the little winged samara

Yep, the littlest samara is working on his wings.

snow and steel: a tale of winter magic

March had a tantrum today. Rain on sleet on snow, blown around with an angry bluster. Hard to keep one's chin up on these days. Summer seems like a distant, hazy dream and today's meteorological mayhem a cruel nightmare you can't awake from.

So I want to tell a story about a little bit of winter magic that we stumbled upon some weeks ago. I don't mean the rabbit-in-hat, pull-a-quarter-from-your ear kind of magic. But the kind of magic where, if you're able to suspend linear, rational thinking for a little bit, delightful things happen.


It was a mild Sunday afternoon, a little grey, but still snowy enough for a family outing to Mount Royal park. It was truly lovely, the park was filled with people enjoying a winter weekend - skating, sledding, walking. We hadn't been the most motivated gang that day so it was getting on in the afternoon by the time we even got outside. As we frolicked in the snow with Milo, he suddenly stopped and caught the eye of a lone gentleman walking the nearby path. He stared so intently the man literally stopped in his tracks and came toward us. My initial reaction was wary ~ this park is known for its strange characters, sometimes~ but his twinkly eyes and welcoming smile quashed my reservations. And he cooed over our child, which always wins me over. We talked briefly of the joys of children, of photography (we had our camera out) and, with a goodbye to Milo, he started to walk away. He hesitated for a moment, like he had something more he wanted to tell us, then shook his head and started walking again. He stopped again and asked which direction we were headed. We told him and he nodded. Silence. "Have you heard of the secret sculpture in the trees?" I suddenly felt like the air thicken around us and our voices quieted conspiratorially. Legend has it that Armand Vaillancourt, noted Quebec sculptor, had hidden a metal sculpture in the tree canopy of Mount Royal Park. Now this twinkly-eyed stranger, called to us by our one-year-old, was handing us a quest to go find it. He drew us a treasure map in the snow and we embarked on our epic search for the secret statue, hurrying to beat the fading light.

For years, he had walked the park, looking for the statue and had finally come upon it just this morning. I could sense that he was torn between sharing his incredible find and revealing a long-held secret. In fact, he wouldn't tell us where it was for a while, waiting to ensure, I imagine, that his secret fell on receptive ears. And this, you see, is where the magic comes in: Milo drew this man to us, as if he knew the man had a story to tell. And because of this brief, surreal conversation with a man we didn't know, we found ourselves veering off the path into the deep snow of the darkening forest, craning our necks twords the treetops. Milo cooed appreciatively from his sled, oblivious to the wet snowsuit and chilly toes. This was his doing, after all. Bare branches danced against the twilight sky, their silhouettes teasing our imagination. I was seeing sculptures everywhere.

Then I spotted it. Its angular limbs were well camouflaged but once spotted, you wonder how you could ever have missed it in the first place. It was a climber, high above our heads, captured in graceful ascent of a huge maple, his ice axe frozen in a wide arc above his head. I wonder where he was headed, what he was trying to see. I must have walked past this spot over a hundred times since I was a little girl and he was there the whole time, focused on his next move, stealthily making his way up the tree. I almost can't explain the delight this moment brought me. It was like a window into the soul of the city, a perfect melding of man and nature. And it spoke of how our human constructs and the natural world, are inseparable.



Oh, it spoke to me of a lot of things. But there was a louder voice, speaking of hunger, darkness, wet and cold. And so we crashed back out onto the path with the last bit of light and headed for home. Still wrapped in our magic winter quest.

Uncle!

OK, OK, February. You win. You officially kicked our ass this month. My little frugality campaign was no match for the gale force of your ill intent. I surrender.
Now maybe we can pick up whatever remains of us emotionally and physically after the travels, and the funerals and the viruses and hospitals and just quietly limp away to wait for March to come roaring in.

The Buy (almost) Nothing campaign came to a crashing halt the day we bought last-minute tickets to Wisconsin. We went home to bid goodbye to a good friend who lost her battle with breast cancer. We spent a week back home just taking solace in the good community there, reminding ourselves of everything waiting for us when we get back this summer. Sharing some good time with good friends.

Sharing other things, too. Like, oh I don't know, secrets, wine, tenacious viruses. As if flipping us a callous middle finger, February sent me back to Montreal with a feverish baby who proceeded to basically lie on the floor and whimper for an entire week. Not that I really noticed, I was too busy lying in bed whimpering. Jake was trying to keep it all together and my extended family acted as backup reinforcements and general harpies. They made soup and said things like "oh, that doesn't sound good" and bugged us to go "do something" for the kid. Like get antibiotics. You know, so we can treat that virus.

Sigh. So I daresay we might be coming out the other end of this onslaught now. It was brilliant and sunny today and I took a walk with Milo in the backpack in the forest and it felt so rejuvenating. My lungs threw the windows open and shook out their stagnant bed linens. We had a family nap in a sunny corner of the living room afterwards which was beautiful beyond words. And this little bean joined our planet last week, and that made me really happy. I've been excited to meet him for some time.

Day 7, B(a) NM - Oops.

Today put the (a) in B(a)NM. And I was doing so well. Until I slipped. I realized I had so few clothes for Milo in the next size and so I just took a quick look - just a little peek - at Ebay, just to satisfy my curiosity. Well, I gave curiosity an inch and it took a foot. Two auctions, twenty minutes left, the whole ugly scene was over faster than a thursday night sitcom. I feel so dirty, I think I'll go have a cookie (yes, homemade)...

