curry

Is loneliness the human condition?
Lonely and bored with nothing to do today, moping, watching the hours drag by. Lonely on a couch in someone's basement suite, watching horrible comedy, a tiny whimpering dog half on my lap, thigh to thigh with a girl my age, wedding band on her manicured hand. Lonely skinny woman on the wet street outside alexis' townhouse, flagging down cars with little energy, calling out in a weary sad voice.

snail

What I want more than anything today is to be back in my old room.
Flop down on my sweet little bed, stare up at the ceiling, dream, read. The Cat asleep in the curve of my legs and the windows open, feel that dusty thick brown carpet, my mix of current and childhood obsessions layered on shelves and drawers.
There was so much light in that room, half the walls were glass, and that is partly what it was I craved today, being in a cozy, warm, light place. This house is so murky and dusky.

I was called a hot peasant today, dukabor model.

curly poutine

A welcome diversion, and definately canadian, I drove two hours to spend a few days with my man at a park, slept in a tent left by campers, flap open to the stars, tarp held down with screwdrivers. We ate fresh trout and read terry pratchetts, examined and discussed the merits of the playboy bunnies in huck's magazine, fake or real, attended a very loud stephen family gathering. Hot chocolate whiskies and late night reminiscing on first meeting each other, lying entwined in bed, remembering when being tongue tied around each other was all we knew.
I did the boys' laundry in the fort fraser laundromat, sat on the washers reading, cross legged in polka dot skirt and doc martens.
What a pleasure to reach out in the middle of a cold night and feel familiar skin and form, close, under outstretched fingertips, and mostly asleep, pull close and drift off again in a mumble jumble of contented sighs and limbs.
He asked me to move in with him, formally. Butterflies in my belly and it was A Big Question, felt what I would have if he had ever asked me out. But I hesitated. I'm not sure why.

I've worn pants once in two weeks.

lentil stew

Hands tingly from hot spiced whiskey.
"So drunk we piss on the priest," only in portugal.

catnip tea

Clomping through stupidstore in my gumboots and long amish skirt, gladiolas and red lentils under one arm, parsley in the other.
Out at Jennifer's paradise garden, alexis and I picked rasberries and red currants, ate almost as many as we picked, I got swallowed up by the rasberry jungle, cool green shadows and forest of stalks, spiders swinging in the canopies, tops waving in the sun. Alexis snoozed in the lawn with the doggy, jenni and I sat, joined him. My head on his belly, sun strong, wind cool, autum, jennifer telling us stories of her daughters, shelling peas, dog running amock.
Over too soon, but such is life.

pole bending

Jennifer and I went to the little britches rodeo at nukko lake and it was such a pleasure to go to a horse event with a like minded person. It's been so long since I have experienced that. Ooohing and aahing at various horses, comparing confirmation and personality, rider's qualities, both buckling under the desire for a horse of our own, again, or simply to ride, be around these creatures more.

Girls and horses, boys and sticks. The wonder of these ancient partnerships.

lucid

: When I am (wet and) cold, chilled to the bone, I instantly and strongly crave one thing: hot chocolate whiskey.

Lonely, I kept Jennifer company at her farmer's market stand, sketched vendors and pedestrians, waldo's round miniature pony, legs definately too short for his body length. Helped her pack up, felt my skirt drifting, wafting, clinging, smelled some catnip accidently and couldn't stop. Maybe I make up for The Cat's indifference to the stuff.

I met a girl selling jewellery, images applied to the backsides of scrabble pieces, within minutes we were talking horses. Boarding, exercising, calgary job chances. Which, I just checked, are there and available, with housing. I could have a job. In Calgary. I just want everything don't I?

I took in a saskatoon pie jennifer's cat had walked over, kept reaching down and grabbing fingerfuls out of my backpack. Amena Piewalker.

Biked to the park and sat under a tree, didn't leave till I finished the novel, Nikolski, ants dropping out of the tree, crawling around my pleats and folds. I had to be careful when turning the pages, trapped critters of all colours and shapes scrambling.

freestyle

How many days has it been now that I haven't worn panties? It must be a week now.
And I have secured a little influx of skirts, thrift store finds, today's menu: knee length white polka dot on navy blue, pleated, rayon so it swishes and swirls and contours in standup zigzags over my lower and hips. Breezy on my knickerless crotch, stops just short of the yellow tops of my knee socks, peeking over my 14 hole Docs. So breezy and light I sometimes felt as if I was not wearing anything around my hips and legs at all today, having lunch with marj at spicy greens, going thrift storing, cafe tea drinking. I bought a shakespeare I have never heard of before.
What a lovely feeling, to tell about what is going on in your life, to get feedback, encouragment, empathy, that weight off your chest.
Talked about moving house, affairs, tingly crushes, future plans, murder, self defense, panties, bras, money...

