Vacation : Day 1 – 6 (Canada)

Vacation, I’m on vacation. Well actually I’m home. And it’s not really vacation but it is Christmas so at least I get presents. This is my first christmas back in Edmonton in 5 years and unfortunately the busiest! After my delayed flight from London, I had already logged 17 hours of travel time (including the delay in Chicago which is where I had a veggie burger beside a sound technician from the Blue Man Group).

My first day home, after my first taste of potato and onion perogies in 12 months, we packed up shop and headed 2.5 hours south to Olds to spend Christmas day with my Step-Dad’s family. Not only did we stay in a flashy motel…




But we also had a big ol’ family sing-a-long (and they let me try my hand at the guitar…I found out I am not so good at it after having my wine glass topped up the entire night). The next day we went back on the road and made it back to Edmonton in one piece (yay!) and then headed out almost immediately to Sherwood Park for Boxing Day with the Urness’s (my mom’s side) which is another 45 minute drive each way. Day 4 in the race across Alberta, my sis and I heading south again but this time to Rimby, the pokey little town my Grandma and Grandpa live in. Not only did we get a lovely visit but we got snow and lots of it. Just what you want to have when you have to drive 1.5 hours back on a secondary highway. After a little help from our dad (who was an expert at scraping off the car)…



we headed home at 60 kph and passed many a car in the ditch. The days that followed included meeting babies, visiting my aunt, shopping for a cool new camera just like my sister’s and eating carbs. Being on the road so much is not a great thing for anti-vegan Alberta. I never want to eat crisps again!

Hours travelled (Day 1-6): 26.5
Perogies eaten : 40 +
Relatives visited : Too many :)

Review of Ditch Digger

DITCH DIGGER By Nathan Osgood
Arcola Theatre, 27 Arcola St, London, E8 2DJ

A man sticks out his thumb in the Mojave Desert attempting a hitch off an 18 wheeler truck. He squints into the bright headlights as it rumbles past, leaving him bathed in the red glow of taillights. No, we’re not in the middle of an American highway but in the Arcola’s studio space where the claustrophobic meets the open road in Nathan Osgood’s Ditch Digger.

Written, co-directed and staring Nathan Osgood as Frank, Ditch Digger is based on the story of his own life on the road and has recently been made into a short film, which may account for the filmic nature of the play. Filled with poignant moments, it’s a great two-hander reminiscent of Waiting for Godot except the person Frank is fighting with is ultimately himself. Sprinkled throughout are gems of dialogue which allow the actors to relax in the moment : Ashley (played by Stuart Mackie) reminiscing over the time he stole a whole side of beef or Frank laughing over the blind faith of mid-west religion.

With a set consisting of a narrow painted highway on the floor and the desert horizon expanding across the back wall (complete with wisps of afternoon clouds), the space is magically transformed into a wide landscape. This feeling does battle with the inherent claustrophobic nature of the studio space which helps to further emphasize the relationship between the characters and adds to the intimacy of the play. Most impressive, was the lighting design by David Rafique. He made us believe the night of the desert, the by-passing trucks, a mushroom trip and the lonely night time trips travelled by the light of a dashboard. And with this, allowed Ditch Digger to transport us to another land and we were given, for just a moment, a glimpse into the soul of a travelling man.

Going Home

One spring, in between one job ending and the other beginning, there’s a chance to go home. My sister’s up for an award and my brother has a birthday planned. I have no excuses not to go so before I know it, the travel agency is giving me a printed itinerary and they wish me a happy trip. As the plane leaves the terminal at Heathrow, I almost cry, my head leaning on the window to watch the gentle roll of green, the thatched cottages and the tiny estates surrounding each house as the world fades into clouds. England is where my life is and though my return ticket is nestled in my bag, it feels like I am never coming back. By going home, I’m regressing and will somehow lose the worldliness I’ve gained.

It’s not until 8 hours later when the clouds part and I can see the patchwork fields that spread to the horizon, that I realize I’ve missed the place I never thought I would. It’s like I’d been eating sugar for the entire journey, I’m so excited. I float through customs with a smile on my face passed squalling babies, a Japanese couple with cowboy hats and matching cameras and the British family who looks a little bit lost – like the English they’re hearing here is foreign to them. At the gate, my family stands with flowers. A pair of friends tagged along – a group of faces that have been photographs in my drawer for the past 4 years. It’s like they all see me at once and start to run – my brother throws himself at me as the others crowd around. The smell of my mom’s shampoo embraces me, the kind I get for myself when I’m homesick.

In the car, the radio blasts familiar sounds that I’m hearing for the first time. The DJ a thick Canadian sort, far removed from the BBC ones I’ve grown used to. The roads are straight and wide, and I’m transported back to being a kid. It’s all I can do to stop myself from jumping in my seat, my stomach gurgling to my throat in anticipation. I point out the window. There’s the car lot my friend’s dad owns. It’s where we borrowed a Lincoln from to go to grad in style in, a luxury of all leather interior with seats that warmed themselves. We had ummed and ahhed over that selection but were ecstatic with our choice when it snowed that May, the day before the big celebrations. Our grad dresses were merely flimsy, frilly glamour, sleeveless, cleavage revealers that we would never had dreamed of wearing before that day.

Over the next hill, and it’s the same. More flat, the fences spreading across the landscape like transparent Berlin walls. The trapped cows stared at us wide eyed as they chew and the smell of manure begins to permeate the car. We beg our dad to roll up the windows. Who cares about the warm breeze of prairie spring flooding the car when it comes with an odd spot of cow.

The face of the highway is different. As we approach Edmonton, I notice the sign welcoming us to this great city has been modified. For the whole of my existence, we have been known as the city of champions. This was the city Gretzky became great in as he led the Oilers to win multiple Stanley cups in the eighties. But. As we haven’t won anything in a long time, I understand why we had to add a little something else to the signage. We became the winner of the Cities in Bloom competition. I didn’t understand how we could have won such a prestigious award until my mom pointed out the big blue tubs half filled with marigolds and weedy flowers that littered the sides of the road. The moral must be: if you can’t get a name based on the talent of the city, then find a title you could have and stick some money in it. Works every time.

Travelling back home, I realize the ride into a place gives you a sense of its character, its growth and its change. Even after being deemed a city in bloom and advertising it, it seems that the garden centre that sat just off the highway has disappeared. Even thirty years of regular customers can’t stop progress when the city council decides a ring road is more important than a plant store. For me, it was a marker for a turn off down to Ellerslie Road that housed a school and rows of baseball diamonds. That is where I spent my summers 2 times in the week and once on Sundays with families who treated beer and baseball as a religion.

The truck stop we used to go to for twenty four hour breakfasts is now gone and bulldozed flat and instead of space flanking our highways, the wide tracks of land just outside the city have been cemented over. Slowly our many malls are being replaced by consumer office parks that are filled with warehouse sized outlet stores you have to drive between. It’s actually parking lots as far as the eye can see.

After getting my fill of the new Starbucks and Kenny Rodgers Chicken chains, it’s home. My parents house. For the first day or so, it’s overwhelming. We plan BBQs and coffees and members of my family come over in flocks. They pick me apart for clues of my new existence – what’s England like, why do you talk funny, do you like it there. The most dreaded question I continually deflect is – when are you moving home? It’s the hardest one to find an answer to.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

SCHOOOOOOOOOLLLLL

Yes. I did it. I took the plunge and I’ve gone back to school. An MA in fact. I’m currently afraid - well that excited afraid like wow all these cool new people who can maybe be my new friends but wait, in order to be in their company week in and week out, I’ll have to actually do work in an acedemic matter. Now, you may be thinking I did badly in school or am afraid of it, but that actually isn’t the case. I got honours in school and frankly I was bored most of the time. I need entertainment people not chalkboards.

So the first day was Monday and i’m thinking, damn I’m going to be bored here. Heather, I say, Heather - keep an open mind and everthing will work out. So I go to class again today and presto! It’s awesome. Of course I haven’t done any work yet but we got to know everyone more and my classmates actually seem really down to earth. I still got nervous motor mouth myself when I’m chatting one to one so I don’t know what they think of me but thank god for the rest! Let’s see what happens next week shall we?

New nails!!!

It’s an exciting time folks. I’ve got something to share with you - something I’ve never ever said in my whole life…I’ve GOT NEW NAILS! Something you may or may not know about me is that I have a chronic problem. I’m a nail biter. It’s a fact. One I am ashamed of but I’ve always found it impossible to stop. When you’ve been doing something since you were a baby (that’s right, I’ve not only chewed them but gummed them as well), it’s darn hard to stop.

