Rain Dance

If you have been living in Toronto this summer, you will probably have joined the “I miss the rain”-camp. We have had day after day of gorgeous blue sky , and as much as that aids my spirit, my soul feels like the Sahara. When my travels took me to Montreal this last week where the local meteorologists daily enhanced my “café au lait avec un croissant”  with the sweet flavor of an anticipated thunderstorm, I was ecstatic.

5 days later I have returned without a single drop falling from the Quebecois skies.

Tonight I stand on my balcony, extending my arms out to catch the first crocodile tears spilling from the dark, heavy clouds. Looking  down onto the water dance with the wind on the mirror like streets, I feel like a kid at the entry gates to Disney World. It is raining, well, pouring.  Finally!!!

Despite the presence of my  visitor I cannot hide my excitement, and within a few moments I know what has to be done next. I grab a towel from the closet, advise my friend to follow me, and within the next minute we are on our way down on the elevator. I haven’t known her for very long yet, and am aware of the immanent risk of destroying my image but a woman has to do what she has to do. No matter what other people will most probably never think of her.

I push my way through the building doors and step outside. The rain is falling hard but not as heavy as it seemed from the 17th floor. Still, there I stand, arms reaching out, turning myself into a spinning cross,  letting the water soak my hair, my clothes, my feet. I find a few puddles, and had any kids been around my puddle-jumping behavior would give any five year old something to keep up with.

I am not the only one who has noticed the rain. Looking up towards the skies I see fellow building buddies standing on their balconies asking themselves whether to be more amazed by the almost forgotten wonder of rain or the crazy chick doing a rain dance below.  I should care. I don’t.

I am celebrating. Life, the rain, my ability to forget the adult in me , the soothing sensation of water on my depleted soul.

Too quickly it is over, and just in time to prevent a complaint about its brevity, I catch myself.

It may not have been much, but I am thankful for each and every drop of it. My friend hands me my towel and with squeaking flip flops we march back into the building, drenched but happy.

I think my image hasn’t suffered too much, actually, in a liberating way, it has improved.

 

 

 

 

Fortunate Monday Morning

Noticed a big smile as I walk along the train platform. It is sparked by the fact that I have a hairbrush still rolled up in my hair, a highly unusual view amidst the impeccably dressed business people on this Monday morning. “Monday Morning”, I hear my thoughts chatter, “who smiles on a Monday morning on their way to work?” Especially in the summer where the blue skies announce a beautiful, hot day.

I remember the news I heard this weekend, the over 50% unemployment rate for youth in Spain. I can’t even begin to imagine what that feels like: the despair, the lack of purpose with too much time to think about it. I imagine the immigrants who have had to pack up, and move to a different country, a different culture, often leaving family and friends behind.

I am fortunate. I have a job to go to this morning,  and I don’t have to face another full week looking for something that hardly exists. I have somewhere to go, something to do which at the end of the day will buy me dinner and pay for my rent.

A lady walks up to me and gently pokes my arm. “Excuse me, I just wanted to make sure you are aware of your hairbrush still in your hair?” I smile and explain my out of place actions, but not without thanking her for taking the time to let me know. There are few people who care enough to speak up, such behavior needs to be rewarded. We laugh, wish each other a great day, and she moves along.

The sun has just reached the top of the platform roof and greets me. I send a ‘thank you’ out to the world and let my face soak up the light. My Monday is off to a great start!

 

Moments

MomentThere are millions of moments in life
Most of them pass us by unnoticed
Many of them we squander
As we desperately cling to the few moments
That make us feel alive.

Birds fly by my window,
Each wing flap a moment.
Raindrops fall from the sky,
Each landing a moment.
My eyes roam the landscape,
Each blink a moment.

All these moments
In the same moment.
All these moments
Lost in the sum of all moments.

Like a spiderling floating in the wind,
I’ve found the perfect balance
Of being in a moment between moments,

If only for a moment.

Thank You

I have been struggling with confidence issues over the last little while, being unemployed, trying to work towards living my dreams while looking for a job to pay the bills in the meantime. Being alone all day has created negative loop conversations in my head which are taking some energy getting out of.

Today I sat down looking for motivational songs and videos on youtube. “If I just had an inspiring playlist to lift me out of the not so good moments, then…. “ my thought went. Suddenly I heard a bagpipe playing outside. Thinking I might be privileged to a Scottish wedding, I rushed onto the balcony, and looked down towards the church across the street.

Instead of a white gown I saw many black suits, six of them carrying a shining cherrywood coffin down the church steps towards the back of a hearse. I did not know whose funeral it was, whether they were carrying a male or female, old or young. All that became instantly clear was the fact that he or she was at the end of his or her road, that it was literally ‘game over’.

