Today Leo and I went on a long walk (approximately two hours long) through the pouring rain. It was nice. I picked up my pictures and then we turned around and cruised back towards the mountain. At one point I thought I saw Rebecca cutting through an ally wrapped up in her usual mountain of black scarfery, and I almost burst. It wasn't her. I could have wept. I didn't.
Leo fell asleep ten minutes into our journey which was an utter relief as we had a bit of a rough morning together. Schlemtown. The entire DAY of heavy rain brought upon that sharp feeling of reality. I acknowledged it and continued to stare out the window wondering what in god's name I will do with myself and my friend Leonard come winter. I need a sleigh! Fortunately, Montreal's wild weather hasn't really phased me yet (thanks to two planting seasons in extreme everything), but we will see when the snow flies. The idea of snow is insane; especially when one considers the fact that four weeks ago it was plus 35 here. WTF? While pushing the boychild up and over Mont Royal, my mind wandered aimlessly.
What to do, what to do? Dolls, cutting fabric, drawing, taking photos. What am I doing? I am a nanny and I am twenty four. What??????? Yikes.
In actuality, there is a general assembly meeting that I intend to attend in seven minutes (located only one minute and thirty seconds from my doorstep) at this gallery place called Articule. I am afraid. Afraid of what? I am not sure. I am afraid it will be dictated en francais only. I am afraid I will show up to a circle of chairs already filled causing me to squeak in dripping on the gallery floor without the words to explain myself. I am afraid but curious. Here I go. I will write more when I return. Wish me luck, or not.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Dream tea.
After hanging up with Tiny Moms of twenty four weeks, I crawled in beside my guy and lay thinking of her growing girl. And lay, and lay. And lay some more until it was absolutely necessary to flip over, feel my heart beating one thousand flaps and ask myself, Megan, what did you have for dinner today? Three espresso, one bagel. Yikes. With that, I got up, slipped into my slips, wrapped myself tight in the familiar red quilt and brewed myself some of the Dream tea that Eddy wrapped in leaves and a shoelace and slipped into my tent two months ago.
Dream tea, to make you dream. Last night I dreamt of throwing diamond earring after diamond earring down an incinerator tucked into the wall of mine and Mitch's old apartment on Smith. What does this mean? I also leapt twenty years into the future and saw myself at my parents 50th wedding anniversary party, no faces present, just bodies, save for the face of the strange boy with the microphone. (My parents just celebrated their 31st [if I recall correctly] year of marriage). Who knows where that came from. I miss them, I miss their yard and it was nice to visit last night in my sleep. Mitch said I sat bolt upright laughing in my sleep, so I suppose the entire sequence was comical at the time.
Wrapped up with tea in hand, I settled into my work table between the wooden trestles and opened a letter from Madhavi. Again, as I always do when I think of her, I lit a candle and read her words while breathing in and out, in and out. She has such a gentleness about her and her words (electronic or non) always have the same effect: sweet calm. I miss you Maude.
I am not sure why, but coming back here to write seemed like the only thing to do. If we owned one, I might have opted to settle into a reading chair with my latest Aunty Daryl approved novel, The Winter Vault by Anne Michaels. Whoa, one thousand words underlined, tucked away into my memory for years to come. It took three attempts to dive into this book, but now I am in, rooted unapologetically. You know when you find a book that speaks straight to your very depths? Anne Michaels, respect.
Speaking of my Aunty Daryl, today we had a wonderfully long conversation. She too has such an amazing ability to calm and console the tenderest of hearts. Since moving, a long mental list has begun consisting of all of the things I vow to never take for granted again. Sitting at this woman's tiny wooden table underneath the shelf heaving with her most prized pottery, poetry, spices, drawings and photos (I want a shelf like hers someday) in the kitchen while she cooks is on this list. I miss that little yellow kitchen. I miss sitting on the counter in Andrea's kitchen and being in Jillian's kitchen with the high work table and sitting in the nook of that familiar red kitchen at Mel and Zach's and crowding the Mansion kitchen with all the Jesus paraphernalia on the walls high above eye level and of course I cannot ever forget my Mama's kitchen.
After hanging up with Aunty Daryl, Jillian called when she was finished teaching violin to tiny turds. I thought of her so much today I nearly puked with longing, and our conversation did not disappoint. Miss you girl.
Andrea in her kitchen. Girl, your phone calls are such delights. I liked looking at your growing girl in front of the turning leaves on Gracie and Willy's yard on the computer screen while hearing your voice at the same time. Too bad photographs cannot speak. Well, I suppose that is what videos are: talking photographs; but I mean I wish your parts of our conversation today were relayed right from the mouth of the woman standing in the tiny shorts in front of the tree (like that scene in Amelie where Nino Quincampoix is lying in bed talking to the photobooth picture of the man in the black cap). Whoa, sentence structure gone wild. Excusez-moi. Just a few more weeks until you are here, in the flesh. Perfect.
