As I approach the halfway point of this year-long blogging project, I've been drawing comparisons with the project I completed last year. In 2012 I took a photo every day, and it kick-started a passion for photography that had been lurking under the surface since I was very young. Freezing and capturing a moment is about as close to magic as I think I can get. Nowadays I almost never leave the house without some sort of camera.
This desire to capture moments is nearly universal, and it's become so easy to do that it is virtually second-nature to most of us. We record things, people, places and sounds that we love. To share, to remember, or just to document our lives. And seeing one of your favourite artists, to whose songs you have a strong emotional connection, in a concert you have waited for for months, certainly merits being documented. Nobody wants to forget that moment - and most of us want to be able to relive it.
I get this. I totally do.
I understand that a good show, a good song, can carry people, holding
them up well after the band stops playing and they file out into the
night. Giving them something to reach for, to hang on to when the rest of
the world is spinning.
I understand the need to document
these moments, to grab them out of the air, paste them into your
scrapbook and close the cover before they escape. To have something to
return to, a portal back into that feeling, that day, that song.
(warning - I'm about to sound like your dad)
But it's a sad day for music when the recording, the capturing of the moment, takes precedence over the moment itself. When a person who is fortunate enough to stand three feet in front of their hero, chooses to experience the moment via a three-inch screen instead.
I suppose, as I was jostled and squashed and pushed into any vaguely person-sized gap that happened to open, that being behind a taller-than-me person who decided to film every single song was pure bad luck. If I had lucked into an uninterrupted view, or at least one not obscured by a video camera at least 70% of the time, I would not be complaining.
Despite my struggles, I can't bring myself to condemn those who want to film and photograph a show like this. Although their choice might impact my experience, isn't that the point of participating in the ritual of live music? A sea of individual people, breathing and moving and singing and heart-beating together - no longer individuals, but one being. Each slight movement triggering the next, each exhale the next inhale, each camera flash the blinking eye of this giant creature of passion and sweat and love.
Because I didn't take any pictures or record any pictures, I'll have to capture the memory of this fantastic show with my words.
Here they are:
Heat and people and closeness and energy and hearts beating and Harry Potter and new friends and less-new friends and giggles and tears and harmonies and Disney and passion and dancing and jumping and new songs and less-new songs and jokes and pictures and feelings and teenage dreams and having a home and not being alone. Oh, and so much love.
And sweat. A lot of sweat.
Goodnight, bloglings
Monday, 17 June 2013
Thursday, 13 June 2013
Week 23: Song of the Summer
Skipping the formalities of explaining why this post is so late, I think it's time for an Angry Feminist Rant. Is that cool with you guys?
As someone who gets fiercely attached to songs that are popular at certain moments in my life, I always enjoy the guessing game for what chart-topper will be remembered as the Song of the Summer. An unofficial designation, but one that I usually put quite some thought into. I guess it's part of constructing the mental scrapbook of a certain period of time - the images and feelings that make up something as magical as a summer definitely need a soundtrack.
This past weekend I spent a lot of time driving around, listening to (mostly) catchy summer tunes on various radio stations. And although it's been out for a few months, it was the first time I'd heard the song "Blurred Lines" by Robin Thicke. It's currently a major contender for song of the summer. At first blush, it's a funky, upbeat song that is perfect for car sing alongs. Except for, oh yeah: the lyrics.
For the sake of this post, we'll put aside the "normal" (although the fact that this shit is normalized makes me want to barf) sexism that pervades practically all pop songs. The objectification of women is basically all men know how to sing about.
But what particularly irks me here is the blatant disregard for the concept of consent. If you've ever heard someone talk about rape culture, this is what they mean. The idea that a woman's (enthusiastic, verbal) consent is not required in order to touch/kiss/have sex with her. The idea that even if she does exercise her right to deny consent, she is leading him on/playing hard to get/toying with him and he should keep trying/harass/rape her because he deserves it/she actually does want it, despite saying NO.
A sampling of the vile lyrics, for those of you blessed to never have heard them:
.......
