Philadelphia

I’m in the beautiful historic Latham Hotel in downtown Philadelphia. April and my papa are asleep, and my mom is reading while I take a moment to myself to reflect on the past couple of days. My feet are aching, hot and heavy. I’m absolutely exhausted from a day of pounding the pavement and the marble and wooden-floored art galleries in this, the sixth biggest city in the USA.

Philly is really an impressive town. America certainly knows how to do grandiose. The boulevards are enormous. Huge skyscrapers looking down upon great stretches of grass and monumental statues and fountains. The Benjamin Franklin Parkway is lined with the flags of the world, arranged alphabetically, keeping your eyes transfixed as you wander past scores of museums, from the easily recognizable Philadelphia Museum of Art (think of the steps in Rocky III) all the way past the Free Library and the science museums.

You can tell that the city was prosperous at the turn of the 20th century by the impressive art nouveau and art deco architecture that weaves its way through the downtown. My personal favourite period, these early skyscrapers are really something to behold.

In a nutshell, we drove down yesterday from the cottage. April was an absolute star, and the 6 1/2 hour drive wasn’t bad at all. We got in around 10:30pm, when April woke up and proceeded to whirl around the room like a little dervish, waving her hands and rushing back and forth, especially excited by the toilet (into which she recently discovered one can throw things).

This morning, we walked to the Museum district in the sweltering heat. It was already 30 degrees when we arrived at the Rodin Museum around 11am. Fortunately, it was air conditioned. Absolutely incredible. I’ve never seen so many of his works in one place. Our day continued to be blissful when, after lunch, we continued on the the Philadelphia Museum of Art, where they currently have a Renoir Exhibit. Above all things, Renoir believed that art was meant to be beautiful. There is something about his paintings that simply uplifts the soul. Plus, looking at them with a couple of pints of beer in you can enhance ones appreciation and make carrying a sleeping baby for two hours much less gruelling.

After Renoir, we wandered around the general collection which is dumbfounding. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would see so many famous modern paintings as I saw today. April thoroughly enjoyed herself too, making friends with the security guards in just about every room.

After a quick break back at the hotel, we headed to Chinatown for dinner at Sang Kee Peking Duck House. Yum!

I am so glad to be on a little holiday with my parents. How awesome is going to a city you’ve never visited, looking at incredible art and eating delicious food? Thank you parentals!

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Dreams

It’s baking hot outside. Laundry flapping in the breeze and April sleeping, I have a few moments to jot down a daydream.

It’s the summertime. Josh is behind the polished oak counter in jeans, a light blue plaid button-down and a tell-tale black apron. I can hear snippets of his conversation, “grown from seed…much greater yield.”   I am tucked in a back corner, away from the chatter and bustle.  My corner. From here I watch the world go by. I sit and read and while away hours writing, occasionally hopping into action when there’s an unexpected rush.

I let my eyes run across the honey-coloured floor-boards. A wedge of luminescent gold draws my eyes up to the window, through which I can see April, squatting on the soft blanket of grass, gently scolding her morose chimpanzee, Mr Snuggles.  She sits on a blanket at the edge of the vegetable garden: neat squares of tomato, eggplant, radish, arugula, kale. Marigolds and petunias brightly punctuate the grid while sweet peas climb behind them, twirling and weaving in colourful divertissements with the morning glories all along the fence.

Hours of sweat and toil have brought together a private haven in this space.  A thicket of flowers, unruly and rambunctious, look ready to pounce upon the civilised world of the vegetable garden across the sea of lawn. A big wooden deck, built with our own hands, houses half a dozen tables of various shapes and sizes. It is too early today for anyone to be here, but soon the chairs will house comfortable bottoms and the clink of coffee cups and cutlery will accompany the constant tinkle of the wind chimes at the back door.

