A little over five years ago, in front of friends and family, Marc and I pledged each other our troth. Our celebration took place at Minter Gardens, an absolutely amazing space just outside of Vancouver.
Here, plants and flowers of such a wide variety create a kaleidoscope of colours vibrant and breathtaking.
It’s a beauty that will make your head spin.
It was the perfect place for us to publicly proclaim our love for one another, celebrate with our phenomenal guests, and dance the night away.
So you can imagine how sad I was to learn that on the 14th of this month, these incredible gardens will be closing to the public.
Closing forever.
It would seem that we no longer live in a world where people visit gardens as a weekend trip, or family getaway.
Alas.
In an attempt to say our own goodbyes to this special place, Marc and I drove out to Agassiz last Saturday and spent a few hours wandering about.
It poured like the dickens as we strolled along the different paths, our umbrellas gently knocking each other, our coats slick with rain.
Afterwards, we warmed up in the cafeteria, sipping mushroom soup and milky tea, while our hearts went out to the wedding party congregating at the gardens’ entrance.
The bride and groom had obviously gambled on an end of summer West Coast outdoor wedding.
But a little rain isn’t anything a lifetime of love can’t cure.
Minter.
Love.
Quote.
Lizard.
Flower.
Legs.
Fountain.
Foliage.
Church.
Waterfall.
Love, redux.
…
‘If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.”
Today is my last day at my current job. My new position starts July 22nd.
This means I have three weeks of relaxation time (with that fab chap of a husband of mine!), before starting what is, for all intents and purposes, my dream job.
I AM SO HAPPY I THINK MY HEART MIGHT BURST.
Also, speaking of Marc, five years ago today this happened:
It was a very good day.
That morning he wrote to me:
I am waiting to see you for the first time again. (It will always be for the first time, every time I see you.)
I love you, until the end of the world.
And I wrote to him:
YOLO!
JUST KIDDING.
I love you with so much of my heart, that none is left to protest.
Tonight we are flying away to New York for my sister Kate’s wedding to her brilliant fiance. I already refer to my soon-to-be sister in-law Mel as my sister (and have so for years!), so I couldn’t be more excited for this marriage if I tried.
What can I say?
I really love love.
I do.
So let me end by reiterating how much I adore all of you beautiful bloggers. Your words, your passions, your love – it makes the world sparkle.
And remember:
We love life, not because we are used to living, but because we are used to loving. – Nietzsche
Nutmeg and cardamom are two excellent spices that pair quite poorly with shrimp.
New shoes!
Even when I think I am sitting up straight, I’m probably still slouching.
My hair is so long that sometimes when I work out my ponytail gets stuck in my armpits.
Sometimes I imagine Brian Mulroney looking at his son, and then looking at Justin Trudeau, and then thinking, “HOW THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN?”
I really must remember to let my bras air dry. I don’t want to give away all my hard earned cash dollars to BIG BRASSIERE.
Donuts are really great.
So is a cup of milky, hot, sugary coffee.
(But never together.)
Dance parties are always worth it, even if it’s only with one other person.
Sometimes it rains sideways, and this makes training runs very uncomfortable.
Richard Ayoade is a stone cold fox.
TopShop is currently trolling us all, but –
Put a bird on it!
Yesterday Mr. M and I bought our tickets for the Big Apple and I am SO EXCITED.
I cannot speak, or write “cleaning out my closet” without pretending that I am Eminem.
I like peanut butter M&Ms best.
Also this:
…
Today, the sun is shining and the sky is a light daisy blue – a treat the likes of which we have not seen for many, many moons.
It is mindboggling to think that we are already into March. Indeed – minutes, days, weeks (and months!) seem to be careening by in the blink of an eye.
I just signed up to run the ScotiaBank Half-Marathon with Team Big Sisters. I’m hoping to raise $1000.00 (the same amount as 2011, the last year that I fundraised with the organization.)
After taking some time off to rest my little bones, I am back to full-on training mode. I ran 16km this weekend, and am looking to slowly amp up the mileage as the seconds kick down to my first race of the season: The Sunshine Coast Half on April 7th.
