All These Things That I’ve Done

In unnecessary list form:

(1) Recalled how in love with The Killers’ debut album I was. When last I shopped at Yellow, they were playing it. What makes my favorite Canadian shoe store even better? That.

(2) Had confirmed that E-readers do not do two of three things a good book MUST do. (I) Smell good. (II) Make introductions. To understand this, we must proceed to:

(3) Realized I have changed from my native Californian upbringing. See, on the west coast, transit time is personal, alone and sometimes quiet time. Of course, this is probably most true because there is no public transportation so well managed as to be a characteristic of the location. (Who thinks of NYC without thinking of the subway? Not me. And that’s all that matters…) But in the past week I have had two sudden conversations that were not just apologies for falling into someone when the train jerked. And one such conversation is credited to a book.

A girl got on at Atwater reading a hardcover of Catching Fire. At first I just smiled and kept listening to my music but when we both got off on Lionel and transferred to the same line, I felt it was a sign that we should be friends so, of course, I asked her what she thought of the trailer (for Hunger Games) and that began a conversation that made me almost miss my stop while we gawked in disappointment at being separated. We did, at the last moment, exchange names (having had the entire conversation without doing so) and of course it was only after I began walking from the train that I realized we might not see each other again…since names are all we exchanged. Darn it.

(4) Celebrated my third American Thanksgiving in Montreal. Canadian Thanksgiving is early in October – far too early for any American to comprehend – and is just not as big a deal. You’d think 4th of July would be the biggest deal to an American, but ask any expatriate and the fanfare was really always about Thanksgiving – and apparently the rest of the world knows it. Thankfully, we have a wonderful church family and there’s one amazingly hospitable lady who – among the millions of other things she does – hosts American Thanksgiving each year for those of us away from home. (Shout out to Valencia!)

(5) Finally uploaded pictures to the hubby’s computer to transfer to my computer (since I cannot state enough times how horrifying and depressing it is to not have USB or audio capability on my laptop anymore!) and therefore have a picture I meant to discuss ages ago, to the sole enjoyment of Jen-the-twin – if her at all.

Something something broaches something something want more.

 

Things That Make You Go Hmm

Things At Which I Do Not Tear Up: Pictures of the Harry Potter kids on the last day of shooting. And no, not just because they’re Harry Potter kids. I think I’ve said at least once before that the ginger boy is jdisjfolisjdif. So, to disabuse you of any bias/general disinterest you may think associated with my lack of sentimonies – pictures of the cast of Lord of the Rings don’t tear me up either. You know why? I wasn’t there. I can completely imagine how heartwarming+breaking it must be to go through such a long, creative process together. But I didn’t. So. Yay for you? I can’t be bovved. I need people who are basically just saying they loved the *movies* to stop getting emotional over the process they didn’t witness. Thirsty.

Yesterday On The Metro: A woman was wearing an entire ensemble in a variety of purples. For some reason, I thought she was an extra from Fame. She had one of those page boy hats that I don’t understand on women. It’s like, I get that it’s supposed to be urban and whatnot but it’s just passe. And no, I’m not just irritated at something else and blaming it on page boy hats. They really do suck. So this one was like brushed cotton or something and it was also maroon? She had on lavender tights and shin-high boots made of maroon suede. O_O G’head and assume scarf and dress were in the same color family – since I already said as much. So the thing that was weird was that the woman was in her late 70s at the youngest. And I know what you’re gonna say: that’s so cute, she’s so youthful, but apparently you can’t fake out age.

The train was coming up on Jean-Talon and about half the passengers got up and faced the door that would open when we stopped. She stood up and faced the doors on the opposite side. I raised an eyebrow but was like, maybe she’s getting off on the stop after? If it’s on that side? What clinched it was when the train stopped and the doors BEHIND her opened, she walked INTO the closed doors in front of her. O_O

So the lesson here is don’t wear maroon suede boots.

Lastly, in ARE YOU FOR REAL:

Source: net-a-porter.com via Bethany on Pinterest

 

Aaaaand yeah. Can you taste that? CAN YOU?!

 

Content Me In My Discontent

(1) People like Pauline something-or-other write ridiculous things about Accountability, International Baccalaureate and drizzle Foucault verbage over it in a manner that suggests she’s made some rather specious inferences and now I feel the need to reread all of the literature from senior year of university. You know, to … write an article… on her wrongness? Yep. Thanks.