This is our place.  A neighbourhood we are a part of. A sense of belonging. It is a home we can return to after each new adventure. It is where I have watched Josh’s talent bloom, and grow confident and strong as the tall tomato plants along the fence. His love for the ingredients gives flavour to his food. Neighbours, many now friends, flock to taste his delicious peasant-inspired dishes. Surprising in simplicity yet overwhelmingly delectable. Nothing can be more satisfying to watch than that look one someone’s face when they have just tasted heaven.

And so here I sit. Summer holidays give the kids free-run of the yard in these early hours before people are hungry and out of their homes. For now I am free to write and observe, to sip nettles from my very own cup, and drink in the love and joy of feeling that yes, this is what I had hoped for.

Doing

I’m tired.

Although life is wonderful, today was sunny, and I got to spend time with my lovely friends, sometimes I just wish I could catch up on my sleep. I also wish that the laundry wouldn’t be an insurmountable task and that the house would just stay clean for one day. I suppose those probably sound like the wishes of any housewife. Weird. I suppose that for the next few months, I am a housewife. Although I guess really I’m an apartment-partner.

April is asleep and Josh is working one of his colossally long days. He left this morning around 5:45am and is still working at 9pm. I doubt he’ll be done before 11, and then most likely won’t be home before midnight. Poor boy. Apparently after 17 hours of wakefulness you are as impaired as if you had a .05% blood alcohol level (the legal amount, in many places, for drunk driving). I’m pretty sure he’s going to be just wrecked.

We’re slowly but surely getting things under control here. Although there are still numerous unpacked boxes and we aren’t really using April’s room or my study yet, each day we get a little done, whether it’s just keeping up with the dishes, or actually unpacking more bags, cleaning the disgusting nicotine film off the walls and ceiling, or setting up bookshelves and hanging curtains. Josh pointed out to me that the boxes aren’t going anywhere and that I’d be better off enjoying myself than stressing about clearing them out. How right he is. We are also waiting on Sammy for her furniture, so until the end of the month, when we will actually have all of the elements of our home, I’m just going to take it one day at a time. Who cares if I do anything today or not? We’re the ones living here, after all.

I wish I were more inspired to write at the moment, but the exhaustion and other preoccupations seem to be keeping me from it. I hate postponing things, but soon I will get my life organized well enough that in the evenings, once April is asleep, I will feel motivated to start weaving together the story of our adventure in a thoroughly enjoyable way. Another thing I still have to figure out. How exactly am I going to structure my book?

…and we’re home.

I am sitting in our new apartment. Finally. I apologise for the great hiatus. Life got all busy, and what with going to Toronto and the cottage and then staying with friends and writing an article about the Thai conflict, my blogging sort of fell by the wayside. I am sorry. I may happen again.

We just got brand spanking new appliances. I am sitting here in my apartment which is quiet but for the hum of the new fridge. It’s the first time either Josh or I have bought such large and grown up things. It’s kind of odd to tell you the truth.

Objects from past lives surround me. My red Ikea clock, which is actually a little cupboard, and in which I have stashed my illicit bits ‘n bobs for years. My old Royal typewriter, which April decided was a fun toy, which it was until she discovered the ink. Black and red smears on her hands and mouth. Silly, grinning, ink-eating monkey.

Josh is at work. Hopefully it won’t be too late a night. I bought a bus pass and a hundred bucks worth of groceries. I have no idea how we’re going to fit things into the cupboards here. It looked like there was a lot of space, but somehow, trying to fit everything in, there doesn’t seem to be. I just remembered that I need to leave room somewhere for food. I think that possibly my idea of getting a buffet might be a good one.

So yeah, life starts again. I’m really excited. We have a sweet new spot. It’s close to good friends, close to town. We can still get our groceries delivered from PA. April has her own room, although she is currently sleeping on our bed. And I have an office. My very own office.

Ahh.

I should have bought some more beer.

