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Kadiköy at twilight
after checking out of the Otel Sultan, we hopped the wrong ferry to Istanbul Asia...i suppose on a trip with no concrete plans it wasn't really the "wrong" ferry per se--we did still make it across the Bosphorous--but we entered Asia via Üsküdar, attempting to get to Hayderpasa train station...which actually has a ferry that runs right to it.
we ended up hiking 3km across town only to finally reach the station and be told that there are no overnight trains to Denizli or Pamukkale, only bus.
we were sure we had read somewhere about the Pamukkale Express overnight sleeper train...thanks to the nice man in the booth line up beside ours who helped us navigate between languages we learned that the Pamukkale trains were currently (2 years!) out of service.
looking at the map, our options were to either get back to the other side of Istanbul and travel by metro and tram outside of the city centre to the huge main otogar (bus station) or walk back a couple of kms to the smaller Harem otogar, and hope that there were buses running to Denizli/Pamukkale from this station.
we chose the latter and back tracked through the main road out of town which is a crazy school and military district...between a high school, a university, a hospital and military barracks which were heavily patrolled with fatigued guards armed with machine guns, there were uniforms everywhere (note: all institutions are named Atatürk)...
students at the university in Üsküdar/Kadiköy (Istanbul Asia)
we found the Harem otogar off of an industrial side street, tucked away beside a ferry dock, and got ready to negotiate a bus ticket.
a little note about the bus service in Turkey: unlike the Greyhound here in Canada, there is more than 1 (or 2) bus services to take you across the country so competition can be fierce. even at the smaller stations, men are outside screaming out different destinations...when you are walking around the station with a big backpack, you get mauled by men asking where you are going and trying to lure you in to their company...what we later learned from experience is that the prices are all generally somewhat similar, but it's the type of bus and the perks that you have to ask about...it is not unusual, and actually quite expected to ask to be shown the bus you will ride on (this is important on a 12 hr overnight bus--a couple we met later in Pamukkale told us that they chose the cheapest company for their trip down and rode 12 hrs in a dolmus-sized mini-bus!)
we chose the company called Pamukkale (which we thought was fitting since that was where we were trying to go)...thankfully the agent spoke some English. he let us drop our bags in the closet while we went to explore the bustling city and market-filled backstreets of Kadiköy.
immediately on the hunt for food (surprise!) we searched out a small grocery shop near the otogar for lunch and to stock up for dinner on the bus...the otogar is kind of in the middle of nowhere, in the suburbs of Üsküdar, but it had started to rain and so we were also in search of some reprieve.
after purchasing our lunch standards--dolmade (stuffed grape vine leaves), hazelnut butter, olives, bread, cheese--the rain got heavier and there was no sheltered area to eat...but then we passed this tiny hole in the wall, with men milling about outside drinking çay and smoking...a wonderful smell wafted out into the rain that made me stop to check it out...i must have lingered just a bit too long because suddenly a man was ushering us inside, motioning us to eat...despite our "no, no"s (since we had just bought lunch from the store and didn't want to spend more lunch money) he made the man in the shop serve us his specialty...the only thing, besides çay, that he served: pilav.
a delicious concoction of rice and chickpeas, topped with boiled chicken.
sounds so simple and yet so tasty in that comforting grandma sort of way. we accepted the dish, along with some fresh bread, and the hottest little hot peppers ever, and sitting on 2 of the 5 stools at a little counter top, devoured the bowl...still not sure what had happened as none of the men spoke english. so we tried to give the man some money and he waived it away. of course, this just made us want to buy another bowl. and so we did (obviously with some çay). the grand total was something like a whopping 2.50 YTL. ridiculous.
and so wonderful to have a warm tea in the rain. when we look back now, this tiny little place with its simple little bowls of goodness, made our top 10 eating experiences in turkey. hands down. although i must admit that i was biased because of those fantastic hot peppers.
when the rain stopped, we thanked the man profusely and set out towards Kadiköy.
passing the military barracks in Üsküdar on the walk there, we noticed a sign stating "müze Florence Nightingale". well, since this was my graduating from nursing trip, how fitting it would be to see the museum where our heroine, founder of modern nursing and advocate for public health came to Istanbul during the Crimean war...but getting in to an active military barracks for the Turkish Army proved about as difficult as getting into the Pentagon...more on this later.
i much preferred Istanbul on this side of the Bosphorous.
the streets were wonderfully packed full of fish and nut markets and locals milling about in cafes and bars.
we found an English bookstore with two wonderfully helpful women with whom we chatted for a while and finally bought a Turkish phrasebook.
in Turkey, dogs are everyone's and no one's. they are all tagged and most people pitch in to feed them.
gypsies take a break from flower selling in front of the cafe balon, kadiköy
pumpkin seeds, still steaming
after hanging on the waterfront for a long while, watching the dogs wander and roam and gypsies fight over flowers, we found a cozy little bar to have a beer, eat our freshly roasted pumpkin seeds (which became a staple in our diet) and practice newly acquired words...which actually came in handy shortly thereafter, trying to find the city bus back to the Harem otogar for our overnight bus to Denizli.
our first long bus trip in Turkey and i must say i was impressed.
the buses are huge, with extra comfy seats and more leg space than an airplane (which isn't saying much i guess)...they have an attendant who serves çay and Nescafe and water and tasty little snacks like cheese crackers and marble cake. a spare driver sleeps in a little bunk under the stairs. it's crazy.
