Pieces

Each of us is like one really complicated puzzle. There are pieces we can't find to put together, there are pieces which we are so sure go in a certain place, so sure they'll fit and that idea we have, so sure that we'll fit in the same picture. There are so many pieces which are hidden, pieces which are so crucial to the greater image.

They're lying around somewhere.

We cover each little piece up with images we think will be opaque enough to hide our facade. We cover the tear-stained cheeks with makeup, and the old pictures with new ones. We clutter up the pieces so that it is to hard to find. If we ignore them, then we are sure others will miss the point completely.

Because of this, we fail to know anyone. We fail to make relationships and to connect really. We're just pieces shoved into the wrong corresponding ones. And those which fit are no where to be found.

Oktoberfest

Being friends with someone containing a newfound love for everything German, I found myself heading down to George's tonight for some good ol' fashioned Oktoberfest partying. Okay, I take back the good... and the old fashioned.... and the partying.

When we walked in the door, Robin managed to state, what is normally the obvious about George's "well, it looks empty".

"zwei Dollar" said the lady at the door to me.

"What?" I exclaim! "Five Dollars? Are you serious?" I figured this a pretty steep door charge. No wonder the place wasn't full.

Suddenly, Alicia steps in behind me.
"No," she says, explaining, "she doesn't take German. Laura, zwei means TWO".

I must admit however skeptical I was about going to a German society party at George's of all places, it was a pretty fun night. The evening was complete with sausages and ginger cookies (without the ginger) and apple strudel and German beer and best of all - real live Germans.

My most memorable part of the night however, occurred just as I was getting up to leave.

"Oh my gosh" I said excitedly to the two real-life Germans sitting with us "Do you know Schnappi?", to which I decide to break down into my very own rendition of Schnappi. To my sheer delight, they actually DO listen to Schnappi in Germany! Although George's didn't play it, I certainly got almost the pleasure of being able to share my 'love' of this songs with my new German friends.

To hear the most incredible song in the world, e*mail or MSN me, and I will certainly send you a Schnappi to keep as your very own!

TP Troubles

I live in a house with four other girls.

Five girls, and ONE bathroom.

Although the girls at 33C don't necessarily use the washroom more than the average female (although sometimes I wonder about the size of my own bladder), it is incredible how quickly we go through toilet paper.

There will be days when I will change the roll twice in one day.

Understandable, females use toilet paper more than males would. I remember having this discussion with Dan and Matty one day in the grocery store when we passed the toilet paper aisle. It probably is a shocker to males when they start living with a female. Add that to the hassle of having to put down the seat!

The past few days has been one of those times when we have run out of toilet paper. For a family who uses SO much, having none for even the span of a few hours is rather inconvenient. At first, someone kindly offered their tiny pack of personal Kleenex, but soon an entire box of Kleenex surfaced from someone's room. At least Kleenex is soft.

On that note, I have to pee.


*NOTE* My apologies to Caitlin who's picture did not appear on this blog. You are a beloved roommate, yet one whom I have no pictures of. :(

Acadia's Homecoming, courtesy of the MtA Football team

What? A post about my life? Nope, I don't believe it either. I tend not to do the whole "life update" thing. I think it is because I have a very low funniness level, making anything that I think is funny, completely and only understandable by MOI!. So, I fall back onto the random ramblings of a wandering mind.

But this weekend was so great, I think I will HAVE to do a "life update".

The ever consistent Mount Allison Mountie Football played against the Acadia Axemen for Acadia's Homecoming. Although a fairly close game (63-0) Acadia came out on top (I blame it on luck. They were clearly outplayed.)

Wolfville was swarming with the likes of 33C. Laura was there only for the game in the rain, but Caitlin and Keltie both went home for the weekend. So, not to be out done, I stayed the night as well.

Dan showed me around his old stompin' ground as we walked up and down the hill that Acadia is built on. I must admit, it seems like ever university (other than MtA, thank heavens) is built on a hill. Unfortunately, 33C happens to be on top of a hill, so I've screwed myself over either way. Although their football team leaves a lot to be desired, and their residences are no where up to par (Cutten, what Tiffany?), I suppose that students there could manage to enjoy their years stuck in Wolfville.