Family traits

My dad has a white plastic calendar that has existed in my home ever since I can remember. It’s about a foot and a half long with the days of the week and the months of the year running down the left-hand side, and the numbers from 1 to 31 down the right. You move little tabs up and down to change the date — the left column in green, the right in neon orange. It has always amazed me how often I come home and see it set on the correct date. This is just one of those things about my dad. He really enjoys creating order in his life.

As I get older, I begin to realise how particular my parents are about certain things, and also, how many things that I take for granted as “normal” which are truly unique to my little clan.

My mother is a pack rat and my father is a neat freak. This might sound like a disastrous combination, but over the years, my parents have managed to strike what appears to be a harmonious balance. While my mom cannot throw things away (she still has the old kettle up in the cupboard although they bought a new one about a year ago, and don’t even get me started on the food on the shelves of her pantry), she is a fastidious cleaner and cannot stand dirt. My dad, on the other hand, would throw everything away given the opportunity, but may not notice the dust lurking around the back of the toilet in “his” bathroom.

As a child, my dad would threaten us with garbage bags if we didn’t clean up our stuff. I do remember one occasion when he actually followed through on this and “threw away” all of our toys that were strewn about (he actually just banished them to the garage until further notice). He must have relaxed a bit when we were teenagers, however, as I distinctly remember mushrooms sprouting on the floor of my brother’s room when he was about 15. Now that’s a whole other level of filth.

My mother’s hoarding ways are inherited. My grandmother never threw away a piece of string. Her house was a magical place, filled with off-cuts of material, broken flower pots, and little pieces of metal that came from who-knows-what. As a small child, I remember going through the drawers in her kitchen, marvelling at the handfuls of old-fashioned keys, semi-precious stones, buttons, thimbles, coins and other bits and bobs that managed to congregate in these seemingly bottomless spaces. Nana was a daughter of the war era, and the eldest child in a large family that lost their father when she was only sixteen. I can only imagine what it was like to take on the responsibility of a household of five girls at that age. Perhaps genuine need was the cause of her stashing. Or perhaps it was inherited from some other relative, stories of whom died with my grandmother.

Nana genuinely did put her found trinkets to use. She was one of the most creative and crafty people I have ever met. She painted and sewed, made wedding dresses and costumes for the ballet school recitals. She would go through her drawers and make charm bracelets from the stones and other little bits of jewellery that her magpie eyes had found somewhere lost or discarded. Yet, like my mum, she kept her house clean, if not tidy. Most of the junk was hidden from sight, in drawers or else in her sewing room, which was the greatest treasure trove of them all.

My mom had a fridge magnet for years that said “Clean enough to be healthy. Messy enough to be happy.” I think that’s a good motto for any homemaker to live by.

I too, have inherited the hoarder gene. It is only now, upon returning from our trip, that I realise just how much  stuff I have that I don’t even like. Clothing I bought as a teenager and may have worn three times in the past decade. But I remember when I bought it. I can’t just throw away! Or can I? We are moving into our first real home as a family. We will have two bedrooms and an office for me. I was the one who stayed in Montreal after graduating, and as a result have amassed an incredible collection of furniture and other bits and pieces from friends, roommates, even from walking down the street at night on moving day. I am an expert at getting furniture and furnishings for free.

All of a sudden, I have realised that I don’t need all of this stuff. I appreciate the hand-me-downs. I think, however, that I am now enough of a grown up to discard the items I accumulated due to my hoarding ways and desire to keep things until I might use them. We can either do without, or find replacements when the time comes. I make a promise to myself and to Josh. I will fight my nature on this. In our new home, I will not accumulate unnecessary junk. I will purge my life of useless artifacts, keeping only the most meaningful tokens. There are other people out there who need these things more than me. We are not poor.

Three wishes

1) To write a book about our adventure and have it glowingly and enthusiastically received by all  (with a movie starring Carey Mulligan and Benicio del Toro to follow shortly thereafter).

2) For Josh to start his restaurant in a beautiful building that we buy in _________ (insert neighbourhood), where we will live upstairs until we get restless and take off travelling again, leaving our restaurant in the capable hands of our staff, and renting the apartment to cover our living expenses in our exotic new abode.

