Trip Trickle 6

Music is this Josh Ritter song. Breathe that in.

A certain highlight of my trip was going out one evening to a pub in Crouch End, London, all by my little Bobbi self. I went to hear Jill Barber, a Canadian singer songwriter, who was in town. The evening nearly blew my CBC tshirt off. I met Jill before the show, she invited me to come hang out with her and her people, she put me on her guest list, I met some lovely London blokes who told me about pockets of urban poverty and how different London is from the rest of England. I dig that stuff, all that beautiful stuff.


Jill Barber, Les Cooper her guitarist, and me

Trip Trickle 5

THE SHOES








There is something
about seeing
your very own feet
wrapped up in
your very own shoes
that reminds you that
you have place
that place matters
that you and place
are friends.

Trip Trickle 4

THE FOOD AND DRINK

I love to eat and drink at home; I love to eat and drink away from home. Here are some of those moments from my trip.


Sara, Wendy, and I caught up in a Mayday "riot" in Berlin.


Breakfast in Berlin at an outdoor cafe.


Ron Telesky "couch potato" pizza covered in arugula (maybe) and chili maple syrup.


Sara and I joining the masses of Berlin with a scoop of gelato.


Real German food at the really, really old pub by Wendy's place in Berlin.


Coffee! I might have had about 50 cappuccinos in my journey. *Note that the statues outside of the Franz Kafka museum in this Prague square are actually robots. You can text them a message and they'll pee that message into a map/pond the shape of a map of Czech.


Sara, Lisa, and I spent a few hours at this pub in Oxford. It is famous for being the haunt of the Inklings from 1939-1962.

Trip Trickle 3

THE WRITING ON THE WALL

Writing on the wall can be spooky.

There is a story in the Old Testament (Daniel 5) about a heavenly warning that arrives at King Belshazzar’s party in the form of cryptic writing on the wall. Daniel is brought in to interpret the writing. It basically sets out this message to the irreverent Belshazzar: you’re screwed.

Writing on the wall can seem like a message of warning and ruin, especially when you’ve been an idiot and God wants to get your attention. But, then there is another kind of writing on the wall: graffiti. It’s the kind that starts here on earth, rather than in the heavens, and seems more like a cry directed upward than a curse coming down.

On my trip to Europe I spied on all sorts of graffiti.


An old building. Berlin.


My name in Berlin.


Beauty and dandelions in Berlin.


Can you feel it? Berlin.


The Berlin Wall. East Side Gallery.


More of the Berlin Wall. East Side Gallery.


The illusive Banksy. London.


Banksy. This one was painted just a month ago. London.

I think this earth-bound writing on the wall sprays out a message that reads more like this:

Hey. We’re here.
Hey. Things aren’t as they should be.
Hey. I’m feeling a bit broken.
Hey. I’m hoping for a better world.
Hey.

This writing on the wall has been heard; there are traces of this everywhere. It is sprayed again and again. It has not fallen on blind eyes.

PS This is my 100th blog post! Yikes.

Trip Trickle 2

some-thoughts-and-likely-some-pictures-everyday-for-the-
rest-of-the-month-of-May//my trip to Europe with my friend Sara

THE BIRTHDAY

This trip was inspired by my 30th birthday. Indeed, I'm now 30. Here are some pics of the night we celebrated in Berlin. The people in the celebration: Sara, her sister Wendy, Wendy's flatmate Ben, Ben's dad visiting from Naniamo, and finally Ben and Wendy's boss and his friend.


Pizza and wine at a punk pizza place by the canal.


Sara and I at a lovely little downstairs pub just around the corner from Ron Telesky's Canadian Pizza.


Yes. It was this fun.


Wendy's boss Ole treated us to some fine German sparkling wines. We drank up appreciatively, of course.

Trip Trickle

I took a trip to three incredible cities for my 30th birthday: Berlin, Prague, and London. I've decided to share some-thoughts-and-likely-some-pictures-everyday-for-the-
rest-of-the-month-of-May to let you in on that journey.

I didn't do much blogging while I was away because I honestly enjoyed the freedom of disappearing. But now, I'm unleashing some blog goodness for my faithful friends who actually read this madness.

I welcome your comments and in that, your place in my invaluable and far-reaching community. I invite you to enter into the conversation that takes place in the wake of a person's return home from a far away place.

To begin . . .

THE PEOPLE


This is my amazing friend Sara who took this trip with me. We are Briercrest College buddies; we shared a bathroom my first year. Sara lives in Calgary. She is so lovely. This picture is the two of us early one morning in Berlin outside the Reichstag.


Our first destination was Berlin because Sara's sister Wendy lives there. I know Wendy because she lives in East Vancouver when she isn't living abroad. This is the three of us at Brandenburg Gate. I love these women!


Sara and I stayed with Wendy and her friend Ben who is also from Vancouver. We liked to affectionately call them "Bendy." They were very gracious to let us stay with them and eat all their Nutella every morning.


This is a hot pic of Wendy and I at Potsdam. Some "old shit" is behind us, as Wendy would say.


Skipping ahead to our last city, London. Sara was able to catch up with her old friends Lisa and Brett. Through Sara's reconnections, I made some new friends. We spent our last evening with Lisa and Brett at The Troubadour in London.

Stay tuned to the BS blog for more . . . tomorrow.

I HATE GOOD-BYES

I am getting ready to say good-bye to Berlin (and hello to Prague). I don't think I'm a bounce around kind of traveler. I start getting to know a city like I get to know a person. And then, I start missing it before I've even had to say good-bye.

Berlin has captured me. It's a city with a complicated story, rich in history, coloured in varying shades of grey. It's a city you can't box up and neatly enjoy or understand. It's a city rebuilt and rebuilding. I love the the invitations it extends to have a beer in the street, to sit on a piece of grass by the canal and enjoy your people, to get on a bike (any old bike) and to ride it (slow or fast, with or without a helmet [likely without!!]), to have a cappuccino at a cafe . . .

My lovely friend Jess gave me a book for this trip: A Restless Soul. It's a collection of Henri Nouwen's travel writings. Nouwen wrote these words after his time in Berlin:

It was history coming alive. I deeply feel my own responsibility. It does make a difference how I live my life. It does make a difference where I go, with whom I speak, and what I write. Yes, my life is very short and seems so insignificant in the context of our immense universe. But seeing what I saw today and hearing what I heard today, I experience a great desire to live with as much integrity, as much clarity, and as much courage as I can.

Thanks Henri. Thanks Berlin.

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.