I got the chance to meet the lovely Dub and MJ, which was seriously a treat. I also met their roommate Cole, but only for a brief time. The four of us enjoyed a lovely supper at Paddy's (I have a hard time not putting an "O's" at the end of that), complete with Irish Cream Cheesecake. MJ and I used the commonality of her kinese degree and my football position as bonding grounds, as well as our New Brunswick roots (what a COOL province. Especially the Sussex/Saint John area.... oi).

The night continued and went great as our pool skills (what pool skills?) were put to the test as Dub and MJ challenged Dan and I to a couple games. Surprisingly, we managed to win the second (very surprisingly). A Toronto/Habs game was broadcasted, one which after the Leafs shameful loss last weekend was imperative to watch. Sports Center (I believe) said it best with their comment about the Leafs being seriously outplayed. (Sound familiar? This time its for real.)

The night ended with Scotskins at Matty's old place of work, (Matty, it was lacking without you). I really wish I was able to enjoy the delicacy, however that experience might have to wait for next time.

An eggs benedict omelet completed the fantastic weekend at Smitty's the next morning. Although the cab company left a lot to be desired, we had fun making fun of Dub's attempt to exit the building. "The doors are locked!"

Keltie, Caitlin, Caitlin's sister and I made the trip back to NB (with a stopover in Bayer's Lake, because THAT's not out of the way) and it was Home Sweet Home from that point on.

From Astrophil and Stella

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That the dear She might take some pleasure of my pain,
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face or woe,
Studying inventions of fine, her wits to entertain,
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburned brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay;
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows,
And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way.
Thus great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my trewand pen, beating myself for spite,

"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write."

~Sir Philip Sydney, Astrophil and Stella Sonnet 1

Still, even in the 1590s, there was great distress surrounding how to express love. I have such desire to write, to show how deep and beautiful my love is. Love is not some sociologically constructed term. It has been around since the beginning of the cosmos, since the creation of Man and his beautiful counterpart. It has been confined in the cage of the heart, seeping out through the imprisoning bars in forms of words and songs and dance and paint. But they're only expressions of a greater malignant being, growing beneath the chest, clogging airways.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

~William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Not even comparisons can capture this something that you are to me. Shakespeare felt it. And he believed the only way to capture the beauty was to make it eternal, to put it in black ink and have it show up centuries later in some insignificant girl's blog. Whoever's hand this sonnet fell into is always going to be remember, we'll always be able to try to grasp her beauty and the love that she experienced. What do I have to make this eternal? What methods do I use to describe love? Has anyone come close. Ironically, this feeling that is encapsulated inside of me has chained all of humanity. It creates the most beautiful art, and yet slowly destroys the artist. We are nothing to love, we have no arms against it.

Indifference

I stayed up all night working on a sociology paper. What with the stress of school, and the busyness of Thanksgiving I've been too hard pressed to take the time. I've been too rushed to sit, to contemplate, to remember, and to pray.

Stop.

I saw a cat get hit by a car today.

Stop.

It ran away. I don't know what happened to it.

Stop.

I am on my way out the door right now. My hair and makeup are done, my skirt is flowing, and my heels are high.

Stop.

My great uncle died a few days ago. Uncle Ted had been sick for a while now, going from bad to better to worse to dead. And now he is gone. How does someone just go away? Where're ya stain' Ted?

Stop.

On the sidewalk there are paw prints, hardened in the cement. I pass them every day as I walk the same route continuously. I never can walk right over them, each time I imagine the owner of such prints which walked through the fresh cement, leaving such graphic, material evidence.

There are now only pictures and memories and mascara stains on rosy cheeks.

Hush.

Everything Men Know about Women

Last Friday I got my hair cut. It might be the shortest I've had it since seventh grade (wow - was that ever short). I got about half a foot cut of the length, obviously quite a huge change. Despite many encouraging comments about it, my boyfriend, trying to be as loving and supportive (eye roll) as possible, has refrained from commenting at all. To my statement that he doesn't like my hair, he simply says "I never said that"....

It is implied.

My dad never had a great track record while dealing with women either.


Although friends with many females in university, my dad did not have much of a sense of the female mind set. Understandably, he grew up with no sisters. One day, a friend of his was sitting with her friends complaining of "cramps". Dad to the rescue, decides to give her some friendly advice. "When I get cramps, I just eat some Tomato Soup, and that helps!"

