Dragonfruit

Starfruit

Ugli

Sweetie

Pommello

Breadfruit

Cherimoya

Durian

Jackfruit

Guava

Loganberry

Persimmon

Quince

Satsuma

Tamarillo

Strawberry!

Have not written here for awhile. I have been too tied up with little things, and have not had time to enjoy the bigger picture. It’s been quiet. It’s been a Monty Python sketch. It’s been tragic, stressful, peaceful, full of anguish and quiescence. I know I tend to write more in the summer, and about summer, than I do in the fall or winter, or even spring. I am going to try to remedy this, but right now it is June, and so summer has crept up on me again, and June is half over before I was finished thinking through May. I couldn’t wait for better weather, wanting to play Go and bike ride with Devon. We found a fun little snaking muddy trail, but we didn’t have as much time to explore it as we wanted, so it will probably be a project for another day.

Nova is a sweet-faced dog, but badly trained. I find it ironic that she is called Nova, as she is one of the meekest dogs I have ever known, and she thinks she is a lapdog, even though she is a big border-collie-blue-heeler cross. She has a long nose and short fur, tho she has the colourings of a collie.

I loved the way the apple tree burst into frothy white flowers a month or so ago. Bees were humming everywhere, and there were lacy white apple trees all up and down the street, as well as lacy white cherries. I can see where the flowers will turn into apples-maybe I will make a pie again, like I did late last summer. It rained on the weekend, big fat wet splashy rain, the best kind of soaker. I wandered the streets and splashed in the puddles like a big happy kid,under the night’s quiet summer chill.

There has been a parade of flowers: Tulips like fire; fruit trees in showy summer dresses; wine-dark purple irises; delicate chives; fragrant lilacs. The summer has started beautifully. There was some heavy wind in May, but the weather seems to have calmed down. (Watch, because I said this, it will be stormy and bitter tomorrow.)

They have turned the fountains on in City Hall, and at the Legislature. Saturday there was a colourful gay pride parade in the square, and the Saturday before that there was City Chase, and then Zumba. Everyone was so good-natured.

Maybe Edmonton is relaxing a little, or maybe, I have changed enough and healed enough that I can appreciate it a little better now.  I intend to do as much as possible this summer, and see as much as I can, and get out more often than not. Devon is wonderful company, and we are trying to plan some little summer adventures and roadtrips, mini breaks and weekends away.

Convoy into the darkness, we look like lost stars searching for a home. The city is a field of fallen space debris, comets mixed with twinkling, jewels, hiding all the tiny messy cogs that make it tick.We go over the hill and the world is swallowed in musical velvet black.

Lost friends and too much water, I’m insisting on exhaustion and a little anarchy, and no I’m not resigned to this.

Where do I throw the bottle once I’ve tucked the message in?

Things I miss from Victoria:

1. Better sushi.

2. Fresher fruits and veg.

3. The sea, the sand, the ships, the beaches, the ocean, the mountain views…

4. The hills for walking and biking. Biking on flat ground is bloody boring.

5. The friends I made there.

6. The flowers everywhere. Profusions and profusions of.

7. People actually talk to you in pleasant fashion.

8. Close to everywhere. What a novel concept.

9. The Tim Horton’s we frequented. They had great staff and fab ice cream too, if we ever got bored of coffee. The Fifth Street Bistro. Quadra Village. Great area.

10. Rain in the winter instead of snow. It snowed for 1/2 a second and everyone rushed to the windows going “REALLY??!!??!? WHERE???????”

11. Lovely warm moist air. My hair got shiny and grew like a weed.

12. There was always, always somewhere to go for an interesting wander or scenic drive.

13. Noodlebox.

…

and what I don’t miss so much:

1. If I want to go somewhere I can just go, I am not stuck on an island.

2. Edmonton has very distinct seasons.

3. It’s easy to get lost in Edmonton.

4. The Edmonton Fringe is better than the one in Victoria…even tho it’s actually not as great as it could be. There’s no ska fest here, but there is Shakespeare in the Park.

5. I can skate on REAL, actual ice here instead of a Teflon cutting board.

Making a million bracelets; there are beads scattered all over the desk. Delve in once and come up with Carnelian from India, miniature turquoise globe, smoky-ice planet glass orb, pink sparkling star, purple plastic pony bead, wooden toggle. My desk looks like one of those “I Spy” books: in THIS picture, see if you can find

1. a spinning green top

2. a bone from an ancient rite

3. a piece of the new moon

4. a lost tabby cat with yellow eyes.

…If you can spot them all in less than 30 seconds, give yourself an extra point.

Clear day, not too cold, and they’ve finally ploughed the streets. Huge chunks of compressed snow and ice windrow up and down both sides, broken dirty igloo pieces. One lonely silver car hides behind this makeshift snow fort til spring. (You can see one of its wing mirrors sticking up feebly, like its saying “notice meeeee, I’m still heerrreeee…”)

It’s already February, and soon it will be spring. On Vancouver Island, I can imagine the  sakura is already starting to bloom in pink profusion. Froths of petals on the streets, their snow, though they don’t need bobcats and giant snow ploughs to move it.

