these days

these days, it's been getting cold, prompting us to pull down the wool blankets and exchange the cotton sheets for flannel. ever since our mattress warranty claim was settled and we got the brand new oh-so luxurious replacement mattress, we've been spending A LOT of time in bed. we climb in early at night, where we finish our days out together, and i stay in bed as long as possible in the morning after andrew leaves for work, drinking coffee and starting work from beneath the layers of blankets as i snuggle with the animals. i swear that they conspire to keep me there.

these days, i've been doing my work from the dining room table (when i'm not in bed, that is). it's a large, unfinished pine wood space overlooking the kitchen and beside the sliding balcony doors that look out onto the backyard. i draw the curtains to let the light in and i draw them to shut out the dark. the heavy cotton floral curtains given to us from my wonderful mother-in-law. they are like an embodiment of her: traditional with a modern flair, rustic, whimsy, beautiful, spirited. being in their company makes me feel loved, safe, and ever-inspired. 

these days, i have been focusing almost single-mindedly on my dissertation project (almost, because there are of course endless distractions that keep me from absolute devotion to my work and thus from full productivity). i find my mind wandering, dreaming, and thinking about all the things. 

These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to.

(Nico, "These Days")

i spread my projects and desires across the surface of the wood table from which i work, but even as i actively so so - all day, every day, day in & day out - there are always things i never get to. i drink cups of lady grey tea and stage still lives. i play with the cats and take their portraits. i collect books for research and books for pleasure, for moments of rapture and escape, for moments often overlooked or forgotten. i am distracted by my surroundings; in a room of my own.

these days, i muse about having a real digital SLR camera, but for now i make do with my old Nikon point-and-shoot, my iPhone, and the brilliant editing software designed by Visual Supply Co.

portraits of the majestic, stoic, and ever-handsome, Dr. Hunter S. Thomcat. he's been a little displeased that Glasgow has been stealing all the attention here lately. he's also developed some slight attitude problems adjusting to the new kitten (jealous? inconceivable!), so i thought i would give him a prominent spot here. he has been such a central part of our lives over the past six years, he really does deserve it.

the joys of adopting a young kitten: they're ever-so sweet but also full of SO MUCH TROUBLE. introducing, for the first time, Little Miss Virginia Woolf. she's slowly finding her place in the family and even gets to participate in group snuggles in the morning now.

this week i posted about the early morning and my new relationship to it. as difficult as it can be to get out of bed some mornings, the beauty that awaits is always worth it. yesterday morning's frost was truly exquisite, making the whole yard glow with a white frosted mist warmed by the golden sun.

still lives:

1. andrew has been bringing home lots of moose antler sheds from the bush lately, adding to our ever-growing collection. this particular white-tailed deer skull and antlers is one that we brought back from Alberta two years ago. it has been hanging around the past couple weeks waiting for us to hang it on the wall, but i have been enjoying its company.

2. sweet little Herriott Grace cake flags leftover from our wedding + a gorgeous knitted short-sleeve shirt, made in Canada, that i recently thrifted.

3. lady grey tea in one of my favourite vintage teacups and an old teapot from my Nana. perfection.

collected works:

1. good night, day: modern & minimalist knitting patterns, by tara-lynn morrison. first edition.
2. A Pictorial History of Wilderness, poems by Laressa Dickey & published by MIEL.
3. Penguin Books "Great Ideas" edition of Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own.
4. The Anatomy of Clay, poems by Gillian Sze.
5. issue no.1 of Sad Girls, a lovely little illustrated zine made by girls who make things and have lots of feelings.
6. A Guide to the Northwest Territory, poems by Josh Wallaert, also from MIEL.

collected works no.2 (on hysteria):

1. Aura Hysterica: Les exercises de la passion (1992), an artist's book by Montreal artist Nicole Jolicoeur.
2. Georges Didi-Huberman's The Invention of Hysteria: Charcot and the Photographic Iconography of the Salpêtrière.
3. The Hysterical Alphabet, text by Terri Kapsalis with drawings by Gina Litherland.
4. Nicole Jolicoeur's Traité de la perfection (1996).

