perfectionism

Perfectionism insists that I post in a chronological order, but because I'm shuffling from one laptop to another, while working and packing and eating and sleeping almost simultaneously, I'm just realizing that if I post anything, any date, it will be an improvement on nothing at all. So take that, perfectionism. But still it tells me it doesn't really care because it has a capable hand in disorder, too.

So here are some pictures from the beginning of rainy, tired August, when my best friend Bridget came to visit from Ohio. And isn't it funny how after a while certain words begin to stick together? - it's hard to say 'Bridget' without saying 'from Ohio' now. Now THAT shows how careful you need to be when choosing your living space, because you even have to consider what you're sticking yourself to in a wordy sort of way as well as a literal one.

Actually, the only pictures I have from her visit are from Hopewell Rocks. Her aunt Linda and fun cousin Carly took us. And since I must give credit where credit is due: they are two tough cookies. Bridget and I clung to each other, gazing in disbelief at our unrecognizable feet (one of us might have wailed: ‘I have never been this dirty in all my life!’ and okay, it was me) that faded away ankle deep in chocolate pudding mud. That chocolate pudding mud is very deceiving. And though I’m trying very hard to be a good sport, the adjective disgusting is sticking to ‘chocolate pudding mud’. Anyway, while Bridget and I squirmed, laughing in disgust at the mud, and hair sticking to our faces from the mist, Linda walked out so far she was the size of my little finger. And Carly, laughing in a nice way, snapped a picture of our horrified faces (which I would like to get ahold of).

But these pictures are pre-mud, pre-mist, and pre-torrential rain. Pre-Rachel covered in mud, though I never fell, thanks to the child who stepped in front of us in line and promptly sprayed the mud off his legs unto mine. Here's the first view I had, off the top of the stairs (which my arthritic granny knees came to know very well indeed).
and a lucky lady with an umbrella! oh to be prepared.

And me. And Bridget. Not a good, clear photo. But we're together.
and here Bridget is viewing the walk out to the sea dispassionately.
After that the rain poured down and I had to stuff my camera in my sweatshirt pocket, so that I looked like a mama kangaroo. We pulled ourselves up the ramp, sliding helplessly in slimy flip flops. Though we cleaned up as best as we could with the hoses, we still bedraggled and straggled through the woods, bursting forth upon civilization as the rain stopped and the sun shone. I noticed more than one newly arrived silky haired tourist staring at our damp forms, perhaps wondering if we'd teleported from some South American country in the midst of the rainy season.

We ate two doughnuts apiece to sugar-rush our weary selves and immediately fell asleep.

An hour later we hugged muddily at the bus station and then I was delivered promptly at four in Summerside by the bus, and promptly at five at work, by my mother, STILL spattered with 'chocolate pudding'. I changed furiously fast in the bathroom so I could babble about my adventure. Disgusting? Oh, perhaps. But certainly worth it. While I bus-sed, Bridget flew. And it'll be a while before either of us are in a position, financially speaking I guess, to visit often.

So those four days we spent together were jewels. (I think C.S. Lewis says it best: 'My day was the colour of a peacock's chest.') Chatting over a pizza; visiting her old and sometimes crazy neighbors who insist you gulp down a filthy cup of tea, and nearly catch you hiding their frozen jelly roll in your napkin ('and I INSIST you try a spoonful of my beans'); singing vigorously along with her father, johnny cash kitchen parties into the wee hours; saying the most ridiculous, egotistical things to each other and laughing gleefully, unselfishly if we top each other; trying on as many things as possible in Smart Set, which is, sorry, Our Store and always has been, and don't those salesladies know it; and finally, beautifully, the Deep Sleepover Talk. Isn't there something about talking in the dark?

But maybe it's more just talking to Bridget. There's a certain thing I try not to complain about, and most people simply forget about it, which is more than fine with me. But I 'complain' to her. 'I know,' she says. 'I've learned to pick up your signals over the years.'

It's not that other people don't know my signals. It's that she knows even when I'm not signaling. It's our way. We both strive for perfection, but are sympathetic to the imperfection in each other.

It's why the words 'best friend' stick to 'Bridget'.

last minute

can you believe it.

in exactly... three days... i will be traveling across this bridge to move into my first sort of house, sort of grown-up learned to cook and everything, might even have a stab at dusting, sort of an exhaustively exciting time of life.

well, goodness. i can't.

i don't even know if i'm really into this? or what that terribly constructed sentence even held for me?

i'll never forget youuu

I haven't written in a while because my laptop, affectionately referred to as 'my husband', was in the shop. Happily, I just picked him up the other day! Unhappily, they couldn't find the parts to fix it, and charged me $46 just to tell me what was wrong with it - which I told them when I brought it in. Just the fan and the hinge was broken. So they passed it back to me saying the fan and the hinge are broken and ca-ching! Rang it up on the register. Last time I take a computer to Staples to be fixed. And I bought a new laptop from Future Shop. Hah!