I know you want it
You're a good girl
Can't let it get past me
......... I hate these blurred lines
I know you want it
...........
But you're a good girl
The way you grab me
Must wanna get nasty
Let's start with "I know you want it". This is the central message of the song - the singer is convinced that this girl wants "it", despite her giving not a single verbal signal that she does, in fact, want it. He is convinced that he knows what this woman wants, better than she does. Or, more likely, he is so pumped full of male culture that he actually cannot conceive that a woman might not want him to touch her.
He sings "can't let it get past me" implying that although this woman has not given any sort of consent, he is not going to stop pursuing her.
The "good girl" image is really a topic for another rant. (Pssst: the good girl/bad girl dichotomy is misogynistic because it gives men the power to judge women based on their conformity to archaic standards of behaviour)
The whole idea of "blurred lines" really makes my blood boil. The entire song is based on the idea that a woman's consent is not fixed or definite - that what she says or doesn't say, with regards to consent for sexual advances, is not the last word.
Let that sink in.
What people are calling the song of the summer is about how A WOMAN DOES NOT ACTUALLY HAVE THE FINAL SAY IN WHAT A MAN DOES TO HER BODY.
This is the culture we are living in. Preschoolers are taught the difference between yes and no. Most people make it past that year of education. So where did that knowledge go? That ability to differentiate between a person who wants you to touch/kiss/have sex with them, and a person who doesn't?
"The way you grab me, must wanna get nasty" - this line is perpetuating one of the biggest challenges faced by people who struggle against rape culture. Male culture somehow teaches that if a woman says yes to one thing (dancing, touching, kissing, etc.) then men have some sort of fast-pass that automatically entitles them to sex.
In case any of you are still struggling, let me break it down.
Sex without consent is rape.
If you say yes to one thing, but don't want to do something else: you have the right to say no.
If you say yes to something, then change your mind: you have the right to say no.
If you feel you have led this person on, but don't want to do something: you have the right to say no.
As a rule: you always have the right to say no.
If you do not explicitly say yes, it is rape.
The ideas in these lyrics are the exact same ideas that cause rape.
The objectification of women (though a broader issue) leads men to believe that if boxes a, b and c are checked off, they deserve sex.
Regardless of the woman saying yes or no.
And even if she does say no, her (perceived) body language, reputation or behaviour all override that denial of consent.
Great job picking the song of the summer there, general population.
/rant over.
Goodnight, bloglings
As someone who gets fiercely attached to songs that are popular at certain moments in my life, I always enjoy the guessing game for what chart-topper will be remembered as the Song of the Summer. An unofficial designation, but one that I usually put quite some thought into. I guess it's part of constructing the mental scrapbook of a certain period of time - the images and feelings that make up something as magical as a summer definitely need a soundtrack.
This past weekend I spent a lot of time driving around, listening to (mostly) catchy summer tunes on various radio stations. And although it's been out for a few months, it was the first time I'd heard the song "Blurred Lines" by Robin Thicke. It's currently a major contender for song of the summer. At first blush, it's a funky, upbeat song that is perfect for car sing alongs. Except for, oh yeah: the lyrics.
For the sake of this post, we'll put aside the "normal" (although the fact that this shit is normalized makes me want to barf) sexism that pervades practically all pop songs. The objectification of women is basically all men know how to sing about.
But what particularly irks me here is the blatant disregard for the concept of consent. If you've ever heard someone talk about rape culture, this is what they mean. The idea that a woman's (enthusiastic, verbal) consent is not required in order to touch/kiss/have sex with her. The idea that even if she does exercise her right to deny consent, she is leading him on/playing hard to get/toying with him and he should keep trying/harass/rape her because he deserves it/she actually does want it, despite saying NO.
A sampling of the vile lyrics, for those of you blessed to never have heard them:
.......
I know you want it
You're a good girl
Can't let it get past me
......... I hate these blurred lines
I know you want it
...........