transitions

while i savour the sultry heat, sun-filled days and long nights of summer, autumn is my favourite season. it is a season of transitions, preparations, harvests, layers, and pigments; of life, death, and decay. having lived in the city for nine years before moving to the country full-time this past June, i always found that autumn would come and go so quickly, almost without notice, at least not of all its nuances. trees are not in their natural habitat in the city and almost all urban trees are diseased, so i never got to experience the full splendour of fall's colours and subtle changes. this year, however, i was able to intimately track those changes over the course of five or six weeks every time i took glasgow for a walk in a nearby forested area we call "the cross," from first fall to first frost, from the only barely emerging yellows and oranges to the fiery and crimson reds at their peak, and finally to the fading of those colours into rusts, ochres, and browns. i watched the dark earth and lush greens of the forest floor first become peppered with sparsely fallen leaves, and then fully blanketed by a thick layer of still fresh scarlet maple leaves, which slowly faded into various shades of brown as they dried and decayed, becoming skeletons of their former full-bodied selves. only a handful of golden birch and poplar leaves remained, clinging to their branches, the limbs of oaks and maples reaching up toward the hallow sky like arteries. finally, early this week, the overnight's frost crystallized into tiny, intricate freckles of snow hugging patches of leaves, moss, rotting wood, and the ground around the bases of trees, starkly beautiful at the same time as they were a faint promise of what is to come. 

All photos taken from 01 October - 06 November 2012

painted fall

rustic orange. scarlet, and crimson maple;
golden yellow birch and poplar;
fiery red sumac—
the warm, familiar colours of a classic Ontario fall. 

the changes in the valley have been subtle this year,
with only splashes and pockets of colour
in the fields and woods where I walk with Glasgow,
as if someone climbed into the landscape and painted them there
with soft, impressionistic brushstrokes.

but whether soft and mellow, or brilliant and flaming,
it is enough to sustain me
as I pull the colours from the trees
and hold them close to my heart,
because even in its exaggerated beauty,
this is what it feels like to be home
among the changing seasons. 

at the river's edge

I grew up in the City of Lakes, but ever since I first left home for University almost ten years ago, I have moved again and again to river cities and towns. While I deeply miss being immediately surrounded by so many freshwater lakes, I have learned to embrace river communities & cultures, which have a charm of their own different from that of lakes. This weekend we explored the shores of the Ottawa River close to where we live in Laurentian Valley. Most of the waterfront within walking distance here is private property, but we found an easily accessible stretch of what seems to be Crown land. The water level is low this year, exposing enough of the muddy and rocky shores to walk along with Glasgow, who not surprisingly spent most of his time in the water. The breeze off the water was perfectly refreshing and as we gazed out at, listened to, and breathed in the sights, sounds, and scents of the river, I found my thoughts silenced and absorbed by its humbling currents and underwater mysteries. It was pretty close to perfect.

weekend delights

My neighbourhood Roman Catholic church, Église Saint-Édouard in the borrough of Rosemont-La Petite-Patrie. I love living so close to such a grand church. I find the sound of the bells to be oddly comforting and grounding // La chocolatine (also known as pain au chocolat) is my all-time favourite Montreal pastry. It would not be a stretch to say that I live for the chocolatine. I often eat several a week.

A display of vintage hand wall hooks at Style LABO, an incredible vintage boutique in Montreal's Mile End that features an impressive, carefully curated collection of antique furnishings, objets d'art, and curiosities. It can often be expensive, but some of the finds are so unique and intriguing that they are worth indulging in. I took home one of the smallest hand hooks and am already thinking about creatie ways to put it to use // My Sunday night bedside reading. I picked up the Penguin's "Great Ideas" edition of Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own on a whim from Libraire Drawn & Quarterly this weekend, my favourite Montreal independant bookstore. It is such a wonderful read. 

Andrew sent me a few photos of life in Laurentian Valley this weekend as the first signs of Spring emerged (the snow has finally melted!). As everything is slowly coming back to life, the backyard has been overflowing with a variety of species of birds (which has put Hunter into a craze) and he managed to capture snapshots of a few, including one of my favourites, the Morning Dove (left), as well as a Red Wing Black Bird (right). I wish I could spend Spring in the country this year and awake to bird songs and fresh crisp air every morning, but at least I will get to visit in a couple weeks and I will be able to spend the summer there. For now, my mornings are welcomed by pigeons in the back of my Montreal apartment and broken sunrises over the buildings and through the tree tops.