It feels almost like a death in the family, giving up this laptop. Hubby was a graduation gift and has been with me through thick and thin for the first three years of my degree. Probably I could stretch him out over the last year, but the fan-that-doth-sound-like-an-airplane-taking-off has roared & growled once too often. Still - it now growls at me in betrayal as I await the arrival of the new man.

DAYS LATER

He's here! He's here! And it just isn't the same. The separation from my former love is almost too much to bear. I mean... the new keyboard... the glossy, unscratched screen... it's just a little too girly if you know what I mean. I think this one will have to settle for being just friends. You know how it is. Once I start remembering where the enter key actually is, and once I finally find out where the volume is... THEN we'll see what happens.

count-down

In two days I'll be off to my favorite place in the world, during my favorite time of year, to spend time with my favorite people on the planet.

Okay. It's a family reunion.

But here's why you, too, should go to Cape Breton:

* Cape Breton Island ranked 1st in 2006 as the Top Island in Continental US and Canada by Travel & Leisure Magazine, and 4th in the world
* Ranked as an Island Paradise in Fodor's Travel News 2008
* March 2004 - Cape Breton rated #2 on National Geographic's Traveler Magazine destinations
* Rated the most beautiful island and amongst the most friendly people in the world by Condé Nast Traveler magazine!

Sorry. Now that I work in the tourism industry... you know.

When I return I'll try to start posting pictures again instead of just writing - but of course that means I have to stop posting at work, haha.

don't forget the plum sauce

For years I've been meaning to learn to cook.

I LOVE food. Love it. If there's anything that brings me joy it's a luscious cake just coming out of the oven, or a perfectly shaped sugar cookie with a dollop of pink icing, or the smell of yeasty bread rising on the stove top. I love grilled steaks in the summertime and roasted turkeys at Christmas. I love hot cross buns on any and every holiday, but above all, I love when I don't have to do the cooking! Baking I can handle. I'll never forget bringing my first prize winning brownies home proudly from the exhibition, and suddenly having a terrifying flashback to putting plum sauce in them instead of corn syrup. I'll never live that down, even though they still were great! Still, though I can bake, I've never cooked as much as a hot dog. Why? Who knows. I'm a fan of the carb and the dairy - breads and pastries, milk and cheese - when my family is away I dine on pancakes and icecream. So I've had a long history of Not Cooking.

When I was little, my father and I baked together from an Anne of Green Gables cookbook, and proudly displayed our linimint cakes and our ruby tea biscuits. (We're both big fans of Dessert.) The supper table, however, was different. Supremely picky, my brother and I would sit there for hours rather than choke down whatever green and/or healthy thing was on our plate. When my mother decided to cut sugar and white flour out of our diets, that was just the last straw. Finding a candy in a coat pocket was a field day, and to this moment I cannot stand the taste of a whole wheat bagel. (I take my bagels white, with cinnamon and SUGAR please!) Thankfully, this phase didn't last very long, in the scheme of things.

My best friend from high school and I - our memories together - mostly revolve around food. Unhealthy food. We've split so many fries with the works & root beer floats that they all blur together in my mind. Same goes for the Greco pizzas we've consumed, while watching musicals on television, and of course the greasy chinese meals late at night aren't forgettable either. Then there's the chips and pop over a good game of Clue, and the fact that we drank a gallon of milk in a sitting, and are proud of it still. (Why... why?!)

Now in college, if there was anything to complain about it was most certainly the food. There was no robustness to the limp pasta, the fake meat, or the frozen vegetables. There was definitely no health to the soggy french fries, the re-heated pizza, or the grilled cheese sandwiches (some with the plastic wrapper still on the cheese). But that isn't to say that there wasn't a certain delight in complaining about the cafeteria - our lot was so hard - we deserved sympathy & bonded together against the mercenary adults who simply thought we were whiney teenagers. Didn't we know so much better? There was delight, too, in the microwavable pot roast we carved on my friend's dorm room floor. Delight in the peanut butter we ate in spoonfuls for protein, the Swiss Chalet delivery chicken dinners that fortified us through exam time, and the frozen cheesecake that was our only stab at luxurious food. And of course there was a certain desperate hope that this was the last time we would make a trip to the bookstore for chips, pop, and chocolate.

