G is for ...

... Girls.

LOOK.  I am trying.  I am really, really trying.  And for those of you who know me, and those who don't, I will declare it (again) now: when I try, I TRY HARD. 

I am trying with all my might, determination, will power and perseverance to like this HBO / pop culture phenomenon known as Girls and ... it's just not happening.

I can't relate to the Girls.  I can't come to care about these Girls.  I can't understand Girls. 

Is it because Lena Dunham's tattoos are so ugly I can't concentrate on anything else?  Is it because the Girls are so annoying and self indulgent and not very nice and living in subsidized la-la-land?  Is it because I only laugh on the inside maybe, maybe once per episode?  Is it because I can't see myself being one of these Girls?

I don't know!  I don't know why I care!  It's just a TV show for crying out loud.  But is it?  Is it just that?  Obviously I don't think so.  For some peculiar reason Girls has become a proper bellwhether to what's what in the popular culture world for me.  If I say I don't like this show, I feel I am basically flying my white flag of in- the- knowness. 

I am declaring that I'm (gasp) old.  It's depressing.  Not as depressing as admitting to not being able to hear the difference between Mumford & Sons and the Lumineers, but almost.  Almost.  Sort of as depressing as taking TV recommendations from your Mom (but guys, seriously, Scandal is an awesome show).  Kind of as depressing as bowing out of 11:45pm karaoke invitations because you'd just rather go home to bed, even though there is no one else in said bed.  Maybe the same depressing as buying a wrist brace, which thankfully was not located in the same aisle as the Depends.*

Sigh.

What of this?  What am I to do with this? 

I can deal with things passing me by.  I'm completely fine with not being able to "get" everything.  But I thought technology was my thing, my 'I'm old so please don't explain to me what a pixel is but kindly tell me everytime I ask and don't make me feel dumb'.  I can also absolutely deal with getting older, but I don't want to become that person.  That person who poo-poos everything new and seemingly hip because it's new and hip.  That person who looks at, say, a toaster and declares, in perfect Maggie Smith "whatever would you use that for?".  I mean, really, shoot me now. 

Maybe I'm clinging.  Am I clinging too hard to this bizarre self - imposed notion that in order to stay cool, hip, relevant and young I also need to keep on top of what's the what with "the kids these days"?  Let's be honest.  I've never been really hip.  I really like listening to Easy Rock.  I'm not all together cool either.  Have you seen my closet?  I need a cardigan intervention!  Young?  Nah, not quite.  At 42, even if you don't believe me, I am 42 and thus no longer young.  Face it.  At 42 you're just not.  Now, am I relevant?  Well, that's not for me to say.  I think I do my best to keep aware of the what's what and formulate my own opinions about them. I think this is maybe a better strategy than just riding the wave of what's cool because it's hot at the moment.  It's better than hanging on to things that logically must pass you by because it's just not your time for them anymore. Mmm.   I see.   This is how it works then, is it?  My GirlsPilgrimage has decidedly led me to that confident place where you like what you like and say what you say and you simply don't care what this means or says about you. 

Damn you, Girls! 

*These items have been listed for purely illustrative purposes.  Any likeness to the author of said post is purely coincidental and, of course, completely true.

F is for ...

... fuck.

Fuck me.
Fuck You.
FUCK IT.

Fuck.

F is for Fuck.

E is for ...

... Ephesus.

In September of 2010 I took a really monumental trip. It was monumental for a number of reasons, least of which was that I was away, on this trip, for a month.  An entire month of vacation from work, real life, family, friends and doldrum obligations.  Exciting, to be sure, but daunting - how to survive with limited contact?   I'm a contact type of person.  I like to be in the know and in the middle of things - what will everyone do without me?  Will my office fall apart (I hope so!)?  I worried for a bit about my friends, both tried and true and one, specifically, sweet and new.  Will I be forgotten (I hope not!)?   What of my plants (Who cares!)?

The most important thing about this trip, though, was that I was going with my Mom, to Greece.  This was to be her first trip back there since my Dad passed away and it wasn't going to be easy.  There was no way she was going by herself.  Not because she simply wouldn't go by herself (my Mom can do many, many things remarkably well but travelling alone is not one of them), but because she shouldn't have to.  She shouldn't have to venture into this emotional minefield alone.  So, off we went.  The two of us, together, on a trip completely planned with her in mind in a way that wasn't going to make me completely crazy.