But you're a good girl
The way you grab me
Must wanna get nasty
Let's start with "I know you want it". This is the central message of the song - the singer is convinced that this girl wants "it", despite her giving not a single verbal signal that she does, in fact, want it. He is convinced that he knows what this woman wants, better than she does. Or, more likely, he is so pumped full of male culture that he actually cannot conceive that a woman might not want him to touch her.
He sings "can't let it get past me" implying that although this woman has not given any sort of consent, he is not going to stop pursuing her.
The "good girl" image is really a topic for another rant. (Pssst: the good girl/bad girl dichotomy is misogynistic because it gives men the power to judge women based on their conformity to archaic standards of behaviour)
The whole idea of "blurred lines" really makes my blood boil. The entire song is based on the idea that a woman's consent is not fixed or definite - that what she says or doesn't say, with regards to consent for sexual advances, is not the last word.
Let that sink in.
What people are calling the song of the summer is about how A WOMAN DOES NOT ACTUALLY HAVE THE FINAL SAY IN WHAT A MAN DOES TO HER BODY.
This is the culture we are living in. Preschoolers are taught the difference between yes and no. Most people make it past that year of education. So where did that knowledge go? That ability to differentiate between a person who wants you to touch/kiss/have sex with them, and a person who doesn't?
"The way you grab me, must wanna get nasty" - this line is perpetuating one of the biggest challenges faced by people who struggle against rape culture. Male culture somehow teaches that if a woman says yes to one thing (dancing, touching, kissing, etc.) then men have some sort of fast-pass that automatically entitles them to sex.
In case any of you are still struggling, let me break it down.
Sex without consent is rape.
If you say yes to one thing, but don't want to do something else: you have the right to say no.
If you say yes to something, then change your mind: you have the right to say no.
If you feel you have led this person on, but don't want to do something: you have the right to say no.
As a rule: you always have the right to say no.
If you do not explicitly say yes, it is rape.
The ideas in these lyrics are the exact same ideas that cause rape.
The objectification of women (though a broader issue) leads men to believe that if boxes a, b and c are checked off, they deserve sex.
Regardless of the woman saying yes or no.
And even if she does say no, her (perceived) body language, reputation or behaviour all override that denial of consent.
Great job picking the song of the summer there, general population.
/rant over.
Goodnight, bloglings
Monday, 3 June 2013
Week 22: Saving Moments
Yesterday my grandmother showed me a stack of photos that she was getting rid of. Apparently she has far too many, and these we the ones being cut. As I began to flip through them, I wondered how she could stand to throw away all these perfectly preserved moments from so long ago, from her life. Granted, she still had boxes and boxes of them - but none of those were these. No two pictures were the same - what made certain moments more valuable than others?
I guess it's a matter of perspective. Although I likely have more photos on this very laptop than my grandparents took - or had taken of them - in their lives, their collection spans over eighty years, while mine covers less than twenty. Does having lived eighty+ years of "moments" mean that some become expendable, even forgettable? I wouldn't willingly part with any of my photos, although I know many of them document meaningless things. Will this ever change? In sixty years, if .jpg and .png become obsolete, if I lose all or most of my huge collection, how will I feel?
Of course, there are certain moments that rise above the rest. But I don't think they are the moments we expect. If it ever came down to it, if ever I had to chose only a few photos to save, it wouldn't be my graduation picture. It would be the long shadows on the wooden dock, splattered with water droplets and wet footprints, that day after final exams when we took a picnic to the river.
It wouldn't be me winning my first ribbon at the fall fair. It would be me looking off into the distance, leaning on my pony's shoulder while he eats grass.
It wouldn't be my grandparents' wedding photo, smiling stiffly outside of a church.
It would be this.
After the ceremony. Being mauled by well-wishing family and friends. Catching each others eye, and sharing a moment that was just for them.
I saved this picture from the perilous "throw-away" pile. I guess everyone has a different idea of what moments are worth saving.
And I guess that's the point of taking photos at all.