A second time, my dear father, showing an incredible amount of tact, was asked the dreaded question by a date "do you think I'm fat?". Now, from a girl's perspective, this is a desperation attempt when feeling inadequate. So my dad, addressing such feelings responded with "No, you're not fat. You're sturdy."

Seriously guys....

If I Stay Lucky...

We try so hard not to take anything for granted. We manage to instead live the majority of our lives in greedy selfishness. We celebrate holidays like Thanksgiving and Remembrance Day where we remember to sit back and realize how lucky we are to live in a certain country, with food on our tables and loving families surrounding us. Yet even still, we manage to wish we were somewhere else, waste what we do have, and treat those we love without the utmost love.

I for one, try so desperately to not take relationships for granted - be it family, friends, or significant others. I have learned the hard way that taking someone for granted merely takes away from the full joy in their relationship. But even when we try so hard not to, we fail and fail again.

Other times, we are blessed to have someone serve us a reminder...

It amazes me how I can believe that I don't take someone for granted and then still be shocked when someone reminds me how lucky I am to be loved by someone incredible. I am lucky to have found someone who thinks I am perfect for him, someone who supports me and who encourages me and who treats me like a precious jewel.

And then, even more surprising, a chain reaction happens. I find myself realizing how lucky I am on even more aspects, the most important is that I realize how much my Father loves me. You can't experience a developing love and not see how beautiful my God's love is. I believe that we learn true love from the example of Christ, and we understand this love more by experiencing beautiful, earthen love.

But that's all theory. That is all knowledge. It is the understanding which strikes a chord. That realization that I get after I realize how much He loves me for giving this to me. I realize how this Spiritual Being is not so far away as the outer distances of our universe, but instead, he wants me to be happy, and to learn, and to feel this special kind of love.

And I thank You for Loving me this much.

Home, Jeeves!

I was walking home from my class on prose fiction today. The leaves on the underlying branches of the magnificent trees lining the sidewalk brushed my head as meandered by. (I really wish I knew anything about dendrology, and could tell you what kind of trees are scattered over campus. Calling an oak a tree does it very little justice. Even the title oak connotates much more than any description I could render.) The leaves on these trees were still monotonously green, all the coloured leaves presumadely blown off and drenched on the sidewalk during the weekend rain. The anesthetic aura no doubt originated from the overcast sky above me. I scuffed my Converse Chuck Taylors along the damp sidewalk as I disregarded the rust coloured leaf fragments adhered to the path ahead of me despite the fact that I was staring downward. The air was cool and crisp foreshadowing a resurgence of my jacket.

We all want to do something with our lives. I believe that is why we find ourselves at institutions like Mount Allison which allow us to specialize in an area to prepare us for the world which we sooner or later must find ourselves entering. But what happens when we (or namely, I) find ourselves stuck? Instead of growing up into these young adults with endless possibilities, we just realize that we're stuck inside this box which despite our growing, seems to be remaining static. It is a realization that can make one feel as if suddenly walls are closing in. Can we ever find something and be the best at it? I have no doubt in my mind that some people can. I am lucky to have great friends who will, or already have begun to excel at whatever they chose do in life, and I read about real people on the internet who are doing fantastic things. Good on you! Yet, where do I fit into the equation? What does one do when they feel like they missed that day in heaven where God handed out the talents? Maybe I was sick or something.

When we were little, we were told we could be whatever we wanted to be; a teacher, a pilot, an astronaut, the Prime Minister of Canada, or heck, even a fire truck. And now I find myself looking over an empty landscape. Instead of broadening, my opportunities have narrowed and I feel as if I have already failed. I try to shape shift to fit countless moulds, but no matter what, none seem quite right.

And yet, on I trudge.

As I walked up the street and approached my own, I looked up from the sidewalk, and saw the most incredible blue before me. It was such a vivid contrast between the dull grey around it. I turned the corner onto my street and felt a warmth upon my shoulder and my arm. The sun was taking every opportunity to shine through this cloudbreak. The sidewalk stopped looking so bleak, the trees started coming back to life, and as I walked into my room, the fragrance of lilies filled my senses.