(2) Mmmm, Quebec. I know I’m just a silly, modest American – that…doesn’t even read correctly. Are we really seen as modest? I mean, I personally consider myself as such but… Apparently, it is said modesty and not common sense and indignation that made me wonder why OH WHY I was caught sitting between my six year old son and a strange man while sitting in the waiting room of a dentist’s office and OH YES witnessing frontal nudity in the movie being played.

For serious?! This isn’t completely unacceptable to anyone else? Apparently not, because no one even seemed uncomfortable! Meanwhile, I looked at my son who somehow wasn’t looking at the television (mercy of mercies) and then politely asked him to take the New Testament + Psalms out of my bag and get started on Psalm 119. Now’s as good a time as any to work on memorization. O_O And before you Americans ask why I didn’t say something, let me chortle to myself and point out: We’re not in Kansas anymore.

(3) This. This is all there was or ever shall be. (If you don’t watch this, don’t bother coming back.) (Just kidding.) (Not really.)

Fin

 

Forever’s Gonna Start Tonight

For serious? You just never know what you’re in for when you go to our park.

Exhibit A: (Exhibit, you ask? Yes. Did I not mention the park is on trial. I’m charging it with being The Most.) Old woman with walker is sitting on a park bench when we arrive. I choose one of four picnic benches in the shade so that I might chillax while the boys play soccer. Within about ten minutes, said woman and walker have traversed the path and the grass and other picnic benches to SIT AT MINE.

Phineas was attached his corkscrew park anchor dealie and his leash was on the picnic table. Immediately upon sitting down, she starts fiddling with it. About which – of course – I say nothing. I assumed she’d strike up a conversation if she wanted company, plus I was trying to keep tabs on ALL the ridiculousness that was on display. Fast forward to just as we’re getting ready to leave. Looking around for the leash? Yep, it’s coiled around one her handle bars. O_O Had to ask for that back.

Exhibit B: ‘Member that time that gaggle of seemingly touched guys were not so much playing football as shouting affirmations at each other? Kay. SO. Today there were first two dudes with awkward bodies but that’s beside the point? Just saying. The shoulder breadth to waist circumference equation was startling and it made it hard at first to determine age. Anyway, it wouldn’t have been so bad if one of them hadn’t insisted on the most theatrical stretches and lunges between throws. Correction: it wouldn’t have been as AWESOME. Because for a half hour neither of them caught a single throw. Of course, not one of their throws actually made it across the entire expanse between them. So that was probably a factor. Then somehow this display attracted a third guy?! Right. And so he takes off his shirt and holy mother of merciful codfish if he wasn’t the exact same color as the goalposts on the other field. I mean like, I did a double take because I’m pretty sure he’s made of that glow in the dark material. #Promise. Anyway, guess what didn’t make them more capable of throwing/catching a football? That guy.

Exhibit C: And this is gonna take us home, let me TELL you. Dude in what may have been a Lakers jersey and jean shorts with scrunch socks and ancient Jordans. AM/FM radio propped up on the picnic bench. Playing Total Eclipse of the Heart. While he pumped a dumbbell with one seriously atrophied arm. O_O

#dead

 

Spring, Spring, Spring

Which of course brings us to Seven Brides For Seven Brothers. Oh the barn-yard is busy in a reg-ular tizzy and the ob-vious reason is because of the season, Ma Nature’s lyrical with her yearly miracle, Spring, Spring, Spring!

I like to start off with a digression. Manages your expectations.

So ’tis spring here in the city above the City (Montreal, NYC…hey. I don’t make the rules.) and we have already started taking advantage. One must. There aren’t quite so many entirely gorgeous days as there are back in California during this season. There are walks and dogs parks and picnics and badminton to be had! And HONEYSUCKLES!

To be clear, we grew up calling these honeysuckles. They’re apparently not. But you suck the sweet out of them and it tastes like jarred honey so, hey. What’re you gonna do. There is such a thing as a purpleflower honeysuckle and it looks nothing like this. Anyway, I haven’t had one of these whatever-they’re-really-calleds in forever and this vine seriously made me feel like I’d gotten to the bottom of my cup of tea. They’re so small and it’s usually just a taste but I had two from this one and the second one actually burned my throat. Crazy delicious.