Here are a few more gems I saved:
Goodnight, bloglings
I guess it's a matter of perspective. Although I likely have more photos on this very laptop than my grandparents took - or had taken of them - in their lives, their collection spans over eighty years, while mine covers less than twenty. Does having lived eighty+ years of "moments" mean that some become expendable, even forgettable? I wouldn't willingly part with any of my photos, although I know many of them document meaningless things. Will this ever change? In sixty years, if .jpg and .png become obsolete, if I lose all or most of my huge collection, how will I feel?
Of course, there are certain moments that rise above the rest. But I don't think they are the moments we expect. If it ever came down to it, if ever I had to chose only a few photos to save, it wouldn't be my graduation picture. It would be the long shadows on the wooden dock, splattered with water droplets and wet footprints, that day after final exams when we took a picnic to the river.
It wouldn't be me winning my first ribbon at the fall fair. It would be me looking off into the distance, leaning on my pony's shoulder while he eats grass.
It wouldn't be my grandparents' wedding photo, smiling stiffly outside of a church.
It would be this.
I saved this picture from the perilous "throw-away" pile. I guess everyone has a different idea of what moments are worth saving.
And I guess that's the point of taking photos at all.
Here are a few more gems I saved:
 |
| (a young grandpa) |
 | |||
| (a young grandma playing tennis and harvesting maple sap - she is on the left) |
 |
| (grandma, grandpa and the whole gang up at the lake) |
Goodnight, bloglings
Sunday, 26 May 2013
Week 21: Bonding Time
So about three years ago, my family welcomed a new little bundle of joy in the form of an 8 week-old cream-coloured golden retriever. That puppy became the highlight and focal point of that summer, and was showered with affection and attention as if she were a human newborn. She grew up to be an incredibly friendly and gentle dog, if a little rambunctious.
Puppy's first summer at home was also my older sister's last, at least for a while. Her beginning university and living away from home meant that I would have virtually unlimited access to said puppy for the next two years. She belonged to the family, but really, I thought, she would almost be mine.
As the little one outgrew her puppy collar, she started growing into a personality that consisted of more than just sleeping and peeing. As a golden, she is very much a people dog, and simply cannot get enough of any new person she meets. At the dog park, she is known to ignore the other pups in favour of visiting with their owners! She is never aggressive or destructive, and hardly ever barks. Essentially, the ideal dog.
Although she will practically do back flips in order to meet a passer-by on the street, and gets overcome with excitement when either of my parents get home, she has never shown a lot of interest in me. Of course she is perfectly gentle and friendly, but let's just say if she were human, she would by the classmate you acknowledge with a smile in the hall, but don't invite to your sleepover. Before today, I hadn't given this an awful lot of thought. My family has a dog; a friendly, bouncy and furry dog, but nothing to get overly excited about.
Last year, pup injured her leg while running in a dog park. She limped around for a few weeks, but eventually recovered and was considered good as new. Fast-forward to Easter 2013. Pup, in a fit of spring fever, tore around the backyard, accidentally putting her foot in a small hole, and returned to the house with a limp, even worse than before.
I won't bore you with the details, but the experts figured that this time her leg wasn't going to heal on it's own, and so they operated on her knee to repair the ACL ligament. This left her with a humourously "naked" leg - shaved for surgery - but it also left her quite handicapped. She can't go up or down stairs, and the long walks she used to love are now kept as short as possible. She'll likely make a good recovery, but right now it's still sort of dicey.
I haven't recently undergone any knee surgery myself, but it turns out that the void between final exams and summer job is made of tumblr and sci-fi TV. So pup and I have been housebound together. And maybe it's just the stress of recovering from surgery, or my severe boredom, but I am starting to think this dog actually likes me. She seems to really enjoy the attention I give her, and actually seems to mope a bit when I leave her alone. Of course, I am her only connection to the treat jar, so that could also be it.
It's kinda funny how after three years, we both had to have our worlds sort of messed up before we began to bond. I guess that's how these things work, right? You can never appreciate something until you realize how much you really need it. I know she'll never be just "my dog", but it will be nice to have a buddy this summer. And hey - it will give me even less incentive to go out and actually socialize with real people my age!