Divine

Coincidences and so-it-seems

Fail to approach the magic

The art in the sky and the love that we share

And somehow we fail

The thanksgiving, the love

All failed

Returning again and again

Finding once more the cross

Again the grace

Again the love

Summer has Come and Gone

The scene was set perfectly; the blue sky lightly speckled with cloud-dust, the sun bright and warm yet seasoned with the crisp breath carried by the beginning of fall. Students walked on sidewalks beneath large mighty trees, their dignified arms outstretched to reveal elegant green dressing, sewn together one leaf at a time to form the most beautiful cloak to shame even the likes of Vera Wang. Haughty stone buildings towered above, creating a atmosphere of prestige and enlightenment and superiority.

I felt like I was back in grade two. My new backpack was still crisp and placed on my back, complete with all the accessories needed to complete a day at school; one binder with paper, two Papermate Comfortmate clicky pens, one mechanical pencil, a list of my classes' times and locations, one sweater, my house and mailbox keys, and my bank card to buy five hundred dollars worth of books later in the day. I was in new States-bought clothes, which mom forbid me to wear until school and I was feeling armed and ready for a day of beginnings which lay ahead of me, like a picnic blanket awaiting two picnic-ing lovers. I walked into the sun, into the fall school day, into the courtyards complete with picture perfect students, sitting under trees and reading text books. I wish I had brought the book I've been reading, or even better a laptop so that I could fade into the green grassy backdrop as well. The grassy hill in front of the pond was beckoning me to dive deep into the world of someone else, or too get lost in the sound of clicking as my fingers dance to create a gentle flow of magical words which somehow come from me.

The football field is the pinnacle of the fall atmosphere. I often wish I owned a working camera because I feel like I could completely capture the feeling surrounding my attitude towards this new year. I would capture it all, I would show you the maroon and gold painted uprights against a sky at dusk, an empty bench on the field with large bold "MOUNTIES" painted upon the aged wood. Just imagine a world of silence filled with the steady melody of football. I wish I could capture the players, wet and rained on against the dreary sky, solemnly looking towards the field, or the helmet left lost, sitting in the grass, next to the white yard markers. It is not the same feeling felt when watching Varsity Blues or Remember the Titans, but more real, more hopeful, more bold and beautiful and determined to look foreword and press on and stand upright.

One

One path which two walk together
One grasp which two so hold
One touch to communicate
One feeling shared
One love

Can You Spot the Similarities?

As I was going through some pictures, I found two that were remarkably similar.

One was from my recent trip to Halifax, when Dan and I were eating Sunday morning brunch and playing around with his camera.

The second picture I found happened to be a pre-Laura picture, one that he simply sent me along with a few others to show me what some of his friends looked like before I had the fantastic oportunity to meet some of them. This picture was amongst them.
Honestly, I sometimes wonder about that boy...

Another Friday Photography Bust

Jon told me last night that I am a deep thinker. That means I know what my problems are, but I cannot fix them.

It is Friday again, and once again I have missed on the Photo Friday deadline for Violet. I do actually have a picture. Molly was my model again, and only the most beautiful girl in the world could have been in this picture. I did not like the pictures I took at first, but came to love one particular one.

I managed to download GIMP to edit my pictures, but something still is not going right. The effect I want to get still is not there, and I am a total GIMP gimp. Honestly. So, instead of linking to my site, I am just going to make it a personal project to finish this, or at least get someone to show me what I am doing wrong. It certainly is a frustration however.

This weeks challenge is a tough one for me. The theme is One, and yet I want to think of a way to make a picture unique. The truth is, my pictures look much better in my head. I suck at photography otherwise. I am either the stupidest person in the world, or the most determined to be keeping this up - especially without a camera!

Earlier this week I finally got my school schedule. I am more than excited for it. I think this will be a fantastic semester. I am taking a bunch of arts courses, which I am all extremely interested in. I hope that this year I will enjoy school a whole lot more than last year. I have high hopes!!

Cinq, Quatre, Trois, Deux, Un

Sometimes it can feel like you think you're on a steady downhill track when suddenly the roller coaster turns upwards and instead of plummeting towards the ground, I am facing the sky; a clear blue with a few spatterings of clouds.

I have five more days of work left until I am no longer an Energie NB Power employee. That is Friday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Trust me, the waking up at 5:30 am will not be missed.