Dream tea is taking hold, off to bed I go. Tomorrow marks week two with my friend Leonard and I am excited to see him again. I miss the little chicken (as Jill calls him). Leo, the little Polish Elf (as the older woman at the swings called him on Thursday). He does kind of look like a Polish elf; in a good way though. Every day after lunch, I pick him up and ask Leo, where do you want to go today? and I try to think of the most amazing things I would want to see if I were nine months old. And away we go! Tomorrow I am going to take him to the Farmer's market in Little Italy, I think.
Oh Leo. As for Aunty Daryl, Jill, and Rags, it was so nice to talk to you today (major understatement).As for the rest of you, bon nuit. I am going to go warm my feet up on Mitch's unsuspecting legs and try to sleep.
Margot
Dream tea, to make you dream. Last night I dreamt of throwing diamond earring after diamond earring down an incinerator tucked into the wall of mine and Mitch's old apartment on Smith. What does this mean? I also leapt twenty years into the future and saw myself at my parents 50th wedding anniversary party, no faces present, just bodies, save for the face of the strange boy with the microphone. (My parents just celebrated their 31st [if I recall correctly] year of marriage). Who knows where that came from. I miss them, I miss their yard and it was nice to visit last night in my sleep. Mitch said I sat bolt upright laughing in my sleep, so I suppose the entire sequence was comical at the time.
Wrapped up with tea in hand, I settled into my work table between the wooden trestles and opened a letter from Madhavi. Again, as I always do when I think of her, I lit a candle and read her words while breathing in and out, in and out. She has such a gentleness about her and her words (electronic or non) always have the same effect: sweet calm. I miss you Maude.
I am not sure why, but coming back here to write seemed like the only thing to do. If we owned one, I might have opted to settle into a reading chair with my latest Aunty Daryl approved novel, The Winter Vault by Anne Michaels. Whoa, one thousand words underlined, tucked away into my memory for years to come. It took three attempts to dive into this book, but now I am in, rooted unapologetically. You know when you find a book that speaks straight to your very depths? Anne Michaels, respect.
Speaking of my Aunty Daryl, today we had a wonderfully long conversation. She too has such an amazing ability to calm and console the tenderest of hearts. Since moving, a long mental list has begun consisting of all of the things I vow to never take for granted again. Sitting at this woman's tiny wooden table underneath the shelf heaving with her most prized pottery, poetry, spices, drawings and photos (I want a shelf like hers someday) in the kitchen while she cooks is on this list. I miss that little yellow kitchen. I miss sitting on the counter in Andrea's kitchen and being in Jillian's kitchen with the high work table and sitting in the nook of that familiar red kitchen at Mel and Zach's and crowding the Mansion kitchen with all the Jesus paraphernalia on the walls high above eye level and of course I cannot ever forget my Mama's kitchen.
After hanging up with Aunty Daryl, Jillian called when she was finished teaching violin to tiny turds. I thought of her so much today I nearly puked with longing, and our conversation did not disappoint. Miss you girl.
Andrea in her kitchen. Girl, your phone calls are such delights. I liked looking at your growing girl in front of the turning leaves on Gracie and Willy's yard on the computer screen while hearing your voice at the same time. Too bad photographs cannot speak. Well, I suppose that is what videos are: talking photographs; but I mean I wish your parts of our conversation today were relayed right from the mouth of the woman standing in the tiny shorts in front of the tree (like that scene in Amelie where Nino Quincampoix is lying in bed talking to the photobooth picture of the man in the black cap). Whoa, sentence structure gone wild. Excusez-moi. Just a few more weeks until you are here, in the flesh. Perfect.
Dream tea is taking hold, off to bed I go. Tomorrow marks week two with my friend Leonard and I am excited to see him again. I miss the little chicken (as Jill calls him). Leo, the little Polish Elf (as the older woman at the swings called him on Thursday). He does kind of look like a Polish elf; in a good way though. Every day after lunch, I pick him up and ask Leo, where do you want to go today? and I try to think of the most amazing things I would want to see if I were nine months old. And away we go! Tomorrow I am going to take him to the Farmer's market in Little Italy, I think.
Oh Leo. As for Aunty Daryl, Jill, and Rags, it was so nice to talk to you today (major understatement).As for the rest of you, bon nuit. I am going to go warm my feet up on Mitch's unsuspecting legs and try to sleep.
Margot
Ronny Rouge.
I just spoke with J Bones on the telephone. Hallelujah.
Enough said.
Enough said.
 |
| Jillian to a tee; Winnipeg, Manitoba, 2010. |
I go out walking.
The first thing Mitch played this morning (nine o'clock, Sunday) was Ella Fitzgerald's "Black Coffee". It made me think of Lisa, super sass. We ate croissants with one egg basted soft each, a little cheese and some tea. Then he put on a record by Kurt Vile, who we listen to a lot around here. We each went our separate ways, him downtown and me to JJ's just down the street.
