And It's Not Even Noon

Some of my favourite things in this new day:
::: Getting up after a terrible night's sleep. The fight is over; the day has come.
::: Warm rain on my face and in my clothes.
::: A new running route through the neighborhood: change is afoot.
::: Counting down the sleeps to a long awaited adventure: 2 sleeps!
::: The steam that rises out of my French press after I pour boiling water on freshly ground coffee. It says with warm trustworthiness, "Here you are."

Stranger

It happened again.

Winding my way back through my neighborhood after having coffee with a friend and feeling a little spaced out, I managed to meet the gaze of a rough-looking man. He gave me a sly smile and said, "You're looking GOOD today."

My response got stolen by the bus roar as it pulled away from its stop. I said, "Thank you."

Later in the day I was hanging out over the phone with my good friend Holly. I was laughing about this story and how it is a very strange new form of attention in my life. She laughed with me, but also provided a helpful peek back into my younger days when I was a "hider."

I guess it's good to come out of hiding, even if it means I can simply accept a strange form of appreciation from a rough East Van character in my beautiful neighborhood. I guess it's good to fill out the space in which I live more fully, more wholly, and more surely. I guess it's good.

Cultural Brilliance

My good buddy Jian Ghomeshi on CBC radio 1 tipped me off to this Barack Obama moment from last week. First you should watch the speech from Raleigh, North Carolina, here. Then, if you need a little help with the reference, you should check here. It's a Jay-Z nod and the people, as you can see, get it. One simple gesture and BAM . . . connection. Love it.

My Uniform

I've been wearing the same thing for 3
No, 4 days
I can't stop.

I get up
Take a shower
before or after I run, slowly.

I put on the same night-sky jeans
Same unwashed sweater
Same Converse shoes as I go out the door.

This dark uniform
wholly
sustains

I change inside of it
blend smiles and sadness
into these homestead fibres.

Threads of Johnny Cash and Springtime Green

I baptized some kids this weekend at the mega church. I took Johnny Cash into the baptism tank with me by way of his picture on one of my favourite faded black tshirts. I wonder how many baptisms have been attended to in threads of J Cash?

Afterwards, I ate Bon Bon cake with the newly baptized Sara, her mom, her auntie, and our friend Sasha. Then, we played outside. Sara took most of these photos. I think you have to be in high school to take such cool pictures. I love these girls.


Roots. Friends (Sasha and I).

Trees. Friends (Sara and I).

Happy.

Wonder.

Varying Shades of Salkelds

This Easter my fun Auntie Faye and my sweet sister Kasha came out to the coast for a visit. Two words: such fun. There is something about a dose of family that reattaches me to the place I'm from and the people I share my whole story with. I am so thankful for the fullness of this connection and find myself a bit lost without it now that these beloveds are safely back under the big prairie sky.

JJ Bean on Main St.

Beauty at Stanley Park:).

Sisters at the Sea Wall.

On the way down to Wreck Beach.

Kasha's pants ripped at Wreck Beach. With clothing being optional, it seems her jeans decided to make the choice for her.

DAUGHTER IN VANCOUVER

I'm walking around in love. And doing things for my mom.

Some explanation: I got these charming heart socks from my fun mom for Valentine's Day. I saved them for a special day and walked around in them, feeling cozy and loved.

I went to MEC today and bought a new bike/bag light. I have a nasty habit of riding my bike without a helmet (don't yell . . . please . . .). I thought of how my mom would like me to be safe. This light is bright and will tell people who drive around me on slow-paced side streets at night that this woman on her bike has a mom who wants her to be safe. So please, don't smash her.

I am counting on heart socks and blinky lights to protect me these days: walk in love; blink like hell.

Beautiful Specific Details

Here is one of my all time favourite bits from a movie:

Each person had their own specific qualities. You can never replace anyone . . . like I'm obsessed with little things. Maybe I'm crazy, but when I was a little girl my mom told me that I was always late to school. One day she followed me to see why. I was looking at chestnuts falling from the trees rolling on the sidewalk or ants crossing the road, the way the leaf casts a shadow on a tree trunk. Little things. I think it is the same with people. I see the little details, so specific to each of them that move me and that I miss and will always miss. You can never replace anyone because everyone is made of such beautiful specific details. -- Celine in Before Sunset

I think of this last line almost every day. Really. I am currently in love with the neighbors I hardly know, the coffee-lovers who also sit alone at various Vancouver coffee shops (1 and 2), and the backs of people's heads in my class at Regent. Who are all these people, wrapped up in their unique skin, all connecting and looking for connection? I'm in love with them all. Well, except those who drive me batty. But basically, I like them all a lot and know they are made up of such a strange mixture of beautiful specific details.

Glorious . . . the little things.