My darlings, do you ever feel as though you are standing the precipice of something huge, but you don’t know yet what it is?
I feel as though I am balancing precariously over a large, life-changing expanse, and I want so badly to jump into the void, only I cannot see what I will be getting myself into.
All my nerve endings seem to be extra-sensitive – and the winds of change are making my arm hairs stand on edge.
Maybe I will just have to Alice it – take a deep breath and crawl down the hole.
And if I catch a glimpse of a sign-post (pointing in any which direction), I will be sure to let you know.
I have a dirty, horrible secret that I need to get off my chest.
(Urg, that conjures up some truly horrific imagery doesn’t it? It makes me think of a putrid, gelatinous squid laying waste to my body, its tentacles wedged into the crooks of my neck and the dip of my bellybutton.)
[pauses]
Gaaaaaaaaaah!
Why would I even write that? Now that I’ve conjured up that visual nightmare, I’ve only made this whole thing even worse.
Enough of this pseudo-Alien bullshazzle Ethel. Pull yourself together woman!
Okay.
My secret doesn’t have anything to do with my sci-fi film proclivities, nor does it have anything to do with seafood (although you can bet your bottom dollar I’m not going to be ordering a plate of calamari anytime soon.)
My dark globule of shame is thus:
I’VE STARTED DOING YOGA.
[pauses]
Gaaaaaaaaaaaah!
I should have just stuck with being eaten alive by a blood thirsty extra-terrestrial octopus.
And yet, alas, it is true.
To paraphrase Katy Perry: I did yoga and I liked it. (I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it.)
Jeeze Louise, I am losing all the cool points today, aren’t I?
GOOD GRIEF.
So how did this all come about you might ask? (Or maybe just, you know, can you get to the point Ethel because you’re rambling like a rambling thing?)
So. As the drizzle has now descended upon our fair city, coupled by the fact that the days are growing ever shorter (and ever darker), I am trying my darndest not to reenlist at the gym, because a.) I’m trying to save money and b.) GYMS ARE THE WORST.
But it’s hard. Who wants to arrive home from work and go running outside in the pitch-dark pouring rain?
The absolute wettest I have EVER been on a run. Taken this past weekend.
That is bleak, bleak sauce.
However, I figure if I work really hard at it, a gym-free solution is doable.
For instance, because I am currently taking a break from my half-marathon training schedule, I have the option of going for much shorter, faster runs.
For instance, yesterday I burned through a 5 km while practicing my sprints/hill running.
I also have to admit that running in the rain isn’t always as dreadful as it sounds. Sometimes it’s actually pretty empowering and deliciously badass. Plus, it’s definitely manageable if you’re only doing it for 20-30 minutes at a time.
Further, no one is saying that should we get the odd nice weekend here and there I can’t take advantage and bang out a sweet 10-15k just to make sure I don’t backtrack in terms of my distance training.
The second part of of my gym-free workout plan is to do a crap load of resistance work, which means push-ups, pull-ups, squats, lunges, burpees, wall sits, planks – you name it.
And the plus side of all of this is that I can do all of these things in the comfort of my own home.
Okay, okay, I know what you’re all thinking: “WHAT ABOUT THE BLOODY YOGA!?”
I’m getting there, I promise.
Seeing as though I’ve been told that I should be practicing my downward dog and sun salutation for something like the past two-hundred years, last Sunday I finally thought to myself, “Enough of this bollocks. I might as well give it a go.”
Now, don’t get any crazy ideas that I actually went out a bought a mat and paid for a class or anything.
After a brutal session of burpees, jump squats, pull-ups, and hip raises, a twenty-minute beginners yoga class via Youtube (that I could do complete on the carpet in my bedroom) was looking pretty good.
And it was!
It was good.
It was so good in fact, that I’ve done the same video every night since, as well as an extra session of stretching.