Strange day in la belle province. There is something between the size of a rat and a raccoon running laps along the joists above the ceiling. Montreal's grey skies look heavy with unshed rain and yet the pavement is dry. I went out walking today, dressed in my running gear (which I was later mocked for while dropping off a package with MJ before she rides the train back to Peterborough). With that, I lost all enthusiasm for running and then I just felt silly on the walk back home.
I changed again and went out to meet my darling. We walked down to St. Viateur (where all the hip people drink coffee) and then parted ways in our respective leather jackets with the fur. His is black, mine is brown. My leather and I turned south onto St. Laurent and hit all the vintage stores along the way; including this funny little Pop Up vintage shop (as they are known by here) filled with those kind of girls that made me long for Jillian. We would have blazed through there, scoped out the place and been gone before judgement settled on our backs like dust. PEACE. Instead, I scoped it out alone and left (empty handed) surprised by what and whom I found.
Upon entering, a terrifying long haired fellow in heels threw his paws on the fur of my collar and shrieked "is that attached to your jacket?" into my face. It was so jarring and unwanted. "Yes, it is" nowgetyourfuckinghandsoffmethankyouverymuch. The social network that I have been exposed to here is very strange in comparison to the community I ran with in Winnipegtown. It is very superficial and in your face. No thanks. I would rather stay at home and read. Clearly, the scene I have seen thus far is not for me. I did meet some very nice girls in a band called Irene & Walter (I think) yesterday. They were playing a show in the middle of the street (ten steps from where my frind Leo lives) and let me take their band photo, which felt nice. And then I met this kind woman named Illeanna (I think) who introduced me to this place in Montreal called Articule, and invited me to come to their General Assembly next week. Articule is a artist-run centre and gallery space for emerging contemporary artists. Volunteering would be a great way to start easing into the Montreal art community. Besides, bartending art openings is my jam!
Now I am home once again, drinking peppermint tea and wearing something different altogether.
This is dumb.
Also, I saw this in the dictionary today and felt sad afterwards: Noun (faux-naïf)-- a person who pretends to be ingenuous: the old device of a faux naif observing his own country as a foreigner. I am observing my country as a foreigner daily.
When will this change?
Disenchanted in the big city, Margot
Strange day in la belle province. There is something between the size of a rat and a raccoon running laps along the joists above the ceiling. Montreal's grey skies look heavy with unshed rain and yet the pavement is dry. I went out walking today, dressed in my running gear (which I was later mocked for while dropping off a package with MJ before she rides the train back to Peterborough). With that, I lost all enthusiasm for running and then I just felt silly on the walk back home.
I changed again and went out to meet my darling. We walked down to St. Viateur (where all the hip people drink coffee) and then parted ways in our respective leather jackets with the fur. His is black, mine is brown. My leather and I turned south onto St. Laurent and hit all the vintage stores along the way; including this funny little Pop Up vintage shop (as they are known by here) filled with those kind of girls that made me long for Jillian. We would have blazed through there, scoped out the place and been gone before judgement settled on our backs like dust. PEACE. Instead, I scoped it out alone and left (empty handed) surprised by what and whom I found.
Upon entering, a terrifying long haired fellow in heels threw his paws on the fur of my collar and shrieked "is that attached to your jacket?" into my face. It was so jarring and unwanted. "Yes, it is" nowgetyourfuckinghandsoffmethankyouverymuch. The social network that I have been exposed to here is very strange in comparison to the community I ran with in Winnipegtown. It is very superficial and in your face. No thanks. I would rather stay at home and read. Clearly, the scene I have seen thus far is not for me. I did meet some very nice girls in a band called Irene & Walter (I think) yesterday. They were playing a show in the middle of the street (ten steps from where my frind Leo lives) and let me take their band photo, which felt nice. And then I met this kind woman named Illeanna (I think) who introduced me to this place in Montreal called Articule, and invited me to come to their General Assembly next week. Articule is a artist-run centre and gallery space for emerging contemporary artists. Volunteering would be a great way to start easing into the Montreal art community. Besides, bartending art openings is my jam!
Now I am home once again, drinking peppermint tea and wearing something different altogether.
This is dumb.
Also, I saw this in the dictionary today and felt sad afterwards: Noun (faux-naïf)-- a person who pretends to be ingenuous: the old device of a faux naif observing his own country as a foreigner. I am observing my country as a foreigner daily.
When will this change?
Disenchanted in the big city, Margot
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
My friend Leonard.
I have always been a big fan of babies in stripes. This is my new boss, Leo. It has only been three days together, but I think we are starting to get along real well. Who knows what he is thinking about this crazy person who has just bounded into his life with her own set of stripes, he can't talk yet. Well actually, this morning he shrieked something that sounded a lot like "MAMA MIA!" at top volume. I was pretty excited about it. More to come, we had our first little photo shoot today at my house in the time period in between Royal Shit No. 1 and Royal Shit no. 2. He liked my bed a lot. I don't blame him, it is the softest place I know.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Cal the Stal.
