Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Locked in

Funny when I'm drawn here. When I have a good dream, or I'm stuck in my house, apparently.

Thing is, we're in the midst of a key conundrum. It's probably to do with my own aversion to keys -- how can something that important be so small, so lose-able? But it also has to do with our two-month-long effort to find suitable doggie care, a poorly-designed house, and a busy, irregular schedule.

The key worked to get me in, but it doesn't work to lock up. Sound like something from Alice in Wonderland? That's how it's been with our key conundrum. Last week I stayed in and read about Tiger Woods until Alex returned from school with a key and I could go to work.

And tonight, instead of going to capoiera while Alex is at wrestling, I'm stuck inside my house. My silent, messy house.

And what do I do: clean? sleep? cook? All logical choices. But not for me, not tonight. Tonight, I read.

I read Elizabeth Hay's Late Night's on Air. I choose it because my boss lent it to me and I'm scared that I will ruin it with spilled coffee or doggie something. Turns out, it was perfect for this evening. That's because it's February 9th, and just today I was marveling that it is February 9th and I haven't really broken down crying because my father died in February (16th, 2004). And Hay's book is perfect because it is filled with sadness and father moments, yet it's set somewhere I only dream of (Yellowknife). So it has a way of transporting me to a place that is both strange and familiar. And I love that.

Alex is home now, puttering in the kitchen because I asked him for some time to write. And I love that.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Writing down a dream

I'd been thinking this blog would die, now that I have a real, full-time, editorial job. I thought I'd be burned out from writing in the office all day that all I'd want to do was veg with my husband and walk the dog in my spare time. But last night I dreamt the kind of dream that can't go unnoticed.

It was in Whitehorse and Nelson. On buses and in kitchens. With old friends and (perhaps) long-lost family members.

Whitehorse was the best. Goats roamed everywhere! Huge ones that you could ride -- and of course we did. I'd arrived by bus, and was only staying an afternoon, but as soon as I arrived I knew that was a mistake. The harbour was beautiful: a mish-mash of dinghy boats and house boats. The streets winded, every corner revealing a new colourful home. I wanted to live there, and I knew I'd return.

Next stop: Nelson. Aspen, the little girl I lived with in 1998 when I went to college in the beautiful mountain town, was all grown up. Of course, math never works in dreams and here she was more like my 10 year old niece than the 15 year old she would be now. But I hgged her, and she hugged back, and it was amazing.

Then there was the time my real-life niece, in that same Nelson kitchen, warmed up her baby brother on the stove. She didn't burn him, but I freaked, then mom freaked, and the dream ended on a sour note -- must have been waking up.