Megan Rock

Last night, blearily half-awake in some unidentifiable hour of the morning, I somehow got this image in my mind of a tiny, subterranean population - like the Fraggles - who have somehow rigged up a tiny, subterranean movie screen that projects dreams from the minds of the people above - they have several different minds in circulation.

And I imagined that each time the tiny, subterranean guy running the show announced to them all that they would be watching my dreams that night, they would all throw up their arms and give out squeaky little cries of excitement, because my mind gives the best shows!

Seriously, I have some wild dreams - they frolic and romp through all the best of dream territory in a wonderfully irrational performance of wish fulfilment, superpowers, forbidden love, time travel, narrow escapes, immortality, fear, satisfaction... there is no rhyme or reason, only action.

Sometimes I have semi-lucid moments in my dreams where I realize that I can take advantage of what's happening, and other times I have embarrassing or incriminating dreams about people who I then have to face the next day, feeling at once shy and triumphant that they made a cameo in my unconscious and will never be the wiser. I have bad dreams and good, dreams I remember for ages (there was one I had over and over when I was a kid that I still remember so clearly, especially when I wind up my little tugboat music box and listen to it), and other dreams that I remember less and less the more I try to concentrate on them.

And I always, always, no matter what I try to do to alter it, wake up around 3 or 4am to go to the bathroom - but it isn't a simple, clean wake-up and go-back-to-sleep event... having to pee is always a big event in my dreams, sometimes it reaches emergency levels until I gradually wake up and enough lights flicker on in my brain to tell me in which direction I need to stumble.

EXAMPLE last night I had a dream that, out of desperation, I got a job as a cashier at the Provigo grocery store near my apartment in Montreal. I was being trained by someone about my age, and she was getting increasingly frustrated with me because I couldn't remember any of the French names for the produce (probably related to my ongoing anxiety on behalf of cashiers everywhere - how do they remember all those codes?), and my line-up was getting so long that it snaked up and down every single aisle in the store, and people were shouting French curses at me ("sacre poutin!"), and I was also getting more and more worried because I really had to pee but could not foresee an easy exit from the situation... then, slowly, right on cue, gradual wake-up until whoa! I'm in my bed! Have to pee!

Thus concludes my rant on dreaming.

Tonight is New Years' Eve! Well, I guess all day has been New Years' Eve, but tonight it really gets saluted with all the partying that happens. I am stomach-tingling excited!

(ps - had a great party for Mom last night ... it was a smashing hit of the highest quality, and everything tasted delicious, and everyone was merry! I don't know how any of that could have triggered my Provigo dream, but... who knows what wee nightmares my unconscious cooks up through the day to spoon into my too-willing brain at night).

Move over, Jesus...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DARLING MOM!

Special blog post today, since it is a vrrrrrrrrrrrry important birthday for a vrrrrrrrrry important person! We have everything prepared... wise men (Tycho, Adam), shepherds (I distinctly remember the feeling of gooey sheep raisins accidentally squashed under bare feet on the farm), cute animals lowing their heads, and gifts galore. Only problem is that it's a little overcast so I hope everyone can find their way here! We are having a BBQ... this seemed like a good idea last week when the weather was warm and there was no snow in sight. Now there's a cold blast each time the door is opened. I told Adam that steak just doesn't taste the same if it's not BBQ'd by someone in shorts and sandals but he seemed gently dismissive of my urging. Anyway, Hawaiian shirts or not, we will have a fun party tonight and that's what matters! And there will be CAKE! I think everyone knows how I feel about cake...

I am using Bronwyn's laptop since mine is currently commissioned to churn out dance tunes while this day takes shape.... and soooooo... without being too snoopy I will root around and see if there are fun photos in here that I can post!

Oooh oooh, here is a recent one... this is a small faction of the Hancock clan out for a leisurely calorie-burning stroll after Boxing Day dinner this year... usually this means a meandering walk through the woods at the back of the farm, nothing too strenuous, but this year things got serious... don't ask why, but we picked the beach! It is difficult to push around our family when we have an idea about something, and as we lolled about the house with belly-fulls of food I bet someone just said, "you know what would be great right now? The beach." And before I knew it I was stuffed in a car heading for the shore, weather be damned.

