summer brunch 2011

We dragged our bikes out of our parents’ garages and into the condo bike room two weeks ago for ride for heart. Will make good use of them the next time we buy furniture. Inspired by Kyohei Sakaguchi.

In the mean time, making good use of them transporting groceries from T&T. We actually did two round of groceries this weekend: T&T (hot pot lamb, two kinds of tripe, petit cheese kitkat) followed by St Lawrence market (rosemary flat bread, salmon egg, pickled herring, chocolate/caramel/meringue cake from eve’s temptations). Because the parents are coming over for father’s day.

I have no doubt that S will be a good father. He vacuums. He does laundry. He takes care of groceries on week nights. Definitely above average. But I have doubts that I will be a good mother. I hate routine. People often ask me what I would be if not an actuary. The problem with most jobs is that you have to show up at the same time everyday. Can you imagine being a chef and arriving at the restaurant after it opens? As for me, sometimes wake up with work on my mind and get into the office before eight, sometimes linger in my starbucks at church/adelaide for an extra fifteen minutes and get into the office after ten (although I hate routine, I love watching latte making, the rhythm of the foam).

I have no doubt that having children will be a transformative experience. And I love transformative experiences. But I have doubts that I will transform into someone that does not crave constant change. My new theory is that volatile parenting is okay. Penelope’s son is perfectly okay even though she is clearly insane.

Dum spiro spero.

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all chinese are poets

On most days, I bounce out of bed with the belief that life is magic. Like the air in Carl‘s balloon.

On other days, I feel that air is seeping out of my balloon. And I can’t pump fast enough to keep afloat. On these days, I would open up love in the time of cholera. Randomly. And read: The author of the essay did not doubt that the writer of the sonnet was in fact who he said he was, and he defended him in a straightforward manner, beginning with the title itself: “All Chinese Are Poets.”

Sometimes, Marquez cannot pump fast enough to keep me afloat. So I got to find the leak and patch it up good. On the surface, I know what’s wrong. This person at work has been annoying me. Every day. Even in my dreams. But. Deep down. I know this is not it. When you love a person, you love him despite everything. When you love what you do at work, you love it despite everything. The problem is the loss of love.

I want to believe Nietzsche, to believe that the wish for eternal return is the ultimate affirmation of life, to hold the person that I want to make happy for the rest of my days, to do work that answers my calling … but … perhaps … my calling is to wander. After all, not all those who wander are lost.

through the garden gate 2011

I have had a terrible headache for the past ten days. Could be because I need to get two wisdom teeth removed. Could be because an award fell on my head while I was sipping an award winning wine; although bloody, Sharon certified that I did not lose my short term memory. Could also be because I’m having yet another existential crisis. Thankfully, tis the weekend of my favorite garden event: Through the Garden Gate. Me thinks happiness is the best drug for headaches and uploading pretty pictures is a sure route to happiness.

This is a picture of the backyard of someone that lives along the Bloor subway line.