"I MAKE THE DOUGH, YOU GET THE GLORY"

The new Kathleen Edwards came out yesterday. I have missed her. It's been a few years since her last release ("Back to Me", 2005).

I rode my bike down to Red Cat Records tonight because I couldn't live without "Asking for Flowers" any longer. There is something about her twangy Canadian voice that makes me think, "YA! This is life! Sing it again and again."

Also, there is a song entitled "Sure as Shit." I am right at home; it is so beautiful:)

A SALAD THAT STOLE MY HEART

I have a friend who cooks fine food. He is currently looking for work and wanted to try out a restaurant: Chow on South Granville. I had the beet salad as a starter from the Early Prix Fixe Menu. Feast your eyes on its description: "organic baby beet salad, Okanagan goat cheese, candied walnuts, bitter orange puree and vin cotto vineger." I am still thinking about it 24 hours later.

THE DENTIST IS NOT THE MONSTER

a poem by Bobbi, who loves dental hygiene almost as much as she loves wearing black sweaters . . . almost

As a child, I did not feel the same fear
I feel today about going
to the dentist.
In youth,
fears were
rabid wolves in my closet
unknown shadows running beside me in the night
bursts of flames behind
my eyelids.

In age, I greet this oral fear
when I wake to the radio’s
news, telling me of the
snow
and the wars.
I sit with fear at breakfast
I blow dry it around my head and spray
something pretty on it before I leave
for work.

My teeth are not beautiful
someone once said my face was
but I’m sure he wasn’t looking too carefully
too closely
at my teeth.
They have the bumps of childhood
the stains of sacred beverages
the stance of a disorganized battalion
unsure of where the battle is or how they can
come together in the end.

And then, it’s time and I drive
through slush and grey sky, married to tall towers
but loving the earth more.
They welcome me:
“Hi Bobbi”
“Just have a seat in the chair in room two, Bobbi.”
A touch here and a touch there while
the chair eases me, though I’m uneasy
into place.

The dentist rolls his chair up to me
his chest is right against my hair and the assistant
is leaning against
my left arm
so close
so close and touching, I feel
even through the three layers of black shirts I climbed
into this morning to stay warm
all over.

They keep asking me if I’m OK.
They keep asking me if I am OK.
And they wipe off
the bit of my
dread
as it leaks out under their tools and rubber dams
I am trying so hard not to come undone
dotting the stray tear as it escapes and makes
a run for it.

MY BACKSIDE

I have always had a hip thing, and in the last five years I’ve had a bit of a lower back thing, and then two weeks ago I fell (hard!) on the ice and now I have a bit of bruised tailbone thing. With this crippling combination I knew I needed a little more help than my stretching book could assist me with.

I met with a physiotherapist for the first time this morning. Apparently my ass is flat on one side! Who knew? I’m not sure I have the finest butt in the land, but I had no idea it was rather lopsided. It’s pretty funny, really.

I just finished some of the exercises and I feel better already. I’m eager to see what the effects of this will have on my running and the aesthetic appeal of my ass. What fun.

SEEING WITH MY FACE

My dad says, when I was little-girl-Bobbi Jae, I used to get frustrated when people didn't listen to me. In an attempt to get people's attention, my plea went something like this: "Look your face!"

I'm sharing another poem I'm working on with you, lovely blog readers. I'm stuck on a bit of a "face" theme, it would seem. But, maybe I've always been quite taken with faces and wondering a bit about my own. I still get nervous putting these little word creations up here, but you don't seem to mind and some of you have been wonderfully encouraging.

Thanks for looking your face.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

THANK GOD FOR MY NEW FACE

What I’m wondering today is if God snuck up on me and
changed my face for another
when I wasn’t looking. It seems that people
like me more, and I don’t really
know why.

My sister says she doesn’t see
a big difference in the way my face
looks. She would know. I think this face is
half hers. She said that as I grow (or shrink) there might be
more confidence, but I don’t look all that different. Or so
she says.

But what was up with the guy who
slowed his car down today as I jaywalked across
Fraser St? He slowed down just to ask me
if I wanted to smoke a joint with him. Strange new
happenings that merit some thought, don’t you think? Like I
don’t think enough.

And then there was the man at my favourite coffee
shop. I noticed him as I walked in because he
looked the part of the neighborhood: greying hair
ruffled in perfect cool, dark glasses and dark
clothes (like me). Our bits of conversation wove into
a real one. Lots of life shared in an hour.

And as I walk home through the streets that feel
a bit like my sheets, I’m still wondering: did
God swap my face for another
when I wasn’t looking? It seems people like me more
these days, and I don’t even know why.