Now I'm moving on to a new stage in my life. The moving-out-of-dorm-into-real-house, almost-time-to-fully-leave-the-nest stage. And it feels... like I'm finally going to learn how to cook. So since my family left me lonely at home while they set off on vacation, it's a prime opportunity for me to practice. Last night I looked up a recipe for fried steak & pulled out an apron. Around ten, the smoke dectector went off - or would've, if the batteries weren't out of it (preparation, you see, is more than key when cooking) - and I was crawling around the floor looking for the fan, cracking the windows, and throwing a blanket over the bird cage so he wouldn't suffocate. The steak sizzled happily and the pasta bubbleth over. If you happened to have driven by, you might have seen a coughing girl in a long brown apron out on the deck, scraping black stuff out of a smoking pan with a spatula. Still - as I slumped messily at the table, with my charred steak & buttered parmesan pasta set before me, cookbooks & papers all around and smoke lingering at eye level - I thought - hey - I CAN cook.

It was a delicious moment.

Re-read. Re-bought

Yesterday we went to the library for their annual book sale, and Luke brought his selections over to Mom.

Mom: 'Luke, we have this book at home.'
Luke: 'No we don't.'
Mom: 'Yes we do.'
Luke: 'NO we DON'T.'
Mom: 'Well this is our book that I gave to the library then!!'
Luke: 'horrified gasp'

And we bought back the book. I guess it's the Morrison way of donating to the library system.

the continuing adventures of the captain

well luke went camping for a week & captain johnny decided to take off as well. giving us all mild cases of heart attack & strokes & impending doom in general.

that precious bird. well on canada day he hid, swinging silently on the door chain so that we locked him in between the two doors. and then when we came home as dusk, all barbequed out, he shot out of the door and burst into the sky, swinging round in long loops, chirping a song of freedom or of fright. we walked with him, from tree to tree, calling & cajoling him with bird cage and favorite treat in hand.

not only is a a frightening thing to have a pet escape and not want to come home - or understand that he needs to come home - but also we had the fear of luke in our hearts... returning from camp and bursting into tears at the news of his beloved bird's disappearence. and a bird isn't like a dog, or cat, that at least is grounded. johnny had all the skies to flee as well.

was it an hour or more later that we gave up, torn apart by mosquitoes and disappointment, leaving johnny in the neighbor's tallest tree? was it all night that we lay awake, praying for the safekeeping of the world's most annoying, chirpy, and viciously nippy budgie? the things we do for love.

our neighbor tried to cheer us up. 'when i was eight or nine,' she said, 'i lost my budgie for a year. then one day i found out it had flown across the river - a mile or so - and was happily residing at the Pridhams. so they returned him to me, that whole year later...'

could the same happen to johnny?

two days later, a lady called us. 'i was at a party in northport,' she said. 'and we saw something fly by the window. a bird landed on the barbeque, and walked right up the hostess' arm. he was starving so she brought him in and fed him a tomato on the counter. someone had a bird cage at home, so they put him in the cage and fed him some bread. and then i went home and was talking to a friend... and they said they saw you outside with a bird cage the other night, so i thought i'd give you a call.' and she gave us the lady's number. and the next day we picked up johnny, and brought him home.

he is not sorry at all that he went.

'glorious & free'

maybe it's a bit late for an 'oh Canada happy birthday' type of post but none the less here one is.

my happiest memories of Canada Day are lying back on the cool grass by the lake in Baddeck, NS, and watching the fireworks burst off the boats, while lots of cousins ran around with glow sticks wrapped around their little bodies, in real danger of tumbling in the water and spending the rest of the evening proudly shivering, wrapped in blankets, imprisoned by unimpressed parents. so large are these long ago fireworks in my mind that the more famed ones in Charlottetown left me cold, a few years ago, and so i don't make the effort to take the trip, instead celebrating with a quiet barbeque in my home town.

but it's somewhat disconcerting that on the day we're supposed to celebrate our beloved nation it's just the celebration i think about - not all the things we're supposed to be celebrating. so i thought - well write down a list of what you like about Canada (inspired by kelley, i must add) and be very, very thankful! but as i began to mull this over, all the things i didn't like about Canada came to mind. this state of mind was aptly illustrated in the newspaper, which read (in paraphrase): 'let's celebrate what unites all of us Canadians... !&%# gas prices!' perhaps complaining does unite us, and i am thankful that we can complain about things like gas prices & the governement without fear of losing our heads!

what do i like about canada?

i love the land, literally - the earth under our feet. i love the way it gets in our blood. it's the first thing and the last that i think of when i think of Canada, when i picture Canada on the map. mountains rising & prairies stretching and the rivers throughout and especially the seasides! for the ocean gets in our blood too.

i love canadian literature. i love the way it knows us so well. the way its tones and cadences reflect us. the land. the ocean. feelings. that we understand but can't put into words. art, too - vivid portrayals that we don't always want to see, but do understand, and must admit so, quietly.

i love the people. and this is not so much in the cities, where i have been afraid to show any signs of reaching out to others, because others are afraid to reach out to you. who knows who you might be. who knows what you could become. but rather i love the people in the country, where a smile at anyone begins a conversation usually starting with your relatives and ending with an invitation to dinner. or freedom to walk someone else's land. or simply someone else to say hello too, and know their name, and their father's name.

i love the food! there is no need to go hungry, or want for variety. the restaurants, the farmers... i love them all.

i love my freedom, as a woman especially.

i love all these things, and more as well. there are a lot of things i don't love, but that's alright. i understand canada and the way it is. it's familiar; it's beautiful; it's home.

if you can't tell

we're on an archaeological dig.seeking sea sponge...