Here is a picture of us being adorable:
(Well okay, she's being adorable)
Goodnight, bloglings
Puppy's first summer at home was also my older sister's last, at least for a while. Her beginning university and living away from home meant that I would have virtually unlimited access to said puppy for the next two years. She belonged to the family, but really, I thought, she would almost be mine.
As the little one outgrew her puppy collar, she started growing into a personality that consisted of more than just sleeping and peeing. As a golden, she is very much a people dog, and simply cannot get enough of any new person she meets. At the dog park, she is known to ignore the other pups in favour of visiting with their owners! She is never aggressive or destructive, and hardly ever barks. Essentially, the ideal dog.
Although she will practically do back flips in order to meet a passer-by on the street, and gets overcome with excitement when either of my parents get home, she has never shown a lot of interest in me. Of course she is perfectly gentle and friendly, but let's just say if she were human, she would by the classmate you acknowledge with a smile in the hall, but don't invite to your sleepover. Before today, I hadn't given this an awful lot of thought. My family has a dog; a friendly, bouncy and furry dog, but nothing to get overly excited about.
Last year, pup injured her leg while running in a dog park. She limped around for a few weeks, but eventually recovered and was considered good as new. Fast-forward to Easter 2013. Pup, in a fit of spring fever, tore around the backyard, accidentally putting her foot in a small hole, and returned to the house with a limp, even worse than before.
I won't bore you with the details, but the experts figured that this time her leg wasn't going to heal on it's own, and so they operated on her knee to repair the ACL ligament. This left her with a humourously "naked" leg - shaved for surgery - but it also left her quite handicapped. She can't go up or down stairs, and the long walks she used to love are now kept as short as possible. She'll likely make a good recovery, but right now it's still sort of dicey.
I haven't recently undergone any knee surgery myself, but it turns out that the void between final exams and summer job is made of tumblr and sci-fi TV. So pup and I have been housebound together. And maybe it's just the stress of recovering from surgery, or my severe boredom, but I am starting to think this dog actually likes me. She seems to really enjoy the attention I give her, and actually seems to mope a bit when I leave her alone. Of course, I am her only connection to the treat jar, so that could also be it.
It's kinda funny how after three years, we both had to have our worlds sort of messed up before we began to bond. I guess that's how these things work, right? You can never appreciate something until you realize how much you really need it. I know she'll never be just "my dog", but it will be nice to have a buddy this summer. And hey - it will give me even less incentive to go out and actually socialize with real people my age!
Here is a picture of us being adorable:
(Well okay, she's being adorable)
Goodnight, bloglings
Wednesday, 22 May 2013
Week 20: I Give Up
So I spent a blissful hour or so today writing a lengthy post about YA novels and the gender of their protagonists. Upon returning to said post to publish it, I realized that it....kinda sucked. It wasn't very well thought-out and some of what I said about current trends was flat-out wrong. So. I may revisit what I wrote and do a post about that topic sometime in the future. We'll see.
But for now, it's the early hours of Thursday morning, and I'm currently typing the second paragraph of a blog post that theoretically should have gone up on Sunday. (I didn't have internet access on Sunday, so technically the earliest it could have been was Monday, but who are we kidding - that was never going to happen either).
Instead, please enjoy a total cop-out, in the form of pictures I took over the long weekend. I was out on Georgian Bay, which has - in my humble opinion - some of the most beautiful natural landscapes anywhere.
But for now, it's the early hours of Thursday morning, and I'm currently typing the second paragraph of a blog post that theoretically should have gone up on Sunday. (I didn't have internet access on Sunday, so technically the earliest it could have been was Monday, but who are we kidding - that was never going to happen either).
Instead, please enjoy a total cop-out, in the form of pictures I took over the long weekend. I was out on Georgian Bay, which has - in my humble opinion - some of the most beautiful natural landscapes anywhere.