The only fly in the ointment being that whenever I am doing my poses M walks around the house muttering “HANI PASHA” to himself, which completely ruins my concentration and sends me into uncontrollable giggle fits.
But I’ll take it.
In the end, I guess a leopard really can change her spots, as I have long ridiculed yoga and its disciples (living in Lotus Land it’s pretty hard not to, what with the city’s collection obsession with Lululemon and its competitors.)
So that’s it folks; that is my slimy, salacious secret.
So, as many of you know, I take great pains to work against institutionalized misogyny every single day of my life (much to the chagrin of both my lifespan and mental health.)
Last night I went to a special screening of the movie Miss Representation, a film that, according to its website:
“Explores how the media’s misrepresentations of women have led to the under representation of women in positions of power and influence.”
Now, being the hardened, calloused feminist that I am, much of the information presented in the film was pretty old hat – it wasn’t shocking or disturbing – instead it just served as a means to reinforce truths of which I am already (much too) aware.
That the patriarchy exists. That both men and women actively engage in the perpetuation of this system.
That the media makes millions of telling women that they are not good enough, and that they will they ever be good enough.
(And that they are worth nothing more than the sum of their physical parts – a conceit continually advocated by media conglomerates, advertisers, and the like.)
HEY LAIDEEZ! We even have chick chocolate now! Eat this and be a SEXY CHEEKY HOT FLIRT BECAUSE THE MENZ LUV IT.
This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy the film. (However I actually don’t think it’s really a type of film that you “like” or “don’t like.”)
I believe that it puts forth an incredibly important message – and one that should be talked about by all individuals, regardless of gender, which is that in order to change these destructive, social (and political, and cultural, etc., ) institutions we must, MUST work to empower both young women, and young men.
This is a two-pronged process.
If we hope to move ahead from the place where we find ourselves today, we must start promoting both agency and literacy amongst our youth, as these are crucial factors in terms of not only advancing the position of women in North America (and of course in other areas of the world) but of advancing our society as a whole.
Honestly, so much of it comes down to education.
And reading.
And the stories that are told.
Stories about humanity – not necessarily stories about “men” and “women.”
I mean, how else are youth going to engage with the idea of equality?
How else are they going to develop the critical thinking skills required to operate within the social systems that openly advocate and reinforce inequality?
My husband (who is one of the coolest feminists I know) is also an educator, and one of the hardest battles he wages with his students is trying to engage many of them in literature they study.
Seriously, he will tell you point blank: not many kids reads anymore.
And because of this, young people are less and less likely to dissect the different messages that bombard them twenty-four hours a day, through an ever growing number of media – be they traditional or new.
They are less likely to deconstruct the stories – the tropes, the stereotypes, the norms, the systems – they are exposed to each time they flip the channel or open that web browser (let alone question then!)
Because when we watch television, use the internet, listen to music – these are passive media. We are letting these things happen to us.
With reading you are problem solving, forming hypothesis, and working through content – (yes I am aware that this is highly dependent on the material you are engaged with – but on the whole, I’m apt to believe that reading is a much healthier intellectual pursuit that ye olde boob tube or the interwebs.)
And the great thing about reading is, you get to find out what you like, and then make informed choices from that experience – as opposed to being told what you like (which is basically the main reason that TV exists, and increasingly more and more the internet) and making decisions based on what you think is right for you, and not what you know is right for you.
(I honestly have no other explanation as to why anyone would ever sign up for reality TV.)
Now, I’m certainly not saying that as long as every kid grows up reading a book a week, engrained sexism is magically going to disappear.
Nor am I saying that TV AND INTERNET ARE BAD.
(I have made my feelings quite clear about that sometime last November.)
It’s just that when there is nothing to balance out, or neutralize so much of the awful messaging that plagues those two platforms, (platforms that are owned and controlled predominantly by old, white, men – a group I would wager is predominantly adverse to change) it is incredibly difficult to evolve.
Instead, these norms are recreated and reinterpreted in perpetuity.
And that, as the movie successfully points out, is something that is hurting us all.
And this, unlike the movie, is something I don’t like.