Sooooo a friend of a friend suggested fake nails - she tried them and it seemed to work. I was slightly doubtful but now it’s been a week and I gots bea-ut-iful nails. Now I love them but it’s weird to have nails when you’ve never had them before. Even washing my hair is bizarre - I’m managing though. And those nails, they hopefully will be for life. Or at least until my regular ones grow back.

Review of Eden’s Empire

Review of Eden’s Empire by James Graham
Finborough Theatre, 8 - 30 September, 2006

Branded as a political thriller, I expected more thrills and less of a history lesson in over 2 1/2 hours of dense theatre. Recipient of the Pearson Playwright’s Scheme, James Graham created Eden’s Empire as homage to the least successful Prime Minister in the history of Britain, Anthony Eden. Beginning at the end of World War II, this play shows him as a superb foreign minister living under Churchill’s shadow for 10 years until Eden finally has a chance and takes the reigns as Prime Minister. Here begins his downfall from successful politician to laudable fool as he pushes Britain into the Suez crisis.

All in all, the production values of Eden’s Empire were superb : fine acting, top directing, beautiful set : but I find issue with the structure of the play itself. While scene by scene the dialogue worked to drive the story and other than the character of Eden’s wife, Clarissa Eden (unfortunately), all the main characters were well developed, I would ask the playwright : what story do you want to tell? Instead of witnessing a hard hitting play, the audience was given over 10 years of British politics played out on stage. This made for a long and slightly dry evening as eventually my brain shut off to the barrage of facts, dates, times and people that wove through this part of time. Granted Graham did use the political undertones of the 50s to parallel the going-ons in number 10 today, they were too far between to be effective and a few times were over played in order to give a bit of a nudge nudge wink wink to the audience.

If the playwright cut to the core of the piece and chose one element of the story i.e. living under Churchill’s shadow or the clash of politics with Eden’s domestic life or even the Suez crisis itself, I think I would’ve got the political thriller I was promised. Though I did walk out knowing more about Eden then I ever thought possible, I think I’d rather leave his epic journey to another BBC mini-series and save myself the price of a ticket.

Mirror memory

She could’ve been a hooker once.

Waiting for the night bus, Molly notices a girl searching the street for another pair of paying eyes or that car that slows down for her legs alone. It reminds Molly of that night in a club, her barely out of school, when a guy led her to the toilets. Only when he unzipped his trousers and handed her a twenty did she realize what he thought she was. With a quick knee, she floored him and ran out of the club, the money snug in her bra.

But now, in the middle of the night, Molly thinks how easy it could be to go back there - the suit with his long look, the chav who pushed his cock hard into her back. Which one would’ve slipped her a bit of cash for her bit? The amount of of times she gave it for free, she’d be worth millions.

The girl looks up to catch Molly staring just as a car stops and distracts them both. Sleezy R&B pumps out to accompany gold teeth and a row of rings as they lean out the window. The girl leans in to giggle & primp and Molly watches money exchange hands, the girl’s skirt hiking to her pantyline as her long legs settle in the front seat.

A bus pulls in behind, honks for it’s red boxed space and the car speeds away. With it goes Molly’s imagined life as she pays her fare and settles in the back. Looking around she picks out her potential marks, her johns and knows she’d rather just doze her way home to her husband.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

Thoughts

Briefcase in his hand,
he remembers days outside
kicking backyard balls

Wheels spin into space,
he thinks about his future -
collars choking him

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poetry by Heather Taylor

Top 100 movies (according to someone…)

These are the top 100 movies according to imdb.com. I have taken time to bold the ones I have seen…it’s actually sad how few “good” movies I’ve seen. Though I don’t know if some of those on the list would really make a lot of people’s top 100…tee hee.

1. The Godfather (1972)
2. The Shawshank Redemption (1994)
3. The Godfather: Part II (1974)
4. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003)
5. Casablanca (1942)
6. Shichinin no samurai (1954)
7. Schindler’s List (1993)
8. Buono, il brutto, il cattivo, Il (1966)
9. Pulp Fiction (1994)
10. Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back (1980)
11. Star Wars (1977)
12. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975)
13. Rear Window (1954)
14. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)
15. 12 Angry Men (1957)
16. The Usual Suspects (1995)
17. Cidade de Deus (2002)
18. Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
19. Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)
20. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002)
21. Citizen Kane (1941)
22. Psycho (1960)
23. Goodfellas (1990)
24. C’era una volta il West (1968)
25. Memento (2000)
26. North by Northwest (1959)
27. The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
28. Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
29. Fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain, Le (2001)
30. Sunset Blvd. (1950)
31. It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)
32. Fight Club (1999)
33. American Beauty (1999)
34. The Matrix (1999)
35. Vertigo (1958)
36. Taxi Driver (1976)
37. Apocalypse Now (1979)
38. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)
39. Paths of Glory (1957)
40. To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
41. Untergang, Der (2004)
42. Se7en (1995)
43. Léon (1994)
44. Chinatown (1974)
45. The Third Man (1949)
46. American History X (1998)
47. The Pianist (2002)
48. Sen to Chihiro no kamikakushi (2001)
49. Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)
50. Boot, Das (1981)
51. Hotel Rwanda (2004)
52. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948)
53. The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)
54. Requiem for a Dream (2000)
55. M (1931)
56. L.A. Confidential (1997)
57. The Maltese Falcon (1941)
58. Alien (1979)
59. A Clockwork Orange (1971)
60. Metropolis (1927)
61. Reservoir Dogs (1992)
62. Rashômon (1950)
63. Sin City (2005) (yuck…I hated it)
64. Saving Private Ryan (1998)
65. The Shining (1980)
66. Double Indemnity (1944)
67. Modern Times (1936)
68. Singin’ in the Rain (1952)
69. Raging Bull (1980)
70. The Manchurian Candidate (1962)
71. Million Dollar Baby (2004)
72. All About Eve (1950)
73. Some Like It Hot (1959)
74. Aliens (1986)
75. Rebecca (1940)
76. The Great Escape (1963)
77. Vita è bella, La (1997)
78. Touch of Evil (1958)
79. Amadeus (1984)
80. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
81. The Sting (1973)
82. Batman Begins (2005)
83. Jaws (1975)
84. Strangers on a Train (1951)
85. On the Waterfront (1954)
86. The Incredibles (2004)
87. Forrest Gump (1994)
88. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)
89. Kill Bill: Vol. 1 (2003)
90. The Wizard of Oz (1939)
91. City Lights (1931)
92. The Apartment (1960)
93. Sjunde inseglet, Det (1957)
94. Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)
95. Braveheart (1995)
96. Crash (2004/I)
97. Nuovo cinema Paradiso (1989)
98. Ran (1985)
99. Blade Runner (1982)
100. Donnie Darko (2001)

Take care of your feet

Those of you bothered by feet, look away now…

You may wonder why I said this. I said this as I have some giant sore on the bottom of my foot. How did it get there? I don’t know! All I know is that it all swelled up and made it almost impossible to walk through Carnival today. And my first visit there and everything. I mean I drank out of a coconut with a straw. It tasted so good. No. Actually it tasted like water slightly flavoured with coconut. Drinking it, I thought to myself that I could indeed get used to sitting on a beach somewhere drinking out of coconuts.

Now coconuts have nothing to do with feet but I wanted to mention it as it was a momentous occasion compared to now. Now being me sitting on my couch watching old movies as I can’t put on my shoes. I got all dressed up and all shoes in my house, that I own, press against the giant sore on the very bottom of my foot. Needless to say, I can not leave my house without shoes. I live in London. I wouldn’t even go without shoes on in Edmonton. So. So. I can’t go out. I am doomed to the couch. I hope it’s better by tomorrow.

If you don’t like feet, you can look back now. And just remember to take care of yourself. Feet are great when you can walk on them. They are not so good when you can’t…

To ugly naked man

Dear ugly naked man,

I saw you for the first time last night. At first you were in your boxers and I saw you over my flatmate’s shoulder and I said “hm. There is a man only in his boxers standing in front of his window.” and she said “Oh. That is ugly naked man. I haven’t seen him since January, I thought he had moved.” I thought, hey - it’s just like Friends, how funny is that and really, he’s not too bad. He’s in his underwear.

At that point you proved me wrong. Oh how you proved my wrong. You stepped to the side of your window and with a quick flash, you were naked and standing proudly back in front of the window. Completely naked. You made me scream like a little girl AND made me seem like a prude. I even hid in the bathroom for a second to gather myself. When I completely wiped the shock from my face, I came back out and you were still there. AND reading a book. Standing up, naked, reading a thin hard back book, and looking at us out of the corner of your eye. My life will never be the same again. I saw your penis.

