here in my head

Between Hilly returning to her heart’s home of California, and Chris’ blog post this morning asking us “where are you?”, I’ve been giving some thought as to just where Home is for me. This idea that there is the right place in the world for someone. A vibe or an energy that fits you perfectly.

I think that for some people there is one place in the world that is just for them, and if they’re lucky, they’ve found it. And I think “Home” can be in many places for others. I know I get that feeling from different places at different times in my life, so there may not be just one place where my heart calls home.

I know that our downtown house is far more ‘home’ than our suburban Ottawa house ever was. Even with the upheaval of (seemingly unending) renovations I have never once doubted that this was the right move for us. That this is the right house for us. That we are in the right place for us. And Ottawa feels much more like home to me than many other places I’ve lived. But is it my heart’s home? I don’t know.

I also know when I see the skyline of Toronto from a plane or a train (or an automobile) I get a familiar flutter in my belly of “HOME” – I was born there, it’s one of my favourite Canadian cities, so that could be it. I love the energy of the city, the availability of theatre, music, food, and cute little boutiques that can be found there. I love that some of my best friends live there. But I’m also glad when it’s time to return to Ottawa, and the slightly more laid-back lifestyle here.

I know I feel a peace and a grounding like no other when I’m in the midst of the big sky of the prairies, so that could very well be “home”. Some people think that the flat prairies are boring, but I know better. I love how you can see a storm roll in from dozens upon dozens of kilometres away. I love how such an expansive sky is so freeing – like nothing is penning you in. I love that the city where I was a child – Winnipeg – has world class arts and culture that allowed a geeky, music-loving girl the opportunities to sing with a semi-professional choir, and see amazing theatre and ballet on a regular basis. Some of the people I love best in this world live there.

But I’ve had that feeling in places I’ve never lived too: New York City is one of my favourite places on earth, and when I’m walking in New York, it’s like the energy of Toronto, times a thousand, is coursing through my veins. When walking around the streets of Paris I felt a familiarity, a sense of “Home”, even though I’d never been there before. And I thought Vancouver a near perfect city when we visited on our honeymoon – with the Rocky Mountains to one side and the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean to the other. PEI, with it’s beautiful red sandy beaches, was one place I didn’t want to leave on our trip down east. I could also see myself living in Halifax with its rolling hilly roads and amazing boardwalk.

Maybe it’s just that I haven’t found the one place that makes my heart sing in just that way that tells me all these other places are simply mere imitations of HOME. Or maybe there are multiple places in this world that make me feel at home. I know that I do love where I am in life right now, and really, that’s all that’s important.

Lazy sunday bullet-y goodness:

• We have a partially-functioning kitchen again – huzzah! The renos aren’t finished, but we are on hold until the new countertops arrive (the lovely, smooth, shiny black granite countertops…I never thought I could be so excited about stones or a kitchen. I am getting old…) Hopefully by this time next month, we will have our kitchen completely back to rights. In order to carve out a bit of serenity amidst the chaos, we cleaned up what we could of the kitchen on Saturday and then Mike made bacon, eggs and homemade hashbrowns to celebrate that we could, once again, cook at home. I then spent the rest of Saturday turning out bedroom inside out and tossing out all the clothes that are too big/too ugly/too ‘what the hell was I thinking’ and now I have closet space once again. Which I will attempt to not fill with more clothes that in a year or so will fall into one of the too big/too ugly/too ‘what the hell was I thinking’ categories.
• I need a lesson in goal-setting and prioritization. Also, time management. If someone could also tell me what the perfect career for me would be, that would be swell.
• Today was a near-perfect day. We went to a friend’s farm in Cantley, Quebec and I proceeded to hang out in front of the wood stove in their gigantic kitchen for pretty nearly the whole day while Mike went to the ski hill to tackle black diamond runs. I also learned how to make delicious chocolate pudding from scratch and was amazed by my friend Jen who simply whipped up a lunch for 20plus people in the course of a morning. I would like to find somewhere where I feel so at home like she does just puttering in her kitchen.
• I may be the last person on earth to be watching this, but my in-laws are out of town so I finally got to commandeer their TMN on Demand on Friday night to start making my way through Season 4 of Dexter, and can I just say that John Lithgow is one terrifying SOB? Seriously creepy. And brilliant. I may never sleep again…
• Can you do me a favour? Keep your fingers crossed for me – the signs are pointing to something that I’m hoping for might actually work out and if you could just send me some good thoughts to help this along, that would be swell…Thanks.
• Finally, I leave you with a song that has been running around in my head for a few weeks now, ever since my latte buddy (the other) Mike posted it on his blog…

I wish I had more talent in interior design. I wish I was better at picking paint colours and visualizing what a little paint chip will look like when it’s fully on my wall. I wish granite countertops weren’t so expensive. I wish Mike and I had more similar tastes so it didn’t take so long for us to come to a consensus on what we want for the house. I wish renovations didn’t cause so much dust, and didn’t take so long. I really wish my contractor was actually a fairy godmother and could just wave a magic wand and make my house perfect again. I wish our pipes hadn’t leaked. I wish my kitchen wasn’t torn apart making cooking difficult. I wish, I wish, I wish.