This leaves me two weekends before I head down to Sackville to 33C, my new place of residence for the next year. I am so excited to get down there. A few weekends back, Tiffany, Jocelyn, Brittany and I went out one Friday night. We had a great time out together, a Girls Night around the town in Moncton (honestly a great place to go out. When you live in Sackville, you learn to enjoy places like Moncton and Halifax). We spent the night at J's house and then obviously had crepes at the market for breakfast. For anyone who plans on spending a weekend in Moncton, don't miss out on the crepes! It is a Moncton-must! Tiffany and I jumped into the Jetta and headed down to Sackville, to 33 Charlotte Street, and checked out my room.

The room which I will be living in in this old, large house was painted dark blue/purple. Situated at the back of the house, with skinny little windows, walking into that room was like walking into a cave. So, Tiffany and I decided to paint it. Now my room is the colour of Evlyn's Eyes, a green which matches my bedspread. We also got a little bit of purple to paint my shelving unit above my desk, another colour which is found on my bedding.

BEFORE:
AFTER:


So now, with my room much more mine and some of my stuff already in the house, I am so excited to go back. Moving back also means seeing my Keltie, and my other roommates, Megan, Laura, and Caitlin.

So, on Sunday night, August 28th, I will be heading back to Sackville. Megan and Laura at least should be there, Megan getting ready to do her student council work, and Laura to do football camp. With me. Yes, I am actually going to do football this year, and I am thrilled that it is not up in the air anymore! This is one of the things in my life that is finally seeming to go okay. I had to decided if I should be a trainer or not, and there were quite a few complicated circumstances, and in no way can I know what the right choice was, so instead I am going to just be thrilled that a decision has been made and that this year, the Mounties are going to be better than ever! (Or at least better than the last few years... There is no where left to go but up, right?) Laura and I are both excited to not only be roommates, but to work together with the rest of the team!

Being a football trainer this year means I need to take a First Aid and CPR course. Yes, I made the mistake of putting it off because at the beginning of the summer, I was really dreading being a trainer. I thought that the only time I could do the weekend course was this coming weekend in Saint John. This was great, until the stress came when I realized that this coming weekend is one of the weekends I've been looking foreword to most of the entire summer. This was the Converge weekend. It is a young adult worship conference, with tenting and music, and speakers! I thought I would have to completely miss it until I found out that Moncton is offering a First Aid course on the next weekend, the weekend right before Football Camp starts. This means I can go to Converge. I am so excited to go. Not only that, but just now, my oh-so-cool boyfriend has decided to come with me!!!

Being able to go to Converge means that I will be able to pick up Amy from Wildwood! I have not seen Ames in about a month, and I miss her terribly. I am so excited to see her, and to talk to her, and to show Dan around Camp! This also gives me the opportunity to head down to Sackville on Sunday and finish painting my shelf, while showing Dan the place and setting some more things up.

Last night, I had a terrible night. Everything was going wrong. Today everything fell into place. I have so little faith. Thank you!

Indivisible by Two: Lily and Gillian

Those who do not work during usual "work week" hours perhaps got the chance to view Good Morning America this morning on television.

There was a segment about Nancy L. Segal's book Indivisible by Two, Lives of Extraordinary Twins. And within this, was the story of Lily and Gillian.

When I was younger, and I lived in the big white old house next to the church in Sackville, we had a student live with us. She must have lived with us for a few years, and she became part of the family. Her name was Allyson. At the time, she had a boyfriend named Kirk, and both practically lived at the house. Mom and Dad would delegate Kirk and Ally with planning birthday parties, and so looking back on old home-videos from Sackville, it is normal to see little girls running around in party hats, playing games, and crying because they did not win, all the while Ally will be talking in the background, telling us what to do, and how to play games, or not to get upset. Mom would be making the birthday cake, and the camera would show Dad and Kirk, playing the little electronic hockey game, which they are still both going to meetings to get over their addiction.

Kirk and Ally got married and moved to Toronto (or Georgina?), where they both are pastors at a church. In Sackville, they were great with Amy and I, and so no doubt would be good parents. Eventually they realized their options were greatly minimized and decided to adopt. I love the idea of adoption. It is such a beautiful thing to see a child who is so in need of love come to know two loving parents. I have always had the desire to adopt a child, I hate the thought of how many kids are alone and unloved. But I digress. Kirk and Allyson began their plans to adopt a little girl from China.