most people in Turkey actually use the bus for long distance travel within the country. the trains generally tend to be cheaper, but they are much slower and follow rickety tracks to only certain destinations. the buses are definitely where it's at. they are still super duper cheap (roughly $40 cdn to travel 12-15 hrs).
and the drivers are real pros.
case in point: halfway through the trip i awoke to look out my window which was about 2" from the side of a house. the bus was stopped and there were men outside trying to direct traffic. slowly the whole bus started waking up, all of us craning our necks to see what was going on. in this tiny little village in the mountains, two buses travelling in opposite directions had tried to pass through a narrow mountain road and had gotten stuck. this had caused a small pile up of about 4 buses and 2 trucks trying to pass each other. it was misty out, and the drivers and attendants had all gotten out to assess the situation.
after some yelling and directing, we slowly crept along, the bus on a what felt like a 45 degree angle, passing the other buses within mere centimetres to spare in between, nervous laughter filling the soundtrack to strangers faces looking back at us from the windows of the other buses.
random wandering shots from Kadiköy:
Türkish kahve (pre)
Türkish kahve (post)...that is sludge at the bottom of the cup.
the coffee, brewed without filter, is served with water to wash the grounds out of your teeth afterwards
Christian and Muslim symbolism in Aya Sofya
there is a lot of history in Turkey. biblical stuff.
the bible happened here.
and in Sultanahmet, the historic old part of Istanbul on the European side of the Bosphorous river (named after Sultan Ahmet I, the builder of the mosque), there are enough sights and smells to have your head reeling--it's no wonder the Turks love their pistachios and dried apricots and figs--great snacks to keep the energy level up as your neck gets tired from staring up at at the grandeurs of Aya Sofya and the Blue Mosque.
after loading up on the traditional Turkish breakfast that is standard fare with your pension stay (hard boiled eggs, olives, goat cheese, tomatoes, cucumber, jam, honey and bread) our first stop was Aya Sofya (former Byzantine church and Ottoman mosque)...
glad we got there early--the place gets bombarded with tour bus after tour bus and as we were leaving the place the line up to get in had doubled in size.
what we quickly discovered in Istanbul was, like other places in Europe we have been to, every-single-thing costs money. if there is some way for money to be made, it will cost money.
even to visit the loo ranged anywhere from 50 kurus to 1 YTL...regardless of whether you were peeing in the hole in the ground and had to bring in your own TP.
so many times we were deciding what we wanted to spend money on to get in to, because really, you can't see everything.
seeing Aya Sofya was money well spent.
arch inlaid with tiny gold mosaics
old marble wash station outside Aya Sofya
Aya Sofya (Turkish), Hagia Sofia, (Greek), Sancta Sofia (Latin) means Church of the Divine Wisdom. it was built in 537 AD as the greatest church in Christendom (and it was, until St Peter's Basilica in Rome was built 1000 years later)...of course, after Mehmet the conquerer's conquest of the city from the Byzantines, he proclaimed it a mosque (Atatürk later turned Aya Sofya into a national historic site)...it's really interesting to see all the old Christian and Muslim symbolism intermingling.
there are 30 million tiny gold mosaic tiles lining the church's interior, and the awe-inspiring flat-domed roof completely freaks me out seeing as it was built in the 6th century.
man in prayer, Blue Mosque / Sultan Ahmet Camii
we figured since we were in to seeing architectural wonders on this particular day, we'd head across the park to the Blue Mosque, which is really called the Sultan Ahmet Camii (Mosque of Sultan Ahmet I)...the blue moniker comes from its interior tiles.
what a beautiful building! it is also a working mosque, so non-worshippers are shut out for about a half hour 5 times a day...we had to return 3 times to finally get in as we seemed to conveniently time our stops there with every call to prayer.
but even that was wonderful to hear and see. the Imam's voice echoes through the marble in courtyard and silences everyone. it is an absolutely tranquil feeling, listening to the soothing voice singing the call to prayer while watching people washing themselves to go into mosque.
Blue Mosque / Sultan Ahmet Camii
women have a separate area to pray in the Blue Mosque; in smaller mosques, there is usually no special room for women--traditionally they stay at home to pray
wash station outside Blue Mosque
in between returning to the Blue Mosque, we wandered the streets of old Istanbul. we found a tiny carpet covered place with miniature chairs and tables to eat spinach and potato gözleme and drink çay for lunch.
spinach gözleme with hot chillies and apple çay @ Cennetwe found the shop of the family of the inventor of Turkish Delight (Ali Muhiddin Haci Bekir) and tried out different flavours like mint, rose, hazelnut, and of course, pistachio. the locals buy the lokum in bulk...and apparently in large quantities because the guy laughed at us when we said we just wanted to buy a couple of pieces. he put a few in a little bag and just gave it to us with the promise that we'd be back in a couple of weeks to buy some to take home (we kept that promise).
mint lokum
my favourite food stuffed with my other favourite food: walnut-stuffed figs from the spice bazaar
we got lost in the crowd at the Spice Bazaar (one of my favourite places in Turkey, probably my favourite place in Istanbul) and stocked up on nuts and dried apricots for a couple of days. i made it a point to remember to return when we were back in Istanbul to buy tea and spices (and obviously more nuts and apricots and figs, some of my favourite foods in the world).
after we had finally gotten in to the Blue Mosque, we were so enthralled with mosque architecture, we wandered around searching out other old mosques. with my trusty scarf to use as a head dress we walked into a few that don't necessarily get any tourists and found a couple of gems...most notably Küçük aya Sofya Camii and Sokollu Mehmet Pasa Camii.
