June, 2008

I hang out with Eliza a lot.
Really.
In fact, the two of us are pretty much attached to each other. If she’s not slurping down a breast milk sandwich or burping said sandwich all over ourselves then she’s wrapped to my body and we are walking somewhere.

Notice just then?
When I mentioned burping all over ourselves? Yes, I apparently no longer have my own pronoun. It’s not “myself” it is “ourself”. Such has been my life for the past few months and I am confident that this will continue for a short while longer.

I don’t mind.
I know the above few sentences would lead you to believe that this has been a burden but have you SEEN her ? She’s gorgeous. She’s fun. She’s Eliza. She wraps her chubby little arms around mine and holds on tight. She slurps her hands into her mouth and looks up at me with as much of a smile as she can handle – considering the mouthful she has given herself – and then, because she’s opened her mouth to smile and widened her entrance a bit further, she shoves those fists further down her throat and gags.

Too cute.
(I’m sure you are gagging right about now as well except I have a feeling that it is not due to how far your hands can reach into your mouth).

So my point is?
Gardening is slow when I have a three month old baby wrapped to the front of my body. This can be frustrating. The other day, Dickson took her in the wrap while I furiously weeded and sorted out the community plot. It was so satisfying. I kept thanking him as I pulled more and more weeds and straightened rows and made room for more plants. At one point, I was in such glee to finally get to a job I had previously only frowned at while watering upright that I actually farted.

Yes.
This was something I used to only do in bookstores when I knew I had about 6 hours to kill.

Now that the garden is in much better shape, I feel better about its progress. I can see a plan and I look a little more forward to watering it in the mornings. This year I’m planning to try forcing Belgian Endives. We have a crawl space in our new house that could be the perfect environment. I’ll keep you posted.

Here’s more sappy crap to take with you when you leave this blessed website.

I can’t remember who sang this to me when I was a kid – my mother or my Kindergarten teacher with the hair that grew past her ass – but it fills me with such sentimental hippie calmness that I want to move to Lasqueti Island and start an organic farm. I still remember all the words and after a few years of being strapped to me in the garden, so will Eliza.

I can see the four(!) of us – my mother, Thuraya(!), Eliza and myself – stamping out our cob house while tending to our goats and chickpea fields. Sister power. Come into our garden.

Peace.

Critical Mass – Roma 31 maggio 2008

Originally uploaded by Newbrigand

Recently we moved to a new home closer to my work (when I’m not on maternity leave, mind you), closer to Franklin’s school (living near the friends he sees at school is so so so much better – even if the closest bestest one is moving to Japan in August), closer to the community garden (a billion hoorays for this!). Basically, we walk everywhere now.

Who would have thought that moving to suburbia would free us from the car? Well, I guess our situation has made it so, anyway. Shopping is much closer, the beach is much closer and like I have already mentioned, school and the people we often set up play dates with are much closer. We didn’t really live “downtown” before anyway. We lived “in-between” or “on the bus route” – in the hard to define area where nothing really gets built except for apartment buildings and subsidized housing, really.

One thing Dickson and I have noticed is that when we watch a movie, the volume on the television is 3 notches lower. Everything is quieter here. There are no more sirens screaming down the road and the friendly neighbourhood dumpster divers don’t come all the way up here to gather their goods.

I used to get annoyed when people mentioned things like “idyllic, quiet countryside versus the busy, noisy city” because I love living in a city. Victoria isn’t all that much of a city, I know, and I would move to a bigger centre in a heartbeat – given the right circumstances. I love the action. In the past, I would defend the screaming fire trucks, the excavators and the car alarms. However, there is such a remarkable change now.

I can hear a lawn mower. I can’t remember when the last time I heard a privately owned, hand powered lawn-mower from my own kitchen. These things do make a difference.

I took an environmental aesthetics class once and during one class I remember questioning the unappreciated aspects of city noise – both visual and audio. I defended both graffiti and ambulances. I demanded a world where we become accustomed to the hustle and the bustle. I wanted there to be a world where living so close to each other was okay (even desired) and that people weren’t constantly trying to “arrive” and “feel successful” once they move to the suburbs or the countryside. We can’t all afford to live with a green yard and picket fence buffer between us and our neighbours. Thus, we shouldn’t set up artificial standards and thrive for this kind of life

However, I get it now. It’s not the hustle and bustle that we need to change. The environmental pollution that is caused by the noise of traffic isn’t what defines a city and it shouldn’t need defending. In fact, this is something we need to change – through better traffic planning, bike promotion and communal commuting. Car alarms, fire engines and dump trucks are not a proud badge of city life but a kind of toxin that can slowly wear you out. This is something we need to find a solution for as I’m not so sure that children should be growing up with that kind of beat constantly playing throughout their soundtrack of life.

blogged

Originally uploaded by AdaSaab

I saw this on typealice and thought it would be fun. I chose to pick from with the most relevant, recent or interesting searches, as it wasn’t specific.

The rules:

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker.

The questions that inspired the photos:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name.

If you guess what my answers to the questions were, I’ll send you a prize.
It won’t be gross, I promise.

Rustling plastic bags s-l-o-w-l-y doesn’t make you quiet. It makes you annoying and it makes you WAKE UP THE BABY!

How many times do you need to walk into our room before you realize that the centre passage way creaks? For Pete’s sake, walk along the side of the room, like this, see? Otherwise you’ll WAKE UP THE BABY!

Of course you can brush your teeth. What do you think I am, a sleep tyrant?
Umm, don’t leave the water running it’s ummm, bad for the environment and, um, don’t flush the toilet it’s yellow, let it mellow… all for the environment, right? Besides, all that commotion on the other side of the hall will WAKE UP THE BABY!

Have you ever noticed that your “whisper” isn’t as much a “whisper” as just low talking? Do you want to practise how to whisper? I know you wouldn’t want your current pathetic excuse of a whisper to WAKE UP THE BABY!

Why are you clearing your throat like that?
Stop it.