We have had so much snow! We missed it when we were on the island, living in an early spring, warm breezes, little pocket of endless summer, and now the snow is up to my chest on either side as I stroll on the sidewalk.

I missed it. I’m taking photos of it as if it were some celebrity I’d heard of over and over, but only seen from a distance. Now I’m in the thick of it, and my eyes are full of stars at the prospect.

Happy New Year! We saw the fireworks, we clinked in the new year with vin rosy, we saw an eclipse of the moon. We wandered at night when the moon was a luminous ball of silver, so bright we didn’t need extra lights.

Devon and I saw Ice on Whyte, with Aaron, Christine and their friend. The weather was just great for it-not bitter and chilly, not disappointingly melted. We went at night when they’d turned all the illuminations on. Something about living in the northern hemisphere, we love our lights in winter.

The festival is more spread out this year, but simplified too. They had big snow sculptures arrayed in lights as well as ice like the clearest glass. Their ice slide was carved like a dragon, with the slide being its tongue, lit underneath in glowing volcano red.

One teenager picked up a hunk of ice flung from a carver’s chisel. He showed it to his friend who took it for himself-they wandered away with the first teenager complaining about the theft of the precious ice.

Devon posed in the ice maze for me, and we all trooped back to Aaron and Christine’s with chilly feet and “ICEONWHYTE” stamped onto the backs of our hands. We had a great supper-salad, sausage, and played “Betrayl at House on the Hill.” which is a cool board game where you make your own path. Sort of choose your own adventure plus wink murder plus clue. Fun!

Great day all around.

It’s been snowing a lot here. Right now they’re big fat fluffy snowglobe flakes, so pretty falling down and glittering under the streetlights. It looks fake on the ground though. I could just sweep it away like so much light chaff in the cool wind.

Bought a glass ornament. A big round clear ball with a slightly iridescent rainbow sheen and all these fillaments within that catch the light. Dunno why, just fancied it. I don’t have a lot of globe-shaped ornaments.Well, it’s a pretty bauble anyway.

Found a great website that plays random mixes of music-always nice to expand those musical horizons.

I’m trying to be social but sometimes my heart’s just not in it. I could blame the deep dark winter, everyone waiting for the sun to come back and warm the earth again, everyone lost in their own busy bubbles, Christmas shopping and stocking up nosh for the friends and families to share. Last year I was on a beach with Devon and now we’re back in the snow, with spinning tires and frozen windshield wipers. But, I think I missed the snow anyway.

There’s a house down the street which is totally gaudy with xmas lights.  Their trees are cluttered with cardboard xmas “presents” and there’s a light scene on the roof-Santa with sleigh and reindeer; there’s an archway covered in fake holly and more lights, lights along the fence, a blow up Elmo in an xmas hat, lights lights everywhere, EVERYWHERE!!!  …and as you walk past you hear faint-but distinct carols, the icing on the cake.  Too sweet for me!

…Image of a space-tourist seeing the house from the international space station, GPS-ing the address and mailing the owners a postcard-”Peter, Peter, I can see your house from here!”

October is full of candlelight and a smoky wind, dead leaves in the rain. The world is looking witchier as it turns into its quiet winter cape.  Stark black silhouettes of trees against pale blue grey skies, scudding clouds and the unsleeping eye of the moon, hanging low and yellow one evening,, pale and haughty the next night. People bring out things that glow and cast shadows, to chase away the uncomfortable presence of waiting-winter darkness. I walked past the witch’s apple tree, left with one lonely poison apple waiting for a hungry child to snatch it. No one else seems the least bit bothered by the changing seasons, by the growing inky shadows…or maybe the lack of sleep is catching up. I hear the veil between the worlds is wearing thin. My heart is full of music. There isn’t enough wind to account for my restlessness. Who will dance with me? Who will sing with me?

I am not me when I wear a mask. That old stage thing showing its colours again, but how can I resist? I know they are just papier-mache, swirl of red, flash of blue, cardboard and glitter, but there’s something about changing your face that changes me inside while I wear it. Did a mask workshop once, where we all got to choose a face, and we had to learn who it was. We touched the mask, let our fingers learn its texture. We looked at the way it was painted, the highlit cheekbones, the sunken eyes, the beaky nose, the full lips, the forehead furrowed in worry or despair.  My mask was a half mask, others picked full faces. My mask was decorated with harlequin diamonds, and sported a birds’ bill instead of a nose. Feathers wafted over my forehead. We created a sound to go with the mask-perhaps a soft sssshhhhhhaaaaaaa, or an abrupt ak-ch. Fingers stroking down the mask, like a blind person learning who is talking to them, from forehead to chin, and over the nose, once, twice, now with the sound. We were a wittering, chirrping, spooky, sighing, keening menagerie, a cacophonous zoo with unseen animals.