If the many bodies in our family somehow merged into a single superperson who decided to place a personal ad, I wonder what it would say? "My perfect date would be a cozy winter day of barbecuing and walking on the beach. Want to get frosty with me?"

WHICH REMINDS ME I saw this book for sale whilst I was Christmas shopping, and now I wish I had bought it for someone (who could then lend it to me). I spent a good while lingering in the bookshop, smoldering hot inside my furry coat (I wasn't on the freezing beach, you see - not my natural environment, being a Hancock and all) and having a chuckle. It's worth owning for the title alone!

Okay, must run, there is a whirring of activity around me, and if I sit here any longer I'm afraid resentment will build against me. Plus, Jen & Mark are stopping in today on their way to Windsor, so excitement is building inside these walls! Let's go!

Christmassage!

It's Christmas day, whoooeee-boy! I am amusing myself with bloggish endeavors beside the Christmas tree, having drifted away from the feast preparations going on in the kitchen - I can handle cutting up the bread chunks for stuffing, but when it comes to the act of stuffing itself, I'd rather be scarce. I realize that possible future situations (trying to win a dare...trying to be a wife...) might require me to stuff bread chunks up a chicken's wazoo, but for now I'll pass off the task to the more experienced members of the family (like my mom, currently mixing a whiskey and soda as she prepares for the task - see? she has stuffed countless chickens over the years, and still requires liquid courage for the job! Not easy!). I did stick around long enough to have a laugh over the recipe book Mom's using, and has used for the last thirty years, called "Cooking Canada's Turkey" (thank you, Canadian Turkey Marketing Agency - many Christmases would be crippled without you!) ... it is amusing for its frank description of turkey grades (Canada Grade C: "many pin feathers and prominent dicolorations" - mmmmm) and, more endearingly, its gender-specific instructions. Page 13 appeals for men to read carefully and includes this little-known bit of turkey trivia:

Many men claim carving is a chore they would rather forego. However, when a man is adept at it he delights in displaying his skill [side note: not limited to turkey carving]. A little practice following these 6 easy steps will turn a "hacker" into a "carver".



Bronwyn and Adam are currently off at the Brock Christmas shindig while mom and I are home studying up on how to be carvers (in the inconvenient absence of a man). B & A should get back in the next couple of hours, when the Christmas gift-opening goodness will resume (having already begun this morning with the opening of the stockings - or rather, last night, with the opening of the traditional pajama presents). Last night we arrived perfectly late for the Christmas Eve service at A & B's church - in time for singing carols and watching excited little kids squirm in their seats, but late enough that the whole things was satisfyingly brief and we were back home with our Bailey's, homemade pizza, and A Christmas Story lickety-split. Right now I am so full of honeycomb and Corn Pops (also tradition) that I think I might bust. Mom and I have already managed to pop over to her apartment down the street where Tycho is staying. He was studiously listening to the Queen's message but was easily distracted by the Christmas presents we brought for him - a catnip lizard and laser beam toy (in the hope of tricking him into exercising). Tycho survived his trip here on the train from Montreal, and was quite pleased to be met at Union station by his uncle Adam and dear friends Jen & Mark. Poor little dude! Now he is safe and sound, tucked in with my mom, where the two of them are steadily spoiling each other - mom gets up at the crack of dawn to feed him (something that he longs for - but never gets - at home in Montreal), and in return he keeps her bed warm at night and her nativity scene fur-covered and kicked all over the place in the day. A perfect relationship!

T ready for the train:


And, arrived:


I've been trying as best I can to split my time between B & A's place - and their two fantastic (though devilish) cats - and little T. He doesn't seem to suffering, though ... two minutes after this next picture was taken he abandoned me for his new preferred lap - Mom's. I am in equal parts relieved and put-out by how well Tycho adjusts to new people & places. Isn't he the least bit homesick for the little nest we have together in Montreal? Isn't he the least bit anxious at being separated from me over these few weeks??? Aren't I his irreplaceable momma???