a long day of walking around in Istanbul was overwhelming to say the least, and so we decided over a dinner of goat cheese pide and eggplant stew at Karadeniz Aile Pide ve Kebap Salonu that we would leave old Istanbul in the morning.
we made our plan over beers that night (which became a bit of a tradition on this trip--deciding what to do next while enjoying a couple of Efes Pilsen every night--which, coupled with all the olives, figs, nuts, dried fruit, cheese and bread, might explain the extra bit of paunch i brought home, regardless of the endless hours of walking, the 16 km hike up a mountain and the mountain biking we did).
our plan was to ferry across the Bosphorous in the morning and head over to the station on the Asia side of Istanbul, to figure out a way to get south on an overnight train.
the Blue Mosque at night, as seen from Sultanahmet Park
(hearing the call to prayer for my first time was beautiful and something i stopped to listen to all through our travels in small towns, even though the Imams with the nicest voices are definitely concentrated in the bigger cities)
~
after a few hours sleep at Schiphol airport (despite the 5 euro espresso), we arrived at Atatürk airport in a state of surreal realization that i was suddenly in Turkiye...and although the burka had been outlawed with Atatürk's reign, many women were wearing tessetür ...everything suddenly seemed so foreign...
we got our packs and tried to fumble our way through the metro and tram system to make our way in to the old city centre, Sultanahmet...
our hostel/hotel was this dingy little place called the Sultan Otel, where, after showering in the toilet (literally), we immediately left to soak in more atmospheric sounds and flavours (thankfully, the one thing it did have going for it was the smoky man-filled pub across the street, which had the cheapest beer in the city, and no tourists...equally thankful that "beer" in Turkish is "bira").
seemingly always on the quest for food, our first dinner was traditionally shared on cushions, crushed up against our newly met neighbours smoking a nargileh.
the food was everything i had dreamed and more, and i decided then that it was my mission to take a photo of every single thing we ingested during our 2 week adventure
(of course, that was after we had already devoured our first meal of eggplant kebap and tomatoes and dips and flatbreads and deliciousness...and the sticky (sickly) sweet Sultan's tea which burned my tongue from the seal created by the nutmeg and cinnamon in Sultanahmet Park)
bob: oh that's what we should have brought...a big bag of oreos
me: since when do we eat oreos?
bob: we could have spent the whole flight licking the icing out of the middles and saved the cookies for later.
a bunch of "hi"s and "ha"s at schiphol airport
on our bikes, on the way to the distillery...me (making fun of bob): ha ha, your reflective velcro pant saver matches the reflective strip on your pannier.bob: yeah, well my penis matches your vagina.
merhaba
we're off.
i would love to try and post a few shots during my travels, but i think i'm abandoning technology in favour of a good ol' pen and notebook. for old times sake.
(what?! pen & paper? blogging blasphemy!)
allaha ısmarladık!
today i experienced what it must be like to suddenly go blind
(although perhaps spurred on by a recent rental: blindness)
i was riding the streetcar (no, not my bike for once because i'm a lazy sow sometimes), half-reading, easily distracted by the window, the sun peeking through the clouds, the shady but interesting folk at queen & sherbourne...
i looked down to pretend read again, and the instant i looked up out the window i saw white, pure white, for longer than a second, longer than a flash...just white.
it took longer than the millisecond it usually takes for my brain to catch up with the optical relay.
it turned out to be a truck. a big white truck.
funny how fear sets in quicker than realization.
~
Music to my ears: Modest Mouse
on constipation..."you give it a push and it's pushed back at you"(i laughed out loud...he didn't find it as amusing as i did)
it's 20˚ and sunny.
springtime always brings out the winter hibernators. (is that even a word? doesn't matter, because i am one)
my soundtrack changes with the change of seasons.
this morning, the only thing that could get me going on my run, and which i'm currently blasting is El-P.
i guess springtime should bring on the happy, smiley pop, but i'm not quite ready for that.
not until summer's here and i'm enjoying afternoons on the island.
springtime to me is raw energy, crass but clever lyrics, and pure passion.
~
Music to my ears: El-P - I'll Sleep When You're Dead
lately, thoughts of my family seem to make me upset.
it seems our values are so different.
at one time i was so proud to be the black sheep, so wanting to be removed from the ties that bind the family, just to have that independence.
just to break out of the traditional italian family mold.
don't get me wrong, even in my teens i was never bad or angry enough to want to disregard my italian heritage. i saw the value in that all the time. i made sure to keep up with the language that my nonna taught me as a child, and i faithfully visit my nonna on sundays...plus i love the food part of the tradition.
but being the oldest out of all my cousins, i definitely broke the ice (and took a certain self-imposed honour to that) for being the one who moved away at 19 to go to college, then never returned to live back home, favouring the city over the suburbs, getting a tattoo (or 3), moving in with my partner without getting married (living in sin!), and making it well known that i do not follow the catholic faith.
and now i look at my awesome sister (newly preggers!) and her husband in the 'burbs, living near my parents, and how close they all are, and how my mum will be closer to my sis when she's had the baby, and i feel a twinge of green.
and here's me, in the city, with no car, wondering why my mother doesn't know anything about me.
and it's not that i suddenly want that life.
that was what i was desperately trying to escape (and succeeded).
after years (stupid ones, in retrospect) of trying to distance myself, i feel myself suddenly wanting to reconnect with family, and expecting that they'll suddenly understand me?
we're different.
i've always been close to my sister and my mom, but there's a certain closeness that comes from being there all the time. living the same life. my sister is probably closer to her friends than to me.
and my mum and dad are enjoying their child-free life now--they are entitled to that, after raising me for 20 years.
and i sit here and wonder why our values are so different.
i get upset over my mom not really paying attention, or my sister and her husband not coming to see me play my first show.
i get frustrated that they always complain that the city is just so far away, not convenient to get to at all, and yet they come down all the time to see hockey and baseball games.
and to get them to come down for my birthday dinner was a fight as they wanted me to go there (me, who has no car, on my birthday). and then they did, we had a wonderful dinner, and they all feel as if they've done their part. they're good for a year.
but really, what can i expect?
i was the one who moved away, i was the one who pushed away.
i was the one who chose to grow my own values.
i can't expect them to be the same.
