muy lindo

the annual grape post

~ carin ~ 2 Comments

Not that this is in any way important or even interesting to anyone other than me, I still feel the need to say it once a year: I don’t eat a lot of fruit out of season.

And being from the heart of all things grapey that is Niagara I’m not even allowed to eat grapes outside of late summer/early Fall.

Certainly not grapes from ‘away’.

Except for once a year.

Beginning sometime in February and through March, I hire teams to continuously peel individual Chilean grapes for me as I sit on a tuffet and remember our trip to Chile and Argentina during the earthquake.

Remember also the street dogs of Santiago, the view from our window, Pablo Neruda’s shabby chic home, melons in a truck,  the outdoor market, Los Elefantes in moonlight, the Andes, the bread sellers at highway toll boths, the betterthanpesto-like dip [whose ingredients I’ve forgotten], bottles of Carmenere on warm evenings and vineyards… and one stunningly beautiful train station where a man named Mauricio talked of Puerto Montt and the Lake District in such a way that we decided we would have to make the journey back to Chile one day, just to take that train.

That’s it.

That’s everything I wanted to say.

Happy [Chilean] ‘table grape’ season to one and all.
IMG_083263610_173956235970382_8363150_nBTW, when fruit falls in a table grape forest and there’s no one there to hear…
does it make a sound?

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life, in three parts

~ carin ~ 18 Comments

PART 1— The last day.

The vet’s been called. And now I’m painting.

Hard decisions have been made. Our little tortoiseshell girl who was on the edge six weeks ago, then rallied like no one could believe — returning to almost her perfect nineteen year old self — has come to another edge. But this time she’s leaning over it so far there’s no coming back.

The vet is due at 5 p.m. and all day I flip-flop between wanting it to be 5 p.m. and 1994. I move between tending to her on the couch and milling about the kitchen where I can see her, where I’m preparing to paint cupboards that don’t especially need painting.

And I wonder why about the cupboards until I receive an email from a friend with a link to a quilting blog and I think how odd… I don’t quilt. I used to sew but the friend doesn’t know that. It’s a puzzle, this gift of a quilting link, and yet it reminds me of one of the last times I actually enjoyed sewing — years ago, when we had three cats. When the first of those three died, in the days right after, I sewed like crazy. Hideous things no one needed. Carrier bags and pillow cases in cabbage rose and bright pink patchwork.

And then it occurs to me that when the second of those cats died I dug over a new garden bed where a new garden bed was not required.

I simply needed to dig.

The majority of the painting will happen later. For now I just need to set the stage, to make a mess that must be dealt with, ensuring I’ll have an activity when I can’t think of what I’m supposed to do in the absence of a face I love.

The tins of paint, the taped cupboards, will be a blessing then.

PART 2— THE FIRST DAY

It was summer, 1994. We were having dinner. A loud mewling, a wail through an open window. I went out to see what it was and found a young tortoiseshell cat crouched at the base of the cedar hedge. Our two indoor cats were watching. I wanted to assure them no strangers would be tolerated. I chased the tortoiseshell away. I returned to the dinner table. The wailing resumed. Back outside, I chased the cat again and again but each time it turned and followed me. Finally, with conviction and some seriously stern language, I picked the little bugger up and carried it out of the yard.

It purred in my arms.

I called the Humane Society.

Luckily, there were no lost cats fitting her description.

We named her Cuddles.

PART 3— ALL THAT BEAUTIFUL BIT IN THE MIDDLE…

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maybe the kids’ll be alright after all…

~ carin ~ 6 Comments

1. At the No Frills, where I go looking for a box to make a temporary three-sided bed for our elderly cat and for the first time in history find NO boxes in the discard bin — just as I’m giving up on that plan, a young man walks by, an employee, with a carton of just the right proportions, which he’s just about to pitch… and in the most happy-to-have-bumped-into-me way says yes, of course, I’m very welcome to have it as if he couldn’t be more delighted to have found such a good home for this stray bit of cardboard. And I think: what are the odds of that — the timing, certainly, but the gift of such good cheer from an unlikely source… especially when much needed.