Happy Birthday dad! I love you, all the way from over here.
 |
| My dad; Rosenort, Manitoba, 2008. |
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Our Corner Cupboard.
I have settled into a little for-now routine, guilt free! Mitch goes off to work, brave face and I get up and either force myself into my Lou Lem's and running shoes, or the preferred garment of choice, my kimono. Then it is cleaning time, swish swish swish, with thirteen projects at once in a great flurry of flapping and wiping and sweeping. Mitch laughed at this cleaning style when he learned it, the ongoing and open ended activity. I prefer it. I thrive in it. I could also never make cash as a cleaning lady because my clients would be frightened.
Oh shoot. Now I am writing about cleaning, aren't I? But seriously, I really love being at home. I love "puttering around"--Annie/Helen/Kim style as they have been known to call it. These matriarchs have taught me the way of the clean. Thanks ladies. Annie, you're dead and gone but not forgotten. These days I putter and put things back in their rightful places and I like to think I keep a good house. I can only imagine having more than one floor to take care of, never mind the constant cycle of activity with the addition of additions and more people! But this is the time in life for simplicity, thankfully, and it only takes one round of fresh water to mop the whole house. A few days ago, I was talking to my pops on the phone about simplicity. He encouraged me to appreciate it now, present day, because the more one has, the more complicated things become. He is right. There is no 700K mortgage looming, there is no garage to fill, there are no babes to clothe (too bad, Baby Zara here KILLS it in the style department. Stripes for all!), there is just love to cherish and grace to extend and patience to learn and laundry to fold (did I mention how psyched I am about the washing machine located in my kitchen?!?!). Thanks for the reminded to relax, dad. I love you. It's almost your BIRTHDAY. Awesome.
Anyway, upon Michelle Hooey's recommendation, I visited this tiny store close to my house on St. Laurent called Monastiraki, a cute little gallery, boutique, print shop, Mom and Pop, odds 'n ends type place that welcomes putterers like myself to open flat drawers spilling with prints upon prints and drag fingers across the many collections of old papers, scraps, feathers, old hats, and maps that dot the store. Basically it is a dream shop. Erin you will love it. I already did a trade with the owner, Billy. I found two old photographs in one of the many drawers (one is of a clapboard house that I would someday like to putter around in, surrounded by trees of course), a handmade change purse, and some little papers that have now found a home on my giant bulletin board above my work table. I was short on cash and he waved it graciously. In turn, I brought him some stuff that suited the shop.
Time to bomb some hills downtown to pick up some rolls of film a la Monteal. With fingers crossed, I am praying these turned out. If not, yikes. Check out Flickrtown after this evening, I am sure it will be stacked to the tits with fresh goods.
Be well, I am. Thanks for reading. Also, if anyone feels led, feel free to mail a letter to the address below and I will write back!
#11-283 Laurier av Ouest
Montreal, QC
H2V 2K1
Oh shoot. Now I am writing about cleaning, aren't I? But seriously, I really love being at home. I love "puttering around"--Annie/Helen/Kim style as they have been known to call it. These matriarchs have taught me the way of the clean. Thanks ladies. Annie, you're dead and gone but not forgotten. These days I putter and put things back in their rightful places and I like to think I keep a good house. I can only imagine having more than one floor to take care of, never mind the constant cycle of activity with the addition of additions and more people! But this is the time in life for simplicity, thankfully, and it only takes one round of fresh water to mop the whole house. A few days ago, I was talking to my pops on the phone about simplicity. He encouraged me to appreciate it now, present day, because the more one has, the more complicated things become. He is right. There is no 700K mortgage looming, there is no garage to fill, there are no babes to clothe (too bad, Baby Zara here KILLS it in the style department. Stripes for all!), there is just love to cherish and grace to extend and patience to learn and laundry to fold (did I mention how psyched I am about the washing machine located in my kitchen?!?!). Thanks for the reminded to relax, dad. I love you. It's almost your BIRTHDAY. Awesome.
Anyway, upon Michelle Hooey's recommendation, I visited this tiny store close to my house on St. Laurent called Monastiraki, a cute little gallery, boutique, print shop, Mom and Pop, odds 'n ends type place that welcomes putterers like myself to open flat drawers spilling with prints upon prints and drag fingers across the many collections of old papers, scraps, feathers, old hats, and maps that dot the store. Basically it is a dream shop. Erin you will love it. I already did a trade with the owner, Billy. I found two old photographs in one of the many drawers (one is of a clapboard house that I would someday like to putter around in, surrounded by trees of course), a handmade change purse, and some little papers that have now found a home on my giant bulletin board above my work table. I was short on cash and he waved it graciously. In turn, I brought him some stuff that suited the shop.
Time to bomb some hills downtown to pick up some rolls of film a la Monteal. With fingers crossed, I am praying these turned out. If not, yikes. Check out Flickrtown after this evening, I am sure it will be stacked to the tits with fresh goods.