~
Music to my ears: Slint
this post on this blog i've been enjoying as of late got me thinking about a half-finished post i wrote almost 3 years ago
i can add a little to the things i've done but never got around to finishing the compilation of things i still want to do and see.
i know i had said it would take a while to compile, but seriously, 3 years?
i am now inspired to finish that list.
that is my goal now that school is over....which i can add to my list of things i've done:
- finished 4 years of nursing school
- floated the elora gorge in an inner tube (which was scary because i got stuck in an eddy, my tube capsized and i went over the rapids...got a little scraped, bruised and shaken up)
- travelled the irish loop on the avalon peninsula of newfoundland by bicycle
- travelled to italy (and soon turkey!)
- improved my bass playing and started a band
1st list...things to do:
1. make the list
all sorts of images fly through my head with amazing speed and no clarity.
i can't keep up.
i see myself in front of my new employer, teary-eyed, saying "how's this for an introduction?"
i see me standing on the mountain side in turkey, lost in thought, sunshine on my face, a cool breeze (can't help the cliche shots)
i've spent the last 5 years of my life getting healthy, mentally & physically.
i'm just finishing a degree in a profession i can finally be content in.
i quit smoking.
i eat crazy healthy that i sometimes wonder if i'll sprout babies since i can't have any
it can't be that bad.
but the thoughts won't stop until the doc says what he's got to say.
happiness -- at last -- please don't deny me that.
the view from the top of Monte della Rocca, in Roccacasale (my dad's hometown), in the region of Abruzzo. the town is a comune in the province of L'Aquila.
the city of L'Aquila, which just suffered a devastating earthquake, is the capital of the province of its own name and also the capital of the region of Abruzzo.
all these little towns are nestled in the Apennine mountain range and no doubt felt the quake.
my dad's cousins are the only ones we really know still in the area...and thankfully they are okay.
i don't want to just make the best of things.
i don't believe in passive acceptance.
i want to do the best i can to make things better.
as much as i can--even if it's not much.
that's my will to power.
~
Music to my ears: The Weakerthans
recession keeps us in check.
we were starting to get out of control.
our values too loose, our ethics out of whack.
that's not allowed. there's no creativity allowed here.
what part don't you understand?
what part of freedom makes sense?
and while they scare us into submission, we allow them to grow stronger by mergers and breaking previous contracts of single ownership.
and the poor get poorer, and the cat gets fatter.
we may believe we're stickin it to the man, but bend over buddy, the man's stickin it to us.
and getting paid to do it.
~
Music to my ears: Secret Chiefs 3
it's almost over.
some days--weeks--have been an exercise in boredom and little sleep.
at one point i found myself looking for jesus in the back of my eyelids...admittedly (and thankfully) that hasn't been the highlight of this journey.
it's all coming to fruition soon as i have accepted the job of my choice.
i refuse to talk about the recession right now, but i am proud of my persistence in securing a job before i have officially graduated.
now i just have to pass that dang exam.
but not before trekking around turkey with my soulmate.
i can't wait for the days that my days off are actually days off.
until then, i continue to survive on way less sleep than i need.
~
Music to my ears: slow.news.day
there he is again.
that man with the practiced smile full of gleaming white teeth.
the starbright twinkle of money on his incisor.
the tan in the dead of winter. (not the tan in a can, but the tan that screams perpetual vacation--somewhere with a golf course--I think they have that setting on the tanning beds at the expensive place.)
the trench coat folded strategically over the left arm, the extra bold tie with the sharp dark suit.
such a contrast to the man with the corduroy coat who smells of old spice and beef brisket stew.
~
Music to my ears: Women in Tragedy
it's hard to see well-to-do families watch their family members become crippled by old age and extended hospital stays--as if they've never before been devastated by a tragedy.
so far removed from what it's like to have sick family members.
the ability to be healthy comes easier with money.
~
Music for a Sunday morning: talkdemonic - beat romantic
so it's the year 2009 and we have these crazy high rates of infection circa the early 1900s.
and the rates are increasing.
is this the evolution of bacteria or viruses?
half of me wants to say yes, absolutely. those little buggers are mutating and becoming resistant.
but maybe it's more our problem...our fault.
maybe we have become so concerned with mastering the high tech issues to keep people alive longer that we have lapsed in basic infection control.
maybe because hospitals are more open to the public, it's easier for the germs to spread.
(i mean, have you seen hospitals lately? they're like shopping malls.)
MRSA used to be confined to the ICU. then it spread around to other units in hospitals.
now we're finding MRSA out in the community.
just sayin.
~
Music to my ears: Las Venus
Ah mamma mia.
Death won’t come to me.
I’m ready.
And instead I’m suffering.
Why won’t it come?
I could be with my husband. My mother.
Mamma mia.