2. A scruffy looking boy with dyed jet black hair, long and unkempt, smoking, jeans that begin somewhere around his thighs and a ragged shirt. Very bored, very detached demeanor, standing outside the plaza. I drive by [the carton from No Frills in my back seat] and notice an elderly woman exit the dental office with what looks like a large pizza box. Ten or so metres along, l look in my rear-view mirror, curious as to whether I’m imagining the pizza box and I see her fall on the icy pavement. I stop the car and in that instant of thinking I must go back to help, I see — still in the rear-view mirror — that, without missing a beat, the scruffy boy has leapt to her aid. They chat for a moment and then she and he go their separate ways.

3. On the way home I notice a hockey net on the frozen pond, and when I stop to take a picture, a boy appears, alone, with a hockey stick, heading in its direction.

That’s it.
That’s enough, I decide.
There’s hope still.
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what’s not litter

~ carin ~ 2 Comments

1.  A green tennis ball stuck to the ice, immoveable, which is just as well once I realize that a gallumping, tail-wagging, tongue-lolling beast will likely be back tonight or tomorrow to look for it. And if it’s not IN ITS PLACE there will be hell to pay.IMG_0298

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2. Anything red and ribbony and tied to a tree.IMG_0300IMG_0301IMG_0303Or indeed any ribbony colour.IMG_0324
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3. Things on TOP of a garbage bin.IMG_0314Especially if that thing turns out to be a full Timmy’s.IMG_0316

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4. See #1 above. [No ice but same reasoning applies.]IMG_0335

yes i did, i gave a child glass cleaner for xmas

~ carin ~ 2 Comments

 

The gift I most loved giving this year—

A treasure hunt bag of things that are found among the poems in Sheree Fitch’s Toes in My Nose.

Also included, a ‘discovery form’ for noting which poems and which items correspond (creative interpretation encouraged so there are many options and connections… as I quickly discovered by watching a tiny mind at work—and I don’t mean mine).

When completed the form may be handed in for a prize.

Prize to be determined (but very likely another book… shhh).
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this

~ carin ~ 14 Comments

I keep trying to stuff my meditation into a time slot. On a zen tuffet. While decked out in pristine white yoga-wear.

I don’t even own yoga-wear.

No wonder it’s been so difficult.

Then this morning, as a nineteen year-old cat stretched on the rug and I in my bathrobe rubbed her tummy while Gregorian monks chanted on the stereo and a beeswax candle flickered on the mantle and the darkness outside was so dark I couldn’t even see the BBQ… I thought: this is meditation.

And so is making soup. Or spaghetti sauce. Curry. Anything with much chopping and stirring.

Even toast. There’s an art to it… it’s about the butter and jam ratio, honey if you’ve got it. It’s about thinking where that honey came from.

Changing the sheets, smelling that fresh-off-the-line smell in your bedroom [or fresh from anywhere smell is good too]. That crisp feeling when you get in under them. With a book. Early enough so you don’t fall asleep in five minutes. This is meditation.

Walking. With a letter to mail, or just to get a paper, a few lemons. Around the block. With a dog or alone. There’s ways of doing it like a chore, but what’s the point in that?

Walking through an art gallery.

Stopping.

Staring just a moment longer than usual at a painting, a squirrel, a plane passing by.

Cleaning. Chucking out the bits that no longer serve a purpose.

Conversation. Snow shovelling, weeding, sketching, collecting beach glass. Doing a crossword. Drinking tea, really drinking it, tasting it; doing nothing else for a moment but drinking tea… [I wouldn’t know, but this may also work with coffee]

Writing a letter, with a pen. Or a crayon.

Breathing. Just that, done well… this is meditation.

Looking up.

Paying attention.

Eyes open, or closed.
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“The more I read, the more I meditate, and the more knowledge I acquire, the more I am enabled to affirm that I know nothing.” – Voltaire

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living the metaphor

~ carin ~ 2 Comments

I recently ran away and joined the circus.