Be well, I am. Thanks for reading. Also, if anyone feels led, feel free to mail a letter to the address below and I will write back!
#11-283 Laurier av Ouest
Montreal, QC
H2V 2K1
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Time in Between.
Aloha. New header, a weird drawing I did last winter for the annual Art City coloring book.
Dear wind, I just reread a bunch of letters I wrote to you in the spring. As anticipated, "challenging Autumn" is blowing in. Even the air has changed around these parts. Unlike Winnipeg, Montreal seems to be turning at the pace of molasses, which is just fine pour moi. Green as grass over here. Just today, while running under a closed woods canopy on Mount Royal, I saw the first splashes of Quebec's signature rouge. Red leaves, red rum and so begins the death of summer.
Just as the Dear Liza letter that came in yesterday's post read, summer is a "time to soak in the sun and travel and drink it all in. Store up for the winter months. I'm stored up. Ready."; I too am ready. And Liza, in honor of your letter and your words, I craned my neck while running this morning and felt the last rivers of the sun's warmth pour down on my closed eyelids through the holes in the canopy above me. I am ready.
For what? God only knows.
I just came in from a mountain run and had my ass handed to me on the stair sprint (and by "handed to me" I just mean I felt dejected after seeing a dude do all seven flights in under a minute!). Whoa, mental. Apres l'incident des escaliers (after the stairs incident in improper French [probably]) I walked further up the gravel path to the lookout point and stretched and then sat on a stone planter in meditative silence for a few minutes until Drex and Danika floated to the surface of thought. Hello out there, I wish we lived closer together!
Nice run though. I think it (running) is coming back, the motion I mean. After all of this time of struggling with it, all I had to do was lift my knees higher and breathe like a normal person. On the way back down I passed the Stairmaster doing his one millionth stair set (give it a rest already and quit making the rest of us look bad) as well as a tiny (very tiny) Chinese man on a unicycle heading UP hill and singing something at the top of his lungs. I whooped and gave him two thumbs up. He didn't notice, but for some reason all of these things made me think of James: tiny Chinese man, unicycle, singing. Then further down the running path, I passed another tiny man walked a very large dog. He waved in the direction of my gaze and haggard panting and said, "Bon matin!" (good morning en Francais) and I realized only then that I haven't been talking to anyone except my main squeeze since arriving in the Land of Talk.
My dad asked me on the phone yesterday if I had met any new people yet and I said "no". Pat, my friend from planting (who lives three blocks away) told me to "quit living under a rock" the other day over dinner at Casa Lau (as in Laurier Avenue, the street upon which my apartment is located). So I am living under a rock, so what? Lisa King rang me up yesterday (and so did Rags!) in the afternoon while I was in the middle of writing her a letter (what a coincidence) and encouraged me to enjoy the time in between. Isn't that a David Bergen novel about a brother and sister in Asia? I think so. Anyway, so I have decided to wait out the job search until I find something worth sticking with (Operation TWO T4's is in effect. Fuck, THREE T4's?!?!) with joy and thanksgiving. Since I haven't found a sewing machine yet to commence the doll factory and the Lady Longbody's line, this is the time to master hand stitching I suppose.
The latest project is a giant 4'x6' wall hanging for above my bed. Nothing has come to fruitition yet, save for a vision in my head that has been brewing like a press pour for some time now. I have a BIG piece of red felt/batting and a shit tonne of raw canvas. I have started cutting out leaves to hand sew onto the red thing and eventually I hope to somehow replicate a drawing I did a few years ago of a tiny (2"x3") crest in order for it to work itself into the larger fabric version of the idea in my head. These visions always start out so grand. Haha. This will be challenging without a large version of the crest to trace for a pattern for the fabric version. After the leaf portion is complete, I somehow need to REDRAW the original crest into an appropriate size for the wall hanging. I don't know about any of you, but as far as I am concerned, redrawing something is hard enough, never mind redrawing something ten times it's original size. Yikes. Photos to come of the construction.
Okay, I am off. Lisa, I just trimmed my own bangs in an attempt for you to come here faster. Sasshole/turd move.
Queen of the Road, Margot. Still dreaming of my someday Great Dane named Lee Ronaldo.
Dear wind, I just reread a bunch of letters I wrote to you in the spring. As anticipated, "challenging Autumn" is blowing in. Even the air has changed around these parts. Unlike Winnipeg, Montreal seems to be turning at the pace of molasses, which is just fine pour moi. Green as grass over here. Just today, while running under a closed woods canopy on Mount Royal, I saw the first splashes of Quebec's signature rouge. Red leaves, red rum and so begins the death of summer.
Just as the Dear Liza letter that came in yesterday's post read, summer is a "time to soak in the sun and travel and drink it all in. Store up for the winter months. I'm stored up. Ready."; I too am ready. And Liza, in honor of your letter and your words, I craned my neck while running this morning and felt the last rivers of the sun's warmth pour down on my closed eyelids through the holes in the canopy above me. I am ready.