It’s not coming my way. It’s not coming for nothing.
Because what I have it doesn’t want. I have nothing for it.
It’s right here and it doesn’t want me.
Mamma mia.
I can’t do it anymore. I’m done.
I’m ready and it goes away.
Ah mamma mia.
When I see my mother again I’m going to get mad at her.
I’m going to say “why didn’t you come for me?”
Mamma mia.
I have to go home. I’ll pay a good price for it not to pass over me again.
Look here (pointing).
It’s here.
(translated into English by me --m.)
~
Music to my ears: Clint Mansell - The Fountain OST
happy birthday lil sis.
~
music to my ears after a long day: hum - you'd prefer an astronaut
the winds of change are warm and welcoming...inspiring.
yesterday i was called in on a "how fast can you get here?" kinda call.
those ones always worry me, but also intrigue me in some twisted way.
i'm always expecting someone completely off the rails confused, or ripping tubes out of various orifices.
when i got to the floor, the clerk directed me to the pt's room. it was in the step-down unit.
step-down means the step between a critical care unit, like the ICU, and the actual unit they will end up on. usually it is a separate room on the same med/surg unit...but the ratio of RNs to pts is 1:2.
so immediately i thought i was in for a long day. it's very rarely we get called to be constant care for patients who pretty much have constant care from RNs.
this didn't end up being the case.
i spent the day with a wonderfully funny man, who was frustrated and did want to leave, but who wouldn't?
i later found out from his wife that the medication had made him really confused as everything he told me about all the money and land he had was not at all true.
he pulled it off pretty good though, i must say.
i thought he was joking when he kept asking me what other information i needed for the book i was writing on him. but it kept him talking.
and in between the confusion were nuggets of truth, wisdom and hilarity:
on being in a hospital gown:
"be careful in here. let 'em get a hold of your pants and you'll never see 'em again. i took my pants off over a month ago and haven't seen them since!"
speaking of foley catheters:
"you lose a lot in here. all i can do is lie here with a damn tube pullin on my bird"
on love & marriage:
"it's all whistles and bells until you have your first fight--then you're sitting there wondering "what's going on? we don't fight". then 10 mins later it's all forgotten about"
~
Music for a sunday morning: The Twilight Singers
often when i'm standing in front of the sink washing dishes my mind wanders.
i don't know if it's the soothing feel of bubbles, or running water, but it's the only place where when my mind wanders it doesn't automatically wander to thoughts of school and stress and job stuff. it wanders to random thoughts, plucked from somewhere deep within my hippocampus...with some frontal lobe grey matter thrown in to add some emotion to the mix.
today i started to wonder if, as we get older, our parents know less and less about us.
okay, i was wondering about my mother is specifically.
i have not lived with my parents in about a decade or slightly more and i think of how much i feel i have changed during my tumultuous 20s (which is how, when i look back, i will forever fondly remember them as...has a nice ring to it, with a certain truthfulness...)
i mean, i talk to my mother almost on a daily basis, but often i think she's not listening to me...pre-occupied with some other task or thought...i often use the good ol' alien-baby-arm-fell-off trick--and surprisingly, it often works. so maybe she just hasn't been listening to me...i mean, really listening.
but then i think maybe my core hasn't changed so much...and so what if she's not interested in my recent endeavours? i'm just being a child--she's probably one of the only ones (along with my sis) who really knows me...just me.
~
Music to my ears: Baroness - red album
i had the pleasure of spending my 12 hr shift today with a wonderfully funny older gentleman, who (sadly) suffers from severe copd and leukemia.
he is waiting for a place in palliative care.
in talking about stay at home moms (his daughter is one) he says:
"i think that's the way it should be. call me old-fashioned or traditional but a child needs their mother...at least for the formative years...every animal learns from its parents. if a baby fox was raised by a wolf, it wouldn't be a fox."
he also gave me one of the nicest compliments i've ever received:
"i wish i was going to be around when you're finally a nurse...you're going to be a great one. i'm sure of it."
(thanks mr. w...you will surely be missed)
22 American soldiers in Iraq committed suicide in 2005
Teen in Texas bitten by bat in his sleep, dies of rabies
i don't speak--you don't need to when society speaks for you.
mind-reading is highly overrated.
i talked to a hippie on the streetcar today.
"my that's a good book you're reading", i said.
and he shook his beard in agreement, like a horse's mane, and 3 sparrows flew out to perch on my coffee mug.
pointless thinking is worse than no thinking at all.
best shows* that i saw in 2008:
1. saul williams @ the mod club
2. dub trio @ the el mocambo
3. baroness with bison b.c. @ lee's palace
4. slow.news.day @ rancho relaxo
5. battles @ lee's palace
6. tortoise @ the mod club
7. the reverend horton heat @ the mod club
honourable mentions†:
1. mogwai @ the phoenix
2. the gutter twins @ the mod club
3. the weakerthans @ nathan phillips square
*judged on the ability of the band to make me leave the show and proclaim "holy hell, that was f***ing awesome!" to anyone who would listen.
†bands made the honourable mention spot by either being one of my favourite bands to see live (ie/they always put on a good show it just didn't make me proclaim "holy hell, that was f***ing awesome!" to anyone who would listen) OR by containing musicians that i was super excited to see live (as is the case with the gutter twins' mark lanegan and greg dulli)
pt: i feel like pavlov's dogme: how do you mean? (as i spoon feed him teaspoons of water)pt: ring the bell, get some water, ring the bell, get some water
every time i have a shift at our downtown cancer hospital, my client ends up being put on a dnr order and palliatiave care during my time with them...i was starting to wonder if maybe this wasn't the right profession for me, when i'm like the long, bony hand of death...but then i remembered that it's a cancer hospital, so it's probably more coincidence.
