It's Monday. A really Monday-ish kind of Monday.
I slog through the day, and am glad my phone doesn't ring and work on some things that need working on and find ways to take my mind off the clock. Some of the time anyway.
I feel better immediately upon being freed from the office. This evening brings mild temperatures again. I walk around and shop, and find the mittens that eluded me yesterday. The walk home in the shining streets heightens my mood significantly. Every inch of the walk gives me pleasure and there are moments I feel like I could cry the city looks so beautiful sparkling and moving and winding itself down under that black sky. I feel the momentum of it, like the clocks and machines in the movie Hugo which we saw yesterday; still resonating with me today, it seems.
Nearly home, I look inside the CBC Broadcast Centre at the beautiful flying man sculputure I look at most days and finally get around to photographing it. It's ethereal; full of lines and mystery and history and shadows and promise and time. As I look through the window while the security guard walks around me checking that all the doors are locked for the day, I'm thinking it looks more so behind the windows reflecting the city street against the black night. Don't you think?
With gratitude, it's beautiful thing #84.
It's bloody cold again today. The wind is bullying its way down Spadina toward the lake, and when you're walking into it, it whips your breath away. It's probably nothing compared to what it'll be a month from now, but as they say, "it takes awhile for the blood to thicken up."
Anyway, a couple of fortuitous and timely text messages around noon led to me facing that wicked wind up a short way to hook up with my sister for a beer later in the afternoon following her shift in the "plant" (CBC TV). Okay, mostly I ran – that gnarly wind was trying its best to knock me over, and so the only thing to do is just rev up and run into it.
There are few things better than a spontaneous few hours with a sister. A short walk finds a warm pub, a few pints and even a shared bowl of poutine.* And all things and are now caught up, off our chests, worked out, planned, agreed, arranged, shared and justified. Even the poutine.
*For the benefit of my non-Canadian friends, poutine is a sinful French-Canadian concoction of french fries, gravy and cheese curds. When the wind is blowing like that, poutine is 100% justifiable. And well, beach wear is months away…