...seaweed

...and seashells.

21 & so on

this is the last birthday i plan to reveal my age.
a lady never tells.
so take note! you'll never hear it from me again!on the actual day i had to work, but still i awoke to a lovely birthday brunch and set off to work with a light heart. today i truly celebrated the coming year by having a delicious day, an unproclaimed birthday. after lunch joanna & luke & i went, playing loud summer music (YOU know), to the beach, where it was somewhat cloudy & mostly chilly, and the decidedly bracing wind just blew good health into you. we attempted to build a most magnificent wall but slowly i slipped away into my deck chair, bundled in blankets against the wind, sunglasses against the sun, summer classics like 'north & south' by elizabeth gaskell against the sleepiness of the season.
it's my birthday present, by the way, that teeny pink blot in the picture? a lounge chair that is terrible to carry, clanking and banging against your ankles, opening at the most inopportune times. also it is bright pink, so i am Legally Blonde. but when you shift your weight back just right your feet fly up into the sky happily, lounging delightfully. and when your feet become numb because all the blood is rushing to your head, you struggle back up, in position to keep eagle eyes on any children heading for an undertow. in short, it was a lovely present. a few chocolates and silken cushions later, and i shall be quite spoiled for any good work this summer.

after the beach, we detoured around a bridge being built over the river, and took the long route to the take-out, stopping on our old dirt road to gather lupins from the ditch. lupins are just as PEI as potatoes, and much prettier. then onwards for a baby cone of icecream and it was the perfect birthday. perhaps not the perfect summer day because it was cloudy & cool, but all & all, what could the sun have added?

natural & normal

why can't we have a dog, like normal families?when i grow up i'm getting a dog.

(maybe a chihuahua. an irish setter like in the book 'big red'. or a scottish terrier that would have an uncanny resemblance to sherlock holmes.)

front desk, rachel speaking...

well in may i applied to the Rodd for a housekeeping position, was interviewed for front desk & started work three weeks later. at first it was overwhelming. who knew there were so many little details to know & memorize & then serve up with a smile? at times i find myself thinking of last summer's job at the library, where I puttered around watering the plants & staring at the bookcases through the dusty sunlight, wondering what to read next. (often, i learned, you CAN judge a book by its cover) and yet i did not want to return there, and my wish not to return was granted, and i am grateful... there is a certain charm in slipping behind the scenes of a familiar place (in this case a hotel) and learning about the people that run it and the different ways it can be run. lots of material, in short. more than hard to believe: it is nearly july, and one month of my three month employment is complete. soon enough back to the books. and oh, i am sick of wanting to be learning during the summer, and wanting to be working during the winter! time for a change. must enjoy every moment of this beautiful summer and learn how to be joyfully industrious at any job that is my lot. isn't it funny how they didn't even bother interviewing me for housekeeping. how did they know i was never cut out to be a maid? of course the picture is pure sham.

books books books books books

Who’s your all-time favorite author and why?

alistair macleod. he has only written one novel and a handful of short stories, but perhaps that's why every word is perfectly chosen & placed. and i suppose, above all, i love him because he writes about my home, cape breton, with an integrity that is lacking in fiction today. he knows his subject & he loves his subject, even the not nice bits. hallelujah for depth & profundity without heavy-handedness!

Who was your first favorite author and why? Do you still consider him/her among your favorites?

oh heavens, i have read and read and read and loved many an author. thinking about my bookshelves, overflowing with tattered copies of children's fiction (and i still love children's fiction better than almost any other genre)... i would have to say laura ingalls wilder. my parents gave me the box set of the little house books as a birthday present and they are beyond battered. i'll invest in another set soon, because they retain their healthy charm years later. but i loved so many others! enid blyton & her famous five, walter farley's black stallion series, etc etc etc.