For what? God only knows.
I just came in from a mountain run and had my ass handed to me on the stair sprint (and by "handed to me" I just mean I felt dejected after seeing a dude do all seven flights in under a minute!). Whoa, mental. Apres l'incident des escaliers (after the stairs incident in improper French [probably]) I walked further up the gravel path to the lookout point and stretched and then sat on a stone planter in meditative silence for a few minutes until Drex and Danika floated to the surface of thought. Hello out there, I wish we lived closer together!
Nice run though. I think it (running) is coming back, the motion I mean. After all of this time of struggling with it, all I had to do was lift my knees higher and breathe like a normal person. On the way back down I passed the Stairmaster doing his one millionth stair set (give it a rest already and quit making the rest of us look bad) as well as a tiny (very tiny) Chinese man on a unicycle heading UP hill and singing something at the top of his lungs. I whooped and gave him two thumbs up. He didn't notice, but for some reason all of these things made me think of James: tiny Chinese man, unicycle, singing. Then further down the running path, I passed another tiny man walked a very large dog. He waved in the direction of my gaze and haggard panting and said, "Bon matin!" (good morning en Francais) and I realized only then that I haven't been talking to anyone except my main squeeze since arriving in the Land of Talk.
My dad asked me on the phone yesterday if I had met any new people yet and I said "no". Pat, my friend from planting (who lives three blocks away) told me to "quit living under a rock" the other day over dinner at Casa Lau (as in Laurier Avenue, the street upon which my apartment is located). So I am living under a rock, so what? Lisa King rang me up yesterday (and so did Rags!) in the afternoon while I was in the middle of writing her a letter (what a coincidence) and encouraged me to enjoy the time in between. Isn't that a David Bergen novel about a brother and sister in Asia? I think so. Anyway, so I have decided to wait out the job search until I find something worth sticking with (Operation TWO T4's is in effect. Fuck, THREE T4's?!?!) with joy and thanksgiving. Since I haven't found a sewing machine yet to commence the doll factory and the Lady Longbody's line, this is the time to master hand stitching I suppose.
The latest project is a giant 4'x6' wall hanging for above my bed. Nothing has come to fruitition yet, save for a vision in my head that has been brewing like a press pour for some time now. I have a BIG piece of red felt/batting and a shit tonne of raw canvas. I have started cutting out leaves to hand sew onto the red thing and eventually I hope to somehow replicate a drawing I did a few years ago of a tiny (2"x3") crest in order for it to work itself into the larger fabric version of the idea in my head. These visions always start out so grand. Haha. This will be challenging without a large version of the crest to trace for a pattern for the fabric version. After the leaf portion is complete, I somehow need to REDRAW the original crest into an appropriate size for the wall hanging. I don't know about any of you, but as far as I am concerned, redrawing something is hard enough, never mind redrawing something ten times it's original size. Yikes. Photos to come of the construction.
Okay, I am off. Lisa, I just trimmed my own bangs in an attempt for you to come here faster. Sasshole/turd move.
Queen of the Road, Margot. Still dreaming of my someday Great Dane named Lee Ronaldo.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Erin and Derek's Nuptial Bliss.
My sister got married on August 21, 2010. It was a beautiful ceremony and reception held on my parent's gorgeous 4 acre yard with a cranky old river running through the very back of the property. My camera was not meant to be that night (much to my chagrin) but it was nary an issue with a HOUSEFUL of talented local photographers, mostly friends of the couple. Erin and Derek chose Kyle Thomas and Nils Vik to shoot the likes of their wedding. They are amazing at what they see and how they shoot it. Here are some photos from their wedding work (which is just the tip of the iceberg with these men). Click on the photos to make them bigger.
As for the wedding, it was the best wedding of my life. It felt like so many things all at once in the most relaxing and enjoyable way (a circus, a ceremony, an art show, and a ball; it was all of those things and more). After drinking a cool million of Cal's now famous rum sangria, I managed to ride a bike through the dancing crowd, run the shortest marathon behind Scott McLaren who took over Auntie Marj's superstar-of-the-night-weird-little-bike and took off through the TENT! It was a wild wonderful night. I ripped my dress, Mike ripped is pants, Cal probably ripped it. It was a ripper of a NIGHT! What a beautiful couple these two, Erin and Derek! I love you both, my family.
The first photo you see is the truest photo I have ever seen! This is exactly who they both are, shining bright.
As for the wedding, it was the best wedding of my life. It felt like so many things all at once in the most relaxing and enjoyable way (a circus, a ceremony, an art show, and a ball; it was all of those things and more). After drinking a cool million of Cal's now famous rum sangria, I managed to ride a bike through the dancing crowd, run the shortest marathon behind Scott McLaren who took over Auntie Marj's superstar-of-the-night-weird-little-bike and took off through the TENT! It was a wild wonderful night. I ripped my dress, Mike ripped is pants, Cal probably ripped it. It was a ripper of a NIGHT! What a beautiful couple these two, Erin and Derek! I love you both, my family.
