Sole Searching

Posted in Fun, Life by

As I sit here in the airport lounge, waiting for my flight to London to board (with Zsolt beside me trying to sleep), I’d like to stop a moment and consider my footwear: the sandal with socks.

Blue strapped Birkenstocks with a sole shaped to my foot from seasons of wear; thick hiking socks for the winter with heel, toe and arch support. The whole is more powerful than the parts. Put together you not only have a great sandal and warm toes – you have the ultimate source of comfort that your feet could ever enjoy, just short of a pedicure massage with that scented oil mixed with salt. You have, ladies and gentlemen, the perfect compromise.

Support from the study cork sole mixed with security of the leather straps. But unlike a shoe the sandal is an open forum of air, sweat, and exchange. “My feet will get cold!” you say? Meet the sock – the thick multi-coloured hiking sock: often found ‘too warm’ within the conventional shoe, coupled with a sandal, the warmth provided is of the perfect temperature – moisture is whisked away from the body, preventing stink, and air conditioning can’t get at you with its chill.

Okay, so people – some people – hate the combination. But I would say they’ve never really given it a good shot. Just spend a full afternoon in the mix, and you’ll be a convert.

Socks and sandals are totally cool. They’re cool because they’re quality. What else really matters?

So on that note we are flying off to England, then on to Austria, then on to Budapest (a la bus), then Erd (a la car). It’s a lonnnnnnnng trip. So long, I had to insert those extra ‘n’s just so you could get a sense. But the end will be totally worthwhile. Visiting family is always fun, plus a change of scenery never hurts, and I happen to be a great big fan of Lake Balaton (where time stands still and the sun always shines).

This week I’ve heard some hard things – not related to me directly, but with people I know both online and in the real world. Hard, stupid things that made me stomp my feet and say ‘what the frack’. Unfortunately, that’s the way it is and in these situations it’s out of my hands.  Maddening stuff – infuriating stuff – heart-breaking stuff. It’s really hard to be diagnosed with cancer, really freaking hard, but also even more heartbreaking with people you care about suffer the same fate.

But I read something this week that struck a chord and made me think: ‘yes.’

It was a plea from one of the bloggers online who has been told some very rough news. She asked us to enjoy the moment. Do it for her. Do it for yourself.

So here we are in the moment. My feet are comfortable. The plane is loading. I’m married to an incredible man. We are okay. We are a-okay. And despite all the stress of jobs and hospitals and doctors and whatever . . . we are about to have an awesome adventure. Despite all the crap, good things can happen, and it’s not worth feeling guilty over. Is it – no, it’s not. It’s worth celebrating, and appreciating . . . cause you never know when the party ends.

Sorry – my light hearted post about footwear just turned sombre. I’ll stop. The thing with writing these posts is all kinds of emotions can pour onto the page. (And honestly, I’ve got the stopper in pretty tight, so this is just some of the really determined stuff getting through.)

It will be good to eat goulash. Good to sit by the water. Good to go for bike rides. Good to escape the stressors. Good to eat a langos. Good to see Zsolt’s family. Good to meet with friends. And SO good to sail across the Atlantic.

Look out – there’s a heck of a great summer on the way so we may as well enjoy it. Here, in the moment,  life can be so good. (Thank goodness.)

P.S. No time for spell check! Boarding!

 

Here comes the thirty train!!

Posted in Finding Home, Fun, Life, Love, self growth by

My birthday is in 25 minutes and counting down. It’s not like fireworks are going to erupt at 9 a.m. but I will suddenly and officially be thirty. Zsolt likes to say that I’ve been 30 these past six months, which reeks of logic and tastes like haste. I’m 29 this very moment, and then, once the clock ticks ahead – WHAMO – 30.

A lady editor once taught me that numbers over ten are to be written in word-form. Like forty-six or eighteen or twenty-nine. She did not teach me about those little dashes, however, and I put them in only because I think it looks better. Much of my grammar is based on ‘what looks better’, which likely explains why much of my grammar is incorrect.

So here is a secret about my thirties (which I hope by declaring will no longer make it a secret and banish away this stupid notion) . . . I’m a wee bit worried about them, because for the entirety of my life – thinking back to when I was ten, or 12, or 19, or 20, or 25, I could never imagine what it would be like in my thirties. What would my face look like? How tall would I be? What sort of work would I be doing? Would I live in a house, have a dog, babies, purpose? Marriage . . . I could never imagine my wedding until it had actually happened.

And I thought to myself (very quietly) what I was wasn’t going to turn 30? What if I couldn’t imagine it because it was never going to happen? Would I die before I turned 30? (Now you have a sense for how dramatic my stupid thoughts can get!)

Flashback two years ago when I was diagnosed with cancer at 27 (almost 28), and my panic mode was really kicking in. It was all – “oh, shit, Catherine, you have cursed yourself with this stupid unknown decade obsession. Now hurry up and start WANTING something from your next chunk of life, and the one after that, and after that, and etc.”

Because I reckon when we really, really want something, we can accomplish that desire even if it takes time. Actually, I think it’s a powerful sort of thing to want something badly – and to know in your mind  that it will happen. That stuff is better than magic beans and three wishes combined. That’s determination, and I think it makes all the difference.