3) For everything to come together in the next couple of years so that I don’t have to send April to daycare, still have time to write, and we make enough money to pay off our debt and have enough left over for Josh to buy a sailboat, even after we’ve bought the building mentioned in wish #2.

Okay, universe?

On being home

I had a little meltdown yesterday. I always seem to forget that returning home after a big trip can be far more stressful than anything encountered in the great unknown. It seems strange, after all of the challenges on the road, that things like doing taxes and paying rent can cause extreme anxiety, but there you are: they do.

I don’t want to send April to daycare. I don’t know why I am letting this get to me. Since the lady at the employment office insisted that I have to send her to daycare and treated me like I’m crazy when I said that I think she’s too young, I keep on thinking that maybe I should find somewhere for her to go a few days a week. After a couple of days of stressed out online searching, I have come to the conclusion that once we move, something will come up. There is no need to worry about it.

Josh has gone back to work today. I hope that it was a good day and not the horrid transition he faced when he returned to work after the ten-day meditation retreat. Nothing like some extremely awful videos on youtube to shatter one’s equilibrium.

I am still feeling edgy. I have realised that there are a lot of things that I want and need that I haven’t been doing for myself. I really want to get back to yoga. I have started meditating again, which is a big step. Writing every day is another thing that I haven’t been prioritizing since we got back to the cottage, yet a requirement for my sanity. Once I reinstate these necessities, hopefully everything will slide back into place.

Sleep, exercise and good food are the three ingredients for a happy life. I think it’s time for me to focus a little more on all three of them.

Settling down

We’re back in Montreal, and after a hectic weekend of packing and moving all of our possessions into storage, we are happily staying with some friends. I am exhausted. I can’t believe we’re back here already. I can’t believe that life is back to… normal?

It isn’t, to be honest. We’re homeless for the month of May, having decided to give up our apartment in favour of saving a little money. We have found ourselves the perfect home. I cannot wait to move in. Hopefully, once we establish ourselves somewhere, April’s sleep issues will get sorted out. It’s wearing me down, to be perfectly honest. She’s an absolute delight during the days, and a total wreck at night. Poor monkey.

The apartment is a three-bedroom in Point St-Charles. The third bedroom will be my office, much to my delight. My plans to write a book about our adventures continue to bubble and simmer. I have been trying to find a way to get some money to continue being a mommy, while writing, and learned that I may be eligible for some more money from the government. Thank you Canada for giving me the opportunity to pursue my writing career.

I am, alas, too tired to write more. Soon.

Good night world. Thank you for being so good to us.

A year older

Drivin’ through Indiana. It’s a pretty day — not as gorgeous and clear as yesterday, but good driving weather nonetheless.

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 27. It’s pretty awesome.

The past two years have been the best I can remember. I’m sure that the best years of my life took place before age six, but I don’t remember them clearly enough to judge. As a grown up, twenty-five and twenty-six have been pretty spectacular. I look forward to meeting twenty-seven.

We decided to just take our time getting back. There’s no sense in going flat out for the last few days and not enjoying ourselves. Yes, we need to get back to Montreal to pack up the remains of our possessions and get Josh back to work, but that isn’t ’til Monday. We will still have the weekend to enjoy ourselves in Great Valley.

We drove through the beautiful state of Wis-caaaaan-son yesterday. After an obscenely large “hungry man’s” breakfast, we set off in the sunshine. We were heading for Edgerton, a town near Madison where our buddy Keith, who we had met in Texas, lives. He would be working until about 4:30, so we took our time, stopping for a break at a rest stop, where we discovered that April loves creamsicles. Both Josh and I are reading really good books, so we sat in the sun, reading and taking turns playing with the munchkin. We eventually got on the road again, stopping in a pretty little town called Baraboo, where we got a load of diapers done as the cookie napped. More reading. I decidedly relaxing way to spend the first day of my twenty-seventh year. Hopefully this is an indication of things to come.