I came back here and, wrapped in a wool blanket, stretched out on the lawn, read a novel about connections and coincidenses, daddy long legs crawling over me.

come and walk a mile with me, see that I am still very green.

CD looping, james' voice smooth and soft and lonely and lovely.
(I walked into artspace with alexis tonight and they looked at each other and pointed and hugged, fellow nelsonites, small world)
Late and I'm not getting tired of this music, writing through a writer's block, cooking chickpeas in candlelight. Empty house.
I wonder if eating seaweed at 1 30 in the morning will cause strange dreams.

This will be my first night inside, in this house in quite some time. I am putting it off, staying up late and reading old emails, other people's blogs, writing overdue emails. Sipping whiskey from e's flask. Warm belly.

Tenderness. That's something I crave.

Putting off being here, doing nothing, I stayed over at e's again, ate peaches all morning, read the book of lists while the boys cracked beers before noon. I spun poi on the wet lawn, in gumboots, knee socks, a skirt and oilskin slicker while they cleaned the shop and truck. A large venture.
The boys spread a tie dye peace sign sheet on the ceiling of the tent, smoked, I cuddled under blankets and read terry pratchett. We piled into my car and drove to a subdivision under cultivation, empty, so they could longboard down the smooth fresh hill. I made a daisy chain and crowned hubert, dreadlock flower. E tried to teach me how to board, running beside me, my nails digging into his palms as I tried to lean my whole body.

"Each king in a deck of playing cards represents a great king in
history:

Spades - King David

Hearts -Charlemagne

Clubs -Alexander, the Great

Diamonds - Julius Caesar

If a statue in the park of a person on a horse has both front
legs in the air, the person died in battle. If the horse has one
front leg in the air the person died as a result of wounds received
in battle. If the horse has all four legs on the ground, the person
died of natural causes."

Oh dear. I am too tired to write what I feel and I feel vividly awake and dead tired and like I've written all I wanted but know I haven't.

a slug slimes out of my salad and my appetite is gone

Back in the frozen north from the most lovely week, the best period of time of my year, so far.
It's dirty survival here in PG, but living, breathing, expanding into life, comfortable summer in lumby.
We slept outside every night and the full moon rising, shining through branches of the apple tree, sleeping under, spinning poi naked in the garden between the trees.

Preserving the sun ripened summer fruits, squishing into jars, peaches and currants and rasberries and tomatoes, jam and juice.

In the 40 degree heat, my fear of water largely dissipated and we were in the river everyday, I was dog paddling by the time we left, big salmon spawning under the bridge, joe floating down in his scuba mask.

Two austrian farm exchange girls from tyrol and I, and horses, rough and tumble, made me seem like a wimpy city girl in comparison, fearless and wild and tough. We stripped down and rode the horses into the creek, like riding moose, snorting and blowing and this huge animal swimming in warm water under you, hanging on bare legs against wet sleek skin. Galloped wildly up to where emmett and max were putting a motor into a land cruiser, a huge grin on my face and emmett's upon seeing me wild haired and breathless and overjoyed.

The wedding what a wedding should be, a celebration of the joining of family, a big party. Emmett was the most handsome groomsman, as beautiful as the bride. A little girl in a pot leaf dress tottering in the aisles, rings stuck together, church interior painted scandalous greens and yellows and blues. River party, drugs flowing and ska band late into the night, mosh pit, volleyball, hot boxed vans, and bikinis. I was barefoot the whole time, spun fire poi with esther, danced, jumped. Violin to beat box on the beach by a fire, under a full moon.