Who’s the most recent addition to your list of favorite authors, and why?

margaret laurence. here's a familiar story: i read the stone angel in high school and thought it was 'good' but 'not my sort of book'. i then read it in college and thought it was 'better' but 'still not entirely interesting'. THEN i read it for another university course & finally gained enough insight to see a bit of the depth i had missed. but it was laurence's 'the prophet's camel bell' and 'a bird in the house' that truly blew me away. i have read those several times in six months and each time learn something new about the characters & themes, and 'prophet's camel bell' is the best non-fiction i've read in years. 'the diviners' is the only book of laurence's i can't bring myself to enjoy. the course i read these for was 'margaret laurence and margaret avison', and i suppose they are tied for most recent addition to favorite author, for avison's poetry i have been waiting all my life to meet. it is exactly to my taste, and i am marveled by how she shows her beliefs through poetry without being horribly criticized for it: a true sign of brilliance. at the moment, she is my favorite poet.

If someone asked you who your favorite authors were right now, which authors would first pop out of your mouth?

alistair macleod, margaret laurence, & margaret avison as previously noted. tolkien, because he is a truly astounding man and his Lord of the Rings fame is completely deserved, though I wish more would appreciate the books rather than the movies (and ditto for c. s. lewis, of course). margot benary isbert - a little known german author who writes with beautiful insight. i have a weakness for authors like dodie smith & caroline b. cooney, who write lovely novels for young adults that aren't classics, but rather well-written books that aren't a waste of time to read. i have a million others but my mind is blanking. rosemary sutcliff authors incredibly detailed historical novels, lots of battles with just enough romance to keep me happy. any period novel - you know typical austen & dickens - is lovely. those are the ones that would pop out of my mouth but sadly they leave out many an author who is deserving of mention.

what books have you bought or borrowed lately?

just last week i received a lovely parcel from amazon.ca! three books:

* 'just listen' which is by another young adult author i'm partial to, Sarah Dessan - again not a classic but a guilty pleasure that i've re-read several times. all her books are the similiar plot of a girl jaded against love for some reason, usually due to some family member's failure at relationships, and gradually learning that it is ok to love someone. sounds exactly like a book that's a guilty pleasure, doesn't it? this one is one of my favorites by Dessan, who has found her niche and makes the most of it.

* 'shadow in hawthorn bay' which is CLASSIC Canadian lit, by a classic Canadian author, Janet Lunn. begins in scotland and then transitions to canada, the early years. a girl with second sight coming to terms with the land.

* & finally the book i am embarrassed to say that I own, 'confessions of a serial kisser' by Wendelin Van Draanen. her book 'flipped' was amazing, alright? so i ordered this sure that despite the title it would be just as enjoyable. well, it CAN be judged by its cover - complete fluff. still better written than most of its kin, but this particular golden rule for writers flashes in my head as i read: 'cut cut CUT!' it's the story of a girl who deals with her divorced parents by kissing every boy in sight...so in short... pass these confessions by and read 'flipped'. :)

as for books i've borrowed from the library, i won't bore you with the long list - but i've been reading a lot of TRAVEL books because i am so excited for my long-awaited trip to europe next spring! i don't like to talk about it too much for fear it will fall through, but i am working lots and saving money to give myself that ultimate after-graduation present. still... if you have any tips (and the two people that i know read this have traveled! haha) i would love to hear all your advice.

who says alberton isn't exciting

what with 10th birthday parties...
stanley cup victories...
and digging up a twenty-years-dead-and-buried whale...
i'd say it was pretty exhilarating around here!

new roofs to climb

an hour before evening service on sunday i looked out my window and the fact that the porch roof was RIGHT there finally registered. so i merely inquired if...

'dad could you build a deck outside my window?'

'no, rachel, i can't build a deck outside your window.'

so i started figuring out how to get out there anyway. my window is an ancient and ridiculous one, incorporating about eight different layers of glass. i managed to heave it open to the screen, but no amount of panting and shoving could get the screen out.

'i could always cut it and duct tape it later...'

'no, rachel, you are not going to cut your screen out.'

so maybe we were going at this the wrong way. joanna decided to try from the outside. she pushed the garbage bin up to the house and put a large metal spool on top of that, and then hoisted herself up to the roof. meanwhile, inside the house mom was taking apart the window methodically, pane by pane. but even without the many layers the screen still wouldn't come out. luke's friend climbed up on the roof same way joanna did. 'look, i can take the screen out no problem,' he boasted. 'we break into houses all the time.' which dubious statement i chose to ignore and handed him the pliers. exactly one minute later he handed me the screen.

this is dad's face on learning my window was completely dismantled:
this is joanna trying out the shed roof in the delighted freedom that comes when you've conquered something new. like roof climbing. luke just wishes he was taller so he could as well.
and finally, luke's friend resting proudly on the roof after his labors. now i know who to call when i want to break in. not that i would call...
but it is nice to know right outside my window is a little retreat looking out at the fields and the trees and the birds and even the occasional fox. a cup of tea and a journal good. if only dad would build that deck so i wouldn't live in fear of rolling off one day...