This is where the story gets blurry for me. I have heard it a few times before, but right now am not clear on all the details. I do know however, that they brought little Lily home and made her part of their family. I remember meeting Lily for the first time. She was a beautiful baby, and oh so smart! Despite her living in China for the main part of her life (at this point), she was grasping English quicker than even normal Canadian children do.

Eventually, I heard the story about Gillian. Somewhere else in Ontario (this story would be so much better if I knew details), only a short drive away, another family adopted a little Chinese baby. Somehow, they met and came upon the realization that Lily and Gillian were twin sisters. The first time I heard this story, I saw pictures of the two girls together, when they were about three or four years old. They were both so beautiful.

Here is where Segal's book comes in. In one of her chapters, she tells Gillian and Lily's story, a story about separated twins being raised as sisters. I wish I myself knew more of the story. This morning, on Good Morning America, there was a segment about their story, which Kirk and Ally told their friends via e*mail that the taping in their house took 10 hours!

If you did not get the chance to watch television this morning, then pick up August 30th's edition of People Magazine where the story will be told again.

It blows my mind to think about growing up with a twin sister living in a different community, but it is great that Lily and Gillian are being raised as sisters. I think it is such a miracle that the two families met. Talk about a story with a happy ending!

The wheels on the bus

I sometimes wish I had a great camera. Recently, I've been carrying a disposable point and shoot around with me, one with no potential to take great person shots on a moving bus.

I wanted to capture the people though, bring them home with me and dance with them. I slept most of the way on the bus from Halifax. Each time I woke up, passengers had exited and boarded the bus, allowing me to be surrounded with new faces each time I opened my eyes. By the time we arrived at the Amherst stop, I was wide awake.

A man walked on to the bus and sat behind me. He was a tall and lean, with an African face and a scruffy salt and pepper beard. His eyes were sunk and although not looking unkempt, he appeared as one who uses the bus as his only source of transportation. This man looked like he played a mean saxophone; alto no doubt. He looked like he came straight off the streets of Louisiana, from a nightclub where he performs just for the applause of the few who still come to hear him, and for the memory of the night he met his beautiful wife. She was young and fresh, with stylish black hair, a flowery dress, and a smile on her face. She was sitting next to her girlfriends around a table, drinking milkshakes out of straws, listening to the young man with the magical fingers making the saxophone sing. To him, she stood out. There was no girl as beautiful. As the girls got up to dance on the floor, he watched her, wanting to keep playing the music so that she would keep jiving, keep laughing. He also wished to stop so that he could hopefully work up the courage to walk down onto the floor and ask her what her name was and why she was smiling like that.

As he sat behind me, the man's cell rang. It was that woman from the club years ago, the girl with the smile who danced to his music, and who held his hand, and who kissed his cheek. "I love you, I'll be home soon" said the now older man, in his deep, raspy voice. This was the voice an old, black jazz musician should have, cool and beautiful and mellow.

Ahead of me, sat a woman, and across the aisle from her was a man. They were young, possibly late twenties, and on the aisle seat next to the woman sat a bassinet cradling a beautiful baby boy, no older than six months. As the mother held this baby boy, as she sung to him and held him and fed him and changed him, her love was so beautiful. And the Daddy looked on so proudly. "That's my baby" he said to the elderly woman sitting next to him. The newborn was so good and I barely heard a sound from him. But when he did cry, it was so sweet, so heartbreaking. As he leaned against his mother's shoulder, he looked intensely around. It must be overwhelming as a new person to this world, to drink in all the sights and sounds. He had big beautiful eyes, which sometimes caught mine, and a little smile would form in the creases of his tiny mouth.

I was surrounded by a tapestry of people. There were different colours, different styles, different sounds. It was beautiful and exciting, realizing how unique each life was, and how we managed to find ourselves on the same, quiet bus.

Complexity

It is the complexity of a little girl's mind

As she is flying on the trapeze

Into the arm sof her fairytale prince

Soaring through the clouds

To her bed of soft dreams.

It is the complexity of a world

Where children go hungry

Where war does not cease

There is a craving for money

And murders for power.

It is the complextiy of how the two will one day collide.

