“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before, she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect - you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.”—Bob Marley
And there are not enough words to describe the flurry of emotions taking over. Twenty-three long, amazing, chaotic, memory-filled years in this home, and tomorrow we are saying our goodbyes.
I am incredibly excited for the new place that awaits my family in midtown Toronto — a gorgeous, unbelievably accessible condo that my North York self has been dreaming about since high school required my first of (oh-so-many) multiple-connection daily ttc adventures. Yet I cannot help but get emotional when I think about leaving the cul-de-sac where I conquered two-wheel bike riding; the basement that held every giggly-girly all nighter sleepover; the house where my friends shocked me with a surprise seventeenth birthday; the ravine just around the corner where we would take family bike rides, our dog always foolishly running along any paved path until her paws were raw; the front lawn that has a slight incline, which as kids we were convinced could be used as a mini toboggan hill (emphasis on extremely mini); or the dining room table, where each year we would make our Hallowe’en costumes (store-boughts were strictly forbidden) and then late after a full night of trick-or-treating, embark on the great candy swap (she would trade almost anything for coffee crisps while I attempted to con her out of rockets and bite-size aero bars, and my mother artfully scooped up any leftovers for herself)…I really could go on for days with this…
No matter how many years you have lived away from it, or how many other places you have temporarily called home, there is just something about your childhood home that tugs on the old heartstrings.
So here’s to 11 Lowbank and the last night. Tomorrow is not going to be easy.
Excerpt from “The History of Love” by Nicole Krauss.
Once upon a time there was a boy. He lived in a village that no longer exists, in a house that no longer exists, on the edge of a field that no longer exists, where everything was discovered and everything was possible. A stick could be a sword. A pebble could be a diamond. A tree a castle.
Once upon a time there was a boy who lived in a house across the field from a girl who no longer exists. They made up a thousand games. She was Queen and he was King. In the autumn light, her hair shone like a crown. They collected the world in small handfuls. When the sky grew dark they parted with leaves in their hair.
posting when i have work to do? hm, i wonder if this is some kind of theme.
two assignments, two essays, two tests and one play to finish directing before i can graduate. wishful thinking me says that i can get 1/3 of that done by next week. realistic me says that focusing that hard is cuckoo for coco-puffs.
instead of working, i’ve spent all my time recently playing geography quizzes on sporcle. on the bright side, i can now name at least 130 countries at the drop of a hat.
“So these days we are both silent about what we both know: that at some point, I will take possession of her possessions, dismantle her apartment, and, barring catastrophe, continue with my life for possibly two or three decades without her.”—Irena Klepfisz, “‘Di Yerushe’/The Legacy: A Parable About History and ‘Bobe-Mayses,’ ‘Barszcz’ and ‘Borsht’ and the Future of the Jewish Past
i’m back from montreal and the liquor random but amazing nights; from my friend’s cottage and the martha-stewart cooking adventures followed by intense boardgame rivalries; from toronto and lazing on the couch with my mother, as the olympics play endlessly in the background.
the last month of schoolwork is looming over. help.
“San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run … but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant… .”—Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
“And people say to me “Jesus wasn’t Jewish”. I say “Of course he was Jewish! Thirty-years old, single, living at home with his parents, come on! Working in his father’s business, his mother thought he was God’s gift. He’s Jewish, give it up!”—Robin Williams, Live On Broadway (2002)
“The temperature in Ottawa is minus fifteen degrees celcius. Now that may seem bawmy to you in the Prairies, but Ontario is a wet cold which means minus fifteen really feels like minus WHY GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN US?”—Pilot in “My Mother’s Lesbian Jewish Wiccan Wedding” (by David Hein and Irene Carl Sankoff)