first home, second home, home home

my first home is alberton; my second home is moncton; my home home is margaree.

dad and i went for a quick three day trip the end of april.

this is my old backyard.

this neighbors my grandparents' property.

this is after the arduous trek down the cliff to the river. when i was a child it was all rock, but now soil is wedging itself between the stones, and this reedy bush grows, and leaves and natural refuse catch on the branches and look like some sort of earthy flower.

this is the road by my grandparent's house. it's gradually returning to the earth. forgotten by any officials in charge of road repair. and this is not the worst of it. on the bright side, it's a really fun road to drive because you never know what surprise awaits you!

last year i wrote a piece for class on how there was a little piece of land in margaree that i wanted more than any other.

excerpt: ' When I was less than 10, my mother, my younger brother and I walked halfway up my grandpa's mountain to visit my father at work. I can still remember the heat of the sun-warmed land, and my father sitting on a log in his orange gear, dirty and tired, the brush spread haphazardly over the cleared land, and then I ask about a single towering tree upright, smack in the middle.

"Grandpa couldn't cut it down," Dad tells me. "It's been there for a long time."

Being in Margaree for a weekend is beautiful, but then comes the leaving part, which we've done many times. Leaving repeatedly emphasizes the need I feel to put down roots in a place, for the first time I left Margaree, it taught me to fear change. Leaving makes me hang on to every tree, every memory and every tradition. Though there is always a time and a place for leaving, I hate it: goodbyes, packing, sitting on my suitcase to shut it, everything, all of it. I want to cling to that one tree of my Grandpa's because if someone didn't know, they might erase it off the mountain. I want to save it. I never want to let go.'

for me that particular elderly tree is a powerful image of the sense of survival that margareers know instinctively. the harsh canadian landscape typical of canadian lit is cape breton. the struggling and scratching to survive is natural to the descendants of the scottish settlers who left scotland for cape breton in hopes of a chance of survival accepting the nearly impossible difficulty of farming in the mountains because it reminded them so much of home.

it's instinctive, as i said previously. the love for the harsh land summed up so beautifully by Alistair MacLeod in No Great Mischief. the unbreakable bond of family drawn together by the need to survive, together. the forced exodus to the wealthier states, and then the helpless return to cape breton, because...

here i have a home but i have no money. there i have money but no home.
- No Great Mischief

i'm off track.

the reason dad and i traveled back in april was because of illness in the family. grandpa, he who would not cut down the tree, though he was in the business of cutting down trees. he respected the way the tree clung to the earth in survival. anyway, grandpa is ill. we went back because of it. it was a difficult three days.

dad had read my little composition. he liked it because he understood it naturally; it is even more his heritage than mine. so while we were in margaree, dad hiked up to the tree. like me, he searches out sentimental moments. but we didn't realize how sentimental this moment would be.

it was dying. he hid in the sawmill and cried.

later i said: 'if that was a metaphor in a book i'd think it was awfully heavy-handed'

i went down to the river for a long time and i wished i'd never written a word.

anyway. Grandpa and the tree. there's fight left in them yet. aren't they practiced in the art of survival?

i came by speed-reading honestly

aren't they cute. notice the pile of back-up reading material on the floor.

we all read. but Luke is infinitely more interested in bionicle and redwall than the rest of us at the moment. oh and he actually does have all his limbs intact; i've no idea why he's using his foot as a bookrest.

captain johnny thinks we are all ridiculous and would rather bury his head in the couch than read a book. in other pet news...

i think i've convinced my family that a dog would be nice to have around the house. the tipping point was when i reminded dad of his favorite childhood book Walt and Pepper about a dog and cat that fight like - cats and dogs - but realize they quite like each other at the end. i said we could name the dog walt. and then we spent an hour thinking up good names (mostly from books or after hockey players) but of course we'll only know the name once we know the dog. actually dad would prefer a fat sassy cat (his words) but the rest of us have a soft spot for canines.

and all things are nice and quiet here in alberton.

jiggity jig

meet captain johnny. the household budgie. we've had him for a year but only since we started letting him out of the cage has he developed any sort of personality. and he is a vicious, vicious bird! all he wants to do is bite. sit on you and nibble. here he is eating my shirt, but he also eats hair and tries to eat YOU. and he's pooped on luke's head twice, whilst sitting there, eating his hair.


so i am home for the summer.
third year is done.

such plain phrases with such weight behind them!

there is always so much adjusting to be done. unpacking, which I haven't done. tramping the main street of Alberton in search of a job, which i also haven't done. sharing a room with my sister, which i have done.

there is so much to look forward to. the silly moments with my family ("You're a Morrison, you have a bony butt. Embrace it." And somehow that turns into an entire song.) the beach - a blanket, a box of peak freans, a journal - the elusive tan - the ocean is optimistically cold - it's so typical of PEI, the beach. maybe I should take a box of potatoes instead of cookies. the weddings - this is the summer of love, and no mistake.

