October 7th, 2005
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October 5th, 2005

Had my first moment of contentment in the new place yesterday, I have had many happy moments with my husband but this one that dealt specifically with me bonding with my environment. It was for a split second while wandering in a bookstore, it was almost as if the minute I realized I was having it, ‘poof’, it disappeared. Much like happiness, the realization of it’s presence sometimes causes it to run for cover, (don’t want to jinx it). I think of a brilliant scene in the film “the hours” when the character says, “I thought this is what happiness feels like, and then I realized, no, this IS happiness.” I love that scene. Many more of these content moments have come in, so I take the time to enjoy them.
I went for tea at a cafe I hadn’t tried named Ciocolat (I am still unsure of the pronunciation), and the moment I walked in I realized I had found my place. I hadn’t yet found a cafe that spoke to me (one I had been going to being where all the ‘cool’ kids hang out, read: attitude, another full of people on laptops, read: cold). I walked into this one and noticed a french feel, a big window of pastries (truffles, raspberry mousse, cakes), a fireplace, fresh flowers on the tables and an interesting mix of clientel. An older woman commented that she liked my sweater (the fuzzy orange one with strange burgundy fringe on the cuffs).
I settled on a triple chocolate cookie (which was more like a brownie) and cup of herbal spice tea (in an attempt to cut down on coffee). I sit across for a cool looking woman with light tortoise shell frames and a long orange embroidered jacket, she is engrossed in conversation with a dark haired girl, I can’t determine what they are talking about. Another interesting looking woman is buying a pastry and I find myself coveting her thigh-length purple velvet coat.
I sit trying to come up with some ideas for an illustration job (some days it is nearly impossible to be motivated by the subject of investing no matter how hard I try). The wind blows fiercely outside and I find myself grateful for the contrast, a nice change from waking up to the same weather every day (I’m not complaining, it’s just different from what I’m used to in the east).
A couple of students sit nearby, I hear them speaking of buying textbooks. A girl with a peasant skirt, and a german guy with a thick accent, the girl is flirting noticably. I find myself trying to determine the nature of their relationship, are they dating? Her cleavage makes itself known as she bends forward stabbing a thick slice of cake with her fork. He seems rather disinterested and I conclude that the relationship might be a little one-sided, his affections being a tad lackluster. My glance shifts across the street to an east indian woman walking with a young girl (about ten?) and a middle aged man, she is wearing a bright orange sari with green trim and yellow sequins. I think, how wonderful it is for me to see other cultures on a daily basis, (my small town was a tad homogenous culturally.) I missed hearing other languages spoken.
The first cold air helps me sink into the comfiness of fall, I come home to put on my slippers, cook up a pot of chicken stew and finish the last chapter of my book.

October 3rd, 2005
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“If we listened to our intellect we’d never have a love affair, we’d never have a friendship, we’d never go into business, because we’d be cynical. Well that’s just nonsense! You’ve got to jump off the cliff all the time and build wings on the way down.” ~Ray Bradbury
I must have sturdy solid wings by now, I feel like I’ve been jumping constantly in the last two years, in the realms of love, career, friendship, home. Somedays I still find myself spinning from it. Currently I seem unsure of how to be, who I am in this new place. There are no routines developed yet, none of the habits that create a sense of familiar. Even the comforting things feel different (watching movies, reading). So I give myself the time to adapt, and try not to push myself too much.
Today I worked at a couple of morning collages which felt forced, nothing flowed, much like the feeling of sandpaper moving accross cement.
I’ve felt these things many times in the past and I know by now that it will pass. I know that at some moment when I least expect it I will become consumed with an idea or a project and throw myself into it with wild abandon, stopping only to sleep or to respond to the jarring ring of the phone.
But for now I partake in the simple things. Riding bikes through the incredible vegetable gardens in Village Homes, gasping at all the varieties of flowers. Fuscia zinneas, purple morning glories, the strange yellow blossoms of okra (one of my favourite vegetables). We sat watching the rooster (Fabio) with his wild feather hat act menancingly protective of the females in the coop, picked fresh figs off a tree and ate them (the best fig I’ve ever had, this place will spoil you on produce forever.) Picked some tiny red apples and met a grey and white speckled cat friend named Oslo.

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