So what am I determined to do in my thirties? Live, survive, become a novelist, love-love-love, buy a cottage in Balaton (Hungary), have those babies (this desire is attached with many other quiet and dramatic fears, which need to be dealt with eventually), be with Zsolt, laugh with Zsolt, explore with Zsolt, have family dinners, keep my amazing friends and make even more (if it’s possible since we keep freaking moving!), stay in shape, never have cancer again,  get a dog, and be good to others – take care, support, encourage, contribute, be there.

Anyhow, that’s my life. My life in my thirties. Once the forties creep up I’ll need to revise this list.

Everyday is a good day and every birthday granted is really the best gift possible. I love living, so am very glad to be doing so today.

There it is – ten minutes left! Here comes the 30 train, and I’ll be hopping on quite happily.

(Psst. I bought myself a big 30 piñata that I’m going to smash to pieces, therefore showing 30 that I can indeed conquered this stupid age-hump of unknowingness that is in my mind. Plus I bought myself balloons that say 30 on them, and napkins, and this blow-up thing that shoots out 30 everywhere, and a candle in the shape of a 30, and fireworks for the evening. Because I figured that for me today was special, even if on the outside it looks like yet another birthday, and it was going to be celebrated in a ridiculous way here at this cottage . . . even if the party only consists of my closest family, that’s okay. I’m turning 30. Everything is okay.)

And if it’s your birthday soon too, of if it’s just past, or you just want to join the party – HAPPY BIRTHDAY to you too!! Wooohoooo! Isn’t it nice to celebrate good things? 🙂

(Hey! It’s now past 9 a.m. – we made it!!! )

Stroke-Stroke Glide-Glide

Posted in Bumpboobs, Canada, Finding Home, Fun, Life, Travel, Writing by

We are at the cottage (rental) and I don’t have my drawing pad with me. If I did have the drawing pad, I’d sketch you a doodle of the view from this window. There’s the lake in the background and the green forest of Tar Island, and here just in the foreground are a sparse layering of trees – their trunks are thin at the top (this cottage is set upon a cliff face, and so I’m looking through the tops of these trees), and the branches are tapering to a point, like a very tall Christmas tree or something. Reminds me of a painting I did for my grade six art project. It was a tree trunk, with a branch, and a lake behind with blue sky above.

This is the cottage. We arrived here Thursday evening, and are able to come and go as we like. Tomorrow I’ll be back in town for Canada day. But today we are here. And today it is nice.

Zsolt and I have been making many decisions lately – several of which I am not allowed to talk about. (Which is really, really difficult.) Let’s just say sometimes stuff works and other times stuff really doesn’t work. However, we’re fine and eventually we’ll manage this whole ‘career’ thing. In the meanwhile something good has come from a series of infuriating events, which is (cause I can talk about this, thank freaking goodness) a trip.

Soon Zsolt and I will fly to Hungary for a month. Following that we’ll fly to England and visit friends. After this we’ll take a boat to New York from Southampton (7 night cruise) and hang with family and visit the city. Then we’ll take the train up to Montreal (12 hour trip), where we’ll finally catch a bus back to Ottawa. We’re leaving mid (ish) July and returning September.

I’ll let your imagination create the reasons for our booking this massive, non-refundable trip when neither of us has full-time employment, and then say that while plans can change beyond our control, it is not the case with non-refundable bookings. So the silver lining in all this crappiness is that my husband and I are going on an adventure. And that’s a really awesome silver lining.

When we return, we are 100% determine to move out of my parent’s house – even if it means living in someone else’s basement (hopefully with a separate entrance), and working on getting my man Zsolt into the intellectual property field. He’s got a talent for it. He’ll be even better when working for a company full-time.  (If you know anyone looking for a patent agent trainee, please do let me know.)

And I think everything will be alright. We’re at the cottage today. I’m going to have the first draft of my book finished before we leave for Hungary. (Really I am, I’ve only got like 3000 words left to write before that’s done.) Zsolt is planning to help me turn my Bumpyboobs adventures into mini e-books (woohoo! So then I can make myself a large button to wear that says, “Self-Published Author!”).

And everything is going to be alright.

Everything is going to be alright.

Maybe I should tattoo it onto my forehead, just a reminder. 🙂

As support to this assertion, my mammogram checkout A-Okay. I’m still totally annoyed with the screening situation, but hey – no cancer. Woohooo! Nooooooo Cancer!!

AND, I turn 30 next week.

Plus, the canoe we bought is turning out beautifully. Another big purchase we may never have made  . . . but was inevitably done. (Because I said to Zsolt, if not now, when?) And so we’ve been paddling around this lake at the cottage and the rivers near Ottawa – enjoying the beauty of the area and just stupid happy with every stroke. You know, back in the land of chemotherapy day-dreams, one of my musings was to buy a canoe and just forget about the bullshit. That’s what happens whenever we take it out – it’s not about looking for work, surviving cancer, growing up, staying healthy . . . it’s about stroke-stroke-stroke, and glide-glide-glide.

Right now, for our lives in general, I think we’ll just have to focus on the present. Just stroke-stroke-stroke, and glide-glide-glide.

 

P.S. kudos to Zsolt who is circling me as I post this outside the cottage, killing black flies and keeping me bug-bite free!