there are so many plans to make. europe trip next summer, after graduation? can i possibly be the spendthrift that i'm absolutely not, and save the millions of pennies that trip would take? and what about after that, when reality settles down watchfully in the fall, and i have to take the epic trip to toronto, for publishing school? would i really make a good editor? can i tear apart an author's work, or am i too nice, too empathetic? should i just huddle down in a one-room apartment somewhere, working days and then in the dark of night, writing, writing, writing, til i fall asleep on the desk? next year is my last at ABU. these are things to consider.

but in the mean-time it is summer.

silly brother

perhaps a little inappropriate? this is the only way he'll let me take his picture, yet when i do manage to snap a nice one, funny how it always ends up as his facebook display. but the reason why i chose this one is because it is actually TWO pictures and sam photoshopped them together. two different moments in time and conversation, but would you ever know? intriguing to think of time and space erased and blurred and fading into one another so sharply, made even funnier because aunt glenda likely had the same expression on her face when samuel originally made that crude gesture. if samuel picks me up from the bus stop for easter, maybe i'll buy him a burger for his pains.

break to the march

friendships in university are odd because it is a unique period in your life - you study study study with a group of familiar persons and then BOOM everyone disperses to the corners of the earth and you try desperately to hold on to communication or you put your chin up and make new friends right where you're at. anyway. what i meant to say is that Who Knew when Gabby and I met years ago that in March 2008 - spring break - she would be traipsing through Rome and Venice and I would be at home, overly happy to see green vegetables again after months of cafeteria pizza and chicken burgers.

Here is me simply loving a pea: Here is VENICE:
Here is Gabby bravely feeding the pigeons in VENICE:Here is my sister being a gangster - is she not the coolest thing in Alberton since rubber boats?
Though VENICE would be incredibly lovely, you can't knock time with family, and a week spent in the gorgeousness of HOME.

Meeting the BF

... and by bf I mean best friend. though i'd heard many a tall tale about chantelle, never had the chance arisen to meet this best friend of natalie's. so finally, on the nova scotian march break, chantelle took the arduous bus journey to moncton, and after some whirlwind confusion and five near-accidents on the slippy roadway to the bus station, we began a quick-paced, tall-taled, and record-setting (literally) weekend.

after enormously delectable burgers at montana's, we trekked fashionably through a snowbank or two (or three) to value village. it's tradition to take the most ridiculous pictures there but of course secretly think we lead the most glamorous lives - rather incongruous with the grubby-dusted dressing cubicles and the glaring warehouse atmosphere. sadly, the best dress (award went to chantelle: white satin ribbing bursting out into a black satin stiffly short skirt with a large and glittering flower-anchor) remained unphotographed because of the toothy old value village employee, who yelled primly across the expanse of floor, between the amused, staring shoppers - "you could get sued for taking pictures, you know!" "And who's going to sue us, the lady who wore this dress last?" Danielle muttered under her breath. Really though, the last time we invoked our tradition of photography at value village, the employee laughed hysterically and gave us fashion tips. try this on for size. "Well then, I'M not going to buy these shoes after all," said Chantelle, who had been eying one pair of lightly pink sequined slippers. And she slipped into mine and Natalie's dressing room (we always share, back to back, poking each other with our elbows because of the small space) to take one last picture, with the flash off. But my favorite picture of the value village evening (besides the one I'm sworn not to post - let's just say it might involve a sort of pole dancing, but the person REALLY didn't mean to look THAT scandalous) could be this one. Mostly because Natalie looks like Cougar Mom Goes to the Office; Danielle is School Girl In Mourning; and Chantelle is At a New Year's Eve Party ("Dear, you're too young to wear that dress!" A shopper exclaimed. "What a coincidence - you're too old," Chantelle could have said, but didn't, because she's nice).


After VV, we crept out into the snowy night to examine Kyle's tunnel, because he put hours and days of work into that creation. Though we were too scared to crawl through, we praised it mightily, and fell in the snow 1 million 2 billion times trying to get out of the snowbank. We might have jumped and shoveled and laughed a bit too, as we cracked through the snow-glaze. And Danielle brought her umbrella for some reason, but when have we not made use of an available prop... I know that my mother will mention my hip in this picture and say something along the lines of "you are SUCH a poser and you CERTAINLY didn't get it from me!"
Inside, I turn up the heat (go figure) and we decorate valentine cookies, play truth or dare (but it's extremely boring because neither danielle and i dare, and after natalie pushed something along the floor with her nose, the game faded away) and discuss the next day's events. which include taking the 8:00 am bus to the mall, but if you know us at all you know that didn't happen. i shut off my alarm and slid sleepily back in my bed, but with one ear open for natalie. sure enough, ten minutes later she whispery croaks "Rachel, what do you think..." and she knows what I think, and we sleep in and take the noon bus.

