Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Book tangent

I know I've been a bad little blogger, and there's no excuse, especially for someone who's not only home, but planted in front of her computer this much. The truth is, life is a lot more full than one would expect without a full-time job.

In the past two weeks, I've been to the ROM with Mom and the brother, to the Royal Horse show, which was incredible, even though I was solo cause Mom had work take over her life, to the symphony, which was so much fun, cause Mom and Laur and Hugh were all there, and I love spending time with all of them, but I hadn't seen Hugh in forever, so that was great, plus I always love listening to live music with Hugh because it's so obvious how wrapped up he gets in it (Hugh's a violinist, and fiddler, and bassist, and pianist, and the list keeps going...).
(Apparently I'm a little stream-of-consciousnessey tonight, I'll try to curb the impulse, but once the comma jones gets it's claws into you, it's hard to shake loose the impulse.)

Laur took me to her boss' art show opening, which I enjoyed immensely. His art made me think of Edward Gorey, but more plastic; very bright, flat planes, with twisted content that was effectively tongue-in-cheek and didn't take itself too seriously-- definitely my cup of tea.

And I've seen Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire twice already, and won't be able to say that after friday (lol)! Honestly, this one is so freaking good...I'm not going to let myself get started, it'll never end, but just, go see it okay? For me? (With me?)

I know some people couldn't imagine (or bear) to see a movie more than once, or more than many times. Mom refuses to buy DVD's because she's so dead set against watching something more than once. She doesn't get how I do it. I have a tendency to read my favourite books (usually the not-so-literary ones) over and over, too. I'm also that way with music; listen to a good song, if it gets you groovin, then there's nothing wrong with listening to it again. And again. Okay, I do have a point here. What I'm driving towards, is that I'm wondering how, or why, or something...about how much comfort I get from these things. Okay, not the music so much. But the movies to a lesser extent, and the books, hugely. I LOVE rereading my old books. The first fantasy book I ever opened was called The Hunter's Moon, by O.R. Melling, which Mom bought for me for Christmas when I was nine or so, back when we still did Christmas, and it was in my stocking. I still have it. And I've read it more times than I can count (now I wish I'd had the foresight, at age nine, to make a mark in the cover each time I read a book). Seriously- I can recite the first chapter. And Dragon Bones, by Patricia Briggs, I bought her book...I think I was in highschool, but I'll sometimes pick that book up, like, three times a year. It's a thin little paperback, takes me two days to read, and I know every twist of plot and most of the best lines, but I keep coming back. I love it. I mean, I like the story and her characters and stuff, but it's not the book, really, it's what I get out of it, I guess, that I keep coming back for. Like I said, it surprises me how much comfort I get from these simple, familiar stories. When I was in class, be it Mac or publishing, and was really stimulated by what I was doing for so many hours every day, then it would never occur to me to pick up one of my old books. When I'm up with brainwork every day, those are the times when my 'book instinct' kicks in. This is another quirk, and I've mentioned it to Mom before. I have moments, where it's like my brain's on autopilot. I would be walking through the student centre at Mac, on my way to class or on my lunch break or something, and without making a conscious decision to do so, I'd deke into the bookstore, look blindly at a shelf and just grab, faze my way through the checkout, never with one clear thought in my head. Sometimes I'd be unpacking my schoolbag hours later when I got home, and would find shiny new paperbacks with receipts tucked in their covers, and have no recollection whatsoever of having bought them. It's not a bad thing, just odd.

But now I've tangented myself into left field.

It's when my life is not so stimulated (and I know I just talked all about going to the symphony and stuff, and yes, that was stimulating), that I feel the urge to crawl into my old familiar stories again. Maybe part of me is worried that periods like this (I wouldn't go so far as to call them ruts, just...moments of calm. In the boring sense.) will continue too long, and I'm, what, afraid of that? Worried? Numbed? Yeah, 'numbed' works (call me Largeman). So, what sense does it make that I would only read the stimulating, challenging, literary, autopilot-purchase books when I'm already stimulated? Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Meh...I think this is a night of overanalysis, and without Lauren here I've talked myself into a corner. Besides, my book calls- and I know exactly what happens next.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Something Special

Know what I saw today? Snowflakes.
In their honour, have a story:

He was born in the south, and not very long ago. Fair-haired and golden-skinned, he was a child who shone in the sunlight. He was bright and full of laughter and energy, and could never be persuaded to sleep until after sunset, though his parents knew if they waited until then, he would be good, and even easy to lull to sleep.
He loved to be outdoors. Rainy days always left him less enthused, quiet and lethargic. On one sunny day he was playing in the backyard, swinging on the jungle gym and rolling around with a stuffed puppy named Bruce. He stopped rolling, sitting on the warm grass, squinting at the bright sky. His mother asked him what he was thinking. “I have a secret,” he told her, but would say no more. She fed him hot dog pieces with ketchup, and he went back to his playing.
That night, while being tucked into bed, the boy whispered to his mother that he wanted to tell her his secret. “What is it?” she asked, and he told her, “The sun shines just for me.” The mother smiled at her son, enjoying his odd comment. She kissed him goodnight, and he fell asleep quickly.
She didn’t forget what her son had told her, though it was only a passing comment that he never repeated.

That winter the family went on a trip to Canada, where the father had a business conference and thought his son would like to see snow for the first time. There was no snow when they arrived, though, just many clouds and cold wind.
It was the last day of their visit and the mother and son were walking along the sidewalk, hand in hand. They passed a young woman walking in the opposite direction, and as she passed by, the boy looked at her, and she smiled back at him.
She was older, but not so old that she’d lost that magic that belongs to the young. She was more quiet than exuberant, she smiled much but seldom laughed, her hair was dark but her eyes were bright. She liked the summer and reveled in the colours of autumn, but she waited all year for the winter. Since she was young, she’d always been able to smell the snow that was ready to fall.
She stopped walking when she saw the boy looking at her. She leant down, level with him, as he approached, his mother watching pensively from behind. “I have a secret,” the boy told her, just as he’d told his mother so many months before.
“I know your secret,” the girl quietly smiled as she said it. His mother’s brows dipped in curious confusion- what was this stranger going to say to her son?
“The sun shines just for you, doesn’t it?” the woman whispered. Before the mother could register her shock, the stranger continued, “Do you know my secret?”
The little boy smiled and looked up at the slatey clouds overhead. “It snows just for you.”
And as the first flakes the boy had ever seen started to float down over the city, the stranger-who was not at all strange to the boy, nor he to her- smiled back, and nodded her head.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Lemony Snicker (the pie is laughing at me)

Today is my brother's birthday, so Happy Birthday Brother. In honour of this momentous day, I was going to blog my mom's recipe and secret tips on how to make his favourite, Lemon Meringue Pie. Alas, this is not to be, cause apparently even with the recipe and secret tips, I cannot make Lemon Meringue Pie.
Lemon Meringue Soup I'm great at.

I refuse to accept defeat. There will be pie...someday.