The first photo you see is the truest photo I have ever seen! This is exactly who they both are, shining bright.
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| Wedding day moped blast; Rosenort, Manitoba, 2010. |
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| Happy party: Stef, Meg, my bride sis Erin, Sam; Rosenort, Manitoba, 2010. |
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| Wedding on my parent's yard; Rosenort, Manitoba, 2010. |
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| Erin's impeccable taste in party tent form; Rosenort, Manitoba, 2010. |
Milky.
Okay, that was a bit of a sad reader. Things turned pretty quickly after that post. First of all, a few hours after pressing publish post, my brother Milky swung by for a last minute late lunch/early dinner jam before blasting westwards out of Montreal. It was awesome. I happened to be making some soup and by the time he got here, soup was on. I really enjoyed spending time with my brother these last few days. It felt grown up all of the sudden, being visited, and having company over to sleep on the "cheapest, shittiest air mattress I could find" (sorry Mike, haha). It also felt so normal--having him here I mean--we chilled out, walked all over, sat in parks, drank beer beside playgrounds, went to the market, drove all over town, visited the Old Port, saw some amazing bridges, sat on our balcony, cooked, ate, drank some more, went for dinner, went for breakfast, and also saw a flash of riders from the Tour de France race by on our journey home from Ikea. Oh Montreal, you just never know.
I was sad to see him go, maybe that was the reason for yesterday's post. Why the long face? Mitch and I looked at each other thirty seconds after bidding Milky adieu on Sunday night (I didn't think I would get to see him again until Christmas) and said "I miss Mike" at the same time. Turds. But we do! What an easy guest. Mitch's mama is coming this Friday to stay with us for the weekend and I am so excited to hang out with her! Donna do ya wanna; she is the kind of woman who is up for anything at any moment. We already have plans to run Mont Royal together (no racing allowed). Then again, Mike and I had the same plans but that idea fell to the wayside after our third or fourth meal in a row consisting mainly of butter, cheese, flour, and/or potatoes. It was a really nice weekend!
Okay, I am going to run that damn mountain again, even if it kills me. I feel better, ready to hit the pavement hunting for jobs. I also sourced a place to drop off my film (I think), so hopefully in a few days, the first batch of Montreal photos will be rolling in. These are the times it would be nice to have a digital camera. I have been having battery issues (thus causing me to miss Erin's entire wedding in photos. AGHHHHHH, that still kills me. At least there were one million amazing photographers there to capture the day), but I think I am dealt now.
Anyway, Milky, come back anytime. As for the rest of you, I have a cheap and shitty air mattress with your name on it! Keep in mind I also have a huge collection of the world's softest bedding.
James, I think of you so often it is mental. Wishing I had enough dough to zip over to your end for awhile. I promise to quit being a baby. Montreal is a stone's throw in comparison to TAIWAN. I love you man. Hang TIGHT.
Love, Margot.
I was sad to see him go, maybe that was the reason for yesterday's post. Why the long face? Mitch and I looked at each other thirty seconds after bidding Milky adieu on Sunday night (I didn't think I would get to see him again until Christmas) and said "I miss Mike" at the same time. Turds. But we do! What an easy guest. Mitch's mama is coming this Friday to stay with us for the weekend and I am so excited to hang out with her! Donna do ya wanna; she is the kind of woman who is up for anything at any moment. We already have plans to run Mont Royal together (no racing allowed). Then again, Mike and I had the same plans but that idea fell to the wayside after our third or fourth meal in a row consisting mainly of butter, cheese, flour, and/or potatoes. It was a really nice weekend!
Okay, I am going to run that damn mountain again, even if it kills me. I feel better, ready to hit the pavement hunting for jobs. I also sourced a place to drop off my film (I think), so hopefully in a few days, the first batch of Montreal photos will be rolling in. These are the times it would be nice to have a digital camera. I have been having battery issues (thus causing me to miss Erin's entire wedding in photos. AGHHHHHH, that still kills me. At least there were one million amazing photographers there to capture the day), but I think I am dealt now.
Anyway, Milky, come back anytime. As for the rest of you, I have a cheap and shitty air mattress with your name on it! Keep in mind I also have a huge collection of the world's softest bedding.
James, I think of you so often it is mental. Wishing I had enough dough to zip over to your end for awhile. I promise to quit being a baby. Montreal is a stone's throw in comparison to TAIWAN. I love you man. Hang TIGHT.
Love, Margot.
Monday, September 13, 2010
About town.
In Winnipeg, I would have killed for a day like this. Early to rise, a run up and then down a mountain five minutes from my home, simple breakfast, a rain day. I threw in a load of laundry ten minutes before the rain came and now there are sheets draped dramatically all over my apartment.
