The fall is holding out against the winter, trees clutching bright leaves before the chill breaks their grips. It’s wonderfully warm among such colours, and we walk in the valleys of Appalachia to take in the smell of mountain air as rustic hands around us work livestock and soil. In old Aramaic, Damascus means “a well-watered place”, a fitting name as the rain soon grows too heavy to be exploring the tiny town, population 981.
The drive to Toronto is getting easier. It’s my only chance to really listen to albums nowadays1, not to mention the comfort of seeing familiar towns on the way, like the names of subway stops you can’t help but memorize as a child on the way home from school. And in a way, so many years later, Toronto still feels like home. Getting there is a journey, but the people always make it worth it.
My patience tends to wear out about a quarter way in, when it becomes hard to maintain a reasonable speed. It’s a test of whether I can drive safely to see how far I’ve grown as a person.
I fail every time.
The view from Alex’s downtown apartment. You can easily tell Yonge Street apart from how brightly it’s lit.
Continue reading “small world”…
My time here is coming to an end, and I start to wonder more and more what the practicalities are of me moving here. Karin asked if I miss anything about home (before already giving me one answer, my cat). I thought about it, and decided that I do miss days in my pajamas where I sat around doing nothing, and the smell of my guitar.
The only thing I bought in Britain was this tea candle shade of the London skyline, found in a shop filled with baubles and knick knacks where Mike and Emma took me. They had a feeling it was my kind of thing. Funny to think that they knew me so well already in those three days. I love watching the shadows dance across the shade in warm colours.
I went through an entire spectrum of emotions there. Through all the wonder and excitement were still moments of weakness, giddiness, sadness, and insecurity, because there are things you can’t escape by flying to the other side of the world.
I’ve since settled back into my old life. The trip didn’t change me, not in any epiphanic way at least. It was more of an affirmation of myself and the way I’ve been seeing things.
There were so many times that I was far out of my comfort zone, thrust into independence, pushing my limits, and that forced me to be objective to keep my wits about me. In those objective moments were objective views of myself, where I began to understand that I was responsible for everything that was happening. For all the memories and experiences and footage and friendships.
And suddenly, I realized, I like me.
It was a small opening set for a vernissage with a theme called Rumour Has It, featuring forty artists in a bike store in Hintonburg.
Jesse had the set list planned around the whole rumour theme, and we started learning the songs when I showed up for rehearsal. But I only found out we were playing that night when my calendar alarm went off to say the show had started. I thought we had an extra day at least to practice, but due to a time zone bug in Google Calendar, the show was instead happening in two hours.
Jesse’s dad with his trusty old Martin.
I wasn’t ready at all — mentally or musically — and if I’d have bailed if didn’t have so much respect for Jesse, only because being under-prepared really isn’t my style. It was worth it just to be a part of what must be the world’s first father-son cover of Piece of Me Britney Spears anyway, which ended up being a great closer for the set. I don’t think I’d be exaggerating if I said the four people watching us rocked their fucking balls (and respective tits) off.