Ok, there are really only two things I want to tell you, as I rush off to my first appointment of the day. First, if you are putting on an art exhibit in less than three weeks time (yikes!) there is little time to do art. Thank heavens I already made the collages. What happens to all those artists that need the buzz of pressure to work? Well, I'm certainly not one of those people. There are a thousand things that still have to be done, even the simple task of writing and sending out the invitations...
Secondly, time is not linear. There are days that skip by without so much as leaving a glip in my memory. Actually, I've forgotten what was the second thing I wanted to share with you.
For any of you who used to watch 70s American television commericals, you are in for a treat.
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
19 December, 2010
23 April, 2008
Tempo, Timing, Timeless
These last weeks have been ridiculously busy. New work contracts. A slew of social engagements. Instead of slowing down, things seem to be picking up. My question is whether it is at all possible to capture a sense of timelessness within this chaos?
It looks like I will be in Toronto at the end of next week. Do any of you live in or near Toronto? Can anyone recommend a nice cafe or a place to sit quietly and work/read in and around the Sunnybrook Hospital. I will be visiting my beloved uncle.
29 November, 2007
18 August, 2007
Quiet Saturday Afternoon
I refuse to continue lamenting about the poor summer weather. My heavens, talk about a national obsession. In places where the weather is almost always perfect (think of Grenada, the home of my heart), people don’t spend their days talking about how wonderful the sea breeze is.
A day, like today, is perfect, despite the weather. There are books to read, conversations to enjoy, and, after a week of illness, a feeling of slowly renewed health. The water boils for a new pot of tea. Sunshine, bah humbug, who needs you? Totally, overrated.
This, this is bliss.
23 June, 2007
25 Years Ago, When I Was 25 Years Old…
Charlotte, of Charlotte’s Web wrote a meme about what happened in her life when she was 25 years old.
25 years ago, I was 25 years old. It strikes me as a nice idea to write up my own meme…
When I was 25, I graduated from a fine Canadian university as an electrical engineer. I was older than most of my fellow graduates because I retired from my professional ballet career a few years after they graduated from high school.
When I was 25, I decided to fulfil a lifetime dream and travelled to China for six weeks. China had only recently opened up their borders to travel tours. It was not possible to travel as a single tourist. I chose a very small (10 person) travel tour and invited my mother to come along with me. Thus making the total number of strangers I had to accustom myself to, to eight. My mother was not only a good companion, she was a living library of knowledge about Chinese history, literature, and art.
When I was 25, I decided to leave Canada and try and find a job in Europe. I had a feeling it was either now-or-never. Many friends thought that I was crazy to give up the job offer at a company in Montreal and go off to where?… (nowhere specific) to what?… (no concrete job).
When I was 25, I realised that taking a leap into the unknown scares people and even though they only want what is good-for-you, they don’t really know what that is.
When I was 25, I found out that, despite of what others had told me, the working language in engineering departments at international corporations in Germany, was NOT English. It was not even German, but the local dialect.
When I was 25, I took my first job interview in German, even though I didn’t speak any German. I made up a list of fifty words or phrases (e.g. really!, how interesting, yes, of course, fascinating, very good, definitely) and then repeated them over and over again throughout the hour interview and tour of the production plant.
When I was 25, I discovered that the technical German language was COMPLETELY different to English. This fact astonished me; for French and English words are similar to the point of just using different accents (e.g. resistor/resisteur, capacitor/capaciteur, you get my drift?). Imagine my surprise to learn that resistor was Wiederstand in German, and it just gets worse from there on.
When I was 25, I found out what it was to be lonely. No spoke to me during my work day, I knew no one to speak to outside of work, and I only knew enough German to order a cup of coffee. That first winter was the loneliest in my life.
When I was 25, I discovered that the saying “books are your best friends” can be very true.
When I was 25, I learnt that desperation can be a wonderful tool for breaking down language barriers. A dear Brazilian woman, Cenira, who only spoke Portuguese, and I, who spoke no Portuguese, formed the most lively instant friendship possible. To this day, whenever I hear the expression “speaking with her hands and feet” I think of those first months of our friendship.
When I was 25, I learnt how rude people can be towards strangers (foreigners) looking to rent apartments. I also learnt about pure generosity from a near stranger (the wife of a colleague), who took it upon herself to help me find an apartment to rent, by posing as the potential applicant. (After note: she and I are still close friends after all these years).