~
- is there a chance to enjoy the time i have left? asked mr. c, slowly, taking deep breaths between each word as the nurse put a finger over the trach hole in his neck.
- how would you want to do that? she asked.
- my daughter to visit, my wife to visit more, my family is going deeper in the hole, in debt.
- what would make you happy?
- to stop putting my family through this devastation. i want to enjoy as much as possible.
oh dear dear karate-do, my how i have missed you.
the soreness you leave in those muscles i forgot existed.
the bruises you imprint on my shins and forearms.
the lactic acid you help build up in my quads after mere minutes of horse stance.
the havoc wreaked on my bare feet, callouses forming under my big toes, bunions bulging.
my brain works hard to pluck the finely choreographed kata sequences from its long term memory storage....but my limbs remember the moves, like an ingrained dance routine.
my expanding waist line and flabby belly are thanking your triumphant return to my body's regimen.
domo arigato.
yame.
i get the 5am wake up call...again.
"who is this?" i grumble in my sleepy stupor...it's been a while since i've gotten this call.
"it's me" * sniff *
i am the one she calls from strangers' beds, in her coke-induced fervor.
i don't see her very often anymore.
recently out of rehab, she confined herself to work and the gym...anything to keep her busy.
but just as she has never judged me, i don't judge her.
"are you ok?"
i always ask. although i know she is as resilient as they come.
"i'm ashamed" * sniff *"dude, i'm sorry" * sniff *"i'm just so fucking bored" * sniff *the string of apologies she always gives me.
i know she's sorry. i know she means it.
"don't be sorry. just get home safe."
"why can't i stop doing this?"
i wish i could answer her. instead i silently cry.
T is the best friend anyone could wish for. i love her to death.
aside from J, she knows me better than anyone else.
i don't have many friends. she's my best.
my one true friend--a drug addict.
and i can't do anything to save her.
i still remember my very last cigarette. i can see it exactly.
i was sitting at the dining room table in our last apartment on the danforth, doing a dreaded roy care plan for a patient.
bob had quit a week before me.i remember taking a drag and saying "this is it. my last cigarette ever."
i can feel the taste of the filter on my lips, the smoke entering my lungs.
and then i stubbed it out. i continued on with my assignment and i left the butt there in the ashtray in front of me, staring it down.
just me and the desire.
then, as i went to bed, i cleaned out the ashtray, threw out the rest of the pack...woke up the next day a new person, never to smoke again.
this picture was slowly fading from my mind but came back with vivid force as i sat helpless by my 85 year old patient while she hacked out a lung.
in between breaths she whispered "i" *cough* "have" *cough* "chronic" *cough* "bronchitis" *cough*
and emphysema. and a gangrenous foot that will have to be amputated from vascular disease related to congestive heart failure.
but she quit smoking a month ago.pointing to her body she says "i'm not having this outfit again! it's broken".
was she ever a feisty one! so full of life and cackly laughter.
the 85 year old chain smoker you see sitting in the bingo hall or cursing obscenities at a slot machine.
still trying to pick up 25 year old residents.
and i wonder if i never stopped smoking, if i too would have a feisty demeanor, still laughing in the face of adversity.
Mr L was a "vocal musician" until cancer ruined his larynx.
"that's just reality, these things happen"
lying in bed with a blood pressure way beyond the normal limits of any living person, Mr L told me about the few hundred different species of birds he owns at a sanctuary west of barrie.
a diabetic with hardly any teeth, sucking on a hard candy, he begged me to take him outside for a cigarette. he tells me that suffering from bipolar, he shouldn't be in this hospital, he needs to be in a mental institution.
i tell him that he needs to get his physical body better first.
he tells me the body and mind go together and his mental state is not getting any better in a hospital where they neglect his mental illness.
"i'm not a brave person. i've cursed myself many times over"
discussing social influence and conformity in psych class this week i got to thinking about the zimbardo prison study again.
this one never goes away.
i can always go back to this, however unethical, and relate societal pressures and the need for acceptance to the roles we take on.
like the other self.
zimbardo himself even testified at the Abu Graib prisoner abuse scandal.
he argues that even good people can turn evil.
pretty much.
(i'm not at all defending the "soldiers" who tortured prisoners)
in groups it's difficult to go against the grain. to be an individual.
it's easier to obey orders and follow the crowd.
that was what the "soldiers" said. they were just "following orders".
the government said they were bad apples.
the government, passing the blame back to the individual.
in doing so, making the fundamental attribution error that we all are guilty of.
in a society that values personal achievement and individualism, yet is built on the power of conformity, allows us to still blame others when group interactions go wrong.
personal traits vs situations.
there's nothing wrong with the system, it's the people.
this implies nothing needs to change.
it's a fine line between compliance and obedience.
it's easier to obtain compliance when deindividuation occurs.
that uniformity becomes comforting and it becomes easier to change our beliefs than our behaviours.
and it allows society to stip away our individuality and increase our allegiance to the group mentality.
i wore a catholic school uniform growing up.
