alex the girl

Things such as putting my oversized terry robe in the dryer in the morning and then wearing it all warm as soon as it comes out. Making a fort in the lounge area, having the window slightly cracked and listening to the rain pelt against the roof. Watching the woodpecker, chickadee and flinches eat on my balcony. Walking for an hour on a sunny day. Carefully arranging three bouquets of tulips in a little vase he bought me (and also the first gift he gave me) six years ago. Browsing through new books. Hot chocolate at midnight. Reading magazines in bed under a fluffy duvet. Painting for an hour in the afternoon, just because. A new pen and journal. Seeing Robins and feeling hopeful about Spring. Buying a fabulous little pin for my jacket. Eating a pain au chocolate whilst window shopping. Afternoon naps. Taking a late night bath in a tub that�s filled with wonderful bath products. A pale yellow mini skirt from my favourite store. Writing a travel newsletter at dawn. A date at the caf� which involves a caf� au lait and pie.

These things, while simple, give me so much satisfaction and cost little and better yet, are always easy to do. And while doing them, I always think to myself, this is the good life.

< December 2003 | Main | February 2004 >

January 17, 2004

I have, for the past month, been doing something rather unusual; I�ve been planning out my birthday.

All previous birthdays have always been very simple, never once involving a party or a cake, even as a child. Instead, until my mid-teens, my father would take me into the city by bus where, for the full day, we walked around in our fine clothes, learning about history, looking through windows of shops, and having a fancy lunch somewhere. There was never any external fanfare about me or my birthday but I always felt special just the same.

As an adult I continued this tradition on my own; always taking the day off from work, dressing up and heading into the city for some browsing, high tea or lunch, and perhaps a movie and a glass of wine in the evening to top it off.

But next month, on February 17th to be exact, I�ll be turning a monumental number which I�ve decided is call for a bit of an indulgence. After spending a couple of weeks in Provence, my little birthday routine will be jazzed up just a little. There will still be the dressing up, the heading into the city, the fantastic meal and the gazing through shop windows. However, this year, the city will be Paris.

I chose to take a little trip instead of having my first birthday party with friends for two opposite reasons. Because I believe in the celebration, the simpleness, the self-indulgence of enjoying yourself on your birthday, I don't want to hear the jokes, gimmicks and �how does it feel� comments that tend to go with monumental birthdays. I don't fear my age, I'm excited about it. But at the same time, a part of me fears being forgotten for the first big birthday number ever as this year is big for others; my best friend is due to have a baby on my birthday, my flirty hair friend turns 60 just two days before my birthday, and another friend is getting married.

So instead of worrying about things I cannot control, I have decided to focus on what I can by slipping away to Paris, lazing about the city, enjoying a fine meal, perhaps buy my first birthday gift ever and be happy that I made it yet another year.

< December 2003 | Main | February 2004 >

January 13, 2004

I noticed him two days ago, sitting in the little water dish on the balcony. When most birds visit, they're always flittering about, never sitting still; he did. Although his head moved continuously, his body never moved. Instead he just sat quietly on the dish.

Normally the baby chickadee's come with their mums but this one was all alone. Because of this and the fact he wasn't moving, I thought perhaps he'd hurt himself. I opened up the sliding door to fetch him and as I walked towards him he didn't move at all. Yet when my hand got close enough he flew to a nearby tree.

When I retreated inside, he flew back to the balcony and there he'd stay for the next couple of days, feeding, drinking and sleeping. Sometimes he'll disappear into the trees nearby, but not for long. The comfort of my balcony always brings him back.

My first reaction to this bird was one of great sadness. It's obvious he's little and lost his family and doesn't really know what to do. My instinct was to help him somehow, take him somewhere, make things easy and remove the struggle. But after watching him survive the past couple of days, slowly figuring out the bird feeder, the water and the bird house, I've come to realise that the best help for him would be to let him figure things out on his own.

Although he might look scared, confused and hopeless, he's not. He's learning to survive and each new thing he does will be more useful to him than my taking him to some bird sanctuary where they'll lock him up and feed him manually.

I've named him Biggie because, despite being little, he's doing big things. He's found food, shelter and water in my balcony. He's even fought off a couple of finches that challenged his territory. He's learning, he's surviving.

Biggie has made me realise that he's no different from people, really. That sometimes it seems far too easy to rescue someone, to let your experience save them or guide them or make their journey easier. But often, it's the trying, the bumps, the scared moments that really teach us to survive. Biggies proof of that, which is why the story of a little bird living on my balcony isn't tragic, but hopeful.

< December 2003 | Main | February 2004 >

January 06, 2004

Everyone has been talking about the storm that would arrive today and generally the tone used has been one of annoyance; only the school children and I seem to think getting a day off is good.