best friends since childhood: the next evening we choreograph a dance video. oh so tough, gruff, & rough. just see those holy jeans and the black eyes. in short we are drama queens, if you know what i mean, and if you know family force 5 than i think you do. well perhaps not as dramatic as all that, but we did up a darling dance of dramatics, and really, i think our dance moves are slick enough for the big time - ha! but if not, we fail so charmingly that forgiveness must be tentatively granted, with a hearty laugh. this picture is not from the dance, by the way, even though chantelle is swaying inside the closet, it's from the preparation portion of the evening - attitude must be worked into the very seams of clothes and face to pull anything off, hmm?after the dancing drama (filmed in the 3rd floor's very own wing lounge) we simply moved over a step into the laundry room (another tradition) but at least twenty steps over in attitude to Manhattan's east side. perhaps not quite as dignified as that attitude calls for though... here chantelle and natalie model some very large sports bras in the true laundry spirit. best friends since college years....
If only we had pictures of the rest of the weekend... watching One Tree Hill and screaming together, making earrings, playing guitar hero (and finally, finally succeeding on hard), staying up til the wee hours and laughing hysterically... well... then there would be just too many pictures and who would want to read commentary on them except the eager participants?

all in all, it was a lovely jam-packed weekend, with not a single thought of schoolwork. hopefully the bf visits again and soon!

nat&rache: the tea diaries

lately we have been so full of tea and hand written letters and woolen sweaters and early to bed and early to rise that we realized it was time to do something or the granny in us would take over. not that it is a bad thing to be a granny. in fact i would rather be a granny than a university student with towering student loans and silly papers that will disintegrate into worthlessness before i graduate. in fact i would rather drink tea. write letters. and go to bed early. than go as crazy as a good little christian girl could ie drinking mountains of caffeine, writing assignments minutes before deadlines, staying up til ridiculous hours and going bowling every night. but still - there is no harm in letting your true age in years show once in a while, and that's a fact. so since we are scarcely out of teenagehood, we decided to dress up and then go roll around a bit in the snow. we are going quite batty without the calming influence of gabby, our mother hen. here i am even trying to pretend i magically conjured a teacup out of my plastic dollar store hat that felicia bought us for a presentation on george eliot (who was actually mary ann evens but did not want to be associated with female writers! and as i wear that hat i wonder who would want to associate with me in that hat?). as for natalie, she firmly believes she is in the circus. all we need is gabby to join in our imaginative fun - perhaps giving a monologue in her crocodile hunter voice.
magically, we climbed into our closets and arrived in Narnia. in one piece, with a favorite umbrella. if it is going to snow every day, Canadians must make the best of it. At least we had Christmas.
natalie (or granny peggy as i like to call her) is sporting the levitating mushroom hat. at first it fits your head as cozily as a tea comforter, but slowly and sneakily it rises until it is barely balancing on air, considering a final burst to freedom. then it tumbles off and your hair turns cold and snowy in the seconds before you jam it back on in absent annoyance.

speaking of snow, it snowed yesterday and will snow again tomorrow. i have never felt so canadian as i do in this weather. i yearn for a fabulous neon snowsuit so i can go outside and have a proper skip in the powdery drifts. kyle is building a tunnel. i would like to build a lovely snow-house. but the granny in me prefers to look out my window with a teacup of burning hot tea, and a pen in familiar fingers, and the thermostat cranked up as high as must accommodate an arthritic, elderly person.

Morrisons in Winter

Dad with his coffee cup; straightbacked; layers of long johns & woolen socks.
Mom out for a walk wearing my accessories & being mistaken for me.
Recreating a childhood picture in Grandma's jewelry. What a girly girl I am.
My handsome, savvy, not-as-angry-as-he-pretends, inexperienced truck driver brother.
Loving, motherly, not-quite-a-teenager Joanna, with one of the Morrison babies (not ours!).

Charming, hilarious Luke.

Portraits on Christmas Eve, etc

Christmas morning - all dressed up and no place to go. Christmas morning - I bought her a Hard Rock Cafe shirt. Actually I bought it for myself and then had second thoughts & gave it to my little sister. That's what she's there for.
Christmas Eve. Luke & I had to stay home sick. That's what I thought of THAT.
Luke was more resigned. He's used to staying home with ear infections, pneumonia, etc.
It wasn't a Christmassy Christmas, for lack of a better word. But the tree was nice - good job Joanna for picking it out.

I know I'm still on the Christmas bit, but just a few more pictures and i'll be done... oh the always behind lifestyle of the student.