Day 5, B(a)NM

The weekend was a good one, we rekindled some old friendships and Milo even got to see papou and yiayia sing in their choir. Another beautiful walk on Mont-Royal reminded me that I'm not crazy for thinking that some of the most fulfilling things to do are absolutely free. Speaking of spending, the New York Times posted an interesting article today about how Americans are actually starting to cut spending. Even the rich ones. And that has financial analysts clucking like hysterical chickens. Makes this little no-spending project feel relevant...

*****

It's been quiet around here he last couple of days as we try to absorb the fact that we will not see our friend Cindy again. It's just too big, like the milky way galaxy. I can't get my head around it. We are headed back to Madison for the weekend to be there, to laugh, cry and send her on her journey with a great big wave of love from her friends and family.

Goodbye, friend.

Let children walk with nature
Let them see the beautiful blendings
and communities of death and life
their joyous inseparable unity,
as taught in woods and meadows,
plains and mountains,
and streams of our blessed star,
and they will learn that death is stingless indeed
and as beautiful as life. - John Muir

Day 2, B(a)NM

If the snow and ice keep coming, I'm never going to want to leave this house the entire month of February and our challenge will be a cinch. Today, I started my second baby hat knitting project with some delicious baby alpaca wool I scored at this gorgeous wool store. Totally forgot how to cast on so I cast about online and found this useful video that shows you how! Thank you internet (smooch!).

Day 1, B(a)NM: Snow days and rules of the game

Ron and Debbie's back 40, near Malone, NY


Winter 2008 will go down as one of the snowiest in many years. Around here, this is seen as a good thing as we have been able to unpack the skiis from the basement and put them to some use. We are also slowly testing the limits of a one-year-old in cold weather and luckily he seems to be displaying the more hardy northern european constitution of his father then the wimpy mediterranean one of his mum. Me, I would be one of the first to lie down and take a nice nap in the snow on a Mt. Everest expedition becasue it's too cold to keep going.

We've had some great excusrsions out of the city recently. The above photo montage is from a wonderful weekend spent in the company of Jake's old roomates in the Adirondacks near Malone, NY. We were hiking the "back 40" of Ron's incredible forest retreat in frigid -15 celsius weather

***
The first official day of our campaign to buy almost nothing is underway! J and I talked about this with another friend last night, who, between bouts of uncontrollable laughter at the self-flagellatory nature of this idea, kept quizzing us on the loopholes rules of the game. And so, for the sake of clarity and marital harmony, here they are:

1. The mission and spirit of Buy (almost) Nothing Month is to - obviously - consume less. But it is also about fostering a spirit of self-sufficiency and creativity. While it's highly impractical to avoid buying anything in the middle of winter in an apartment that isn't ours, we need to ask ourselves, with every action that involves our wallet: is it necessary, can we do without, can we do differently?

2. Groceries are OK, takeout sushi is not;

3. In celebration of the self-sufficiency aspect of this effort, purchase of necessary raw materials is OK. So ice-cream is out, but chocolate chips to make our own cookies is in;

4. Work-related expenses are exempt;

5. Transportation costs are a grey area. Bus tickets are good, since they're public transportation. We'll need to do a gut-check on gas for the car, since the car really is a luxury but, let's be reasonable here, we're in the middle of winter in a big city with a little kid;

6. Entertainment counts as consumption. That includes dinners and drinks out on the town, video rentals, concerts, magazines, etc. We can, however, use barter. Like "hey, if we can borrow your video rental for the night, we'll cook you chocolate chip cookies (see rule #3)".

Day 1 has been good so far. Tonight it's dinner at Sophie and Nico's. I'm making caramel pots-de-creme from this amazing recipe. Good thing I have all that muscovado and demerara sugar lying around...

Ahhh...mission accomplished

With a cup of tea and a luscious baked apple by my side last night, I wrapped up a long overdue project: my first attempt at knitting. Milo's hat was a project I started in mid-January.

Of 2007.

As in over 380 days ago.

Doesn't he look dapper?

Thanks Debbie and Elena for feeding a new addiction. I am ready to make a bunch more of these, without all the interim mistakes like dropping stiches and accidentally knitting backwards for a few hours. This new habit will be the perfect companion to take me through this next month, which we have declared another family Buy (almost) Nothing Month around here. Of course, I will run out to buy more wool today before January is officially over and we clamp the chastity belt on the wallets.

I am going to blog my way through our Buy (almost) Nothing Month and try not to complain too much of the things I cannot do. It will be a challenge, but one that is overdue for me. Being back in an urban environment full of beautiful things hanging in window displays has given me an unhealthy case of the "I-wanna"s. So this is my detox. We did it once before and it was really rewarding. Of course, that time it was summer in Madison and there was no child involved.

Feeling a million miles away.

Today I felt grey like the day. Heavy. Cloudy.

Dread knocks the wind out of me every time the phone rings.

A dear friend has ended her chemotherapy and went in to hospice care last weekend. And I am a million miles away and my heart is breaking for her and her family. So I hold my baby extra close. And kiss my husband a lot. And we do the only thing we can do: FedEx her fresh bagels from Montreal, in honour of the trip she had hoped to make to visit us and eat her way through this town. We're mailing a little bit of Montreal to her instead.

Remember, Cindy: they're best lightly toasted with cream cheese and lox. And a pinch of east coast attitude.
Oh, and the chocolates? You don't have to share those.