A metaphor, yes.

The intention was to get away from routine for a bit, let whimsy be my guide, fly through the air with the greatest of ease…

Then I googled the rules.

How to Run Away to the Circus:

Get into shape. To be a part of any circus, you should be highly capable physically. Before you join in the clowning about, practice your flexibility for a few months. If you’re interested in trapeze or aerial silk, make sure to stretch every day and practice flexibility exercises. Eat healthy foods, and stay as physically active as you can.

Choose an act. Circuses usually require auditions, and you should build a repertoire. Look into things like acrobatics, diabolo, unicycle, and trampolining. Once you’ve picked something to study, get equipment for it and begin practice. Build a bit of a show, perhaps with a theme for entertainment value, to attract possible employers and for use in auditions.

Find a good costume. Some performance attire can be revealing, tight-fitting, or simply wacky. Make sure you have the right costume for you, and that it fits your act. For example, you wouldn’t want long, flowing sleeves for fire dancing.

Make sure your makeup is pixel perfect. In the circus, you have to do everything yourself with no help from a makeup attendant. So purchase and collect your own makeup. Good things to use are shiny eyeshadow and diamond studs. If your show has a theme, play off of it. For example, a show based around fire might involve brightly colored makeup.

Practice your smile. Yours may vary based on your act and your own personality. Some performers may opt for a sexy, one-sided smile, but a friendly grin can also warm the hearts of your audience.

Consider the realities of circus life. The circus is a crowded environment by nature, and you may not have much time alone. If you can’t stand the thought, consider performing in another setting.

-—-

Turns out circus life [complete with clowns] is just like any other.

You have to pay attention.

Or you’ll fall off the trapeze.

a few things

~ carin ~ 6 Comments

Allyson Latta was right when she suggested I might love what Rebecca Rosenblum is doing over at Rose Coloured (where anyone can join in)—i.e. making a list of Things We Like—because, it just so happens, one of the things I like most of all is making lists.

So here’s mine:

Things I Like—

—  making lists (and repeating myself)

—  ginger snaps with blackberry tea on the patio at the end of the day

—  BBQ’d shrimp and chilled sauvignon blanc on the patio at the end of the day

—  the family in my neighbourhood that are always making dinner together when I stroll past their house

—  seeing into people’s windows, especially in winter with all that coziness inside, especially at dinner time

—  seedless watermelon

—  shadows

—  the letter zed

—  my almond cherry torte recipe that I live in fear of losing so have made several copies but still worry constantly that I’ll lose them

—  Lake Ontario in the dark when the waves are crazy

—  Lake Ontario in the day… any day

—  the summer and winter solstice

—  driving long distances over empty roads, thinking out loud

—  swimming (first choice: lakes; second choice: pool with VERY little chlorine; third choice: oceans without jellyfish or sharks)

—  making soup or spaghetti sauce or anything that requires chopping, stirring, simmering

—  cooking smells in a house

—  sheets and towels and tee shirts from the line

—  a cat snuggled up beside me like a teddy bear

—  sandals

—  the movie Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

—  the [operatic] song from Big Night, first heard while having lunch al fresco at Quail’s Gate Winery

—  the sound of cutlery against plates in that final scene in Big Night

—  goat cheese omelettes with purslane

—  Cat’s Eye, the book

—  Drinking the Rain, by Alix Kates Shulman, which I read almost every year

—  the way insects and animals and birds and trees know exactly what to do

—  choosing well from a menu

—  painting with bold colours

—  discovering a new place in my own ‘hood

—  the word ‘hood

—  beeswax candles

—  walking, hiking, climbing, none of it too strenuously

—  the sight of the Andes from a small plane

—  the colour green, indoors and out

—  people who get excited about possibilities, art and words

—  the smell of dirt in Spring

—  the smell of snow and the way it looks in the sunshine

—  sharpened pencils and fast writing pens