We started off at the Grande Bretagne in Athens, up to that point the most luxurious hotel I've ever stayed at.  With breathtaking views of the Acropolis and rooms larger than my condo, we were off to a great start.  We then embarked on a 10 day cruise, taking us to Greek Islands and also to Turkey.  From there, back to Athens for more exploring and then, onwards to the town that thinks it's a city, Sparta.   In our time there, we visited with so many people who I'm sure up until that point had believed - or at least wanted to believe - that my Dad's death was merely a cruel game of broken telephone.  An impossible untruth - the last time we saw him he was so full of life, so strong, so Nikos, they'd tell us. And yes, that was true.  And that's how you should remember him, we said.  Seeing my Mom there without him drove the point home and hard, and being there without him was so, so strange for both of us.  These people, for the most part, were all my Dad's childhood friends.  Friends he had remained incredibly close and connected with since leaving Greece in 1952 at the age of 17, all without the power of the internet, or even letters.  Kind of amazing, really.  These people were and are quite remarkable and they reaffirmed for me the awesome person my Dad was.  That's always pretty special - knowing you somehow haven't endowed someone with characteristics and personalities that live only in your own head.  That other people see what you see too.  They know what you know.

Hotel Views, Athens

Me & Mom, Acropolis Museum, Athens

All of our time in Sparta was actually spent in a village just outside of that town that thinks it's a city, called Petrina.  Our closest family friends have a villa there - there is no other way to describe the majesty of this property - and each morning we would wake to the sounds of roosters, and fall asleep to the sounds of absolutely nothing.  Both these daily bookends took some getting used to.  Fresh figs and walnuts and grapes and oranges were at our fingertips and the beach was merely 20 minutes away.  These, all, soon became expected.  We ate constantly.  Constantly.  I'd go for hours long walks in the afternoons with my iPod and my thoughts when everyone was siesta-ing and gaze through the hilltops into, well, not much.  The village was extremely rural and since everyone else was sleeping, extremely quiet.  Some days I'd have to turn back after a short while because it was just so HOT.  Late September and over 40 degrees of pure non-humid heat.  Sweltering, comforting, warmth.  These were our days.  These were our glorious days.  We ventured out to the tiniest island called Elafonisos one day, and popped into Sparta on a few others but otherwise we ate, I walked and we talked and laughed and ate some more and watched Greek soap operas and read Greek gossip magazines and, yes, ate even more.  As I said, glorious.

Good Morning, Petrina

Elafonisos

Apart from this almost otherworldly daily routine, the trip was filled with, well, Greece.  Say what you will about the country's economical struggles but you can't dispute that no other place in the world melds the mythical, historical  and simply beautiful quite like the Motherland.  You need to believe to get Greece.  In order to fully appreciate the labryinth at the Palace of Knossos in Crete, you need to believe that minotaurs could exist.  In order to fully drop your jaw at the largesse at Cape Sounion or remoteness of Delos, you're totally fine believing that Poseidon, Apollo and Artemis were real people.  And Gods, but mostly real people.  I had some great conversations with my Mom about this stuff, and while we were both of course completely skeptical, in the end, we just shrugged our shoulders and accepted it.  It helped what when this talk (finally) reached it's conclusion we were both gazing at the magical Santorini sunset, which allows for the most absurd to become completely possible.

As happens in the course of history, conquerers become the conquered and now much of what was once 'Greece' now lies in other territories and countries in the surrounding geography.  Ephesus is one of these places - famed for the Temple of Artemis (her, again) and one of the Seven Ancient Wonders of the World, the city, in the classical Greek Era of the 1st Century BC, was one of the largest in the Mediterranean world.  Ephesus was soon conquered by the Romans, then the Persians and finally the Turks and is now formally located in the Izmir Province of Turkey, mainly as an enormous open air museum / tourist area / blow your mind type of place.

Ephesus

Of all the things my eyes landed upon during this trip, it is Ephesus that stays with me the most.  The sheer size of these buildings - libraries, schools, public baths, running tracks, amphitheatre - was humbling.  The literal strength of these pillars of stone, mind blowing.  They withstood earthquakes and battles and ravages of time for thousands and thousands of years and are still there.  They are still there.  It was simply awesome in the original sense of the word.   To think of what happened there, the lives lived, the trials and tribulations which I'm sure were no different than our own but somehow they seem so.  They seem more grand, more substantial, more interesting.

When it's all over, you do as you do - you return richer in experience, literally poorer in pocketbook but always much, much, fuller in outlook and memory.  We need this.  We need to get out of ourselves to see what was and where we are.  This trip didn't change me, per se, but it enriched my appreciation for many things - my Dad and the country of his birth, my Mom as top notch travel companion yet horrible picture taker and my own ability to (almost) check out and be comfortable doing almost nothing for long stretches of time.  Everything and everyone managed (almost) just fine without me.  Of course and obviously.  I mean, it's not like I'm the God of Making Sure Everything's Okay.  If one existed, of course.  ;)

Cruising (aka Mom can centre a picture if she really tries)

.... E is for Ephesus. 