IT'S WINTER AND I'M NAKED-FACED

IT’S COLD, BUT NOT THAT COLD

In winter
white blankets comfort
hot coffee brings me new life
porridge is my morning friend
so faithful

And though sheets of
ice
sneak up under my feet
and take me down
crashing
I know that I can
be naked faced
and found
with friends

We muck about in
the snow
and breathe deep
sometimes
forget our worries
standing on a mountain
together
In wonder

WORDS/SOUNDS THAT GOT CAUGHT IN MY HAIR TODAY

“BOB-bi.” 1

The sun-warmed snow clunking its way down cedar trees while I snowshoed.

Silence.

“Only then did she realize that she had slept a long time without dying, sobbing in her sleep, and that while she slept, sobbing, she had thought more about Florentino Ariza than about her dead husband.”2

A picture of you holding a picture of me
In the pocket of my blue jeans3

I felt a suddenness
I felt a suddenness
The day fell completely still
The dream was a lot like this4

Old laughter made new with my dear friend Dara.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
1 my little neighbor, Molly.
2 from Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
3 from the song “Jolene” by Ray Lamontagne
4 from the song “He Came to Meet Me” by Hem

ASTONISHMENT

I just discovered the repeat button on my Toyota factory stereo . . . TODAY!

This car has been driven by me for four years.

Me!

I am the one who loves to skip her favourite songs back again and again and again . . . and again and again and again. I think I hope that they’ll press into me so hard that they might become a part of my countenance. I know. It is a little bit freaky.

I can’t believe I didn’t even know about this button until TODAY!

Since this beautiful moment of revelation I have listened to the same glorious Over the Rhine song all through this downcast day.

Nothing delights me more.

A SIMPLE POEM I AM WRITING

I WALK AT NIGHT IN EAST VAN
by Bobbi

I walked and walked
to restore my sense of self
after losing bits of it all over the place
in meetings
in teeth cleanings
in my windowless office

I walked and walked
in the spitting rain
to the sanctuary of coffee
I watch the community
come and go
all alone or meeting friends
sipping loudly or just
sipping

I walked and walked
to the Main Plant store
though it wasn’t in my plan
I met a man who loves his plants
and sold me a Peace Lily to clean
the air of the toxins I pick up in the day
all day
and that hide deep in the furniture
and creep out late at night

I walk and walk
breathe deep
keep my mind on the words
I read
by Thomas Merton
one of my new book friends,
a contemplative:

“Every moment
and every event
of every man’s life on
earth plants something
in his soul.
For just as wind carries
thousands of winged seeds, so each moment
brings with it germs of spiritual
vitality that come to rest imperceptibly in
the minds and wills of men.
Most of them unnumbered seeds
perish and are
lost,
because men are not prepared to
receive them:
for such seeds as these cannot spring up
anywhere except in the good soil
of freedom,
spontaneity
and love.”

THE END OF AN ERA

This past weekend I hosted a party: Angie and Bobbi's Last Wingding. Angie has been my roommate for four years. She has been my BC family, a safe and true friend, and someone I am so glad to share lovely/goofy memories with. I don't think I even know how much I am going to miss her.

Here are some of the visual highlights from the party:


The nomads

Paul and Lou: some of our favourite East Van neighbors

Angie the jumping art student

My friends

More friends

Delta peeps

And here are some of my verbal highlights (some of these are visual, too):
++ Angie's fill-the-room-with-that-beautiful-blue shirt
++ Hospitality JOY
++ "Do you mind drinking wine from a mug?"
++ "I'm drinking wine from a mug!!"
++ Sharing sacred living space
++ Beautiful mix of people
++ Collision of worlds

COVERED IN DOG HAIR AND GRACE

Some holiday highlights, chosen especially for mom and dad.

A POEM

I was introduced to a new friend in a book this week: Anne Sexton, an American poet (1928-1974). Her book, The Awful Rowing Toward God, met me at just the right place. Here is a poem with whiffs of Advent:

THE EARTH
by Anne Sexton

God loafs around heaven,
without a shape
but He would like to smoke His cigar
or bite His fingernails
and so forth

God owns heaven
but He craves the earth,
the earth with its little sleepy caves,
its bird resting at the kitchen window,
even its murders lined up like broken chairs,
even its writers dipping into their souls
with jackhammers,
even its hucksters selling their animals
for gold,
even its babies sniffing for their music,
the farm house, white as a bone,
sitting in the lap of its corn,
even the statue holding up its widowed life,
even the ocean with its cupful of students,
but most of all He envies the bodies,
He who has no body.

The eyes, opening and shutting like keyholes
and never forgetting, recording by thousands,
the skull with its brains like eels --
the tablet of the world --
the bones and their joints
that build and break for any trick,
the genitals,
the ballast of the eternal,
and the heart, of course,
that swallows the tides
and spits them out cleansed.

He does not envy the soul so much.
He is all soul
but He would like to house it in a body
and come down
and give it a bath
now and then.