We got to Keith’s parents’ place around 5:15. They live outside the town on sixty acres of land. If you remember the book, the Big Red Barn, from childhood, that’s what it looks like. Bright green grassy fields. Yellow-green, brand new leaves on the trees. Freshly plowed fields, ready for planting. The only difference between the barn of the story and the one belonging to the McGarrys is that theirs houses boats and not animals. Josh and Keith got rather excited visiting the boats, which Keith has aptly named Ladyfriend and Ladyfriend 2. While I returned inside to check on April, who was being watched by Keith’s mum, the boys went and sat in Ladyfriend 2. Apparently this is where Keith is sleeping at the moment. I wouldn’t be surprised one day to find Josh doing the same — sleeping in a newly purchased sail boat in the driveway. Oh, boys.

We didn’t tell them that it was my birthday. That would have just been weird. So I had a delightful day, in wonderful company who had no idea I had just become a year older. Officially, that is.

Full circle

We’re back at the cottage. After an epic day of driving yesterday, through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania and into New York, we arrived at the strike of midnight to a joyous an welcoming family.

It’s great and also odd to be back.

I love my family. My pops managed to stay awake until shortly after we arrived, and my mom, still jet-lagged from her recent arrival from Europe (she was one of the millions of people who got stuck as a result of the volcano in Iceland. I can think of worse places than Amsterdam to have to hang out for a few days) stayed up for a couple of hours with us, periodically pulling out gifts from her trip to South Africa, and playing with her long lost grand-baby.  April clearly remembers her grandma and was full of beans in no time, despite the late hour. She had already slept for about five hours by this time. After all of the excitement of getting back,  it took a little while for her to wind down. Lucky me.

So we’re back. A weekend at the cottage doing nothing but hanging out (and drinking bubbly with mama) will be proceeded by a return trip to Montreal. It’s kind of surreal that it’s all over, but here we are: back in familiar territory.

I can’t believe how much we’ve done in the last four months. The time has zipped by, but then if I think of the different legs of the trip, each seems epic on its own. The drive through the States: visiting Peter in Virginia, Adrienne in Tennessee, spending an amazing weekend in New Orleans, a whole week in Lake Charles and then on to Texas: Austin in the rain and a blissful few days on Padre Island.

The border crossing into Mexico. The stress of the first days, after getting a “speeding” ticket from a shady cop which, going in the only possible direction it could, forced the Mexico trip to get better and better as days passed. The mountain drive toward the Pacific coast. Long days on the beach in Teacapan. Monstrous shrimp and the best pastries ever tasted. Our friendly Canadian neighbours, now adoptive grandparents to April. We will definitely try to make it back again next winter.

Back into the States, we headed for the San Diego Zoo. We then spent one of the best weeks of the whole trip with Sammy in Venice Beach. Talk about candy coating L.A. Up to Santa Barbara for the babies’ birthdays. San Francisco, the beautiful California coast. Oregon in the mist and hail. Seattle shitting on us. Finally, across the border to Vancouver. Hello Canada! Family time with the Fiddlers and cherry-blossoming days in Western Canada.

The final leg: from Vancouver to Calgary, Calgary to Regina. Little boys: Trafford, Myles and Henry. Beautiful spring sunshiny days. Driving, driving, driving. Rockies to prairies, to greenly grassy and budding forests. My birthday in North Dakota, warm hospitality and finally, our arrival back in Great Valley, New York. Full circle. Whew.

I don’t think I’ve quite had enough time for it to all compute.

All I can say is that living life to the fullest is the only way. Even though we’re back to real life a.k.a. staying in one place, I have no intention to let things become boring in any way.

What’s next? The drive to Montreal, packing up the apartment, finding a new home, applying for Jeunes Volontaires to get some money to write my travel-with-baby book and then…?

I think that a week or two into the future is just about as far as I want to go.