Mitch started his job today doing design work for a manufacturing company. I am still without. I can't seem to find my footing these days, and am completely lost as to not only what I would like to do, but also what I am capable of doing. My life seems like a million loose ends a la moment, no leads to anywhere. I had an interview on Saturday morning for a nanny position taking care of a 9 month old boy named Leo. Now it is Monday and I have yet to hear anything. These interviews to nowhere. It is quite depressing, actually. I have dropped off resumes at a few restaurants but I always leave feeling unsure and insecure due to my lack of French. It is a very humbling process, one that makes me long for the ease of over the counter work, quick photography gigs and silk screen workshops. These days I can be found organizing my flour, sugar, oats and spices into straight lines, folding laundry from the line, and on Facebook. How pathetic.
And yet, I live here now, in this fantastic city with one million parks and busy people. There are things to see and do everywhere you turn, and yet I am lost as to how to slide into the work race. Without a french tongue I feel disrespectful or something. Unworthy of a place in a kitchen or rocking someone else's tiny boy to sleep. Plenty of people come to this city to study from far away places and leave after four years without speaking a lick of french; but I don't want to be that person.
I WISH I HAD A SEWING MACHINE HERE. I don't really want to do anything else. I am lost. This is a low report, but alas I am low today for so many reasons. It feels stupid to long for a place that is no longer mine. Feeling stagnant is pretty much the worst possible feeling pour moi, and stagnant I am. What will it take? For what? I don't know when, or how long, or how much, or who, or why, or how often.
I miss you Winnipeg.
Mitch started his job today doing design work for a manufacturing company. I am still without. I can't seem to find my footing these days, and am completely lost as to not only what I would like to do, but also what I am capable of doing. My life seems like a million loose ends a la moment, no leads to anywhere. I had an interview on Saturday morning for a nanny position taking care of a 9 month old boy named Leo. Now it is Monday and I have yet to hear anything. These interviews to nowhere. It is quite depressing, actually. I have dropped off resumes at a few restaurants but I always leave feeling unsure and insecure due to my lack of French. It is a very humbling process, one that makes me long for the ease of over the counter work, quick photography gigs and silk screen workshops. These days I can be found organizing my flour, sugar, oats and spices into straight lines, folding laundry from the line, and on Facebook. How pathetic.
And yet, I live here now, in this fantastic city with one million parks and busy people. There are things to see and do everywhere you turn, and yet I am lost as to how to slide into the work race. Without a french tongue I feel disrespectful or something. Unworthy of a place in a kitchen or rocking someone else's tiny boy to sleep. Plenty of people come to this city to study from far away places and leave after four years without speaking a lick of french; but I don't want to be that person.
I WISH I HAD A SEWING MACHINE HERE. I don't really want to do anything else. I am lost. This is a low report, but alas I am low today for so many reasons. It feels stupid to long for a place that is no longer mine. Feeling stagnant is pretty much the worst possible feeling pour moi, and stagnant I am. What will it take? For what? I don't know when, or how long, or how much, or who, or why, or how often.
I miss you Winnipeg.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Parents-grand.
These are my grandparents, Syd and Helen Reimer. I miss you both, more than this thing is able to express. I love these photos of you two together. You are great examples of love to your brood of grandchildren and great grandchildren.
Missing you now, Megsy.
Missing you now, Megsy.
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| Grandma and Grandpa at Erin & Derek's wedding; Rosenort, Manitoba, 2010. |
Monday, September 6, 2010
Nouchst.
First rain day in Montreal. I am sitting at my new work desk eating orange slices out of a bowl and trying to think of something interesting to recount. Mitch is eating orange slices out of a bowl across the room at the dining room table (it looks like a lost lamb in this room). The home is coming together, slowly but surely. Nothing should be rushed in the wall hanging department--there will be plenty of time for that. This is actually one of my favorite stages in homemaking, the very beginning. Mitch and I started working on the kitchen first, as it was the only room with a clear path. Now the spices are up and out, along with the flour, oats, sugar containers, tea and things like that. I love being in the kitchen. On Saturday at the market (I went with cash and a list in hand this time, success) I found the best hanging cactus, a succulent also known as the Mouse Tail cacus. It looked clever, hanging there and couldn't resist. Besides, I need to pick up all the plants I can get before the market shuts down and it is too cold to walk home with a heaving Jade plant in my arms. Operation Jade, next Saturday. Anyway, its coming, pictures will be coming for a better visual. I like it though. The living room is amazing now that it has been emptied with the last tenant's things! WHOOO! Room to make stuff. There is so much room, tall, tall, tall ceilings, hardwood, moldings. Mitch alphabetized the records this afternoon while I baked a sour cream coffee cake (still in the oven, the room smells like cinnamon and brown sugar).
I am getting squirrely without a job. At least I can really clean the house now that it is meagerly filled. I don't have anything to write. I wish I had a sewing machine here. This is ridiculous. Sorry Grandma, I got nothing.
I am getting squirrely without a job. At least I can really clean the house now that it is meagerly filled. I don't have anything to write. I wish I had a sewing machine here. This is ridiculous. Sorry Grandma, I got nothing.
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