And then there was the rest of that lovely day.

Now I must to write. Before which of course I have to take part in at least three distractions so. I really should get on that. You know the concept of word count still bugs me (during the writing of the book… I have no problem with the fact that books actually have words of which there will be a specific count) – except apparently when I’m writing YA or maybe anything closer to genre fiction, so don’t stone me when I say how excited I am that the WIP is at 41k. And that by tonight, she shall be further. By a specific amount, at least. I cannot wait to share this book with someone! GAH.

Adieu.

 

Well Played, Montreal

So, a day or so ago, I spent quite a bit of the day out in the beauty of spring. And had my mind. Blown.

I innocently left the house that day. Just doing me, you know, not asking anything of the world. As soon as I hit the sidewalk, I saw two guys walking on my side of the street coming in my direction. One of them I recognize as one of the neighborhood landscapers. As I always do, when I got to the corner, I crossed the street since I have to make a turn to get to the subway. Please explain to me why Creep 1 and Creep 2 decided to cross the street as well so that they were still going to pass by me. Let me be clear: I know the landscaper by face and I know that his fellow crew members were working on a yard nearby on the previous side of the street. Aside from which, they made themselves very clear when – upon passing – they both smirked and/or winked at me before crossing back to the other side of the street.

“Really? Really? Okay. Game on.”

I’m going to enjoy the day. They were gross, but they’re gone. Whatever.

The subway went ahead and smelled exACTLY like twice burned artichoke, but that’s hardly spring’s fault, yes? What *may* have been spring’s fault were the reDONK ensembles. I’m not just talking about the tight, floral skirts that made the winter weight all too obvious (just because the snow melted doesn’t mean our pounds did, everyone). I’m also willing to overlook the Cabbage Patch Rapunzel line of weave that is clearly a hot commodity in this town. What was confusing was the proliferation of polyester. What about gray or tan polyester screamed “spring”, Montreal? For real. But let me give credit where credit is due because lo! There was no one who could outdo the gentleman (clearly fresh out of customs) who… how do I even properly… hmm. Okay, so he’s this tall, svelte blonde guy. He’s wearing a dark striped long sleeved collared shirt. Worst I can say is maybe it was better suited to an evening out at a place where dressy casual is the code. Pants were polyester. Shoes were. clearly womens.

I kid you not. Heeled black boots. Womens. Promise.

No.

Don’t speak.

I promise they were womens. I promise he didn’t know.

So, I still haven’t reached my destination. Still waiting to change trains. I’ve got my big white headphones on. I’m walking along the platform and this huge guy is dead ahead, walking toward me. I step to the side, he steps back into my path. I’m no longer in the mood, Montreal. But you play to win. So dude walks directly into my face and puts his palm out, saying something I can’t hear because I’m wearing headphones. And I am all for loving our fellow man, but I am an unaccompanied woman and you are a substantially built man. Do not block my path and put your hand in my face. Done.

I’m on the train. ThankyaJesus. My music is as loud as it gets which is pretty darn loud. It successfully drowns out the sound of the train. It drowns out the sound of the train, I said. As in, people conversing is drowned out by the train and then the train is drowned out by my music. Usually. But today – because remember, Montreal plays for keeps – a woman who appears to be in her right mind and possessing all of her faculties is yelling at the top of her lungs to the dude sitting directly next to her. Like he would speak at an acceptable decibel and then she would shout back. And, again, I promise – if she was deaf, it must’ve been recent. She sounded perfectly normal but for the shouting at the top of her lungs dealie. To say people were perplexed would be an understatement. Every time a new person entered the car, they looked like they’d been slapped and then looked directly at the woman at least two more times. This went on all the way through to my stop.

And then I had like three hours of normalcy. (Booty shorts and heels are unfortunately a part of that normalcy.) So I got cocky. Decided to make it a family day at the park, complete with blanket, badminton set, soccer ball, nerf football, laptop and camera. And, for the most part, that’s what went down. We did it up royal; everything was great. Save the approach, during which I realized that the tree under which I love writing and under which they recently installed lovely benches and tables – that tree directly in front of me and my son and hubby? Yes, under that tree, a grown boy is urinating.

I forfeit.

 

The Game Has Changed

First things first.

That’s. Really all I want.