Blinded by the sight,
You slightly squimish back-yard neighbour.

Nice Guys (Girls) finish last?

A little somthin’ somthin’ about Nice Girls and Nice Guys…it’s got the truth in there. Word.

http://ovenjay.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!E51F274A567CE769!211.entry

Things I learned from my ex(es) : part deux

Alert! Alert! Sister special! As it is her last night in town for a while (though I am trying to get her to move here), we thought we’d combine forces for another edition of Things I learned from my ex (es) *ENTER THEME MUSIC HERE*

1) Just because you are dating, doesn’t mean he has any dress sense. If you want to wear a green dress, then go for it. If he can’t handle it, then he’s too weak for you bab-ee!
2) Wet towels + floor + unlimited time = dirty dirty dirty. Where’s Kim and Aggie when you really need them?
3) Boys are just boys and girls are just girls. It’s ok to recognize the difference.
4) Planning events in advance is normal. Especially when you have to get Radiohead tickets that’ll sell out in 3 minutes upon their release.
5) Listening to someone pee when you are on the phone is not kosher. If you ask nicely in advance to the peeing, then that may be alright but just because you are sleeping together doesn’t mean they want to hear EVERYTHING you do.
6) Close the door when you poo. It’s the right thing to do.
7) Me and my toothbrush like to be alone when I’m brushing my teeth. I hate watching people spit and I hate it when people watch me. It’s called privacy people!
8) Video games are for recreation. That doesn’t mean cancelling plans to stay in to get to the end of Tomb Raider after playing for 48 hours. It may be good for some - but they probably don’t go out much.
9) Asparagus makes pee smell. And not like roses.
10) Refried beans and salsa are tasty together. Yum yum yum.
11) The easiest way to get refried beans out of a can is to use the can opener on the bottom and then flip it over and open the easy open top. It just slides right out!
12) Too much beans and salsa makes your tummy hurt. And makes for a number of long hours in the bathroom. With the door closed, of course.
13) Getting angry at the TV doesn’t make it work. Same goes for VCRs, DVD players and stereos. Some may say the same about computers but mine likes a little back talk.
14) Never slow dance to “I’ll do anything for love” by Meatloaf when you have to pee as it is the longest song ever. This especially goes for those of you with small bladders.
15) You can download TV from the internet! It’s like gifts from God. In television form.
16) Some guys don’t read labels so if you want to keep your new wool sweater safe from becoming doll sized, then keep it well hidden.
17) Don’t expect to get a replacement if it is shrunk. Accidents happen right?
18) Coffee is God. No one should come between you and your coffee or they must prepare to die. Accidents happen, right?
19) Fans are great at blocking out noise AND putting you to sleep. I love fan.
20) Sometimes you just need to have those laugh till you pee, falling down escalator moments. Nothing beats in-jokes at a boring party.

So that concludes our latest edition. My sister has finished another bottle of wine on her own so hopefully I’ve translated her mumbling correctly. I’m glad she can no longer read at this point or she’d kick my ass.

Desolete

Yes, that’s right. It’s that time. Sniff sniff. No…we’re not doing an eight ball - that’s too eighties - we’re crying in our wine/ beer/ diet coke because Sarah is returning to Edmonton. Soon she will leave the mullets of London (stylishly ironic) to the mullets of Alberta (hereditary) and go back to the bosom of our family and her cat who has been crying for her everyday at 7 pm when she normally came home from work. That’s the cat who’s crying, not our family. I’m not sure if they noticed she was gone. True story (but we/ she’s ok with it). So as I’ve been meaning to do it for a while, it is time for another “Things I learned from my ex” - special sister edition.

RADIOHEAD!!

Heather sez : Where is Mr. Thom Yorke from the band called Radiohead”	Sarah sez : "I don’t know, but I sure am excited"

So some of you may or may not know that there is a little festival known as V Festival. It is sponsored by Virgin so think big corporate festival BUT there are actually good bands. By good bands I mean Radiohead.

Our first look at the man himself:

Hey Look! It’s Thom! And he’s singing…just for me.

So Radiohead played for almost 2 hours. Pure bliss I say. Sarah says pure orgasmic heaven. I think that means the same thing. Highlights include: A kick-ass light/ video show, the woman who hung from the top of the lighting grid changing the lights (she got her own round of applause), and songs such as Paranoid Android and Karma Police (twice).

And here is Thom-ee boy playing with the rest of Radiohead in their crowd stomping encore preformance of Creep, the song they say they’ll never play live. Well, I guess if they’re going to play a big corporate festival then we deserve to hear the best of the best. I almost wet my pants (Sarah did…but that’s a usual occurance).

Hey You!!

This is the look you get from a Russian stage hand when you try to unassumingly take their picture. In an O’neils. At 3 am. But afterwards he told my sister “I want that picture. you send to me” That there, above? Only one interesting moment of a crazy night.

It all started uneventfully - I bought a handbag and my sister got one too and we made our way over to the Italian Kitchen (yum yum) to have dinner with the girls. Pasta eaten, wine drunk and conversations had and then I thought hey! My friend Rosa is playing a gig around the corner - how fun would it be if we went along. Only my sister and I were keen so off we went and it. was. actually around the corner. Two shops down in fact! Turns out it was a poetry night and we just missed my friend play but got to hear some crazy poetry instead. Afterwards in the bar, a few of the stragglers had us join them for a drink and a chat (yes - I said - you can make money from writing…not necessarily good writing but wahey!) and a couple of them suggested we head to O’Neils. And that’s where the true craziness began.

At the table next to ours was a group of Russians singing and drinking. Turns out we stumbled upon a troop of Russian dancers from Moscow over here dancing at the Opera House. We danced, we spoke stilted English, we sang our national anthem (not sure how that even started), and got invites to hotel suites (no! We didn’t go! What kind of girls do you think we are…). Sarah did give my phone number to one of the dancers who promised to call in seven years when he came back. How romantic. I wonder if he’ll actually call. Hmmmmm. Russian dancer boys.

Pub kicked us out at 3 and we were shown the stage door of the opera house with a promise that we’d come back at 1:45 the next day to see Swan Lake. Unfortunately, the next day, my body was rebelling against me and the wine I drank so there was no moving in my near future. The couch was my best friend. Sorry boys! Another time…

And on the 9th day…

…the tour guide said rest.

It’s late Sunday afternoon and both my Dad and sister, Sarah, are sleeping. My Dad on the couch, my sister on the bed and me - I’m on my other couch typing. We were all supposed to go see the outsiders at Somerset house at 7 but instead everyone is sleeping and we’ve lost our £13 each on unused tickets. But sleep makes arguements go away like what happened this morning between me and my sister. It happens sometimes but not the best way to convince someone that they should move to London because you want them there.

So these past 9 days have been tired ones. As Sarah and I haven’t seen each other in a year and a half, we are up until 3 everyday and then I’m up early every morning working my 2.5 jobs and trying to make sure they don’t get lost until we meet up that evening. I also forgot how many questions people ask when they don’t know a place. I should have boned up! I bet I wasn’t as good a tour guide as I thought I’d be :)

Tomorrow my dad leaves to head back to Canada which is strange as we’ve been together everyday for a week. It doesn’t feel like it though. I think it may be the longest we’ve spent together since I was 8 or maybe ever. It’s nice yet odd - you know? Especially as I’m now 28.

We’re all keeping an eye out on the airlines at the moment. Sarah’s freaking out that her very very expensive camera won’t be able to come on as a carry on as there are no carry ons allowed and my Dad is worried because he has to put expensive jewlery in his suitcase and there’s always rumours about things going missing…not that I think they will but…well…you never know. So here’s hoping they ease up a bit. I’m glad they’re diligent but it’s nice to load up your carry on so you don’t have to pay extra for your overweight suitcases.

Barbwire

Ribbons cut the sky like birthday decorations
and make a present of the atmosphere.

Lying on our backs we could be in Palastine,
Iraq or my uncle’s mid-prairie farm.

Those spikes are good for keeping out, sliding under
to play commando, though some places it’s for real

those enemies not merely trees in the distance
but blurred shapes with night vision googles

our stick guns real in someone’s hands,
their memories of childhood fading.

I like to pretend barbwire is only for cows
electric fences giving them a psychology lesson.

How can you sleep if you think it’s for children,
women with scarfs covering their faces,

dreaming of sky that goes clear to the stars
unwrapped of those reminders of war.