~
In the background: 2008 Giller Prize
to the love of my life.
for your birthday, on this day when i feel that i am so broke that i can't buy you anything, but know that that feeling is misguided because we both know that money can't buy love and happiness, and yet it still makes me feel bad
(ah, the guilt of our society)
for your birthday, on this day what i wish is that everybody could see how extraordinarily talented and intellgent and just how fantastic you really are.
for your birthday, on this day i want you to know that some day everybody will hear your music, will see your photos, will marvel at your abilities and be awed by you. like i am awed by you.
i am so fortunate to be able to lie in bed each night and wake up every morning next to you.
xo.
so if there wasn't a dominant theory about personality, would half of the people who we define as having mental illness still be considered ill?
i love psychology, but psychologists are always trying to figure us out, you know?
in the '80s, researchers Costa & McCrae came up with yet another psychometric approach to personality that is now a dominant view. they say there are 5 major variables of personality that are replicable across time and across cultures.
Openness (willing to try new things)
Conscientiousness (regard for others)
Extroversion (level of sociability)
Agreeableness (pleasant to interact with)
Neuroticism (guilty, worrisome, anxious)
so this is it. they've boiled us down to 5 traits, or a combination thereof.
by asking their research participants to answer a questionnaire, which they have never published. huh.
so if we can only be these traits, even in any combination, people who exhibit other traits are what? mentally ill? outside of "the norm"? makes you wonder. well, it makes me wonder.
there were others that were quite popular pre Costa & McCrae, like Eysenck who came up with 3 personality prototypes: neuroticism (unstable & introverted, worried, guilty, moody); psychoticism (extroverted but emotionally unstable, seeks out social interactions but volatile and moody); extroverted (lively, social, responsive, good at seeking out harmonious relationships)...this means i'm psychotic.
like Cattell, who said there are 16 factors of personality that are source traits--the root of our behaviour
i'm thinkin i'm a bit of a critic of the trait theories
Walter Mischel is too.
he says behaviour is determined by the situation rather than personality.
situationism. i like that.
maybe if we all wanted to go to parties all the time, we'd all be extroverted and highly sociable.
maybe if we were all confronted with voices in our heads, we'd be introverted and talk out loud to ourselves.
maybe if we weren't confined to fit into 5 personality traits, other traits wouldn't seem so extraordinary.
if we were all the same, nobody's behaviour would be out of the ordinary.
what fun is that?
lying in bed in the morning, deciding what to do for the day, bob says:
"you can jump my bones if you want to".
"oh really? can i?", i say, laying on the sarcasm pretty thick.
he says,
"you know, you're not doing yourself anything in the favours department"
(manny - 0, bob - 1)
i have had many friends that i've lost.
i had a friend who, this past summer, had a bit of a breakdown and landed herself on the mental health unit at the local hospital...and in legal limbo.
i supported her for a while then lost touch with her as she left hospital and moved north to recoup, prepare for endless court battles...and find jesus.
i had a dream last night that i found her and asked her to fill me in on what i'd missed.
she was now getting married, having a baby and leading a "normal life".
the woman i used to know would have shat on the idea of what constitutes a "normal life". she had fought in the face of adversity. she had divorced a husband who was emotionally abusive, quit her job that she was no longer satisfied with, had moved out of the 'burbs, into the city with a wonderful guy she had hooked up with at a party. they got along wonderfully. she was doing art. and playing in a band.
she had endured the black sheep of the family moniker and i had looked up to her for that.
this is my biggest fear working in mental health.
are we just getting people healthy to keep up with the Jones'?
are we trying to fix people to conform to society's norms?
what is this medication we're giving?
take this happy pill and be like everybody else...you don't have to worry about being different anymore.
(Quidi Vidi fishing stages)
we woke up to another sunny day. sad that we were leaving St. John's.
we splurged on a big breakfast at Bagel Cafe, busy little dark joint that doubles as a bar at night.
wooden booths and japanese paper lanterns didn't disguise the delicious traditional Newfoundland breakfast.
salty fishcakes and eggs. what a fantastic combo.
especially followed by beer at Quidi Vidi brewery.
we saved this wonderful little town and tour of the brewery for our last mini-trip before the airport. the old historic fishing town of Quidi Vidi (pron: kiddy viddy) lies just on the other side of Signal Hill.
we walked off the fishcakes.
a bit of a trek, but not impossible by any means. plus, for 8 buckaroos you're rewarded with samples of every beer they brew, a tour of the place, and then a full bottle of your choice to enjoy on the dock.
we both chose the 1892 but i also really enjoyed Eric's Red, which isn't a red at all, but a smooth-tasting cream ale.
too bad our 2 bottle mix-pack that we tried to smuggle on the plane got confiscated.
at least it made us aware of the one bottle that had busted in bob's bag and left all of our clothes soaking in 1892 goodness.
so in the oldest town in North America exists one of its oldest residential structures.
entering the cottage is like going through a hobbit door.
and the place is crammed, i mean, crammed! full of antiques and junk and local crafts.
the lovely woman who runs the place uses the money from sales to keep the place going...naturally we had to buy something.
i scored a wonderful handmade inuit-style long hooded coat with fur and embroidery made by a woman in Labrador. bob scored an antique Parker pen to add to his collection.
suddenly heading back to town we feared we were running late. big surprise there.
and yet we still made a stop in the arts council to pick up a piece of art by a local artist.
a wonderful lino cut print of a codfish (but of course!) by Janet Davis.
we decided to grab a bite to go for the wait at the airport, assuming we'd have no problems this time getting our oversized luggage on the aircraft.
unbelievably we found another tiny little Indian place with some of the best tasting food to the east of Little India.
on that day, our final day, i could have stayed in Newfoundland forever.