I even love that it’s called a datamancer. #swoon

Anyway, some of you know that I quite appreciate the limitless benefits of goal-orientation and organization. I’m gonna assume I’ve talked about it before. It’s kinda required when you want your family to achieve something beyond what’s right in front of you and therefore, without making a judgment on those whose fulfillment is therein satisfied, more easily accessible.

As such, I am finding myself in a strange and also entirely understandable headspace. We’ve been in this city for 18 months. I feel therefore compelled to start planning and executing preliminary tasks related to “the next chapter”. Because this is the phase in which I would normally do so. Paperwork, applications, phone calls, endless visual aids and checklists, research, prayer, Bible study. That’s what I’d be doing with all of my time. Plotting out how options would affect each member of the family, relaying all of the aforementioned to the mister.

So what do you do when your plans no longer include finding a new city to test out. No, rephrase. What do I do. Not that I’m not curious as to what you do, but. Right. That’s. Not really gonna help me, is it.

It’s only normal that I’d get to what used to be a crossroads and have the usual response. So now I remind myself that we’re where we want to be. That all that energy can stay focused on the life we’re building here. #InitiateRewiring

In Conclusion. I am currently listening to the follow:

P.S. I fibbed. I want this, too.

 

How I Almost Met My Father (In Heaven)

If you are ever going to rent a u-haul, don’t take the metro all the way there before realizing your license is expired and then have to take the metro back and send your spouse on the same trek to get the u-haul you reserved for almost two hours ago. (Josh.)

If you ever have to go rent the truck you had no intention of driving because you’re the only one legally allowed to drive it, don’t try to get out of the way of the guy behind you and end up parking in the snow bank you now have to be dust-pan-shoveled out of. (Bethany.)

If you’re six, don’t direct your mother while she drives against her will. (Ezra.)

And now, a lighter note!

 

 

 

 

 

Had Myself A Merry Little Christmas

Drink it in, it always goes down smooth.

How ya like that, Jen? I thought you might. I did. I’ll be honest. Merry. Christmas.

No, but, srsly. This second holiday season in Montreal was such a blessing, so full of amazing and love and hospitality. To leave our home country and come to a place where we knew no one only to find the most wonderful church and accompanying family and be bouncing from one warm home to another for celebrations = priceless. So many awe-inspiring services throughout the season, going so far beyond the nativity scene/greeting card. MAN. Wish I could transcribe it all, taking feverish notes it is possible. But instead, I’ll invite you to check out our church/Montreal family here (link).  <3

And there’s a lovely lady here whose style ALWAYS reminds me of my fashionable tiny big sister, Jen. Her name is Annick and she is a-dor-able.

Yeah, kinda want her floral dresses and those BOOTS. O_O This is me introducing her to my sisters via my blog. It is finished.

 

Oh hi, Mark.

I can tell you with all certainty that *nothing* says Happy Holidays like a thick blanket of snow. My family was quite pleased with it today and I – being me, by which I mean myself – have made a video to share our festive joy!

Before I unveil it, I shall give you a few highlights of recent life. The hubby is finishing his final assignment of his final taught class of his MA; EzMez had his first monologue performance this past Sunday @ the church’s Christmas Contata – in the telling of Jesus’ birth, he recited Luke 2:1-7. I was there and video was taken…but I had a massive momfail and it is unuseable. When the church’s video goes live, I shall share it! Anyway, it was wonderful and I couldn’t be prouder and neither could the rest of his Montreal family.

I recently saw the inciting incident for a dark novel I didn’t intend to write any time soon. The funny thing is I thought I knew where it was going to start, seeing as about a year ago I wrote a synopsis of the book – which was another first as far as process goes. Anyway, so the other thing is it’s first person present tense. Present tense is a necessity – and to be honest I don’t think a novel should be in present tense unless it’s a necessity. And I’m kind of surprised that a work-in-progress of several years (clearly it’s considered a wip even when it’s dormant for stretches of time) is also going to be shifting to first person…I’ve been feeling compelled, at least. I’ll admit that while writing that sentence the matter doesn’t seem as urgent as the dark novel I just starting writing, but I do think it’s necessary. I also thought I’d work on the logline for that long-in-progress novel and I’ve considered that it might end up being rewritten entirely, not that the story elements wouldn’t go to good use, but that it will…yeah, be rewritten. I like to repeat myself. O_O

Okay, that’s enough boring you! VI-yo time!