Photo by Becky Taylor; Poetry by Heather Taylor

Paris (not Hilton) : the Interview

Ok. I wrote a long and complicated post complete with pics about the Aran Islands and then poof. It was gone. In the meantime, I went with my sis and Dad to Paris. So this blog is a special interview edition with my sister.

Heather: So Paris. Is it really the city of lights?

Sarah: Lights, eh? At night yes, it is the city of lights. Complete with the cheesy eiffel tower light show which I missed due to the fact that I was in the queue to get to the top. But on top, the city was full of lights.

Heather: You can be funny if you want.

Sarah: Meh.

Heather: So did you like it on top?

Sarah: I always do. Was that funny?

Heather: That will do.

Sarah: I guess you can say it was a bit windy and crowded…BUT - the poor girl who was afraid of heights and made it to the top and survived. Woohoo!

Heather : Can you recall any memorable moments that stick out over the course of our 3 day trip?

Sarah : Well…the first one that sticks out is the recycled bread. It was 11 pm when we finally got to a restaurant after being denied dinner on the second floor of the eifle tower (they had the audicity of being booked! How could they? The Taylor sisters (and pops) were in town ). As we waiting for them to set the table, you (Heather that is) pointed out that there were baskets amoungst the bread in a larger basket. You insisted that there was a bite taken out of one. Everyone else couldn’t believe it until I saw the man remove the bread from the basket and then return unused bread to the basket. Yuck. Then I was sick. End of story.

Heather: Is that all that you remember from your trip?

Sarah: The Centre Pompodeau (sp?). I could go back there for 3 days to just hang out in the pink room with the red shoe. It was there and it was big. Sarah Jessica Parker’s personal wet dream.

Heather : All I know is that there is a blister on my little toe the size of Rhode Island. I would’ve said New Jersey, but that was too big - my blister’s big but it ain’t that big and I ain’t no liar.

Sarah: Eww…feet.

Heather: Weren’t you the girl I had feet fights with?

Sarah: And that is why I hate feet. Thanks. Thanks a lot!

Heather: Back to Paris. Was the Mona Lisa all that?

Sarah: I could see it’s appeal. Couldn’t get too close due to the crowd but I’m very glad I got to see it. Personally, I think the man carrying a dog in a sling on his bike edged ahead of the painting Dan Brown rode on the coat tails of. This amazing dog/man feat was followed closely by the one man accordian/ trumpet/ trombone/ singing and drums band placing the immortal smile in third of sights to see in Paris.

Heather: I personally think that the Venus de Milo was a better show then miss Lisa. With miss Venus, it’s like she breathes. But….is made of stone. Quite a feat don’t you think?

Sarah: Why yes. I agree. It made me take a big breath as you mentioned it.

Heather: Anything else you want to share with our fellow bloggers? A top ten perhaps?

Sarah: Hmmm. I’d go with -
1) Enjoy one cafe…or 10.
2) Be sure to eat a pain au chocolate twice a day.
3) Beware of the half-cooked salmon at the recycled bread restaurant. You think they got the English wrong and meant half a cooked Salmon but the other wording is more appropriate.
4) Wear shoes that aren’t flip flops or new trainers. Ouch. Double ouch.
5) See the Effiel tour at night. C’est manufique (Heather’s spelling, not mine!).
6) Look out for the tiniest lift in Paris. It was in our hotel. It also sported a curtainless shower and no water pressure. Yeehaw 2 star hotels!
7) Don’t lose your museum card, Heather. Oh wait you did. Thank goodness Dad is named Brian which easily turns into the name Brianne. Oh Brianne. I always wanted a sister named Brianne. I finally got a cheerleader for a sister.
8) If you see the 1 Euro water outside the museum, be afraid…very afraid. Once again with the recycling. Not sure where the bottles came from, but if you pay that Euro, you’d be drinking from it.
9) The cheese was very strong in Paris. Most if it came from our Dad’s brain. Master cheese maker in the flesh. We are merely his apprentices. (said in unison with Heather) Oh so much much to learn - you owe me a coke.
10) Dad’s are great at carrying shopping bags. Even better then donkeys. Or camels. Except donkeys and camels don’t wear watches and worry about missing the train - when we’re on the platform!

Heather: Top ten indeed. Letterman eat your heart out. Any questions for me?

Sarah: What was the worst moment of the trip?

Heather: At previously mentioned bread recycling establishment, they brought me out my food twice with cheese even after specifically saying I could have none (and yes…I said it in French as well as english) 1.5 hours after Sarah had recieved and ate her half cooked salmon, I recieved a bowl of plain pasta with a spattering of quick French. The worst moment lasted from that point until he brought out tomato sauce. It was…well it was the most expensive pasta dish I’ve ever had of that…um…standard. And we didn’t even get it taken off the bill for being something completely different then what I ordered (and I had to wait for 1.5 hours and it was 12:30 in the am by that point!). If only I knew how to complain in French. I’m good at complaigning about service in English. I’m an expert. Damn my French worthy of 2 year olds.

Sarah: So….how WERE the Frenchmen. You were gone for sometime looking for your museum pass. Was it really lost?

Heather: I’d like to say it was eventful but standing at the perfume shop trying to get the attention of a clerk to ask if they saw my pass was not the best time for a chat up line. He thought I spoke French, and the clerk thought I lost some bath beads. We tried to talk but all I could think about was that previous to verbal conversation he was staring at my breasts plus he was in the queue to buy ladies perfume. For his mom? Or him, or…I’m not too sure.

Sarah: Anything else?

Heather: What do you think?

Sarah: Time to sleep. Rest my feet…and enjoy my secret purchase from France.

Heather: Don’t want to know. I’ll make sure to knock before I wake you in the morning.

Sarah: Eww. Cigarettes. I meant cigarettes, sicko.

Heather: I tells them as I sees them.

Sarah: Still…make sure you knock in the morning.

Heather: Ummmmmm. Ok. Girl’s gotta do what a…I can’t even finish that. I’m in the next room. And she’s my sister. And Dad’s 30 minutes away. What would Freud say? Probably “go for it” but I say time to sign off. Come back for further installments over the next 12 days - interview style.

I’m Heather Taylor signing off. Stay Sunny San Fransisco…and Edmonton amd London and Paris and Dallas and…you get my drift.

The Aran Islands can wait…

OK. I want to write a long, long (but interesting) bit o’fun about my trip to the Aran Islands that I just got back from today. BUT…I am way too tired. As I haven’t blogged for a bit I thought I’d copy Alice and get a little meme action going. I’m lazy OK? And I like to copy.

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says.
' “I feel so much less scared about the whole thing now I know you're going to be with me.”' (A little longer than the one line, but people, the line in it's purity made no sense. No sense I tell you.)

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can…what do you touch first?
The tapestry cushions I got from Islantbul when I spent money like I actually had it.

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?
The last 20 minutes of a game of hurley (it’s Irish and I know I’m spelling it wrong). From what I gather it’s a mix of British football, rugby, field hockey, basketball and the egg and spoon race. I would love to play it if they didn’t keep beating each other with their sticks. They don’t wear padding - ouch!

4. WITHOUT LOOKING, what time is it? 12:30 am

5. Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?
12:28 am, baby! I’m a freakin time tellin genius - plus I looked at it 15 minutes ago before I thought I’d do this. Shhh. Don’t tell anyone.

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
The blessed fan. I want to marry it, it’s giving me so much goodness. Oh and the ding of the microwave. Baked potatoes coming right up!

7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
Just got back from Stanstead airport. Actually I’ve been travelling since 9 this morning. It’s a long time to travel.

8. What are you wearing?
Red vest, jeans and trainers and some jewellery. I’ve been travelling. What do you want from me? A prom dress?

9. When did you last laugh?
Yesterday at the pub with Aoife’s brothers. They are fun-ny. That’s younger brothers for you.

10. Seen anything weird lately?
I saw two people in a fake boat “driving” down Shop Street in Galway. It’s the arts festival and they were wearing masks so that’s ok. I didn’t hold it against them.

11. What did you dream last night?
Something about being in Ireland. Which was true. So it musn’t have been that exciting… It’s a pretty good bet that it was about work though.

12. What’s on the walls of the room you’re in?
Green paint in two tones, book shelves with dvds and cds and books and uh…a mirror that is leaning against the wall as I’ve been too lazy to actually put it up.

13. What do you think of this survey?
It’s OK, but I’m getting tired. Maybe I should’ve just wrote about the Aran Islands like I wanted to. Now it’s too late. I’m sucked in!

14. What’s the last film you saw?
Working Girl. It’s my favorite movie, even with Melanie Griffiths tiny helium voice. At least she looks normal. What proof she gives to stay away from Plastic Surgury.

15. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?
I’d get a meal for me and all my friends to say thanks for being around…then I’d pay off all debts of me and the fam, buy a flat and then buy a ticket for around the world. I may even buy some more “summer” flats along the way.

16. Tell me something about you that I don’t know.
I’m allergic to elephants. It’s fact.

17. If you could change one thing about the world, what would you change?
I’d give the middle East a cooler climate with heavy winters. I think you fight less if it’s cold. Heat makes you angry. When you’re cold, you stay inside.

18. Do you like to dance? Do I? Of course! I can’t believe you had to ask…

19. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
If I was all cheezy cheerleader, I’d say Taylor…but I don’t usually consider myself that so maybe Elizabeth and Jessica for Sweet Valley Twins.

20. Boy? Hmmmm….Maybe I won’t have a boy. I can’t think of a name.

21. Would you ever consider living abroad? It’s happening as we speak…spoooooooky!

THORPE PARK!!!

Thorpe park. Amusement central of England (not including Alton towers as I’ve never been and so can pretend it doesn’t exist.). Some people poo-poo-ed it when I said I was going but it was way fun and like, uh, totally awesome…

10 am : I am supposed to be at the front gates. Instead I have just borded a train. This will make me 1 hour late. I’m thinking no probs. In reality, people are probably annoyed but I try to convince myself otherwise.

10:45 am : I arrive at THORPE PARK. People ARE annoyed. I try to placate them with offers of pints and then get reminded that the person I offered that to doesn’t drink beer. I apologize again instead of being witty and saying - pints? I meant pints of vodka not pints of beer! But I don’t say that and on we go to the rides.

11 am onwards : The rides are ridden. I’m on rollar coasters where my legs dangle, I go backwards in the dark and splash through water rides with cheesy pseudo-Canadian music (no England - we don’t all sound like Yukon gold miners from the 1800’s no matter how cool that would actually be.)

My most favorite ride is Tidal Wave. Soaked through and through I was. The site described it as “Prepare to get soaked, this white-knuckle water ride leaves you wanting more! Climbing to 85ft then seconds later crashing to the earth with an almighty splash. Fun for everyone!” If by fun you mean get wet than yes. Thank god it wasn’t raining.

After you get soaked then they have these little booths that you can stand at to dry yourselves off in afterwards which is very nice of them. And YES. You do get that wet! The water gets you in the face and then it’s like it hovers in the air and then splashes down on top of your head. Insane. And also lovely in the hot weather.

4:58 pm : We try to get into the last showing of Pirates 4 - D. It starts at 5. They started early so with a heavy heart we abandon the thought of sneaking in and head to the carasol. We go around twice as we’re too tired to negotiate our way off the horses. We’re tired with a capital T.

6 pm : After much to-ing and fro-ing, we settle down in a local pub for drinks and grub. All their veggie options have cheese so the pub owner makes me a special dish of mushrooms, carrots and califlower, boiled potatoes and chips. In other words, all the side dishes that have no cheese or meat in them. It confused the waiter though. When he served me it, he said “Here’s your…uh…plate of stuff.” Delish.

11:30 pm : We walk back to our campsite. It’s dark and we’re walking along a small path by the thames. There are people fishing and speaking in hushtones. I hope there are no serial killers out tonight. That would totally wreck the end of our fun-filled amusement park day.

11:45 pm : There’s a fight by the bathroom, some girls are crying and a group of lanky kids are smoking up by their tents. There’s a woman waiting for the shower who has the same housecoat as me - the one I thought looked supersexy and slick, except it’s on an over-tanned, 60 year old with peroxided hair. Maybe I’m embracing white trash England and - uh - maybe I’m secretly liking it…

12:30 pm : Off to bedfordshire. (that means I went to sleep and not actually went to the place as it is a place in England. It’d really be really silly to drive somewhere new at that time of night especially as I pitched my tent already. For those of you who’ve seen Brigit Jones, you’ll recall that she said that exact thing on the way to bed. It’s just something silly to say so I’m saying it.)

Thinking summer

He stayed there most nights
and imagined summers
the buzz of bees and lawnmowers
combining into a symphony

with the colours of pansies,
peonies and tulips, their lips
open to sun drenched afternoons.
Without a broom, the leaves stayed -

autumn vistors that gave the floors
extra crunch when he rolled
sleep an empty thing, floating past
like a dream he wanted

but never seemed to grasp,
another reminder that he
wasn’t good enough for anything :
even the human basics seemed to fail him.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poetry by Heather Taylor

Toes

”..five, thix, theven..”

Rebecca counted the toes over and over just like her Daddy told her to. 10 fingers and 10 toes meant he was OK. And OK meant he could come home soon. Yet still, every morning since the day they took her Mommy into the hospital, Rebecca played by herself in the playroom.

"Don’t put anything in your mouth. It’s dirty," her Daddy warned her when he dropped her off in the mornings. "You don’t want to get sick do you?"

Rebecca didn’t want to do that. If she got sick then she couldn’t see Baby Jack and that was her favoritist thing to do. On bad days, they only gave her enough time to count his fingers and toes before she got sent back to the playroom. She hated it there, the place where she was scared to touch anything. Every where Rebecca looked must be full of germs. It was dirty just like her Daddy said, she thought, even though it smelt like the floor cleaner Mommy liked to use.

Even though she saw her every day, Rebecca missed her mommy. She never hugged her or gave her tickles or butterfly kisses anymore. She smiled even though Rebecca knew she must have been crying cause Mommy’s nose was all red and her eyes watery. And Daddy wasn’t right either. He never smelled nice like he used to - all spicy and lemony and crisp - and his clothes were all wrinkly instead of smooth and fresh. He almost didn’t look like her Daddy anymore and it scared her. Why was everyone so different? If they all went home, they could have spaghetti and a big bubble bath and then Mommy and Daddy and Baby Jack could all get in the big double bed with her and they’d all read stories. Then no one would talk in whispers or have their foreheads wrinkle up or their mouths go in funny straight lines.

So she kept counting - fingers and toes - and drew pictures for Baby Jack’s walls and told him stories about what their house was like and how much he’d love it. Rebecca talked about the moon and stars she helped put on the walls with Daddy, the ones that glowed in the dark. And she made all the animal noises of all the animals in the mobile that was above the crib she slept in before she got a big girl bed. The one that he’d sleep in now. She kept counting day after day until her Mommy’s nose lost the red and Daddy made a smile that showed teeth and Baby Jack came out of his little glass box and they told her they were all leaving. Baby Jack was going to be all right.

"Of courth he ith," she said. "He’th got all the fingerth and all the toeth. He’th perfect."

Her Mommy and Daddy laughed for the first time since they rushed to the hospital that day 3 months too early for labour and motherhood. And as their laughter rained down around her, Rebecca smiled and did a little dance. They were going home at last.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Fiction by Heather Taylor

The Way

Sometimes you lose it
Find yourself in a back streets
counting nickles to give beggers
Stop to help strangers with directions

The carefully drawn map
finds its way to the bottom, shoved
under trinkets, pocket books,
the expired coupon you meant to use

It takes one wrong turn on a back road
to spark memory, cause you to burrow
unfold the story of the way you were going
And see if there’s a new way to get there.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poetry by Heather Taylor

Moving On

Just yesterday it was filled with voices:
A warm laugh, a baby’s first cry,
a mother mourning a first born
left home for his own happy marriage.

As the years had rolled on top of each other,
the weeks of making pickles and jams
absorbed in the walls; became a fond memory
as drives to shopping mall grocery stores took over.

The day oilmen struck gold on the families land,
Mom & dad breathed out dreams of even streets into air,
fantasy pavements that ran past neighbour houses
instead of grass-grown paths to endless fields.

It took barely a day to pack up heirlooms
and quilts to cram back car windows
as the front door waved goodbye in the wind,
work boots left behind in pursuit of skyscrapers.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poem by Heather Taylor

Into the Woods

It was three in the afternoon when they drove past. They wouldn’t have seen it at all if she hadn’t needed to roll down her window for her fifth cigarette. Five in one hour wasn’t a personal best, but it was getting close. One hour. It was almost that long since they passed the last gas station. If Carrie knew it was the last one, she would’ve forced Kevin to pull over. She didn’t, so she dreamed of peeing instead and tried to block thoughts of waterfalls as she tugged quick puffs from her cigarette. That is until she spotted the perfect spot.

