documenting smells.



daily apartment smells include:

old cigarette smoke.

meaty lasagna.

pine sol floor cleaner.

pasta boiling.



daily bike-riding-through-the-city smells include:

exhaust.

cigarettes.

lavender.

cinnamon.

coffee roasting.



other good things:

freshly grated ginger.

nutmeg.

book pages.

rosemary.

roasted garlic.

toasted almonds.

swiss cheese.

grapefruit.

this is my beautiful partner and husband and friend.

I am madly in love with him.

tears of hot white.
music and wool sweaters and too tight pants and an anchor and a birthday and a day at work and a voice i love and a voice i hate and a phonecall unrecieved and a walk away and a flag.

eggs and toast and avocado and no pepper so no sandwich.

locking the door and no goodbye and no i love you and the sound of the key instead and a plan and a brown couch and a pile of books.

loose hairs and too much hair and not enough hair.

rough hands and blood and dirty sheets and a bundle of grey.

getting to work late and no busy days but saturdays and no thanks.

wet wine glasses and old dishclothes and no alcohol and pills and violins in my ear.

day two. january twelvth.

asparagus, yams and rice. leftover foccacia and christmas truffles.

a failed game of scrabble, an extraordinary game of speed scrabble.

blueberry tea.

in rainbows, ben harper (welcome to the cruel world).

1.13.10.

two months until my twenty-fifth. shit.

day three. photo inquiries, camera comparing, and blog rolling.

we ate rice. rice with black beans, garbanzo, tomato, lime, cilantro. and salt.

we drank orange juice over another game of scrabble. (coax, yule, futon)

but first, we attended a grade seven boys basketball game where we reminisced of younger years. I, the mvp, he, the last chosen.

how romantic to end up together.

dinner music: peter gabriel.

01.14.10.

closed shop at the bakery. chicken curry.

dreamt of a life in photos.

400 chosen. pain au chocolate.

01.15.10.

camera shopping and buying. 50D.

homemade pasta.

house cleaning for guests. reorganized book shelf.

quote of the day. "dude, mall people are weird. Let's find Fuetch (Future Shop) and get the hell out of here" - johannes gerald van bommel van vloten.

music: yo la tengo. mix from Jeremy (JK1) "coyote"

01.16.10.

a walk around the village. toiletries and pizza.

home. soundgarden as a soundtrack to a houseclean.

before dinner at the Mint and a night at the Empress with friends, Johannes and I lay on the couch.

Conversation:

"what colour would you paint the walls of our future house?" - k.

"I don't know, what brand of toilet would you like to have?" -j.

01.17.10.

yep, the Empress was nice, though a bit regal for my liking. overwhelming even.
A mad meeting at Discovery followed with friends of all kinds.

Brittany and Tessa came. (yes!)

after a beautiful dinner accompanied by Patrick Watson, Bowie's "Low" and "Heroes", we got a phone call about an upcoming birth.

Within an hour, our friends were perched on our couch with a cheese and fruit platter, and we were on our way to attend a birth.

01.18.10.

Kaia Willow, born at 12:53 am. beautiful.

she was quiet and pretty, the house peaceful and dim lit.

her head formed during the day as we walked and talked and photographed and ate together with friends downtown.

we returned to the Russell house in the eve, making them beet and yam soup, salad, whilst enjoying a few bottles of wine in celebration of the birth, slowing enjoying rabbit pate, pistachios and goat cheese on a slate tray.

we drank and laughed and watched.

took the city bus home and went right to bed.

01.19.10.

a whole twelve hour sleep later, we woke, spent the morning lounging over breakfast and Daterra, steaming and cosy for our morning, which by now was noon.

we cleaned our our drawers, made love, took a load of clothes to W.I.N., and sat and ate fresh baking from Wildfire.

pain au chocolate, cinnamon bun, lavender shortbread, fig & oat chew, with garlic and cheddar bread to follow for the walk home.

we thrifted, where we found books and books.

He, the Dune series & Mordecai Richler, and I, the updated and expanded 90's edition of Our Bodies, Ourselves, the ultimate female companion.

We were asleep by ten, Johannes by the bedside reading, and I, still exhausted, to Julie & Julia.

(a broken promise).

01.20.10.

After a slow, ungratifying day at the bakery, I had an hour massage, complete with a Shakra reading. (my body was unaligned, she said.)

the ginger essential oil stayed with me as I prepared dinner.