long may yer big jib draw
after our previous evening of great jazz at the Ship Inn, we tired early and checked out to relax at home.
waking up this morning was by our own internal clocks. lying in bed, being lazy, we talked about going to check out The Sprout (St. John's only vegan resto) for dinner that night...reading the menu Bob says:
"this is why people don't like vegans, you know"
me: "why?"
bob: "because they name burgers things like give peas a chance" (note: neither of us tried this burger, but our meals were totally delicious)
(Storm's Island Gold ale)
we spent the morning and afternoon taking apart the bikes and packing them up, along with the rest of our stuff, with the ultimate goal of reducing our checked luggage.
it was frustrating and so by mid-afternoon we went for ice cream at Moo-Moos, the local dairy.
the wind was so incredibly crazy and the sky a wacky mix of grey and blue clouds that i just had to try Newfie Storm (a tasty, tasty, homemade--did i mention tasty?--mix of caramel and chocolate in mocha ice cream)...bob had Orange-Pineapple.
(orange-pineapple)
(newfie storm) we walked along the steep side streets, admiring the colourful houses and then along Duckworth St...
thankfully it started to rain just as we neared a used book store (clearly we have an addiction)...but Bob found a heavy metal anthology of reviews from the 70s until the late 90s.
definitely a wicked find.
so what better way to top off a wonderful and relaxed and calm veg dinner than with some crazy hardcore music...i'm talking circa 1996...thankfully this still exists in St. John's at Distortion. it was a cd release party for Two Guitars Clash, but after seeing Icebreaker perform, we really didn't need to stay and compare.
*note to self...put on ipod when i get home:
1. sick of it all
2. snapcase - designs for automotion
the riding's not over yet....and we missed the boat.
(Great Island, Witless Bay)daily stats
weather: sunny, 22˚
avg speed: 18.8 (m) / 18.4 (b)
max speed: 60.0 (i rule) / 58.0 (b)
total distance: 69.72 kms
GRAND TOTAL: 618.77 kms
so this was it. our last day of riding on the east coast.
even though we got back to St. John's a day early, we still counted this as the last day.
the early homecoming wasn't by choice...it was necessary to get bob's bike fixed up.
there was no way it would have made it up another hill with a welded chain.
and so we decided to go back to Witless Bay to do a whale and bird watching tour.
on a zodiac!
well, we sprinted to Witless Bay, and i mean sprinted up and down those bloody hills and missed the 11:30 boat.
and when i say missed, i mean we sprinted up that last hill to the cafe and dock, panting, lactic acid burning my quads, and watched the zodiac speed away from the dock.
and so we waited.
we had coffee and waited.
it was quite annoying. but relaxing none the less.
hey, we were on vacation after all.
so we finally got out on the high speed zodiac (complete in our padded orange prison suits) and we sped out to Witless Bay Ecological Reserve.
(Gull Island, Witless Bay)
we saw humpback whales! minkes!
and puffins! and gulls! common murres and kitty wakes!
but the whales! oh, the whales.
i have a blurry picture.
it was windy and the waves were big. and, oh yeah, i was in awe.
so i have a blurry picture of a fin. and a splash.
so i tried a video.
they were so close my jaw just dropped, and so did my camera.
so i have a blurry video of my knee in an orange full-size lifesuit and some "ooohs and ahhhs" as background vocals.
so here i insert yet another story of that true newfoundland spirit.
when we got back to the dock, the other tourists sped away in their full-size chevy eldorado rentals and bob and i, after peeling off our lifesuits, decided to eat our packed lunch while sitting in the parking lot with our sea legs and pondering the immense hill we'd have to climb to start our trek back to the city.
we watched a man park his boat down at the dock, and walk up the hill to the cafe.
we share passing hellos.
on his way out, coffee cup in one hand, the irish loop cafe's famous pistachio bar in the other (i'm calling them famous because i had one that morning and they're that good), he starts small talk.
next thing you know, he has convinced us, along with our bikes, to take a ride on his boat, as far as Bay Bulls, the next town over.
because that's where he's heading. and he'd save us the first two out of three major hills back.
and because he'd sure love the company.
so what would have been a gruelling 30 mins of riding, turned into a 2 hr tour of the bay and coves.
(the bikes ride shotgun)
our faithful guide, mr neil parry, hauled our heavy bikes over rocks and into his boat, which used to be a small tour boat he bought off of one of the big tour companies.
mr parry used to be a kayak tour guide.
and he loves tourists with a sense of adventure.
he showed us his wife's favourite rock formation. the only place where wild strawberries grow in the bay.
and he regaled us with stories of the history in the area.
our wish to repay him with a coffee when we docked in Bay Bulls (which he pays $94/year for a prime spot!) was met with a "have to meet my wife and take the kids to lessons" but he advised us to check out the church because there were old wwII cannons for gate posts.
and so we did.
(cannons as part of gate)
inspecting the cannons from the gate, a man driving by in a car stopped to tell us to go into the grounds and check out the freaky statue which the parish priest had made for this brother that fell in the war.
(statue on church grounds)
on the way home we stopped at Bidgood's in Goulds...really just to check out the flipper pie.
we ended up buying 3 big pieces of dried, salted cod (baccala for nonna!).
at roughly 5 bucks a cod, my italian grandma, who would normally spend around $30 for the same piece here in toronto, nearly shit a brick when she saw it.
i'm the favourite granddaughter again. that's right.
(sardonicus the cat smells the salt cod)
(whole salmon for cheap! at Bidgood's)
(the price of wild blueberries at Bidgood's)