still got my boots on

for the first time since april, I've lost enthusiasm and hope, I've buried myself in other pursuits, the festival, next day out to bear lake, working in sweltering weather, blowing parking lots, hauling gravel, sweat sweat sweat, no time for thinking. I went up to Carp with the stephens, surprised emmett, we picked huckleberries and went out on the lake and I tried not to be nervous, but it's hard in a boatload of people who don't care if you freeze up at the thought of all that water all around and shift and stand and cast and speed in the twilight, huge fast spraying curves carved, I scrunched my eyes as tight as they could go, nails dug deep into emmett's knee who didn't comfort, but stole kisses instead. I got so worked up with expectations, cried in the dimness of kerosene lit kitchen, over the sink, doing dishes, lost in the family tumult chaos.
And then work again, too hot to think and wonder and lose hope, running through non options.
The wonder of work, the body being put to use, not just sitting, but pushing pulling hauling, stepping, sliding, twisting. Seven hours in the rain yesterday, mowing hills and slopes, inspection today. We dressed in garbage bags, gum boots, feet in plastic bags in boots and I felt like a lawn monster covered in grass, when I came in, hoping it was past 4 30, at least, found it to be 6. Felt strong and useful. how wonderful. Part of a small community, the park attendants of the prince george area.
This morning I was raking up grass clippings, hauling picking garbage, untying tarps and getting rained on, coveralls and wet and smelling natural and dirty floors, pack up my sleeping bag, living out of bags and car and sleeping somewhere else everynight, adapting but so different than what I find when I come in to town, shock, me with my dirty hands, scarred and stained. So clean and orderly and there's no mice in the corners, plywood walls, keys under rocks and floodlight lit gravel compound yards, firewood mountains, diesel trucks and bears and jumper cables, water towers being pulled down, bats and barefoot berry picking, dirty floors, oven open and on to heat cold wet bodies. Such a different feeling, placement of self.

And now I'm off again, in and out, we'll drive out into the mountains tonight and sleep under the stars and trees wrapped in our tarp, drive down to the lush and hotter climes of lumby. Wedding, preserving and jamming and being in emmett's realm, as usual. River, and dog and cabin and forest.

this city tied me down and now I don't want to leave again, whereas in the spring, so full of all the places that weren't here, that I had seen and lived through, I was ready for springboarding out of here and now, not so much.

Emma is in europe, at our father's sister's house, photos of grandparents and cousins and uncles, a whole new family. She must feel overwhelmed but I am sure they are opening their arms to her, their brother's child, product of his adultery, one of his women, there's quite a collection. He's made a family and excluded himself from it.

and a random note, Hey Gorgeous, I'm in Coombs farming. Give me a call if you want to pull some weeds with me. Graham.

Oh g-ham. He sounds lonely=single. I'm so anxious for diversion I almost wrote back yes here and now.

alls well at artswells

Bright sun in the mountains, gold rush history and old wooden buildings, painted purple and stars at night, freezing cold, leggings and skirts, boots and dresses and vests and hoods and hot water bottles or a warm body if you're lucky, I washed dishes with a woman named emma who was raised on the orkneys and I didn't touch alcohol or drugs and didn't dance, but I sat back and watched and my body was still but mind active and I wrote and wrote and that was how I danced. Watched others who weren't watching me and wanted things I don't have and felt lonely, but only that evening, really, since adam and I played frisbee gold with a garbage lid across the town and ran into james lamb jamming behind a propane tank, double bass and all, pulled out my jawharp and we frisbeed back, scotty drinking beer with a herd of punks and their dogs, suitcase and belongings at his back, he ruffled my hair and called me a button. Little wooden church with golden candles and no speakers, perfect sound, intimate we were all clapping and singing and stomping along. packed to the brim with raghu caledonia and then the place emptied and james came on and the 14 of us there didn't let him leave so he played and played for hours and nobody moved in the pews. I asked him for the name of that song, that song, pulled him from a herd of young girls talking about how his song about his father touched them, thank you, thank you, walked out. I can send it to you! That song! Thrown out there into the snapping cold air, the stars, fishing. How will you send it to me? do you use the internet? and it wasn't rhetorical. Doritos shared, freezing. Waistcoat, corduroy.
I stumbled upon a huge jam in the school kitchen at 2 30, twanged away on the outskirts, all the stupid fucking things I've done, I feel like a motherless child, no woman no love, left at 4, still rocking, people on the counters, playing the spoons.

Didn't think about the future, someone asked me what my life is all about, a stranger, and how should I know, felt confident, behind the scenes, felt insecure, all those pretty hippy girls and yet it's been worse.

Park, outside, again, then okanagan with emmett, who phoned me the minute I got home as if he had been watching and there's always something frustrating about telling him inners, when he chortles and holds back guffaws and yet I tell him anyway, because who else will I say it all to, and I want him to know. Though no matter how much I tell him of my weekend in wells, he was not there and never will have lived that with me.