In other news, the holidays have been delicious so far! I spent the first week of Operation Ontario spinning about in a mad tornado that felt vaguely like London - very little sleep, very much shmoozing, a whole lot of hugging and relieved homesickness. Thanks to Sara & Scott for the generous surrendering of their living room floor throughout the week, where I threw down my weary bones at the end of each day - now that I'm in Waterloo I get to enjoy the exact reverse: more time spent in pajamas than street clothes, nearly all 27 episodes of Gray's Anatomy S2 watched, several kinds of cookies baked and countless presents wrapped and currently waiting under the tree. Several knot-inducing questions hover over my head (most pressing: how on earth will I get all this stuff - and a cat - home to Montreal on the train?), but for now, and for the rest of this week, I will delay these anxieties and steep myself in holiday goodness. And I will resume blogging!

Happy Christmas, to those of you into that sort of thing... and Happy Snowflake Day to the rest of you!

[warning: this video is potentially offensive and most definitely full of CH antics! It is meant for harmless entertainment only!] [Nork!!!]

Tycho does his morning exercises

Well! T are I are ready to take off for Toronto today! I gave T some catnip this morning so that he could burn off some energy (I hope) before hunkering down in his cat box for a few hours! The only problem is that we have to leave in a few minutes, and he's still wired... I thought he'd crash after an hour but he's currently flipping around on the floor like he's got the willies. Hopefully he's just excited about Christmas!



This is quick because I need to pack up my computer! I might not be in a blogg-able state for a little while, since my journey is taking me through London before finally ending in Waterloo, so things could get crazy... see you on the other side! Think good thoughts for T on the train today!

White snow... white squirrels... okay.

Photo blog only for you tonight, since my EYES ARE FALLING OUT OF MY HEAD and I have to go pop them back in. Seriously, I'm so tired I feel nauseous. But it's the best kind of tired, because it comes from several straight days of late nights, early mornings, and deep, dead sleeps in between. I keep writing different sentences and then deleting them because I'm too tired for this right now. Tomorrow and Friday are going to be the craziest days of this whole week, so I'd better call up the reserves (which means bust into that Froot Loops box that I got for $2.39 at the IGA last week!). I've been consistently eating fruit, veggies, and meat for the last week (and a chocolate every day from the advent calendar), trying to keep energy high. I'm getting desperate now, though. Also I'm having a wee party here on Friday night which promises to involve ridiculous amounts of junk food, judging by the emails that have been circulating in the last couple of days. Nothing like a sugar high to end this week with a bang! And then a sugar hangover on the train the next morning... oy...

Anyway... this photo blog has a suspicious number of words in it already so I will reign myself in. It's already 9:17 and I promised myself bed (or at least bath&book) by 9pm! That's how dead I am. This evening I invigilated an English comprehension exam for new students, and you'd think that would be a nice, easy time to get some marking done and perhaps a wee, head-on-arms nap, but noooo... it was a "drop in" exam... so students were streaming in and out the whole four hours, and I had to keep track of who arrived when and kick them out when their time was up... luckily I got paid for doing it so you all get Christmas presents this year! Also there was a delightful woman working with me, an ESL teacher herself, and we spent some time reminiscing about last year's Canada Reads debate. Always great to find a fellow CBC addict!

ON SUNDAY i did my reading... which went amazingly, ridiculously, side-splittingly well... but more importantly... it snowed! I was holed up for most of the day before the reading working on my India Lit essay (which I handed in on Monday, praise the lord). I took a break at lunch though to walk through Parc La Fontaine because it was just too darn beautiful to stay inside! Hence the photo essay:



Notice the bright orange path marker poles in that photo of La Fontaine???? Those things are higher than my shoulder! Is this what I need to be prepared for?

White squirrel!

Brown squirrel (for equal representation)!