K-os and M.I.A. provided the soundtrack.

Salad, chicken, asparagus and almonds.

we ate and rushed to make a batch of Diane's cookies and drink another French press of Daterra.

no crumbs left.

only a little silt at the bottom of the Bodum.

and now, a bath to TV on the Radio.

I have branches in my bedroom, grey on my bed, orange in the air, and black and white above my head.

we will be watching no television for one month.
my aim is to document that month with all else we find to do instead.






night number one:

• made housemade foccacia bread with fresh rosemary and course sea salt
• looked at world atlas - studied gender equality and development index, population statistics, solar systems, temperatures according to season.
• took particularly close looks at Central and South America (for coffee locations and sources) as well as South East Asia (ibid) and Canada
• began to talk about/plan a trip across Canada for summer, 2010
• went through old photos
• enjoyed a colourful and delicious dinner, while talking, laughing, and peering over the world's map, eating warm bread and dipping it in oil and vinegar
• started a list of letter recipients
• fell asleep reading

these days.

i have begun to know a lady.

she calls me a bright spirit.

today she kissed my neck.

she is famous.

recently called a genius.

award winning.

a documentary subject.

she hides.

she hides in my cafe.

I serve her tea and give her sweets.

she sits for hours,

marking papers.

maybe she writes the words she later becomes famous for,

right there, in my cafe.

her friend helps her rest.

her husband doesn't.

I imagine her with a library at home.

I imagine her as Sylvia. struggling.

I compared her once, then apologized.

This woman, this lovely woman.

She is filled with words. translation. ability.

She lives on land but is fascinated by the water.

I can see that her mind never stops.

I like the sound of her voice when it comes into the room.

coffee.

life and times.

number 13 for twenty dollars.

an average of three workers.

underpaid and overworked. guilted, often.

"i don't know why I feel so..."

off the cigarettes.

medical plan. medical bills.

I have to read.

skirts and boots and bare legs and bare hands.

a four pack.

love handles.

sleep and rest and i am tired.

the yellow wallpaper wasn't written for no reason.

rant time, stream of consciousness style.

photos. i have some, i want to show them because they are of dust. i want people to like them too, but i have to write this paper on mail order brides, a subject i know nothing about and don't want to essentialize, but probably will anyway.

then there is food. i have been trying to eat more healthy. this week i bought chard from the co-op at school. it tasted kinda sweet like they said it would.

i added chick peas, avocado, tomato, red onion, lemon, ginger and tonight, some chicken. as he made his food, different than mine, we watched Freaks and Geeks, the one where Sam loses his towel and streaks through the halls. then Cindy Sanders (that bitch) cheers him on, while Bill and Neil get jealous.

am I ever going to finish school? one of my faithful readers is almost done her fuckin' masters. HER MASTERS! I'm in my third year of my undergrad. what a joke.

at least i declared my major.

i now have a heart shaped glass hanging in my window. it constantly as a rainbow in it. although it's super new-age, it is well intentioned, so it shall stay.

tonight Johannes told me that he can't wait to see me being a mom. I told him i can't wait to see him kiss little Seymour's cheeks, cause they'll likely be a little like mine, except smaller. he'll love that. things have been more than great lately, especially when he took care of me last night, made me eggs and popcorn while i laid on the couch, recovering.

we took a walk in the rain today as well. pesto croissant for me, sticky bun for he.

then we filled our bag with vegetables and milk, and came home to sit in the warm sun.

i almost fell asleep from the warmth.

now it is windy windy and rainy. and beautiful. but vicious.

Johannes is in bed. i want to be there too.

fuck fuck fucking shit. i hate school today.

and yesterday.

and the day before.

and tomorrow.

i just needed the internet world to know since I'm all alone, wrapped tightly in a wolf blanket wanting to eat grilled cheese sandwiches.

oooooooooh the anticipation is growing.

it is time for a CP wedding.

to my despise, i missed Mel's.

so this will be my first.

Bonnie and Caleb. it's time.

the cpcd is finished and lying in my packed red suitcase.

my wool socks are in there too, along with my pearl necklace and black dress.

not only is it a reunion of old pals, it's the joining of two good friends.

what will be said? where will conversation go?

my hopes are high.

