Where in the world is Silverman Jones? Chanel introduced me to this new character last night, Silverman Jones, an almost-but-not-quite intern at her fabric job. His real name is Sheldon Jones, but for some reason he sat through his entire application interview responding to Silverman Jones. Amazing. Silverman sounds far more interesting than Sheldon.
No snow, Montreal, Quebec, Canada! Woooh. This is no Buenos Aires, but I am praying the weather holds for a while before the snow rolls in. Today was ear bitingly cold (it feels strange knowing A. Marj no longer reads this) but clear as day. Brisk walking in the morning in my boots that an eagle helped me find (in true shopping angel spirit), a ridiculous grin at the Cheskies bakery counter just drunk off the smell of it all, one giant croissant still hot hot hot in my hands and eaten inside of EM Cafe next door.
EM Cafe. Dear Wind, innnnnteresting. This place that I have been eyeing up for weeks; makes me think of Liza every time I walk by the corner of Benard and Parc (every day with King Leo). Girl, I always expect to see you reading in the window. I went in today, had a cup of much needed coffee dark as night (last night with Lo and Chanel left me ink stained and laughing this morning) and was sealing a letter to Lisa when the kitchen caught my eye. I didn't think much more of it, other than it looked nice. A big square kitchen: stainless, white and wood. My kind of kitchen. On my way out, I asked the woman at the till when would be a good time to come back to speak with someone about the kitchen and she helped me out and gave me the name Anna Angelas. Good name. Good omen.
Ang, Angela, angels. EM, Em, M is for.
I went about my day, altered some clothes, went through my closet, culled and dead headed, made lunch, cleaned up, hung the fresh wash, pulled in the fresh wash, dressed the bed, and then it as time to drop off a resume. Back out into the cold in boots and flannel and my nearly forgotten white dress shirt from Club M (what??!! What a discovery today. Memo to self: shirts looked better pressed, but should not be forgotten when they are not). In the end, I ended up having an incredible nice exchange with Anna and am set to give my old kitchen hands a run for their money tomorrow during Saturday lunch rush. Wooooh! Holy shit, I can't believe it. A kitchen! A really nice kitchen that makes fancy breakfasts and waffles and rolls and hollandaise sauce and other things.
Patience is a virtue, Margot. I need to relax.
Today was the first day I really grieved for my mum's sister. My uncle's wife. Uncle Jim, so gentle and strong. My cousin's mom. Katie, Jen, Sara, Billy. For all those babies (born and unborn [Izzy, her sister and brother, Chili, Frances & Lily]) out there who will miss her touch more than we will ever know. She left a legacy to uphold. Babies, cooking, parenting, baking, work ethic, photography, gardening. There are one hundred things I will miss about her. She really was one of my mentors and today I sat a long time sitting in a chair in the comfortable space between sewing machine and work table, looking at my camera. That old lens. That was her camera. I can't remember ever getting a camera lesson that day when she handed over that heavy beast to me in front of her closet in their bedroom. She didn't seem like one to give lessons, she simply provided opportunity for the recipient to succeed (in whatever the context of her generosity). I want to be that kind of woman, auntie, mother, sister, daughter. Just give. She gave so much of herself to so many, so freely and without expectation of return.
I wish I had sent her a letter. Tears now. She told me at Thanksgiving that she "would just die if a Montreal leaf came in the mail" for her. An eagle with a leaf in its beak. Salt rivers on my face. I agreed with my own mum today when she mentioned she is having a difficult time realizing her sister isn't coming back. Fuck.
For now, all I feel capable of is staying close to home. A night out arm in arm with old friends was just what the doctor ordered. I have so much crying to do yet. Tomorrow I will chop or bus or prep as well as I can in a new kitchen. When the time is right I will pick up my camera again and remind myself to give more. And to relax. And to stop holding my breath.
Blast cry in a white dress shirt. Winter is coming. I bought some new Cat Power today, her covers album and found the song that I will walk down the aisle (aisle hey?) to. Oh bless you Cat Power. Wild is the Wind played so many times, I thought of Rebecca and Creme for different reasons but equal love and missing. Dear Wind, now alls I need is that baby blue Puch with the little headlamp and a beauty rat trap sitting in the window on St. Laurent. If only.
Image stolen sans grace from The Selby.