And then we put the masks on. Carefully, holding the nose and adjusting the elastic so it fit snugly. And then we broke the circle and stood up…and I stood differently. Head tilted to one side, the curious parakeet, I found I could only speak in squawks and hisses. One girl couldn’t speak at all.

The classroom looked different. The shape of the eyes of the mask narrowed my vision, made me see into corners for the hidden dust there where before I was only focused on the light coming through the window, the cool floor.

I couldn’t move like I normally do, I pecked awkardly, and I didn’t know what to do with my arms. I felt like I was the wrong shape for the face I wore.

When we took them off, everyone looked like they were coming out of a trance, a dream. Blink blink, what? Life is ordinary? I’m not some exotic creature looking for food? Colours went back to normal, and I slowly straightened my spine. I looked at the inside of the mask, and thought I felt an echo of the character I could be, there inside the inverted bird features. I liked the smell of the paint, the feel of the inside of the mask fitted over my face, the way the eyes moulded around mine. I put the mask away carefully, slowly, recognizing that something inside me had changed forever.

…Silent auction, for a theatre company that was dying, and my mother bought a pair of masks-the Ugly Sisters, one “for each of us” but I ended up with both of them. I wanted to hang them up, but the masks are old and fragile; they sit in a box, carefully wrapped in thick cloths, waiting. They have eyeliner around the eyeholes,and big fake black bows and  beauty marks. They are handheld, like old opera glasses, on thick black wooden doweling. I love their lumpy crooked noses.

On Hallowe’en, catch a little hocus pocus in the owl-still pumpkin spiced air. Wear a painted face, dance a dervish in the street. You can be someone else to fool the ghoulies.

August bleeding into this month has been a mad whirltwirl tumble. I feel like conjuring a circus; acrobats, jugglers, clowns in crazy colours, thrilling dramatic music, death-defying acts,  to convey the sense of the motion and movement and constant energy that’s been our lives since moving back to E-town.You can go so far when you hit the ground running. Edmonton has changed. We’ve changed. Things are gong well for us. Things are busy and exciting and show no sign of slowing down.

The nights are cold, but I’m welcoming the chill…it’s nice to see the seasons change so dramatically. Love walking under the golden trees with the wind making the leaves and our hairs dervish and spin until it seems we become part of the dance too.

…and as always this time of year, my mind turns to carnivals, and succulent harvest fruits, ghost stories and deep pulling dreams…There is so much happening with the weather-it’s rainy and emo, under a sullen mercurial sky, and it sets the tone for writing Gothic-Romance stories. I think I see some of the Little Mysteries go fluttering through the wind like so many old scarecrow rags flapping wearily in fields.It’s been unusually rainy, but it’s making my imagination fly.

I missed the sky.

I missed the rolls of grass and hay in fields just turning fallow and lush and ripe. I had a wonderful year on the island, but I forgot how much sky there is here, it gets everywhere, into your bones and makes you want to watch it always-for clues about what to wear that day, for clues about what mood people will be in, for clues about how people will react to casual comments.

I find myself continually intrigued by Canada. I know the hype-we’re large and empty and it snows most of the year. We live in igloos, we skate or ski to work, or take dog sleds, (even in the summer) we have bad touque-hair. But I’m finding out Canada is a subtler country than that, with many more layers than I first thought. Especially for such a relatively “young” country. Looking for interesting facts, sometimes I find it frustrating; people remember the Hudson’s Bay fur traders, the coureur de bois, the rough rugged pioneers who found the country huge and cold, and strange when it was new, and no one seems to have updated their views of Canada since the 1800′s. But one fact stood out to me. Canada has pretty much always had a strong musical culture. A lot of Canadian musicians, singers, songwriters have international acclaim, and it’s easy to see why. Our musicians are popular, perform with a high degree of skill and integrity, and are always pushing the envelope.

Closely linked is the tidbit that apparently Canadians have always loved to dance.

This is just a brief, sort of little river of thoughts instead of a nice thick thought-torrent. There’s not a lot of detail in this post, and I expect it will be expanded later, but I just wanted to jot some quick impressions about music in Canada.

West coast music tends to be gentle, an easy walk on the beach with the tide lapping your toes. East coast-Maritime-music tends to have in the beat the memory of waves crashing onto tall rocky shores, harsh seas and constant motion. Music from the plains is mixed, sometimes it’s pretty industrial, concrete cities stretching against big stormy skies, sometimes I feel a sway of wheat and grass in a strong wind. I think generally speaking, a lot of distinct music comes from the coasts, where people cluster and inspiration seems to be more directly influenced by the surrounding landscapes.

Victoria’s SKA fest is one of my favourites-there’s a lot of good mixing of musical styles, great jam sessions, and I can clearly see the influences in some bands; whereas other groups’ musical roots are more directly defined by what individual members bring to the gig.

Just a blurb, I will define this post better later.

~H