Life – Page 23 – Rant and Roll

Looking so darn foxy

I’m not sure how many of you out there are acquainted with the amazing hilarity that is “Ylvis”, but for those of you neophytes, I present to you, for your viewing enjoyment – “The Fox”

I first got to know Ylvis a couple of years ago, when my rad chum Adelle played me their music video for their song “Stonehenge.”

(They like to keep their titles short, and very much to the point.)

We were at work, eating lunch together. It was one of those nondescript Vancouver winter days where everything seems grim – the sky, sea, and city all somehow meld together into one grey, gargantuan mass, and everything just feels damp. We had made plans to go out for lunch, but due to an onslaught of thick fog-like rain, and the accompanying on-set of general mid-week malaise, we decided to forgo venturing outside and just ate in my office.

After we polished off our food, we puttered about online, showing each other the latest viral videos that were tickling our funny bones.

It was at this point that Adelle turned to me and asked, “Do you…do you know Ylvis?”

“EEL-VIS!?” I asked. “You meanlike Elvis!?”

Adelle burst out laughing.

She has this incredible way of going from completely expressionless to gut-busting laughter in under a second.

It really is amazing to behold.

“Yes…Ylvis…” She managed to squeak out in between laughs. “They’re a Norweigan group.”

It was my turn to laugh.

“Norwegian!? Like, Norway’s version of Elvis?!”I was trying desperately to figure out what that may both look and sound like.

Also, one thing you should all know about Adelle is that she really loves Michael Bublé, so I just assumed that whoever she was talking about was just the Scandinavian equivalent of Canada’s own lounge crooner extraordinaire.

“Not really,” she answered. “They’re more like Josh Groban. But funny.”

This I just had to see.

So together we watched Stonehenge.

And boy was she ever right.

These dudes can both carry and tune and bust a gut.

(Although I really need to specify for reasons silly enough that I’m really not that big of a fan of the J. Grobes. I think he’s a cool dude, and his Twitter feed is hilarious, but that music – phew. Not my bag AT ALL.)

Ylvis on the other hand – Ylvis I can enjoy.

Plus, now I really, really want to know: WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY?

Straight, no chaser

I don’t know about you guys, but lately I have been listening to all of the jazz.

And believe me when I say ALL OF IT.

There’s just something about the start of fall that makes me want to cuddle up in bed, crack open a really great book and listen to some Lee Morgan until my eyelids droop, and my breathing falls slow and steady.

I want to herald my dreamscape with these fantastical riffs, these trumpet strains.

It’s funny.

I have such a strong memory of this exact same scenario being played out, over and over again by my mum, most nights growing up.

As we kids wound down and slowly adopted the more melodic (and ultimately less manic) postures of the late-night, I can see her so clearly: her in her nightie, washing her face, slathering her skin in moisturizing cream, and puttering about her bedroom to the soft and oh-so cool musical stylings of Thelonious Monk, or Cole Porter, or Quincy Jones.

Sometimes she’d say something like, “I just love this music.”

Other times, she would just close her eyes and sway to the melody.

CBC (the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) has a number of fabulous jazz programs, and they will be forever married to these memories.

As we chatted about our days, my sports-teams gossip, and her work drama, we’d let the notes dance about us, almost like invisible fireflies, lighting up the night.

It was nice.

It was a nice way to unwind.

As much as I loved those evenings, I never really thought much about jazz as a teenager.

It’s not that I didn’t like it – it was just in the grand scheme of music, there was always something pop-ier, or rock-ier ready to take its place.

In the teenage canon of cool, there’s not much room for Benny Golson.

Much like the sky, or the natural scenery beholden to Vancouver, the beauty of jazz was one I took for granted.

It was just there.

I didn’t need to appreciate it, because it was a part of my everyday life.

Now, I sit at my computer and am practically moved to tears listening to these incredible tunes, these notable notes.

They make me imagine Parisian streets, lit up by a watery moon; cobblestone alleys, flecked with raindrops, and lovers sighs.

They make me imagine red dresses, and strappy heels; an empty café with a lone couple, dancing cheek to cheek. The sweet scent of candle wax, espresso, and wine, hanging in the air.

They make me imagine.

Sometimes I feel as though I was born with the capacity to feel too much.

Everything – every word, every song, every glace; every thought, every sound, every jest seems to rush through me, straight to my heart.

I think too much, I worry too much, I care too much. I am incapable of divorcing myself from my work, my loves, my passions, my friends,

My family.

Everything and all that they are, I pack tightly inside of myself, and work desperately to make sure they are kept safe.

Kept pristine.

Serene.

When I sit here, and I listen to this music – this fabulous noise, these perfect sounds, I can feel my chest swell.

I can feel myself expand, feel these worlds rushing out; I watch as all this love that lives inside me is unleashed, and I relive this memory.

Reliving it as though it happened yesterday.

And it hurts so much, because I want to be back there.

I want to be sitting in that bedroom, listening to Quincy Jones.

I want to feel my mum’s hand in mine, the soft fabric of her sheets on the backs of my legs.

