quiet morning #2

Yup, I let my cat sit on the table. 

There are worse things.

Why is the old, shitty grill pan on the table? Lord knows. I asked Adam. He wants to get rid of it. But likely it will sit on the table for ... a month? ... before we do anything with it. #life

The monthly exercise for April in the One Little Word course is to write "What does it mean to really [your word here]?" on Post-its and stick them up around your house, your car, your planner, wherever you're going to see them. 

And variations thereof: "What does it feel like to __________?" "What does it look like when I'm _________?" 

And I gotta say, it's neat. This one pictured above is on the window above the sink, a place where I am quite often, doing dishes. I like that it simply asks the question and lets my brain fill in the rest. I like that I can think about it while I do a mindless task and let my brain come up with little bits of ideas, that I then go write down. 


The 100 Day Project starts tomorrow. I'm a little nervous but also excited. Will I stick with it? I keep wondering. Well, I mean, I don't know. I can't know. But I can give it a try. 

I'm doing 100 Colour Palettes. Here's what I've got so far. (It will give you an idea of the project.)


I'm currently grooving to -- and loving -- this song and video:

I put it on and dance around my kitchen. Even though I don't wear a hijab, nor am I Muslim, I believe in the right to do so, to be so. And it's damn danceable. 


It's April third and today I was out shovelling yet another 5 centimetres of snow that had formed in drifts across the driveway. It doesn't feel a whit like spring here at the moment. Snow is still a foot deep across the land, and the wind is cold and whips it all around in spirals and clouds. It's pretty, absolutely. Am I ready for it to be gone? 100 percent. I dream of baby daffodil nubs poking up out of the dirt. Of the warmth of the spring sun and the steady tap-tap-tap of melting snow and ice. 

Ahh well. It is what it is. 

Off to work with me. Happy Monday, friends.

sweet & spicy

Reading, over coffee this morning. Wanting to underline it all. Score it all, and by so doing, transfer it to my heart for safekeeping. For safe-remembering. 

But it's a library book. So I'll tuck it away to order later, buy later. Not right this second, although that's what I want to do, but I'm trying to be fiscally responsible, so I will wait. (Wait for free shipping, more like.) 

Last night's supper - salmon tails slathered in a sauce of horseradish, Dijon mustard, and honey. Baked in the oven. Pungent, tasty, spicy, sweet. Not for Adam (he doesn't like fish) but for me. (He had steak.)

This morning: saw Adam off at 6. Hugged him at the door. "Love you honey," I said, as normal. Then: "100 percent. Down to your toes." Not what I normally say, but I was inspired this morning. He rolls his eyes affectionately, "OK dear." 

After I ate breakfast, I came in here, to my office. Inspired. In spiro. Lit my candle. Put on Lauryn Hill, the Unplugged album. Those strumming strings, those cracked-voice lyrics -- ahhhhhh. My soul. It sings along. I clap in my mind with the audience on the album. 

Happy Thursday, friends. 



quiet morning #1

We blog for such different reasons at different points in our lives. It really runs the gamut from showing expertise in a subject (carefully crafted posts, shared with less frequency) to off-the-cuff logging of life (the writing is then a work in progress, shared more with frequency). 

This month I am showing up here daily, quietly, I've decided. 

Making a small record every day. Of this life, as it is right now. 

Before things change. (If they change - so much of the upcoming possible change is not up to Adam and I. Only one part is.) 

For now, it's 6:32 am. I have "Kerala" by Bonobo on repeat, and loud. It feels like the perfect soundtrack. I love the voices blending, and the tones of the instruments. Outside the sun is rising. The sky is a gradient from blue to light yellow, stunning and clear. The ducks that live in the field nearby are flying around, black silhouettes against the light. 

Adam has left for work. He's working the Woodbine job these days, which starts at 7. I'll go to work at 8, for an 8:30 start. 


A seagull flaps by. 


I feel like digging back in time. Like spending time re-reading my own words, from 2002 (age 18), to 2012 (age 28). To today. To rediscover. Become re-inspired. 


Happy Thursday, friends.