d a m p

g o g g l e s

I have a carefully (aka randomly) curated personal repertoire of quotes that I sound off to myself at poignant points in my life. The above gem is from Ned Kelly (Naomi Watts : "Don't make me mourn you"; Heath Ledger : "I ain't dead yet"); excellent movie, check it out.

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I've been a little absent from cyber-land lately, mainly because real-life has been extra-hectic. I'd kept it under my hat, but I did a big thing: my lovely man Josh and I have made the big leap and moved back to our hometown of Kitchener-Waterloo from Toronto. It's been a crazy and frustrating past few months; all of my things have been in storage since mid-September and I spent a few weeks drifting between friend's couches and living out of suitcases. That being said, I'm beyond excited to finally be moving into our new place on the first.

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A few weeks ago I spent a night out with my two favourite people: Josh and Marta. We saw Thor (shirtless sponge-bath wishes granted), hung out at a great little turkish-cafe on the Danforth and then had excellent midnight-snacks at Square Boy (most amazing little burgers and fries). While waiting in line for our food I tried on Marta's new glasses and pulled a Sam-face; they look excellent on her, like swim-goggles on me.

b r i g h t

Winter in Canada can be, at times, seriously depressing. Once daylight savings has passed (when we jump our clocks back an hour in order to have more morning sunlight) the sun sets at approximately 4:00...When I leave work around 5:00 and it's as dark as midnight, it feels eerily like being in a time warp. What's even stranger is how this seems to bother me now, whereas in years past I could have cared less (and even relished the darkness more than the light).

[The night is dark and full of terrors].

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Last Halloween was the first one that Josh and I spent together; we'd been dating for a little over a month and the party which we attended was the first major event where I would meet all of his friends. I made Josh's requested costume: a sunflower/dandelion. He wore green tights and a green ladies t-shirt from Joe Fresh (which I got to keep, hooray!) and the lovely headdress pictured above. I glued plastic flowers all over a decapitated hoodie hood for him; the hat is incredibly, surprisingly snuggly and we both joke about wearing it for a winter hat.

It's objects and memories like these that help me through the darkness.

m i s t y

Autumn is here (give a cheer!); the sky is all low and grey like a big celestial blanket and I feel inspired and brooding and romantic. I'm all windswept hair and rosy cheeks and feeling good! The only drawback going on around these parts is how seriously cold it's beginning to get...looks like I might need to invest in some new cozy items: some cardigans, gloves, hats. (Josh found a pair of my legwarmers recently and was all "WOT ARE THESE, SOCKS WITH HOLES?")

l a d y

I generally don't consider myself to be photogenic; I have a tendency to stand in unflattering positions or make weird faces when I try to smile.

Josh took these photos of me over the weekend, and we were both thrilled with how nicely they came out! "I'm so glad to finally have some nice pictures of you," he said. But as soon as we got home and he took a proper look at them, it soon became apparent that I'd had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction... (fall weather plus busty girl deciding not to wear a bra equals, well, you can imagine).

I'm laughing it off; to be honest, I'd rather have decent photos of myself with visible nips than pristine ones with me making an unintentionally silly face.

i n t o . t h e . w o o d s

u n - p o k e r . f a c e

I've been told that I have an expressive face: scowls, smiles, pouts, stares, squints. As much as I'd like to sometimes, I can't hide my feelings. I can't really understand people who embrace the "poker face" mentality, although I suppose that I do appreciate it. 

r o a d . t r i p

There's a joyful peace to be found in the wild openness of the country side. Everytime I take a drive between cities, I glimpse it: the fields and trees inspire daydreams in me of rustic adventures and sleepy moments in quiet locations. I feel in awe of the natural world, a place of majesty and mystery. I feel an electric surge of potential, hear it whispered in the rushing wind. The endless sky speaks to me, and I feel serene and sure that somewhere, I'll find what I'm looking for. 