Fuck You Dov Charney. Fuck You.

“Women initiate most domestic violence, yet out of a thousand cases of domestic violence, maybe one is involving a man. And this has made a victim culture out of women.” - Dov Charney

Here are the facts:

1 in 4: The number of women raped and/or physically assaulted by a current or former spouse, cohabiting partner, or dating partner/acquaintance at some time in their lifetime. (for men: 7.6 out of 100)
1.3 Million: The number of women physically assaulted by an intimate partner annually in the United States. (for men: 835,000)
20: The percentage of nonfatal violence against women committed by an intimate partner. (for men: 3)
33: The percentage of female murder victims who were killed by an intimate. (for male murder victims: 4%)
1,247: The number of women killed by an intimate partner in 2000. (for men: 440)
2/3rds: The percentage of women killed by firearms who were killed by an intimate partner.
1,006,970: The number of women stalked annually in the United States.
84: The percent of spouse abuse victims who are female.

I’m not trying to downplay the plight of male victims of domestic violence, or suggest that becase men are victimized less often that their victimization isn’t just as wrong. There is a cultural silence and erasure of male victimization, and that’s a huge problem. But addressing that doesn’t require ignoring — or spitting at — the fact that women experience the vast majority of intimate partner violence, and that we often pay for it with our lives. It doesn’t require implying that women bring domestic violence upon themselves by saying that women “initiate” most of it (What does that even mean? She talked back?).
I wish I could come up with something more adult and biting than “Fuck you, Dov Charney,” but it’s about all I can muster.

-Jill (from Feministe.com)

i still listen to the cure.

smoke cigarettes.

drink wine.

eat meat.

eat foreign vegetables.

eat Second Slice pizza.

stay up late.

never finish books.

obsess about apologizing and loneliness.

somehow I think i should know better by now.

and part of me cares deeply about altering my choices.

part of me can not be bothered.

there is another part of me, a greater part, however, that aches knowing that i'm not a better person.

a better writer.

activist.

thinker.

reader.

cook.

friend.

organizer.

lover.

photographer.

so i sit. here. in victoria. thinking about what city is next.

some people know what i have in mind.

most do not.

i plan to keep it that way for a bit.

until i am a little more settled in my head.

i have hardly written this year.

that pains me.

looking back always does.

but this is just it.

ihave a bed partner. a friend. a feminist. a book finisher. a cook. a collector.

he has become my life. although i am aware of the kind of response i may receive in response to such a statement,

it. is. okay.

now what i deal with on a daily basis are questions of time, trust, space, response, observation, ability, compatibility, judgement, and peace.

lists kristina. always with the lists.

indeed.

life consists of these things:



open. count. sell. sample. eat. wait for change. listen. speak. smile. ride bike home. eat. watch. listen. love. sleep.


i just watched EWS by Kubrick and realized that the subject matter is delicate. frightening almost, although I'm interested. i was alone, that changed everything entirely. it's best not to do that, i figure. is the purpose of those temptations curiosity or fluidity?
i suppose i will learn all about it in my upcoming Monday and Thursday classes.

i get jealous a lot. and impatient. i need to work on these things. perhaps i should call it inspiration, rather than jealousy. but maybe that's what it is.

this is dinner.

I've been making up songs lately. they're not very good. this is probably due to them being stream of consciousness and not very well planned, but i don't think it even matters, because i do it mostly to make Johannes laugh. he almost always does. i like this part of him.

today i got reamed out while i was at work by the principle of a high school in the area in which i live. i took his order wrong and he made me cry.

my eyes got so red that i had to go outside and let the wind take away some of my body temperature. it wasn't a good day. but it's okay, because many reassuring words were spoken to me, plus, my dinner was steaming and ready when i got home from my long day.

(another part of Johannes that i like, he takes care of me. good care, too.)


another thing worth noting is this: i realize that I've changed.

i'm much less serious than i used to be. i like to laugh more now. i LOVE making people laugh, mostly Johannes though, because then he thinks i'm funny AND cute.
These days, i feel better about myself i think. i'm not so concerned with being mysterious, which was my insecurity speaking.
also, i listen to Peter Gabriel with much love in my heart for him.

and, finally, I don't worry about being so 'deep' and 'cool' anymore (well, not ALL the time), i'd rather just be nice.

pour example: this is me.....



but so is this.