Tycho, who had declined my invitation to come for a walk in the park because he had "some serious zzz's to catch" (his line), heard he missed out on the squirrel parade and bites my toe in frustration:


Right now I'm listening to the organ-y part in Beirut's "After the Curtain" and it's blending so seamlessly with my mood that I have to wonder if that song has existed all this time just waiting for this one moment to arrive. five minutes from now on the CD, Midlake will be playing and the feeling will only be a memory immortalized by my blog. but right now it's REAL as all these tumbleweeds of tycho fur!

SLEEEEEEP!

Procrasti-post

oy oy my lovelies, sorry posting has been sporadic at best lately but y'all have to remember that it's crunch time in the land of students! When I haven't been writing/marking/researching, I've been sipping wine in fine jazz establishments and nodding my head appreciatively to an obscure and satisfying beat while my eyes narrow into self-satisfied slits. On Monday last week my friend Gwen was in town so I took her to Upstairs which is where M&M&C&V&I went for my birthday, and it turned out that there's a big difference between sitting in the back of the bar by the fish tank and sitting up at the front near the band.
Basic conversation:
Me: Is it too loud?
Gwen: WHAT?
Me: Too loud??
G: *lifting wine glass* Yeah, delicious!

Gwen hails from my Grey County days, where she was one of my many brilliant high school teachers and the one who catapulted me across the ocean to Rouen when I was in grade 11. Talking to her really made me homesick for the old Grey, if only because I miss living somewhere where virtually ever single person has some sort of two- or three-degree separation (at most) from everybody else. Kind of stifling when you're a teenager, but when you're submerged out here in a massive city of countless numbers, that kind of thing can really scream its absence.

Last night, after an epic journey to school for the Colloquium meeting (get your abstracts in, you English types!) and a satisfactory reward of fries and $2 beer, Claudine & I went to see Stuart McLean, which was incredibly, unbelievably good. I think a lot of it had to do with my whole big nostalgia trip about it all, but Claudine had a great time too, and she'd never even heard of him before! Anyway, it was just great... there was such a festive feeling about it all... and Stuart does a lot more hopping and spinning and hand-waving while he talks then you'd think from hearing him on CBC. I wanted to take him home with me so that I could prop him up in my kitchen and let him tell me stories all day long. The whole show lasted for almost three hours - who knew! On the radio it's only an hour long. It all happened in a massive theater where there were probably a thousand people... [warning: those of you on the Hancock family email circuit will already have heard this part]. Stuart had CDs to give away, so he said "one's for the youngest person here tonight, and one's for the oldest." Just from audience people shouting and waving, it was sorted out that the youngest person present was a five-month-old baby in the balcony and the eldest was a 97-year-old woman who was also in the balcony and who had the lungs to shout her love to Stuart, who blushed accordingly. I hope when I'm 97 I still go to shows like that too, and shout my undying love to CBC celebs without a bit of embarrassment!

Tomorrow night is my public reading... lots of things have to happen before that... such as essay finishing and laundry washing and beer drinking! s'gonna be crazy day.

Whenever I pick up a book (and many have been picked up recently, in the tornado-storm of my bedroom where an essay on feminist Indian literature is sputtering into being) I always read the acknowledgements first, planning, maybe, for when it's time to write my own acknowledgements in my own [first] book. There are some incredibly touching things said in the acknowledgements of otherwise boring blah-books about politics and such (I am tired of reading these books insted of reading novels), and such words add humanity to the stark pages; today I found one that I want to steal for myself. And I will! At the end of a long list of specific thank yous & gratitudes (this friend, that friend, my editor, my family, etc), the author wrote:

"A part of the self lies buried in every piece one writes. Thanks to all those who helped the other parts to endure."

*gasp*
I wonder if a part of my self is buried in this essay? Hopefully it's a part that I didn't really want anyway. Like the zit-making part. Or the always-losing-things part. Or the always-calling-long-distance-without-using-a-phone-card part. I never learn!


Here is a great song/creepy video to usher in the night.