Carrie had a thing about peeing in public and peeing outside was definately public. The fear of it came from a day of hiking through the woods with her Girl Guide toop. Just as she squatted to relieve herself, a unit of Boy Scouts rounded the trail. She didn’t know what was redder - her face, the troop leader’s or her bum after she realized she settled in poisen oak for her quick pee. It was the final proof that she wasn’t cut out to hike or camp or do anything, anywhere without plumbing and central heating. So when she felt that jiggle, sloshy need to get to a bathroom, she wouldn’t let him just pull into the ditch for a quick one. She needed shelter and shelter didn’t come easy on the prairies.

The buildings were barely a speck on the horizon as they made their way down a overly gravelled side road. Kevin’s teeth were grinding which meant he was worried about the paint job but she was beyond caring. All she could do was will the buildings closer and closer until they were no longer a mirage but reality.

Kevin had barely stopped the car when Carrie bounded out, hell bent for the most hidden spot as she unbuckled and unzipped her pants. She didn’t notice the ground or the buildings or anything beyond the shadows of the leaning farm houses and her overfull bladder. Squatting, she let everything go and felt that rush of happy emptiness.

Shit. Toilet paper. In her haste, Carrie forgot her purse in the car. She hated dripping dry. It never worked and then she’d have to sit in slightly damp panties for the rest of the drive. Her eyes darted from the peeling paint of the sloping building - ouch - and onto the greenness of the wide leaves around her. Good enough for Adam and Eve, good enough for me, she thought as she pulled at the plants and wiped herself. Straightening, Carrie did up her zipper, button and belt and started her meander back to the car.

Ten steps in the burning began and then the slow itch. Could it really be? Why didn’t she remember the tell tale leaves, the subtle markings. As her meander turned into a crawl, she pulled herself towards the car. She could see Kevin singing along to the Bangles’ “Walk Like an Egyptian” which would have made her laugh if the itching hadn’t taken over her brain.

It took almost a full verse and chorus before he saw her writhing on the ground. White faced, he ran from the car.

"Don’t-" she screamed. "Don’t. Come. Any. Closer! It’s poison oak. It’s poison oak."

Shocked still, Kevin looked her up and down as the Bangles countinued their ode to Egyptian dance. Much to Carrie’s annoyance, the freeze lasted barely a second before he fell to the ground in silent laughter. The tears rolled steams down his cheeks as Carrie kept on with her itch relieving wriggle. As he slowly regained his breath, Kevin’s smile spread his face into a grin and he finally said what she thought she’d only hear over candlelight, by a moonlit lake or when eating some sinful cake concoction. Her answer was supposed to be elegant and completely memorable like the one she’d practised in the mirror since she was 10. At least she remembered one thing from Girl Guides - be prepared.

"Will you marry me?"

Be prepared she learned in Girl Guides, yes. But here, as the poison oak countinued it’s attack, all she could do was nod yes.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

WORLD CUP FEVER!

Yes the World Cup has been here and gone and the big winners, big winners are ITALY! Hoorah. I cheered for them as my good friends are Italian and I thought if I’m going to support someone, then I’ll support my friends. I found myself in a teeny tiny pub in a small back street in Cambridge. It was all woody and cosy with their own beer on tap. Everyone was intent on the game except for an artist trying to sell us his paintings of American cityscapes. £650 was a bit steep but we didn’t have the heart to tell him. Also we couldn’t tell him that the world cup finals were on and we were actually there to see them. We’re just too nice. He left before Zadane’s famous Glasgow Kiss (aka headbutt) so we all got to enjoy it in it’s full glory.

So Italy won and I had to run for my train to get back to London - those pesky trains don’t run well on Sundays so I knew if I missed one then I’d have a long long wait and I was foolishly believing that I wouldn’t miss the tube on the other end if I caught this one. I missed the tube of course and had to stand in Kings Cross waiting for my bus. I’m glad I didn’t have my red lipstick and fishnets on. I may be short of cash, but not that short. I’m sure you’ve figured by now that it’s not the nicest part of town now is it? For those of you not from London, you’ll just have to believe me.

ANYWAY, I decided to head to Trafalger Square to change buses to head home and had a disjointed conversation with a couple of dejected French supporters. I said “cool headbutt huh?” And they shook their heads no and gave me looks of “the stupid American-ish girl is trying to talk football - zut alore!”. Not so cool I guess. So I gave a little wave, wished them “better luck next year!” and jumped off the bus. Now I should’ve known this but I didn’t even think. I didn’t think about someone winning the World Cup and what the aftermath would be. This equated to every Italian in London in Trafalger Square. Not just in it but jumping and screaming and writhing and waving flags and singing songs I didn’t know. I LOVED it! Even though it meant the buses were rammed and were all being detoured, the feeling was infectious. I wished I was Italian just for this night as I stood under Nelson’s column at 1 am.

Things I learned from my Ex(s) : Part One

I was thinking the other day after I slid under my new duvet, that I love the softness of it and that I hate the flat sheet my ex used to like between them. Then I had a brainwave or maybe a brainlesswave but it was wavy none the less. So…this is a list of the things I’ve learned from my exes (good and bad). No names will be mentioned in case they don’t do this particular thing that I loved that their new girlfriend will love or something that isn’t good that this aforementioned girl may need to learn for herself…

1) Crumpets are like English muffins but better. They are good to eat covered in peanut butter and jam to be eaten whilst lying in bed watching bad Saturday Morning television.
2) I like singing in musicals. I love Stephen Sondheim and will see one of his musicals even if it’s done by teenagers.
3) As I mentioned in the intro above, the only thing that should be on my bed is a duvet and my grandma’s quilt. Unless you have a scratchy blanket, you don’t need a flat sheet in between you and your soft downy duvet. It may not be what you do, but it’s the best way for me.
4) I clap when I get excited. I stop clapping at things when I’m generally unhappy.
5) Though I don’t encourage smoking, standing outside in the early morning to keep someone company while they are sneaking a cigarette is an envigorating moment of the day.
6) I don’t like people to touch me when I’m being sick.
7) I don’t like people to touch me when I’ve drunk alot and feel like being sick.
8) Eating beer on fruitloops is wrong.
9) My stomach hurts so I can’t eat when I’m stressed.
10) Surprises are good - if they are good surprises. Those are the only surprises that should exist.
11) I had (sometimes have…) a weak spot for musicians and drama teachers. But never my drama teacher. That’s wrong.
12) Always knock when the door is closed.
13) Everybody masterbates.
14) Silky jammies are the best thing to sleep in if you feel like sleeping in something.
15) My family is really important and are always there when things get bad. They’re also there when things are good. They can occassionally be funny.
16) Friends might not like your taste in men but they’ll usually still like you. Especially when it’s all over and you’re back to normal.
17) Friends are important. Don’t ever forget that (they even understand when you don’t call for the first 3 months of “new boy-ness)
18) Holidays and birthdays and anniversaries are important. I like to celebrate. I like to celebrate with people I love. Even if it’s a holiday invented by hallmark, I still want to celebrate it, cause…well why not? Let’s celebrate every day! We’re still breathing right?
19) People who love and respect you are there for you. Those who don’t, aren’t. It’s important to remember that.
20) I should never be allowed to have candles that are not tea lights. Tea lights burn themselves out. Pillar candles can melt candle holders, drip to the floor and burn coffee tables. Only luck can stop that from starting a fire that kills you while you are sleeping and instead blackens the walls and guarentee that you will never get your deposit back.

Jail

6 months I’m supposed to be in here. Six months is nothing right. So I’m planning to sit here, tidy-like, neat in my cell, do my time, and what’s here? This fucking face. This face that’s there just staring at me. First day here, right? First day here and I’m seeing this little etch-a-sketch stencilling and I think, hey a little company. Some guy was going loco and he’s like this big Star Trek fan or something. Not an original but one of the new ones. Who else would put Warf on this wall here? Not that I’m a big fan or nothing just my mom watched. Like it’s like she can witness the future way past what she’d live to see. I think it’s kinda creepy but I’m just happy she’s not one of those trekkie trekkers - what ever they call themselves these days, right?

Anyway so I thought, I’d ask around like. Not prying or anything cause you don’t pry too much into somebodies business. I’m not some sucker fresh meat baby or something. I’m the Real McCoy like off those old movies and shit. But anyway, I ask, if anyone knew the kid who’s in this cell before. I’m thinking he must be this geeky little thing that got mixed up in some shit but didn’t mean it and liked Banksy or something. Wanted to be a right little artist, right? I’m thinking he could be like a little brother. Maybe he’s out there and he can write to me and visit sometime cause my mom only gets mad when she comes in and she won’t let my brother see me in here like this. It’s not right she says - like I’m going to corrupt him through the bars or something. I’m not contagious. Plus she don’t know what he’s like anyway. A good little kid our Mikey - even gives me shit for smoking. Saying that, he’d better stay like that, keep out of my stash while I’m in here.