Tuesday, 14 May 2013
Week 19: C25K and A Lot of Pain
So, as promised (because I know you've all been dying to hear about it) the topic of my ramblings today is running, or more specifically, preparing to run a 5K at the end of June. Or, even more specifically, preparing to run the Fittie 5K at LeakyCon Portland on June 27th.
Although I'm not, as a rule, against cheesy things (lacto-ovo vegetarian FTW!) I really don't feel like writing an inspirational post about Challenging Yourself and Pushing Your Limits, Achieving Your Goals, etc. etc. So instead, I'm going to tell it like it is.
And it is pain.
I mean, to be fair, I kinda signed up for that. I've never been a runner - at all - and I wasn't in great shape generally when I started this. So I knew it would be tough. I also knew that the only thing that would keep me going would be my stupid stubborn compulsion to finish ALL the things that I start. I absolutely love that I have friends who are also doing the C25K program, and that I have a fun run with those friends to look forward to, but if I'm being honest, my inability to leave things unfinished is my main motivator right now.
I've just started Week 4 of this program, which lasts either 8 or 9 weeks depending on the version. It's going fairly well - no collapsing or heat stroke as of yet - but I live in constant fear of the increase in intensity of the next workout. Not to mention the burning pain of shin splints. Unfortunately, while I do live "in the country" by a lot of people's standards, I'm "in town" enough that there are no dirt trails accessible from my house. So that means running on concrete, and more often than not, up and down hills.
Apparently this is not the ideal training ground for a running noob such as myself. According to WebMD, I should stop running until the shin splints heal completely. Which is a lovely idea, if one does not have their sights set on one specific 5K on June 27th. I honestly don't think I could catch up if I missed a week or two, and so I valiantly (stupidly) run on. With some ice pack action thrown in at the end of every workout. Because ouch.
So that's my extremely glamorous experience in my first few weeks as a Runner. I'll probably be subjecting you to more of my trials and tribulations as we get closer to the LeakyRun.
But for now,
Goodnight, bloglings
Although I'm not, as a rule, against cheesy things (lacto-ovo vegetarian FTW!) I really don't feel like writing an inspirational post about Challenging Yourself and Pushing Your Limits, Achieving Your Goals, etc. etc. So instead, I'm going to tell it like it is.
And it is pain.
I mean, to be fair, I kinda signed up for that. I've never been a runner - at all - and I wasn't in great shape generally when I started this. So I knew it would be tough. I also knew that the only thing that would keep me going would be my stupid stubborn compulsion to finish ALL the things that I start. I absolutely love that I have friends who are also doing the C25K program, and that I have a fun run with those friends to look forward to, but if I'm being honest, my inability to leave things unfinished is my main motivator right now.
I've just started Week 4 of this program, which lasts either 8 or 9 weeks depending on the version. It's going fairly well - no collapsing or heat stroke as of yet - but I live in constant fear of the increase in intensity of the next workout. Not to mention the burning pain of shin splints. Unfortunately, while I do live "in the country" by a lot of people's standards, I'm "in town" enough that there are no dirt trails accessible from my house. So that means running on concrete, and more often than not, up and down hills.
Apparently this is not the ideal training ground for a running noob such as myself. According to WebMD, I should stop running until the shin splints heal completely. Which is a lovely idea, if one does not have their sights set on one specific 5K on June 27th. I honestly don't think I could catch up if I missed a week or two, and so I valiantly (stupidly) run on. With some ice pack action thrown in at the end of every workout. Because ouch.
So that's my extremely glamorous experience in my first few weeks as a Runner. I'll probably be subjecting you to more of my trials and tribulations as we get closer to the LeakyRun.
But for now,
Goodnight, bloglings
Monday, 6 May 2013
Week 18: Old Favourites
So as you might know if you follow me on Twitter (let's be real, how else would you have arrived here?) I have set my sights on completing the 5K run at LeakyCon this June. I've started a variation on the popular "Couch to 5K" or C25K program, and so far it's been going.....well, it's been going. I was going to write about that today but frankly I'm getting exhausted just thinking about it. So we'll save that for another week, shall we?