So when the snow struck and covered the city in white, I was happy as it would offer new ways to look at the same old things while on my daily walk.

Bundled in my wool coat and hat, scarf wrapped tightly and mittens on, I walked outside in 5� of snow, even sliding a little down the hill because it just looked like so much fun. I noticed how beautiful the trees looked with white laying heavy on them, how many robins were out and how often they called to one another (most likely wanting to know where the goods were). I saw a ridiculous looking poodle looking even more ridiculous in booties, hat and shawl but jumping rather happily in the snow just the same. When I came to the lake, I saw a fabulous scene � made prettier by the fact that the only sound around was that of softly falling snow. I whipped out my camera to photograph what it was I saw.

While doing so, a man walked by me and said, �Why are you taking a picture? You can�t see anything?� To which I replied, �You can always see something if you choose to look.�

He didn�t hear my reply because he was on his power walk somewhere, probably to work. He�s like a lot of people who only notice what they think they�re supposed to and only look when they have to. People so busy that a walk represents only a way of getting somewhere or losing weight and not about seeing and acknowledging the environment in which they live.

I continued my walk and came across a group of children who, all but one, were making snow angels in the ground. The one little girl was just lying there with a huge smile on her face and her eyes pinched closed so hard. A little boy called out to her, asking what she was doing. �I�m taking a picture of the sky with my mind,� she said, �Because it�s beautiful when it drops snow!�

This made me smile, wondering what else she saw that day and if she�d continue to look that way the rest of her life.

< December 2003 | Main | February 2004 >

January 04, 2004

At eleven, my fifth grade teacher ruthless tore up in front of the class a beautiful drawing I had done, citing that tracers talentless fools had no place in her room. At thirteen I had my third ankle surgery (one on the left, two on the right) and my doctor said, �What a shame. You used to have such pretty little feet. Now, they�ll always be ugly.� Age eighteen led me into a hair salon where, for the first time in my life, my curly hair was blown dry straight. Everyone in salon ooh and ahh�d, saying how I finally looked nice with sleek hair and should never go back to curly.

From each of those moments on, I never though I was an artist, I never thought my feet could be pretty, and I never went a day with curly hair.

Last spring I was waiting at the bus stop and decided to take off my shoes for a moment to get rid of some rocks that had become lodge underneath. Sitting there barefoot for the first time in public, two women came by to also wait for the bus. One woman looked down at my feet and said, �Oh, how I wish I had your pretty little feet� to which her friend agreed. When I got on the bus, I sat and stared at my feet. The scars had long faded and were hardly noticeable anymore and in fact, my feet were pretty. That afternoon I stopped by a shoe store to pick up my first pair sandals and ended up spending the rest of the warm days barefoot. I�m even thinking of getting my first pedicure as a birthday gift.

This summer was unusually hot and my little flat left me sweltering each day. On one of these nasty afternoons I went, as usual, to sit under the blow dryer to begin the half hour task of blowing my hair straight. However, the heat of the dryer mixed with the heat of the day made me hesitate and for the first time in 11 years of straightening, I asked myself why I did this to myself. Did that woman�s opinion still matter despite the fact I hadn�t seen her since? I decided that no, what I was told so long ago didn�t matter. For the first time in years, I didn�t blow dry. I didn�t blow dry the next day either or the day after that. Six months later I haven�t touched a dryer and the interesting thing is, I�ve had more comments on how lovely my curls are than I ever did they were painfully straightened. And I love it more too as it feels more me and gives me more freedom � no more worrying about rain!

Last month I was asked if I could do artwork for a magazine cover. My first reaction was to say no, I am not an artist, I can�t do that. Design it, lay it out, sure but to do art work? I have no talent. Yet before saying no I thought about it. The woman asking me had seen some of my work and if she believed I could, why wasn�t it time I believed it? I heard my best-friends voice saying, �I always try before I say I can�t� and I ended up saying I could. I did a watercolour and with bouts of nerves in my stomach I showed it to the editor. She loved it, saying it was perfect and I now have a magazine cover to my credit.

I think everyone at some point is told something they aren�t or can�t do and we listen to that more than we should. Although we might be told a million positive things somehow, it�s the negative things we hold on to. But I also think at some point, when we�ve had time, experience and perspective, that we need to ask ourselves if those comments and ideas we are holding on to are truthful and serving us well. Most likely, the answer is no.

I decided to let go of the notion that I wasn�t an artist, that I had ugly feet and that I should only wear my hair straight. Doing that has given me freedom, happiness and a sense of power because now, I am deciding who I am and what I can do and not someone who has no idea.