So I’m asking around and they tell me this guy, Pete, this guy Pete was in my cell before but no one’s saying much right? So I’m thinking he must’ve been this quiet thing. Not talking or nothing. But still - come’on someone’s gotta have some shit on the guy but no one’s saying nothing. And everyday I’m seeing this sketch like, I’m thinking about my brother and so I get a little crazy about it and so I go to the big man, the one you don’t go to but they find you? But I just don’t care anymore so I go up there and say - Jesus man what’s with the guy in my cell, the one before me. You lot can’t bear Star trek geeks or something?

And I’m just itching for a fight. I don’t know why, but those eyes just had bore in my head, those Klingon eyes and I had to know. And so he looks me up and down and gives me a smile and says, you remind me of him. And I’m thinking, is this a good or bad thing. And he tells me this Pete, this Pete is some pedo weirdo and I’m thinking fuck - fuck I thought he’d be like a fucking little brother when all he’d be thinking about is fucking my brother and it fucking makes me sick. And they’re just standing there looking at me and I’m thinking they think I’m like this Pete guy and that’s sick. I’m not fucking like that. And then, I don’t even notice it but my fist rounds to the right and then a left and all I remember is someone dragging me and there’s blood and I can’t tell which is mine. So they plunk me back in the cell cause the big man’s in solitairy. I guess they thought he could hurt me more but now all I’m wishing is to be in that tiny cell, cramped in quiet like cause these eyes. Those crazy klingon eyes. Staring at me. 2 more years they’ll be staring at me now. Another 2 years cause of him.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

Rapunzel

Square turrets
Open sky
Brick pieces
Jutting handholds
Shuttered windows
The grey of rain
Glimpses of hair
Shadowed visits
Mistaken voices
Whispered longing
Eternal waiting
Blindness
Forgiveness
Peace

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poem by Heather Taylor

Dream

It was easy to make. A quick flick of black, the spray smooth and even. The red an afterthought to bleed into what she’d already done. Chuck had given her the stencil so it was only a matter of finding a space. There were rules here she never thought about : the wall had to be the right colour so the image would stick out, the place had to be hidden enough so no one would see what you were doing but had to be visable enough so everyone could see it when it was made, and everything had to be done at night.

Emily was never one for staying out all night cause it worried her parents. But since she ran away, none of that seemed to matter anymore. They wouldn’t understand that she had to find herself and she wasn’t sure how to do it but after Chuck…it’s been easier. He said once that we make our own dreams but too often those are taken away by the government, our parents, people who like to flex their power. So we have to take a stand. He said that as they layed in bed, smoking a cigarette between them. His fingers, nicotine stained, traced their way across her body and soothed his thoughts into her. Made her forget that she hated the taste of his roll-ups, made her forget how long it’s been since she layed in clean sheets and dreamed her own dreams. How long it’s been since she’d been home.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

Anniversary

As this blog is partly about being a Canadian in London, I couldn’t let the day go by without saying something about the bombings last year. I can’t believe they happened in the first place let alone that a year went by when 52 people were killed by bombs on buses and in the tubes. At 10 to 9 this morning, wreaths were layed at Kings Cross, Edgware Road, Russell Square and Liverpool Street. And a memorial will be tonight. It’s a sad day in London and across the UK.

METRO
(Published in X-Magazine, 2006)

More grainy faces buried in newspapers
by a war brought in backpacks
Kamikazee pilots on buses
Samari warriors in underground passages.

The numbers on foreign newsreels,
and news stories no one noticed,
became quickened breath, blood and twisted metal
Guns in carriages and civilian casualties
the day they brought terror home.

Jamming phone lines with frantic redials
Echoes of ringtones in police cordoned streets,
E-mails overflowing inboxes
And far away faces aging a year each minute
They wait for replies: some came.
Too many didn’t.

Sparks

We write our names across the sky
Willing them to the universe
Wishing on stars and blown out candles
For the one we want, are dreaming of

Our eyes burn in the glow,
us holding brief life in our hands
Those magic sticks that sizzle spark start
and snap dazzle their way out of existance.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poem by Heather Taylor

Funny Smoke Packs

Remember when cigarettes first started putting huge warnings in a solid black box on every pack? I think I was 18 when they first started it up and I thought it was frickin hilarious. Or at least mildly witty. I thought…hmmm….who writes this stuff. How do I get my random words put on there. Not wanting to put forward the outlay, I never achieved my comedy smoke pack sticker dreams. That is, until now.

All I had to do is send my poetic musings to an artist and what did she use my stuff for? That’s right, good ol’ ciggerates. You wanna see it? Do ya, do ya?

Click here to see the stickery goodness.

Boo ya!

New Blog Alert, New Blog Alert

Ok…I’m excited. Again. I think I get in this state quite often. Yep. I’m a puppy…in a 28 year old’s body. Don’t worry, I’m housetrained (kinda).

So….my sister got a brand new camera. No, I can’t tell you what kind. I assume it looks less like this:

And a little more like this:



So…my sister wants a little assignment for her new camera and as I love a little challenge, we are about to embark on a new blog The Taylor Sister Initiative. She and my sister Becky will provide the photography/ artwork and I will write little poems and stories to go along with it. Fun? Mais oui!

Let the games begin…

Happy Canada Day!!!

Oh boy oh boy oh boy. Happy Canada Day (one day late). I really couldn’t talk about Canada Day until after the fact cause we had a freakin great party at my South London pad to celebrate the big day. Now we wanted to have the best Canada day party ever so we did a little planning, a little decorating and a whole lot of inviting. Here is my photo montage of the grand event:
PREPARATIONS
Just in case people forgot where the party was, Reisha and I thought we’d put up a tiny flag (care of Alice).	Not only is this a lovely fireplace, but it’s a pure Canadian one (if you buy now, it comes with it’s very own giant bottle of maple syrup as seen on the table)
The sign is of my own creation. You can never have too many Canadian flags on Canada day!	Here’s me practising my “kiss-the-Canadian” face for later that evening. Unfortunately i didn’t get to use it…
THE PARTY!
As we have downstairs neighbours, we didn’t want anyone not to know where the most happening party was at.	As we are gracious hosts, we decided to invite our entire street! Some even showed up with their invites. Maybe we should’ve charged at the door.
This is one of our neighbours. We made sure to greet everyone to make sure they felt welcome even though I promptly forgot most of their names. I’m like that no matter how hard I try. It’s a fact. That’s why I call everyone dude.	Here is a group of Finish neighbours from down the road with two of my friends. One of them lived in Montreal for 8 years. It’s a Canadian connection on our very own street. That’s why they came.
This is Kurt (with me and Lindsay). He is Canadian just like the shirt he was forced to wear says.	In case you can’t read it, Ange’s shirt says: “I may not be perfect but I’m Canadian and that’s close enough.” Yep, we’re a modest bunch
So the party went into the wee hours of the morning and much Canadian fun was had (7 Canadians were present and accounted for. Not bad for a party in London). 3 groups of neighbours came to our humble aboad. I think it shocked them that they were actually invited to a random house party (we had a couple of reconosence missions to make sure we were genuine…thankfully we passed that test!). These kind of things just aren’t done in London. I’m glad they weren’t crazy either. My Cambridge mates stayed over night for a little sleep-over party (PJs and everything) and so this morning it was all about the Sunrise cafe. For those of you in Canada who have never had a day-after-the-party fry up, you don’t know what you’re missing. Mostly it’s meat (veggie sausages for me!), eggs (except…I don’t eat eggs…), chips, mushrooms, tomatoes and beans. Mmmm. Beans. To end off my photo montage, here’s me and Ange: Not to say we aren’t beautiful, but those faces say - “Wow! What a party!” So how was your Canada day?

Ouch...hot stuff coming through

Do you know what is hotter than hot? Hotter than the molten sun and the firey surface of Mercury put together? One would think:

a) Steam from a newly boiled kettle
b) A Phaal curry
c) The top of the grill when you accidently touch it

But no. It’s none of the above. The hottest thing in the world is…..(drum roll)

McDonald’s Hot Apple Pie filling. Yes. No matter how I try to go about eating them, the hot lava filling seems to spill onto my chin and cause 5th degree burns (yes, that’s right, 5th degree - 3rd degree’s just too pussy for this killer filling).