When I was 25, I discovered my passion for sitting in cafés and passing the time away.
When I was 25, I planted the seeds to some of my dearest and closest friendships. Those seeds have grown and grown and they have spanned decades and geographical distances.
25 years ago, I was 25 years old. It strikes me as a nice idea to write up my own meme…
When I was 25, I graduated from a fine Canadian university as an electrical engineer. I was older than most of my fellow graduates because I retired from my professional ballet career a few years after they graduated from high school.
When I was 25, I decided to fulfil a lifetime dream and travelled to China for six weeks. China had only recently opened up their borders to travel tours. It was not possible to travel as a single tourist. I chose a very small (10 person) travel tour and invited my mother to come along with me. Thus making the total number of strangers I had to accustom myself to, to eight. My mother was not only a good companion, she was a living library of knowledge about Chinese history, literature, and art.
When I was 25, I decided to leave Canada and try and find a job in Europe. I had a feeling it was either now-or-never. Many friends thought that I was crazy to give up the job offer at a company in Montreal and go off to where?… (nowhere specific) to what?… (no concrete job).
When I was 25, I realised that taking a leap into the unknown scares people and even though they only want what is good-for-you, they don’t really know what that is.
When I was 25, I found out that, despite of what others had told me, the working language in engineering departments at international corporations in Germany, was NOT English. It was not even German, but the local dialect.
When I was 25, I took my first job interview in German, even though I didn’t speak any German. I made up a list of fifty words or phrases (e.g. really!, how interesting, yes, of course, fascinating, very good, definitely) and then repeated them over and over again throughout the hour interview and tour of the production plant.
When I was 25, I discovered that the technical German language was COMPLETELY different to English. This fact astonished me; for French and English words are similar to the point of just using different accents (e.g. resistor/resisteur, capacitor/capaciteur, you get my drift?). Imagine my surprise to learn that resistor was Wiederstand in German, and it just gets worse from there on.
When I was 25, I found out what it was to be lonely. No spoke to me during my work day, I knew no one to speak to outside of work, and I only knew enough German to order a cup of coffee. That first winter was the loneliest in my life.
When I was 25, I discovered that the saying “books are your best friends” can be very true.
When I was 25, I learnt that desperation can be a wonderful tool for breaking down language barriers. A dear Brazilian woman, Cenira, who only spoke Portuguese, and I, who spoke no Portuguese, formed the most lively instant friendship possible. To this day, whenever I hear the expression “speaking with her hands and feet” I think of those first months of our friendship.
When I was 25, I learnt how rude people can be towards strangers (foreigners) looking to rent apartments. I also learnt about pure generosity from a near stranger (the wife of a colleague), who took it upon herself to help me find an apartment to rent, by posing as the potential applicant. (After note: she and I are still close friends after all these years).
When I was 25, I discovered my passion for sitting in cafés and passing the time away.
When I was 25, I planted the seeds to some of my dearest and closest friendships. Those seeds have grown and grown and they have spanned decades and geographical distances.
21 March, 2007
Idle Occupation
Last year, Garr Reynolds, of the Presentation Zen blog, wrote an intriguing article about Brenda Ueland’s book, If You Want To Write, A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit (here). The book was originally published in 1938, but it’s premise that we are all creative beings and we can/must write, can be seamlessly applied to blogging.
The book arrived a few days ago (new reprint) and I am enjoying one of those slow reads; savouring every paragraph, putting the book down after each chapter, giving myself time to digest the ideas presented. A joy.
Today I am reading about the imperative importance of idleness in writing. And, as so often happens in life, a dear friend writes me a beautiful description concerning idleness in her email this morning at her daughter’s soccer game,
“… I love those stolen hours when taking a child to a swimming lesson or soccer or some other thing that engages the child and leaves the adult free to read or watch or (my favorite) head out on the bicycle for an hour. Last summer Miranda had a soccer tournament on a day that was the most perfect fall day you could possibly imagine; crisp and clear in the morning and all the trees changing color and by 11 in the morning warm enough to peel off layers down to a t-shirt and bask in the sun. Her first game was at 8:00 and the next one was not until 12:30, not enough time to go back home or run any errands but still almost three hours free. We watched other games, talked a bit with other parents and friends, I watched the girls tumble around on a blanket and braid each others' hair and from time to time Miranda would come over and drop into my lap and rest there for a precious few minutes. It was a time out of time, a magical suspension in which every moment was filled with a kind of joy that can't even be described, completely free of any sense of hurry or anxiety about getting something done. So different from normal everyday life.”