I want to look outside of her window and see the glow of our neighbours lights; hear the patter of the rain on our roof.

I want to listen to the jazz without thinking about listening to jazz.

I just want to listen to jazz.

I wrote you everyday for a year

Hello blogger friends!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I very much apologize for my absence.

AND!

I very much apologize even more, if said absence lead any of your to believe that some kind of tragedy had befallen either myself or my loved ones.

The truth of the matter is – life happened.

And it happened a lot.

This summer has been one of intense happenings – change, growth, learning, happiness; sadness, athletics, adventure, beauty, love, and, of course, fun.

All the fun has been had.

But I am also at this point where I feel the need to pack a bag, head to YVR, grab Marc’s hand, and buy a pair of the farthest away one-way plane tickets we can afford.

We’ll fly off into the wide-blue yonder with nothing but a change of undies, our running shoes, and a bag of peanut butter M&M’s (purchased from Hudson News. It’s a tradition.)

POOF.

We’ll be gone.

It’s weird.

I often forget about the aging process.

I think much of this has to do with the fact that Marc and I have now been together now for ten years. (August 16 marked this milestone in our relationship.)

I was eighteen when we first got together, and there is a strange little part of me that still thinks that we are still those same people: that I am still that silly and starry-eyed first year undergraduate student, and he is the suave, and self-sufficient third-year classics major.

And sure, there is some truth to that – those people still very much make up a part of our characters, our souls.

But any way you slice, it – we’ve changed.

We are changing.

We are maturing – both inside and out.

And it’s something that is happening every single day of our lives.

And I don’t begrudge this happening.

In fact, I love it.

I like life a heck of a lot more now than I did as that undergraduate student.

It’s just that I don’t ever really reflect on these changes unless I am confronted by this fact – maybe I’ll see someone I haven’t seen in quite a long time; or I’ll start to realize that I am outgrowing older friendships.

Outside of my immediate self, I notice this most when I see the other loves of my life also changing, and adapting.

I see it when people have babies.

When people get sick.

When people get married, and when they get divorced.

When they buy property, when they move away, when they stop eating meat, when they start reading Kant –

And it’s good.

Because without this movement, this incessant striving, this going forward – we just die. We become stagnant and morose; we stop asking questions, we stop engaging in dialogue, we stop progress.

We can’t properly appreciate life.

The only trick of the matter is – how to find a balance between this constant striving and the ability to sit back and enjoy the aging process?

How do I keep moving but not to the extent where I feel the need to run away because life has reached a new level of overwhelming activity?

This is, of course, a topic I’ve written about quite a bit here at Rant and Roll, but seeing as though I have yet to answer this question, it will most likely be something that I keep revisiting as we head into the Autumn months (and no doubt beyond.)

There are so many good things to look forward to: Powell River in the Fall, running the Fall Classic 10k, Nova Scotia in November, playing soccer with Marc, fireside nights with a good book and our beauty cat.

But before we get too ahead of ourselves, I want to make sure that I take the time to appreciate everything this summer had to offer.

And so I present to you –

July and August, by the numbers.

4 Weddings

3 Bridesmaid dresses

1 pair of killer heels

1 half marathon

250 kilometers ran soley for the love of running

1 1000 kilometer drive (in one night)

3 Hikes

5 Inches of hair cut off

10 Amazing books

10 Stand-up Shows

1 New job

2 Radio shows

Countless tears shed

Countless laughs laughed

All the lessons learned.

All the lessons left to be learned.

…

I’m back WordPress.

Thanks for letting me take some time off.

I’m looking forward to it.

I’m moving.

I’m moving forward.

Bit and bobs, and brass door knobs

Some things:

Hair, hair, down to there.

I recently cut five inches off my hair.

It was either that or turn full-mermaid.

Spice up your life.

Marc is a brilliant task-master and we recently re-organized our spice cabinet.

We bought some small glass jars at the dollar store, and then I hand-wrote the name of each spice on the front.

This lovely little project reminds me something the tremendous Laura Beth of Perched on a Whim might do. Seeing as though I worship at her alter of BEAUTIFUL CRAFTS OF LIFE, I am still feeling a little giddy.

Strange crushes.

Am I the only one who really likes David Hyde Pierce?

But like, in that way?

But I don’t know what to do with that tossed salad and scrambled eggs…

They’re calling again.

Happy Wednesday!

My love for you will still be strong

After the boys of summer are gone.

Friends.

I have been a terrible bloggess of late.

I keep saying that I am going to get back into the regular routine of things – writing, reading, and commenting on the regular – but life keeps getting completely out of control and I find that I have zero time to do anything (like tie my shoes!), let alone sink back into this wonderous blogosphere and get my rant and roll on.

So please forgive my absence – or as it has been of late, my hot and cold presence.

Please know that I am thinking about all of you, and am taking the time (whenever it comes up!) to take pleasure in all of your musings, insights, photographs, and updates.

I miss this place terribly, and am doing my very best to get back to a regular rhythm.

And until the time when I regain my blogger mojo, some snaps:

Bacherlorette.