A body was lying in that coffin never to be reopened. Never again would they see the beauty of world, never again would they be able to say how much they cared, never again would they hug someone or receive a hug. There were no more chances to do anything, no matter how much they had missed to do.

As I stood watching the coffin disappear into the hearse and drive off to its final resting ground, watching the friends and relatives hug and walk away with hanging heads, I felt their loss. Whatever happened from now on in this person would not be part of it.

It was impossible to feel disadvantaged, alone, scared any longer. No matter what my situation was right now, it had nowhere near the finality of the deceased’s situation. How could I even waste one moment feeling sorry for myself?

I thanked their spirit and wished it well. Then I stepped back into my apartment and sat down to work, partly sad, mostly grateful, and overall determined do justice to those who no longer had the chance.

Kindness

Sunrise over Lake OntarioWoke up this morning,
somewhere in between excitement and anxiety.
It is Monday and with that
a new week of opportunities,
a new risk of failing.
A word slowly emerges from deep within
like the sun from behind the horizon,
first gentle and warm then increasing its light:

Kindness.

This is what I wish for this week.
Kindness for
my inner child,
my body,
my mind,
the people around me,
the earth on which I walk,
the air I breathe,
the food I eat.

Kindness in
the thoughts I think,
the words I speak,
the actions I take.

I wish there was more Kindness in the world.

This week I am going to do something about that.
This week I am going to be kinder.

The moon in my Window

Some nights
I count
the waves
the moon draws
on my bed sheet
until I drown
in yesterday’s waters.

On those same nights
there will come a time
when my window
can no longer hold
the circle of light
leaving behind
nothing but darkness.

I’ll be far away by then,
floating somewhere
in between my subconscious
and the secret corners
of my dreams.

But for now,
I take one long look
at the beauty of her face,
admire the power her light,
that reaches across dark sky
and comforts my soul.

The Light behind the Shadows

"Light behind the Shadows"I once knew this child
Whose temper was mild
Despite the loud laughter
Of those who were after
Her eccentric views,
Misused to amuse.

She sat alone at times of play
dreaming of a future day
And with very focused look
scribbled in her little book
Truths her open heart collected
Along the path her peers rejected.

While on school days I did never
Sundays we would sit together
As if only then I’d dare
Hearing what she had to share
Like the truth behind all lies
But most of all, her sparkling eyes,

Sparkle blue and green they would
Like no sunlit river could,
Robbing me of sleep at night
Wondering where she got the light.
“Behind the shadows” she would say.
But for years I could not find her way.

‘Til one day I gave up the fight
For her and her internal light.
She then laughed and set me free
From the thing that made me me.
What it left, behind my sorrows,
Was the light behind the shadows.

Valentine’s red

Rainy and gray day, with a hint of Valentine’s red,
wet shoes and wind-styled hair, no smiles on the street
except for the people who still see beauty,
in sharing an umbrella with good company.

After a while we split, and I carry it alone,
wonder how she did it, Mary Poppins I mean,
I can hardly hold on, not to mention fly away,
too strong the wind, too weak my hand,
and nothing of Julie Andrew’s graciousness.

I keep fighting with the wind and this puddle stares at me,
I stare back until I notice the lack of raindrop rings.
And in the moment of “why I am wrestling the umbrella when it’s
not even raining anymore” I loosen my grip for a second only,
and it flies away, without me, a dancing drop of color against
the stormy canvas.

What a beautiful, funny sight…..

Excel Art

I was just about done updating a spreadsheet when I SAW it. I have been looking at Excel sheets for years, but it never occurred to me that I had the perfect mosaic program in front of me. Instead of number values, I can enter colours.

A simple yet highly entertaining and relaxing first attempt at Excel Art.

Nature’s Real Estate

We’ve reduced trees to accessorizing our streets,
Where once open fields grew our daily bread
Concrete littered with metal on wheels has taken over,
And nobody seems to mind.

Just a week has passed since my last ride on this train,
Enough time to rip up three football fields of green
Leaving behind a gaping brown wound on which
Heavy machinery keeps scratching deeper, emitting grey clouds.

Why can’t I scream out loud and wake all my fellow passengers
Nauseated by articles about gas prices and global warming that are compressed
Somewhere in between “Dear Jill” and a Britney update,
But then who am I accusing, we’ve all moved to this place.

All of a sudden owning space seems like a crime,
And having grown up with an own room a luxury we no longer can afford,
Not from a financial point of view,
but from one of nature’s real estate.