The time I spent NOT running today was mostly spent getting reacquainted with some childhood obsessions. After seeing an old rerun of the CBC show Heartland on TV the other day, I remembered that this show is still very much A Thing, and decided to go back and catch up so I would not be spoiled by the plot of the current season.
This show started in about 2007, and I was obsessed with it for a few solid years. I'm not going to do a complete rundown, but suffice it to say: ranch that heals abused horses, based off a middle grade chapter book series, with a female teenage heroine. Exactly my kind of show. In fact - I literally just remembered this - for my final project in Grade 9 computers, I made a Heartland fan site. I wonder if it's still online.....
I can't remember why I eventually lost interest, but right now, despite having seen it several times, Season One is proving to be great.
And while I was marathoning this show, I was also busy with another childhood passion. I've been in Girl Guides since about age 6, and at some point along the way my mother stopped obligingly sewing on my various badges. I guess sewing was one of those Girl Guide skills I never quite mastered - or enjoyed - and as a result I have ziplock bags full to bursting with badges and patches and crests. Some earned, but most received as swaps at international camps.
The way it worked was this: you came to camp prepared with crests, patches and tiny crafts representative of your region, province or country. Any down time - standing in line, chilling after dinner, waiting out a thunderstorm under a screen room tent - was prime swapping time. Trading your things away and receiving (obviously much cooler) things in return, from girls who had come from all over the world.
Most people's patches made their way onto bags and blankets and hats and what have you, but mine mostly languished in a closet....UNTIL NOW! I've decided to make a bit of a summer project of actually doing something with these things. Although I'm still far from great at sewing, I can manage a weak straight stitch - some things you can't help but absorb when you grow up in guiding. Most of the patches will go onto a lovely new camp blanket, some on my backpack, and some....well who knows where they might end up?
So my summer is starting to bump along quite nicely, and actually feel like a summer. The weather has been co-operating so far, and now that I have a few things to occupy myself, missing uni friends is a little less painful.
Goodnight, bloglings
The time I spent NOT running today was mostly spent getting reacquainted with some childhood obsessions. After seeing an old rerun of the CBC show Heartland on TV the other day, I remembered that this show is still very much A Thing, and decided to go back and catch up so I would not be spoiled by the plot of the current season.
This show started in about 2007, and I was obsessed with it for a few solid years. I'm not going to do a complete rundown, but suffice it to say: ranch that heals abused horses, based off a middle grade chapter book series, with a female teenage heroine. Exactly my kind of show. In fact - I literally just remembered this - for my final project in Grade 9 computers, I made a Heartland fan site. I wonder if it's still online.....
I can't remember why I eventually lost interest, but right now, despite having seen it several times, Season One is proving to be great.
And while I was marathoning this show, I was also busy with another childhood passion. I've been in Girl Guides since about age 6, and at some point along the way my mother stopped obligingly sewing on my various badges. I guess sewing was one of those Girl Guide skills I never quite mastered - or enjoyed - and as a result I have ziplock bags full to bursting with badges and patches and crests. Some earned, but most received as swaps at international camps.
The way it worked was this: you came to camp prepared with crests, patches and tiny crafts representative of your region, province or country. Any down time - standing in line, chilling after dinner, waiting out a thunderstorm under a screen room tent - was prime swapping time. Trading your things away and receiving (obviously much cooler) things in return, from girls who had come from all over the world.
Most people's patches made their way onto bags and blankets and hats and what have you, but mine mostly languished in a closet....UNTIL NOW! I've decided to make a bit of a summer project of actually doing something with these things. Although I'm still far from great at sewing, I can manage a weak straight stitch - some things you can't help but absorb when you grow up in guiding. Most of the patches will go onto a lovely new camp blanket, some on my backpack, and some....well who knows where they might end up?
So my summer is starting to bump along quite nicely, and actually feel like a summer. The weather has been co-operating so far, and now that I have a few things to occupy myself, missing uni friends is a little less painful.
Goodnight, bloglings
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