Yearly Archives: 2012

merry x-mas

Julia asked me how long I’d been spend­ing Christmas at their house. We fig­ured out this was the sev­enth year, cause I have pic­tures of Ginger from 2005, before she died. I can’t say I remem­ber each Christmas dis­tinctly, aside from a few extra faces and occa­sional make­outs that cause some to stand out more than oth­ers. It’s strange to think that I’ve known Braiden for more than half his life. I per­pet­u­ally think of him as being seven.

The Rogers'

 

The kids are get­ting older, no longer up at 5am and anx­iously wait­ing by the presents until they’re allowed to wake up the par­ents. The idea of Santa has long been dis­pelled. Braiden’s given up being a cen­tre for goalie, lost his post-season scruff cut, and at 13 is only an inch shorter than me. Nicole’s done most of her grow­ing and will be legal in four months, but at the age where she’s still someone’s daugh­ter instead of her own woman. Julia’s sport­ing a new voice and pierc­ing, but has kept all the sass that comes with being the mid­dle child.

Continue read­ing “merry x-mas”…

finishing the game

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It’s been an aim­less win­ter. Some days full of mean­ing, oth­ers pass­ing with­out so much as a moment worth remem­ber­ing. I’ve learned to cher­ish every storm cause each one could be your last. Who knows when you’ll get to walk on trails cut through tan­gled branches with the snow as wet and thick and heavy as this again?

long driveway with snow

 

The hol­i­days snuck up on me. I’ve been try­ing to fig­ure out where all the time has gone and how best to use what’s left. The only dec­o­rat­ing I’ve done for the sea­son is a real pine wreath (gen­er­ously given to me by Steph) hung on the office door. A small act that doesn’t seem like much com­pared to the glo­ri­ous ceiling-scraping trees in the houses of my friends and neigh­bours, but cer­tainly more than I’ve done in the recent years. It’s an easy con­ces­sion to make against my grow­ing dis­taste for the com­mer­cial­ized Christmas cul­ture when my room is filled with the scent of sap, scat­tered pine nee­dles, and other reminders of life.

car-in-snow

The ever-faithful steed.

My exis­tence is defined by what I have left to do, and the list grows ever shorter. I live week-by-week, through cycles of pro­duc­tiv­ity and play, try­ing to meet each need in turn. It’s always a del­i­cate bal­ance to be man­ag­ing when so much in life is out of your control.

As for the short term, I’m off to Shirley’s for Christmas and my annual dose of fam­ily. It’ll be a com­plete break from my reg­u­lar life of single-serving meals and never being around more than one per­son at a time. I imag­ine we’ll spend most of the days eat­ing fin­ger foods and watch­ing real­ity TV among the ram­bunc­tious flus­ter of her kids. I always look for­ward to see­ing how they’re car­ry­ing their grown-up voices and how their styles have changed.

hot chocolate

 

This is the time of year I’m most scared of being left with­out plans1, but recently I haven’t had enough time alone. It’s left me feel­ing numb and tired and that’s exactly what I need right now.

Friends still make the best dis­trac­tions. It’s easy to hide from any­thing when you’re shar­ing a blan­ket and some early episodes of Trailer Park Boys.

  1. Also why I usu­ally make a trip to Toronto. []

Trapped in NYC

A few weeks ago, an anony­mous per­son very thought­fully sent me a track called NYC by Brolin. This per­son must know me quite well, cause the song is to my taste exactly. Not only that, but I’d been mean­ing to make a short film about my trip to New York (as well as the extended stay due to Hurricane Sandy), and Brolin’s min­i­mal­is­tic sound space and ghostly vocals gave me an atmos­phere of warmth and won­der that matched my footage perfectly.

Personally, I don’t think I could ever cre­ate any­thing and name it NYC. It’s a city with too much depth and com­plex­ity to try encap­su­lat­ing in a verse or song or mov­ing image, then tie it up with three sim­ple let­ters. I can’t wait to go back again some day to cap­ture as much as I can.

found and lost

I don’t know how to tell my friends about you. What am I sup­posed to say? That all we shared was some tea and talk and those four hours are rea­son I still believe in chem­istry after all the prac­ti­cal fail­ings of my past rela­tion­ships? And how do I bring you up, now that it’s been so long I won­der if you even remem­ber me?

Perhaps you wouldn’t be in my mind so often if Green Eyes wasn’t one of my favourite songs. It always takes me back to those days on the mend, when all I had was your brother — singing with a voice like it was soaked in Scotch and left to dry on a line in win­ter — to give me some­thing new to love. You were the one to give me some­thing to be excited about when it felt like noth­ing mat­tered any­more, and just as much became an inex­tri­ca­ble part of that time.

That’s why I haven’t for­got­ten you. That’s why I never will.

I can still see the cav­a­lier way you’d toss your curly hair over your head every now and then, as if you were per­pet­u­ally decid­ing how best to wear it. I’ve come to appre­ci­ate that kind of casual come­li­ness, and the fact that you were so unaware of it made it all the more endearing.

We were sup­posed to start a band of our own. I’d pick up key­board or cello if you wanted to stick with gui­tar, we’d do cov­ers of Andrew Vincent, open for house shows, and get signed to Kelp some day. Instead, all I have is a pic­ture of you danc­ing at the Raw Sugar, and what if for­ever on my lips.

I may hardly know you, but the truth is I miss you. I still want you in my life. I want to know where you’ve been and who you’ve loved, what you’re danc­ing to and how else your cre­ativ­ity has taken form. But all I can do is won­der if our paths will ever cross again.