So I missed this week's Photo Friday deadline by a day. I do not mind however, because this was the last picture taken by my not-so-good-camera-anyway before it died, therefore quality is less than par. I had the poem written last Friday, when the challenge came out, but I was fooling around too much with the picture on the crap-of-a-photo-editing-program we have on the computer at home. I uploaded it last night, but the poem was still at work. Way to go, Laura.

Perseid Still

Tonight I found myself lying on the roof of my garage, staring at a sky filled with stars. I was out to catch a glimpse of the Perseid meteor shower. Unfortunately, my outing had to be cut short as waking up for work at 5:30 am is tough even when an early night precedes it.

As I stood there, a vast separation was formed between the natural and the unnatural. Man-made lights were blinding, yet dull compared to the glisten of the heavenly bodies. Cars rushing by in their attempt to speed up the slowness of time and get to their destination quicker deafened my ears to the song that the stars sang, the whisper of the trees, and the conversation between a mother and a daughter.

Everything but the beautiful faded into the distance and I began to realize an overwhelming sense of stillness. Despite my knowledge that our Earth is spinning on its axis at roughly 1000 mph, and that it travels around the sun at a speed of about 67000 mph, and that even our galaxy is spinning and our universe is expanding; despite my understanding that taking a picture of the night sky would result in the stars forming beautiful streaks across the image; despite all this, I felt remarkably static. Time had frozen around me, as had everything that exists within it. Even the trees seemed to be motionless, although the light breeze through their leaves reminded me otherwise. The sounds was like each tree had a secret to tell. Some secrets were tales of beauty experienced during the tree's ageless existence. Others were noble stories of the past; like fairy tales only more true and more real, and more magical. And finally, the youngest trees told secrets of the future, secrets that only trees can reveal; hopes and dreams which will eventually turn into reality. In turn, each was telling their secret, and they listened, and I listened. And the stars provided illustration, because tonight the trees and the stars were a team; neither wishing to outdo the other.

And then, a spark of brilliance would fly across the sky. Modestly, the stars continued on their imperial existence. The trees however, stood a little more proudly, stretching out their limbs as if to catch the falling star and cradle it. My body flooded with mystery and praise for what is beyond this artful masterpiece as I breathed in the sky laid out before me, framed with the shimmering leaves.

So I laid there, on my roof, with a ladder below me and the intense wonderful unknown above me, as I and the rest of this insignificant Earth were soaring straight into the bold remains of comet 109P/Swift-Tuttle. We are blessed with such beauty.

Religion and Retro 80's Earplugs

My job here at Lepreau is WBGT Girl and Fit Testing Girl.

Fit testing takes all the challenge of pushing start on a computer and conversing with Nuclear Plant Employees (most of whom are men).

I have a Habs t-shirt hanging up on my cubicle. It is not my shirt, but was on loan to me because I love such an awesome hockey team. One of the men I was fitting a respirator on started asking me if I was a fan. He told me about the games he had seen, and the players he wishes the Canadians had.

"Sometimes, I think one needs to be religious to be a fan." I told him.

"Being a Habs fan IS a religion" he corrected me.

WBGTing is another whole ball park. It pretty much consists of me taking temperature of the Turbine Building. This Building is two things: Hot and Loud. Hot is taken care of by me. I make Work/Rest schedules telling the (wo)men how long they can work before they need to rest. Today, it is 105.1 F on elevation 98 (40.6 C). This is a 'No Work' zone, which is ironic, because I am doing work up there.

Loud is controlled by earplugs. There are the Classic yellow ones, in dispensers all over the building. These ones are pretty much little sponges that you roll up and put into your ear canal. I think these may once have been my favorite.Close to the door of my office, there is a dispense for little foam orange phallic shaped earplugs. These are longer than the yellow ones, and although not much different, I seemed to still prefer the Classic ones. That was, until the orange ones began to run out and a new, more EXTREME type of earplugs were added: THE Lasar Lite Uncorded Ear Plugs That's right. These Lasar Lites are fluorescent yellow and hot pink. They maintain the same foam texture as the old and ugly orange ones, but they are closer in shape to them as well. They're great. Now I walk around with pink and yellow stuck out of my ears. Not only do they remind me of a time when fluorescent colours were in, but they also completely clash with my red t-shirt I so happen to be wearing today. If only I was born a decade earlier.