Saturday, March 13, 2010

23, 741 Days

My grandparents have been married for 65 years, this Wednesday.

They just missed WWI, grew up in the prosperous 20s, really grew up in the Great Depression, worked for their country in WWII, raised a family, mourned a son, dealt with my long-haired cool-like-Kelso dad, worked well into their 70s, spoiled 4 grandchildren and have long started the same for their first great-grandchild, and are still going strong, with more love for each other than I have ever seen two people have.

It is inspiring.

It is heartbreaking.

It makes me hope that when I'm 90 and wrinkly, I'll still have the love of my life right there with me, my partner in crime in sneaking the great- and grandkids chocolate before dinner.

Friday, March 5, 2010

So, A Girl Walks Into A Beer Store...

I think there's something about nice weather that makes me productive. Perhaps it's Spring Cleaning Fever starting to set in now that the weather seems to be looking up (today was a balmy 4 degrees, sunny, with only a slight breeze to push the sunshine around), or maybe the fact that my break is almost over and I've done essentially nothing with myself for the past 4 days, or possibly the other fact that I've got a dinner date tonight with my boyfriend and cousins and my house was a wreck.

My day so far: woke up early, cleaned for an hour (including under my bed! You'd be so proud), ate breakfast, cleaned for another hour, showered, ate lunch, ran errands, cleaned more.

I've become so damned lazy lately (I blame the unfortunate weather and my inability to withstand any semblance of cold) that I take the transit absolutely everywhere. Not today! My weather-induced productivity inspired me to walk! It was GLORIOUS. I haven't felt this refreshed in a long while.

Anyway. To the point of my ramblings: On my way, I passed a church. Normally, churches keep their gates and doors shut, and only advertise being open Sundays, 9-10 and 3-4, and sometimes Thursdays 6-7. I have never seen this particular church closed. It's front gates and doors are always wide open, and their main sign has "Visitors Welcome" engraved right below the name.

It made me so nostalgic.

I haven't been to church in years (excluding my once-a-year Good Friday attendance with my boyfriend's family, out of respect to him), and I consider myself an athiest. And yet...I found myself missing that sense of community, that sense of comfort that comes from believing that while God cannot take your problems away he can help you through them.

I explicitly remember the moment I stopped believing in God. I was in grade 10, sitting in science class. A boy in my grade was dying of cancer. One morning during announcements, the principle asked that we fast for the day and pray for this student. I did, although I really had only met him once or twice incidentally. The following week, our science class got a visit from the principle, telling us that he had passed away the night before.

I couldn't comprehend how, even though this boy had so many people fasting and praying for him, God could let him die. While I realize now that God had nothing to do with his cancer, and that all the praying in the world could not have taken it away, I had truly believed that he would live. And I had been let down.



Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Portrait of the Artist as a Lonely Soul

Disclaimer: This post has been written with the express knowledge that I will probably sound like a pretentious emo douchebag to anyone who is not myself.


I work better at night. Late night, when I'm exhausted and hungry and cold and wanting for nothing more than comfort. Of course, it's usually that lack of comfort which drives me to work in the first place.

When I say work, I don't really mean work. I mean creating art. Not crafting, because crafting is a happy thing. Art comes from a deeper place.

I started using art as catharsis years ago. I've always been a crafty person; it just fit, I guess, that I would use my hobby as a way to purge emotion.

Right now I feel lonely. I would like to stop feeling lonely, but instead of confronting the issue head on (which would be the smart thing to do), I am trying to spill it out onto a canvas. And maybe I'm not tired or hungry or cold enough, but for some frustrating reason I cannot work. My materials are not clicking. I can't see in my head what I want. I feel the energy in my fingertips, frothing, surging, straining to get out and onto this damned canvas but I can't do it.

Not tonight.