Now I know what you’re going to say…”But the box says Contents: Hot” but hot is an understatement. Un-der-statement. It should say “pure molten filling - don’t eat for at least 1 hour after buying if you ever want to taste food again.” Then again, who would ever follow those instructions - the tasty goodness is too tempting. The dilema is so over-whelming and….damn. Not so much damn as it’s a dilema but rather damn as a “damn. I’m going to have to get my butt off the couch and get me some apple pie.” Ouch. Hot stuff coming through.

Mice : the facts

Yesterday, looking down into the bowels of the tube, I realized I had not seen my favorite little creatures - the tube mice - for a long long time. These little cuties seem to mostly come out at night and scurry along the platform or along the tube line as pictured here:

So I thought I’d list all the things that I know about mice and creatures similar to them as an ode to the tube mice I no longer see.

1) Grade 4/5: I had a rat we called Chuck. I know a rat is not a mouse but it was cute and black and white and had a long tail. I’m not sure why I wanted a rat per se but I think it had to do with my obsession with the Secret of Nimh. I LOVED that movie. When I’d clean out it’s cage, I’d stick it in the sink in the bathroom but it started to get out of there quite easily so I moved him into the bathtub. Soon that didn’t work either as, I’m not sure if anyone else knows this, but rats can sure jump. They can jump fricken high! Chuck was a champion jumper.

Chuck was also the smartest rat ever. He used to escape his cage on a regular basis. I’d hear him scurry across the floor, and scramble up the back of my chest of drawers. We’d find him in the morning, sleeping in our underwear or by our socks. This also meant that poo got everywhere…oh chuck…

Chuck also had a fondness for eating everything. He ate my sisters PJs that were set to close to his cage, he ate the bottom out of my glow in the dark Halloween goodie bag and he’d regularly bite my mom when she tried to feed him. Well, she gave the food so I bet he thought she just was it.

In college, I wrote a poem for the aforementioned pet of mine. My instructor thought it was about the rat race. I think she was shocked when I told her it was actually about a rat. Here it is for your veiwing pleasure (this is my friend Joe’s favorite poem):

Cheese Cheese Cheese
The Rat runs in circles
Up the dresser and down
Across the floor and back
Whiskers twitching
His nose smells the cheese in the trap
His thick knotted tail swings
Creeping and twitching forward
Heedlessly sliding towards a grisly death
The trap snaps shut
His brittle twig spine cracks
The skin h
an
gs
The nerves pu-l-s-ate
Until the Rat is no more

Does he still dream of cheese?

Unfortunately our favorite pet was taken back to the shop when we made the trek back to Alberta from Saskatchewan. Mom said Alberta had a rodent free policy. I think she just didn’t want to be bitten by an oversized rat anymore. Why we called him Chuck? If you ever sang the name game song, you’d know why…”Chuck, Chuck, bo buck, banana fanna fo f—” ahem. Kids will do anything to be naughty.

2) Grade 11 : My dad took my sister and I on our biggest trip ever - Disney World in Orlando, Florida! Yes, the house of the most famous mouse ever. My sister and I stood in line in his house to get an autograph. I of course was just there to keep her company even though I, uh, um, had my own autograph book. When we got to the front of the queue, Mickey kissed my hand and pointed to the picture of Minnie and did the finger on lips “Shh…it’s our little secret” symbol. I actually turned red. What a randy little mouse! AND my dad took a picture. I don’t know where it is right now, but the image will be forever burned in my brain.

3) 1st year uni : I was working at an historical park in Edmonton, AB (Fort Edmonton was it’s name-o) and I was on 1885 street. I ran the little covered wagon and the men loved to take pictures of me in my ankle length dress as I chopped wood. It was an interesting summer. As the place was old, they had mice. Unfortunately, there are this certain type of mice that leave poisenous poo. Yes! Poo that can kill. Of course, I don’t like the idea of dying and so it’d freak me out to go into any of the back buildings in fear of discovering the poo that could kill and accidently inhaling the dust and dying. As you may realize, I survived.

4) 1st solo apartment ever : I lived in a studio apartment. It was cool. I had my own tea pot. I had a great big lovely couch I got given to me and I’d lounge on it while I played my guitar to the sound of the rain outside. It was the spring where all I listened to were Coldplay and Sarah Harmer (listening to those albums remind me of rain to this day). You know what I also had? Mice. Not just mice but secret radio-active, human brain-powered mice. They were smart. Verrrrrry smart. My landlord gave me “humane” traps. I set them out. They ran around them. They were everywhere, I could hear them in the walls, see them streaking under my computer desk, see that they were in my cupboards. And then, I found evidence one was in my bed. I gave notice immediately.

5) 1st week in London: I was living in Camden. I saw glowing eyes. I saw a rat. It was black and UG-ly. It did not remind me of Chuck.

6) Some random night in the tube : I saw my first tube mouse. It was so tiny. I watched some girl freak out as it ran towards her feet. I thought…Those suckers sure are cute. I guess all must be good in the world…

2 years and counting...

OK. OK. This is a long way away, I know….but I have to say it now. We’re going on a……drum roll….ROAD TRIP. Yep. Summer 2008, some special ladies (not sure of who’s all in yet - but it’s such a good idea, how could anyone resist) will be jumping in an RV in Halifax to make our way across Canada to end in Vancouver. That’s right - across the WHOLE country. With 3 weeks of freedom on our backs, we’ll hit every province (except Newfoundland - it’s just not on the way - sorry Newfies! It doesn’t mean we don’t love you!), stay with friends, park on roadsides and sleep in the back, see enough prairies to last our lifetime.

What’s the most exciting of course, is that I’m going to be able to tick off a number of my items on my to-do list such as:

51) Go on a road trip
54) See Anne of Green Gables house in PEI
55) Follow the transcanada across the county
87) Visit my mates in Vancouver/ victoria

I may even be able to:
52) Watch the sunrise
53) Go on a hike
59) Go camping and watch the stars
67) Do yoga on the beach
82) Go whitewater rafting
92) Go Kayaking
94) Go apple picking

It’s freak-in awesome. And it’s 2 years away. £50 a month for 2 years…and it’s golden. Yes - I’m excited already….I just can’t help it! I get excited about things. And we’ll make sure to document the whole thing. Who knows, I may be able to get a travel story published afterwards. Not that everything is about the list, but it’s fun.

A Girls Guide to Hunting and Fishing

I just finished reading this book - I actually started last night and finished this morning, so you know it’s a good read. The book is an accumulation of short stories that lead you through the life of Jane from her 14 year old self to that of an adult. Steller stuff. What really got me was the last story and Jane’s following of a book similar to “The Rules” - the book that helps you bait and catch a man.

There’s a point when Robert turned to her and said “At the wedding, you seemed different from…from who you turned out to be. (There) you were really funny and smart and open. You were out there.”
Jane asks,”Who did I turn out to be?”
"Like someone from high school," he says. "Or I felt like I was in high school and I was going after you. Like I had to earn you or win you or something."

I read that I thought about guys I dated and about past relationships, yadadee, yada, yada, and I realized that some of those guys were still following those high school rules. That if they didn’t get the chase, that they didn’t really see the woman. I was told once that there wasn’t enough mystery for long enough, that there wasn’t a long enough dating period, (And though in this book, datey dates are refered to as “being asked out, with notice,” I think that just meant to go out whenever the guy feels like it.), that all that should last at least a year (what? I say - What? That’s crazy talk…but I digress).

Now after reading this book, I think what’s with the games. Why does there have to be this waiting period, this holding back? Of course I’m not going to give a full gynocological break-down of my past on the first date, but you wouldn’t do that with your friends either. But things come out slowly as you get to know each other - my deepest, darkest secrets take awhile to surface but the rest of my life is up for grabs. I like to talk. And I like to share. I didn’t when I was five but I do now.

All of this makes me realize is that it’s those guys that haven’t grown up. No matter how much they think they have (“I pay the mortgage” “I have a real job…with prospects”), they still want to be with the head cheerleader, the elusive girl that no one can touch. And that involves the circling, the plotting, the preying. I’m not in high school anymore. I don’t just want to be the prey. As Melissa Banks says to end the story and this book: “Both of us are hunters and prey, fishers and fish. We are the surf ‘n’ turf special with fries and slaw. We are just two mayflies mating on a summer night.”

That’s what I want.

Overheard conversations

Her: You’re never around
Him: I’m working
Her: I just think you’re always gone for so long that you’re seeing over women
Him: You think I’m cheating?
Her: Mayb- I don’t know.
Him: I don’t want to see your face.
Her: No don’t go. I don’t want it to end this way. I love you.

It made me think…is there ever a good way to end it?