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Last weekend, Josh and I took a little trip to Stratford for my birthday, to see my favourite musical, Fiddler on the Roof. The drive to and from our destination was picturesque! We had an awesome time zipping down the sunny highway, wind rushing through the windows as we sang along to the radio (some of us better than others...I'm terrible). 

h i g h . h o p e s

e l e c t r i c . g r e e n

Perhaps my favourite aspect of Toronto is its balance of urban and natural; paces away from bustling streets, there are quiet neighbourhoods of heirloom houses with sprawling lawns and lush gardens. I took a walk today down one such street, feeling peaceful and detached from city life (and reality).

f l a s h b a c k . f r i d a y .

My brother Dylan (up there on the right!), once told me that I dressed like a clown ( and possibly that I was an embarrassment). At the time, I had been wearing a bright orange coat, green, patterned canvas boots and knee high socks, so maybe he was right.

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My mum's parenting theory was always "as long as it isn't morally wrong or physically threatening, let your children make their own decisions"; this applied to clothings as much as anything else. I often tease her about the outfits that I had access to as a child (there were a lot of leggings, how ironic), but really, I think I looked pretty cool. Thanks mum!

s u m m e r . c i t y

h o m e

Home is: being greeted at the door by a ginger cat and a grey pug; lazily chatting on the back patio; a well stocked fridge; treadmill running in a retro laundry room; sleeping late, nestled in a sumptuous bed; verdant streets and yards, wide open spaces.

Home is: nostalgia; famaliar faces and voices.

Home is love and it's heartbreakingly hard to leave.

v i c t o r i a

This past weekend, I took a trip back home to Kitchener to celebrate my birthday; while there, my boyfriend Josh and I paid a quick visit to Victoria Park. We went on a whim after dinner, to the sprawling lawns nestled in the heart of downtown, with its murky waterways and arching bridges. 

It was just before dusk when we arrived; families with young children were winding down their playful days and the sun was setting slowly in a cotton-candy coloured sky. We wandered past small copses of flowering trees and over the lazy curve of an aforementioned bridge; the wooden planks beneath our feet clunked with each step. In the distance, a lone swan was hunkered down on the shore of the small island in the little lake. We stepped casually closer along the edge of the dark water in hopes of snapping a photo of the bird, which had been drawn to the bank by a little girl throwing bread crumbs.

Eventually, the swan drifted over to where we were standing; it stared at us with black, glistening eyes, gliding to and fro. While Josh crouched down to photography the gigantic beauty, I began to panic; I was convinced that the swan would suddenly hop out of the water full of squawking rage and attack. As Sue Townsend repeatedly reminds in Adrian Mole and The Weapons of Mass Destruction, "a swan can break a man's arm".

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Once near Christmastime, I went with my family to Victoria Park after dark to see the holiday light displays. Driven by tween logic, I wore shiny, impractical shoes that night; I slipped on ice, ripped my tights and cried.

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I met a date on the playground there, two New Years Days ago; it was a secret rendez-vous, a naively optimistic rebound. The park was deserted, the city quiet and closed. We met, hugged and shuffled awkwardly along the damp wooden structure in unseasonably warm winter mist; we talked nervously while wandering the park because there was no where else to go.

i n . b l o o m

My mum loves gardening. While I was still living at home, she would often try to persuade me to come outside and help her tend to her plants; she would (and still does) joke about paying me fifty cents to weed.

Even though I love flowers as a visual concept (as explained here), I was never very keen on the concept of gardening; one (among many) of my most dreaded summer phenomena was the experience of being dragged along to an open air garden centre; the heat and inevitable swarms (or so it seemed to me!) of bees and other bugs were unbearable to me. I was also always nonchalantly adamant that when and if I ever had a garden of my own, I would simply throw hand-fulls of seeds onto the earth and let nature take its course.

It's a mystery to me, but so far this summer I feel like I'm obsessed with plants; I keep pausing when I pass by beautiful gardens in bloom and can't resist capturing them on camera.

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When I was little and we lived out in the county, there was a giant peony bush on the corner of our property; I remember staring in morbid fascination at the lush blossoms swarming with gigantic black ants.

f l a s h b a c k . f r i d a y . 2

Lately, it feels like all I think about is the girl in these photos: the versions of myself that existed once, long ago. I imagine them still out there somewhere, preserved on alternate plains of reality; in memory, I jump from self to self as easily as flipping through photographs, remembering.

She is me and I am her, but she's gone forever. I must finally be an adult now, mourning my childhood as if that little girl really did die.