D is for ...

... Deal.

I'll rarely admit to being good at anything, but one thing I know I'm really good at is playing cards.  Not genteel card games like Bridge or Euchre but hardcore ones like Gin Rummy (and its many iterations) and real poker (Texas Hold 'Em? HA!  Amateurs!).  When most little girls were brushing the hair of their My Little Ponies, I was sitting at the kitchen table with my Papou and my Dad learning to play cards.  Holy Crap.  It sounds so white trash and Child Services, but seriously, when we weren't playing weeklong games of Monopoly or building epic cities with Lego this is what we did.  If you want to become great at something, you have to play above your level and playing with these two was some serious Mr Miyagi / Grasshopper stuff.  I may have been little, but I wasn't treated that way around the kitchen-come-card table.  I got really good, really fast and the one day when I finally beat my Dad I knew I was ready for the Big Time. (Relax people!  We didn't go on some father / daughter crazy Vegas gambling spree!  I was just allowed to play with all the other adults at Christmas Time!  Sheesh!). 

While I loved the act of playing cards, I always hated dealing the cards.  It's part of the game, sure, but it was just annoying.  I could never get the flow of that super awesome 'waterfall' like trick going and I'd always lose track of how many cards I had actually dealt and I'd have to start over and it was such a pain.  I always wanted someone else to deal for me.  I just want to play, I don't want to deal!  But that's not how it works.  I was never given a free ride, regardless of my pouting.  The rules were simple:  If you want to play, you have to deal.  And whether you're a little girl learning to play cards with the big boys, or a big one living your life large, it's simply impossible to ignore the rules of the game.  You can't just play.  You must deal.  Sooner or later, ya just gotta deal.

D is for Deal.

C is for ...

... C U Next Tuesday.

Yes, it is.  It really, really is.  The best thing about this acronym is that I only found out about it two weeks ago (thanks cooler friends!).  Not that it would have changed my life any beforehand, but some things are just good to know, you know?

I don't have a real problem or issue with C U Next Tuesday as a swear word.  I don't at all have a problem with swearing.  I've long dispatched with the parochial notion that those who swear have a limited vocabulary or lack the skills of expression.  Please.  Do you really think "Please stop that, you are bothering me" bears the same resonance as "Fuck off, bitch."  Exactly.  It's clear and direct and when used properly, swearing really gets your point across and hard.  I'm all for it.

That said, there are words that really and truly rile people up.  C U Next Tuesday is absolutely one of those words for most people but not for me.  That doesn't mean I use it.  I don't think I've really ever uttered it, and the reason is quite simple:  as a word, in and of itself, it doesn't sound pleasing to my ears.  It's harsh and cutting and guttural and just off.  It sounds so German.  Now, don't take offence!  Germans may have cornered the market on automobiles, motorbikes, general organization and ruling Europe but you must admit that the sound of their language just blows.  I have a similar thing with the word 'couch'.  I hate the sound of it so much I try and replace it with 'sofa' or 'chesterfield' or simply point, but then people think I'm a pretentious Brit - wannabe or a mute.  So I cringe - speak couch.  (I shudder even writing it. Blech.)

It would be wonderful if all the words we said could somehow sound good.  I'm certain this wouldn't reduce the harshness of feeling in what is sometimes actually being said, but maybe it would lessen the blow. The framing would be better.  Sort of like when you see a movie that really wasn't very good but the popcorn was top notch and the soundtrack rocking - your time wasn't completely wasted.  It wasn't that bad.

It's a complex little puzzle, isn't it:  fitting proper sounds into sentences so not only is our point well made but what's being said - without meaning - flows and almost sings, so even those who don't understand English simply hear metered poetry in perfect little beats. Which is why it's a bit of a shame that the English languages' other most vilifying word, well, sounds rather good.  Wait.  WAIT.  When taken without context,  meaning or backstory this word (you know what word) does have a little sing-song easy rhyme quality that my ear finds somewhat appealing.  Well, too bad for me.  I'm not so focused on beats and rhythms and sounds that I can or will ignore the realities of respect and sensibility. Obviously.

As if we don't have it hard enough.  Thinking of what to say and how to say it and when is the best time and is it okay?  Is what we're saying okay?  I'm telling you we should also be thinking of how what we're saying actually sounds.  What a little C U Next Tuesday I am.  My soul isn't offended if you think so, but my ears sure will be if you tell me I am.