My friend and I, two decades ago, used to be experts on idle occupation. We spent one cold and mushy winter reading all of Jane Austin’s work out loud. That is, my friend read out loud, and I made delicious soups and knitted the hours away. We also regularly spent hours in a local tea café, quietly working our way through all 117 sorts of tea, and talking about every topic under the sun and beyond. We were master idlers, in the good sense of idling, which Ms. Ueland expresses as:
“… the imagination needs moodling, - long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering.”
What we need is time to watch daffodils grow: sit reading on the sofa with the afternoon sunlight shinning in: chop up vegetables and sautéing them until they glow. I wonder how much effort I’d need to exercise, how much mindfulness, how much time “wasted” before rushed haphazard menial tasks can be transformed into idle occupations.
P.S. Here is also a wonderful illustration of idle occupation from the woolgathering blog.
The book arrived a few days ago (new reprint) and I am enjoying one of those slow reads; savouring every paragraph, putting the book down after each chapter, giving myself time to digest the ideas presented. A joy.
Today I am reading about the imperative importance of idleness in writing. And, as so often happens in life, a dear friend writes me a beautiful description concerning idleness in her email this morning at her daughter’s soccer game,
“… I love those stolen hours when taking a child to a swimming lesson or soccer or some other thing that engages the child and leaves the adult free to read or watch or (my favorite) head out on the bicycle for an hour. Last summer Miranda had a soccer tournament on a day that was the most perfect fall day you could possibly imagine; crisp and clear in the morning and all the trees changing color and by 11 in the morning warm enough to peel off layers down to a t-shirt and bask in the sun. Her first game was at 8:00 and the next one was not until 12:30, not enough time to go back home or run any errands but still almost three hours free. We watched other games, talked a bit with other parents and friends, I watched the girls tumble around on a blanket and braid each others' hair and from time to time Miranda would come over and drop into my lap and rest there for a precious few minutes. It was a time out of time, a magical suspension in which every moment was filled with a kind of joy that can't even be described, completely free of any sense of hurry or anxiety about getting something done. So different from normal everyday life.”
My friend and I, two decades ago, used to be experts on idle occupation. We spent one cold and mushy winter reading all of Jane Austin’s work out loud. That is, my friend read out loud, and I made delicious soups and knitted the hours away. We also regularly spent hours in a local tea café, quietly working our way through all 117 sorts of tea, and talking about every topic under the sun and beyond. We were master idlers, in the good sense of idling, which Ms. Ueland expresses as:
“… the imagination needs moodling, - long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering.”
What we need is time to watch daffodils grow: sit reading on the sofa with the afternoon sunlight shinning in: chop up vegetables and sautéing them until they glow. I wonder how much effort I’d need to exercise, how much mindfulness, how much time “wasted” before rushed haphazard menial tasks can be transformed into idle occupations.
P.S. Here is also a wonderful illustration of idle occupation from the woolgathering blog.
18 March, 2007
No Time To Play
A few years ago, I read an interesting article in the New York Times about how busy our society had become. The journalist described how his five year old daughter talked to her imaginary friend on an imaginary cell phone and how they (the daughter and her imaginary friend) were forever making and breaking play dates because they were either “too busy” or “didn’t have time” to meet.
I found the article so interesting, not because it sadly exemplified a current social malaise, but because it reminded me of my younger brother’s imaginary friend, Dobby, and how the two of them used to play together day-in-and-day-out. Endlessly long days. Reflecting on the difference between the cell-phoning-date-cancelling New York imaginary friend and my brother’s ever-faithful Dobby, I was overcome with a sentimental yearning for times long gone... (more).
I found the article so interesting, not because it sadly exemplified a current social malaise, but because it reminded me of my younger brother’s imaginary friend, Dobby, and how the two of them used to play together day-in-and-day-out. Endlessly long days. Reflecting on the difference between the cell-phoning-date-cancelling New York imaginary friend and my brother’s ever-faithful Dobby, I was overcome with a sentimental yearning for times long gone... (more).
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