a read.
07 May 2002, 08:05
lighting up the night
I didn't sleep well last night (and for once it can't be blamed on waking up at 3:15 or dreaming about phone calls from Dad). Lately, it's the actual going to sleep that's the problem. All it used to take was a few St. John's Wort tablets and a beer or two, and I'd be ready to dive headfirst into R.E.M. Lately, I feel sleepy enough to go to bed, but once the lights are off, thoughts flash inside my head, keeping me awake. I guess that saint that shares my name isn't doing such a great job. Maybe she's pissed that the Catholic church yanked her name off the saint roster in 1969 -- the year I was born.
So, today we decided to relax and take it easy, spending the afternoon with three movies: A.I., Rockstar, and Don't Say a Word. Guess which one was the best.
05 May 2002, 21:05
trip gear
Had a lovely time this afternoon visiting MEC and other "outdoor adventure" shops in search of gear for our upcoming trip. Trevor found some shirts and new hiking shoes, and I found a great water- and wind-proof jacket. I love checking out camping, canoeing, biking, and hiking gear amidst people who are serious about their outdoor sports. I love being surrounded by environmentally-aware, outdoor-sy people. And I so enjoy the absence of pressed shirts, nail polish, and ridiculous shoes.
04 May 2002, 20:05
Saturdays
So many Saturday things remind me of Dad: Omelettes for breakfast. Barbequed hot dogs. Car washes. 70s radio hits. Sunshine.
04 May 2002, 20:05
where the hell is everyone? (rant alert)
It's been bugging me for weeks now, and I've debated with myself over whether or not to vent about it, but the time has come to blog.
My Mom is now a widow. She now lives alone in the house where my parents raised my brother and me. Both of her parents and her Aunt are dead. She has been through a difficult year, caring for and recently losing the man she has loved since she was 16. And she's only 53.
My Mom doesn't talk very much about how she feels; she's shy, and would never impose on anyone to let out some of the sorrow she must be feeling. She's very strong, but I worry about her. And I don't live close enough to check in with her as often as I would like.
So here's my rant: it seems to me that at the most difficult part of her life, my Mom has been left on her own to fend for herself. Of course, she will need to do this over the coming months, but now is not the time for her remaining family to stand idly in the background, quietly hoping that she is ok. I know that they care, but I don't understand why they seem reluctant to get involved. What could possibly be the reason for the silence/absence? Am I missing something?
All that I can say is that if you know that somebody has lost someone, the worst thing you can do is ignore the fact that something terrible has happened. The worst thing you can do is be silent. Call them. Ask them how they are (really) doing. Because they probably would appreciate the opportunity to tell someone who's willing to listen.
~ end rant ~
03 May 2002, 21:05
here are the reasons
I do it because I can.
I do it because I'm a healthy young woman with lots to offer. I do it because others can't. Or don't.
I do it because the lives of others are sometimes dependent upon it. I do it for accident, burn, and cancer victims.
I do it because I want to be a good person, and it gives me peace to know that I can do something good for other people.
I do it because my Dad couldn't do it anymore and wished that he could. I do it because he may have needed it.
I do it because I want to.
02 May 2002, 21:05
publication
Just wanted to share the love. Two of my poems were published today in the Banshee Studios quarterly -- here and here. Yippee!
01 May 2002, 18:05