C is for C U Next Tuesday.

B is for ...

... Brussels, Bruges, Bilbao - BOO YAH!

YES, math people, I know that is way more than one word, but when I think of the letter B right now, my brain just brims with the kind of excitement only little girls with ponies know about.

In a few short weeks I'll be heading to all these wondrous places visiting wondrous people.  Coming along with me is a wondrous new friend.  The genesis of this little trip is pretty typical for me, but amazing just the same.

I'll take you back to my most favourite time of year, TIFF, where one of my oldest & dearest friends and I met two of the most hilarious and lovely people anyone could hope to meet.  Since that night, there have been movies and dinners and lectures and emails and laughs galore.  Laughs, laughs galore.  We all know the world is small, and of course we share mutual friends, one of whom lives in ... San Sebastian, Spain.

Over dinner one night, New Friend suggested we go visit Mutual Friend.  To which I responded, YES!  WE MUST!  Old Friend, well schooled in the ways of Olga simply said to New Friend "You know you have to go now.  That's the way she is."  And so, a few weeks later tickets were booked and off we go ... with a pit stop to visit yet another wondrous soul who you first read about here http://curiousyetdelicious.blogspot.ca/2011/05/zadow-rocks.html.  I mean, come on! 

We're going to Carnavale (I need a costume, help!) and the ciderhouse and the thermal baths and a top - Michelin Guide rated restaurant.  We're going to see the Guggenheim and a Glen Hansard concert and an opera.  We're going to stay in some of the most luxurious hotels I've ever internet searched.  We are going to eat lots of tapas and chocolate and cheese and frites.  I'll be eating all those frites with lots of moules.  Best?  We're going to Bruges!  We are going to be IN Bruges!  And, once it's all done and our suitcases are full of chocolate, we will come home and revel in our photographs (damn, that new camera better get here soon!) and our own ability to just DO, not to think and ponder and wonder but to DO. 

I'm lucky I'm able to DO things.  I'm lucky to find people along my way who want to DO things too. 

Is it time yet? Can we go now?!

B is for Brussels, Bruges, Bilbao - BOO YAH!

A is for ...

... Apple.


A is for Apple,
J is for Jacks,
Cinnamon Toasted Apple Jacks.

You need a good breakfast,
that's a fact.
And you start it off with Apple Jacks.

If you're of a certain age (mine), you're likely singing now.  You're singing just like this:

The infectiousness of a jingle is unreal, isn't it?  How - some 30+ years later - I am and will always be humming this little ditty when I hear the word "apple". 

Is the power that of song?  silliness?  subliminal?

Whatever it is, so be it.  It's pitch perfect nostalgia, taking you back to times and places so crisply, so succinctly, in ways mere words, descriptions and explanations cannot.  Perhaps it's not working quite as the Madison Avenue folks would like as I've never bought a box of Cinnamon Toasted Apple Jacks in my life, nor could I ever get my Mom to (we were a Honeycombs & Corn Flakes household), but somehow I think they'd be happy to know that I'm still singing this tune, and smiling in my memories, oh so many years later.

A is for Apple.

Alphabet City

Happy Anniversary!

Say what?  Happy Anniversary, I say!

We've been together almost two years now - you, me, this blog.  Two years.  Yikes and wow.  As I mentioned in my New Year's post, I'm not one for reflection, so I'm not going to tell you about all the things I learned about myself while writing about 'stuff'.  (Because if you read the blog you'll know I learn nothing.).  What I will say I've discovered is that the challenge for me has never been the actual writing, the challenge has been what to write about.  I write like I talk.  I can talk about anything.  Just about everything gets me going.  In light of that, how do you decide?  It's so hard to decide!  So, in an effort to limit options and possibilities I'm turning my topic conundrum over to the alphabet.

The Alphabet?

Say what?  The Alphabet, I say!

I'm starting with A and ending with Z for the next 26 posts.  The first word that pops into my head that starts with the letter of the day is what I'll write about.  Isn't that fun?  Hmm...this seemed like a better idea when it was actually in my head.  Oh well.  Here goes.  It's only 26 posts.  Who knows what will happen.  We may get literal, existential, silly or just plain weird.  Come on!  We've been together for TWO YEARS are you really going to just leave me now? Over this little thing?  Yeah, I didn't think so.

Stay tuned for Alphabet City.

A is for Awesome, just like all of you.

Day One ...

"We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year's Day." 

-Edith Lovejoy Pierce


2013 will be all you want it to be. 

 Go Get 'Em, Tigers. xxoo.