Brimful Epiphanies

Music: Chantal Kreviazuk “Is This Life”

Colour: Mellow yellow – a pastel blanket akin to rose colored glasses that radiates a sun kissed glow. Needless to say, it sure doesn’t feel like a Monday.

Mood: Awakened by the screeching tires of life, warm feet now faltering and cold as they tip toe around eggshells, courtesy of the unfamiliar. In one word: reflective

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Dies Veneris or "Venus's day" also known to mere mortals as Friday. The common denominator between the rich and the struggling to be rich – a day of sheer unadulterated freedom.

The most anticipated day of the working week (by some) and to the “love is work” individuals (like moi), it spells a few days of cerebral recuperation. A mental playground, to nurture and cultivate the inter-connectivity of self and expression.

I had the misfortune of blindly picking “the wedding date” – a glorified picture film that showcased the grandeur of Debra Messing’s unnaturally long nose and reaffirmed the factoid that women meet their significant other’s in ridiculously skewed circumstances. A movie that involved coercion on my part as I guilted my boyfriend into sitting through the idle chatter of an estrogen filled evening. Thankfully, his XY chromosomed buddies proposed a night of pool – an invite he eagerly lapped up in order to maintain his evaporating sanity.

S & Magic have set three possible dates for their dum dum dum. All in July, the only month when my social calendar didn’t boast a wedding. Karma tends to do that though – it picks my month of magnificent single girl solitude and smacks in another reminder of anticipated forever’s. It arrives by courier (speedy lil buggers) with a sense of exhilaration neatly tied together by gut wrenching fear.

We’re all aging and evolution has us poised for matrimony – with or without a ‘suitable’ groom. A thought that sends an icy cold chill up my spine.

However, the flip side of it is that this year will be defined by five connubial events, each pleading that I sheath myself in glorious silk saris and ridiculously high stilettos. I’m secretly looking forward to sari shopping, a natural born advantage that tickles me pink.

I crawled into bed (exhausted but elated) and flirted with slumber on a fragrant cloud of french vanilla. Thank heavens for Mr. Tim Hortons.

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Saturday: Revelations...


Unearthed.

Have you felt your entire world shift 2 ½ inches to the right? I did and it thankfully happened in the sheltering arms of unconditional love.

M and I joined one of my closest friends T (easily, one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever had the chance to know and love), her husband J and their latest addition, sweet baby R for an evening of catch up. And that’s when it all went down.

Back-story: I’ve never been one for wanting children. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always liked them just so – happy, vociferous and lurid but mercifully, they always go back to their respective homes. It’s been my inherent belief that I got passed up during the distribution of the much sought after maternal gene and I’m quite comfortable with that knowledge. I mean, not everyone can be great moms and trail blazing career women. I was A-Okay until Saturday night. And on this fated night I met my ultimate undoing.

The catalyst that jolted me out of a state of emotional slumber was 1/10th the size of a regular human being. Small but profound. My biological clock ran smack dab into perfection and plunged into the depths of unfamiliar optimism. I just hope the bloody thing can swim.

T’s baby girl is absolutely precious. Holding her, I experienced a moment of lucidity – my entire existence shifted to reveal new possibilities. She is the sum total of all our dreams exquisitely packaged as an adorable pudgy little angel. Her innocence left me in awe; her tiny fingers, which one-day will revel in a world of rainbow varnish, clung to my relatively withered ones, in trust. She trusted me. Unfamiliar me. The me that never made time to visit her, hold her or bond with her, as I should have. She looked past all my misdemeanors and fit tightly into the crook of my arm, nestled in complete solace.

I was painted in colours of wonderment. The depth of her dark fish eyes, mesmerizing everyone, including cynical old me, into submission. She is destined to be beautiful and I am lucky to have her in my existence. Never would I have fathomed being able to love so completely, someone that I didn’t know. Analysis is a moot point. Getting to know her is unnecessary. I saw, I touched and I breathed in the scent of pure love.

Her innocence rubbed against my jaded perspective and I was awakened anew. She was my greatest undoing and in those moments, she changed the way I perceived the rest of my existence. I will not run in fear as the imminent footsteps of the future approach my very doorstep. I look forward to embracing every opportunity, to cast aside the tumultuous relationship I have with aging and mortality and to truly be the best person I can – for the sake of my family, friends and potential angels of virtue.


R,

I vow to protect you, love you and beat the living daylights out of anyone that infringes upon your inherent innocence. You will always be the keeper of eternal joy.

Aunty Jana.
(Wow, I’m a real aunty now)

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Sunday – The religion of superbowl descended upon a group of much loved individuals who thanks to M, are now my friends as well. I adore his generosity – he’s comfortable enough in their love to share these special people with me.

Anyways, in the comfort of J & T’s gorgeous abode we partook in the sinful delights of Colonel Sander’s magical chicken concoctions, wings and football night grub. Great company, delicious food and unmitigated joy were the presiding themes of the evening.

Good times were definitely had by one and all.

Superbowl: the eagles lost. They should’ve won with the likes of Terrell Owens but someone dropped the ball (no pun intended..gawd I’m a geek)and destiny was forever changed. The half time show did nothing to titillate the senses or the mind leaving us questioning the relevance of Superbowl showtime. Isn’t entertainment supposed to be entertaining?

The commercials (the real reason I was at this gathering of sports fans) were filtered by Global thereby feeding me previously viewed Canadian spots. Not half as entertaining as the 30-second blurbs that corporate sponsors spent $1.7 million USD to air.
Discrimination of the highest form.

They (read: Americans) bombard us with their propaganda, their despicable fast food franchises, their political debacles, their inhumane norms and consumerist culture. Yet, the one time I yearn to feast my eyes upon what is often considered to be “must watch TV” in the ad world – they shut me out and turn the lights off.

So quite frankly, I’m miffed. America, you ain’t getting no love from me.

However, the one redeeming piece of telly last night was the Superbowl Simpsons episode. Laugh out loud funny. Best line is when Homer looks at Nerdy Ned and says: You help me and I will be helped by you. Classic case of egocentric selfish behavior.

I love it. Now all that’s left is to find a moment in reality where that line will make me a fabulously witty shit starter.

Next.