I know that once this is done, we will be even happier with the kitchen than we were when we first bought this place. I know that once this is complete, it will be worth it. I know that once this is done, I will have a space that is my own, not just inherited from someone else’s tastes. I know that once this is done, we will have shiny black granite countertops. We will have the simple, crisp, white subway tile back-splash I love so much. I know that once this is done, and my house is once again in order, I will not feel so much in upheaval. I know that this will not last forever. I know that it will be done soon. I know that it will be worth it. I know, I know, I know.

But still. It would be grand if it didn’t have to be torn down to be built back up. It would be grand if we didn’t have to have chaos in order to have peace. And it would have been good had we not picked such a stupid colour for our dining room wall…

What a wild week it’s been – it’s as if every aspect of my life was conspiring to make me as busy as I ever have been. Work has been insanely busy, which is wonderful in some ways, because being busy is far preferred to being bored, but is also exhausting. And the renovations to repair the damage from the leak last month have begun so my kitchen (my beautiful, dream kitchen) is being ripped apart. Every day it’s something new that needs to be done. In the end it will be fine, with new refinements that allow us to make it our own, rather than just what it was when we bought it (which was still pretty spectacular). It’s just the process of getting there that is not fun. The physical upheaval causes psychological upheaval – chaos in my living space is not conducive to peace in my head. And my social life exploded this week as well – Mike picked me up from the train station last Sunday with just enough time to run my bags home, pat the cats hello, and then rush out again for a Superbowl party we’d promised we’d attend. Monday night was my strength training class, which ran late, so I wasn’t home until after 8 p.m. Tuesday night was a haircut and then dinner out and errands to run while Mike went to volleyball. Wednesday was another strength training class which, once again, ran late. And also saw me committing to walk the half-marathon in May with a couple women from my class who have never walked one and wanted to. So now I’m dusting off the training plan and trying to find time to fit in long walks again… Thursday is our ski lesson night, so it was home from work for a quick change and then run to the hill. And Friday we were off to Mt. Tremblant for the weekend with three of our closest friends.

Tremblant was wonderful and busy and exhausting. I finally made it to the top of the mountain and attempted to make it down by ski. I was not successful. I made it half-way down, but not without stress and tears – I am not ready, or I do not have the confidence to ski some of the even moderate steepness of the ‘easy’ slopes, despite my best efforts. Skiing triggers some of my deepest seated fears – heights, speed, injury, pain, failure, etc., etc., etc… I keep trying because I have moments of understanding what it is that makes this a much-loved sport of many, including my husband. I have moments where the fear subsides and the thrill of the (timid, tepid) speed takes over, but those are few and far between. I want to enjoy this sport. I want to have a winter activity I enjoy. But I also have to wonder how many times I will put myself through this? How long do I keep trying, keep giving myself panic attacks, before I say “Enough. I have tried enough. This is not for me”? I have three weeks of lessons left, lessons I intend to finish. And then, from there, we’ll see.

All in all things have been fantastic, even if they have been stressful. We’re out living our life if nothing else. And how can we complain about that?!

I head home tomorrow, which yay! Because I miss Mike like crazy. And the cats. And my own bed. But also boo, because it means that I have to leave my beautiful niece. There have been times this week when I have been homesick, when I have been frustrated, when I have been sad or angry or confused. But those times have never been when I’m with her. She is one of the happiest kids in the world, full of smiles, giggles, and unabandoned joy. Sure, there have been some tears, but they never last long, and usually are because she is hungry or tired. One-year-olds can’t help but be in the moment, and by virtue of being wrapped up in her every action, her every giggle (and let me tell you there is no better giggle than hers), her every smile, her every new word, I can’t help but be in the moment when I’m with her. With her, I wasn’t seeking out the computer for distraction. I wasn’t worrying about what waits in store for me at work on Monday. I wasn’t thinking about whether we’ll ever have a baby of our own, and why haven’t we had one yet, and what happens if we can’t and all those other thoughts that roll around my head these days. I wasn’t anywhere but there, in the moment with her. The challenge in leaving tomorrow is how to keep that sense of being in the moment and take it with me, even though I won’t have her with me, reminding me with her smile.

What I will also miss? How she whispers “App-ple” and “Haaat” when we read her ABC book. How she “woof”s everytime she sees a dog – real, picture or stuffed toy. How she imitates me everytime I cough. How she’ll bring me a book and then raise her arms up and say “up” so I’ll lift her on my lap to read. How she tries to imitate me when I sing. How she will hit the button on her toy until it plays “if you’re happy and you know it” and then claps along. How she starts shouting “Hi! Hi! Hi!” as soon as she hears her daddy come home from work. How she snuggles and cuddles into you when you take her up for her nap, or pick her up from her nap. And most of all, I will miss how she dances whenever she hears music.