Back in May, I hosted a brunch at my place, and there was a German woman there on her way to rural BC who asked to borrow this book. I told her this one was a good read, and quite informative about the people of Canada. I said that she could keep it for as long as she took to read it, then I promptly forgot about it. That is, until I was on my way to New York a week ago and found it had worked its way back to me, accompanied by a letter! (It even travelled to New York and back in the back of my car.)

I bought Timbit Nation for peanuts at a charity book sale at my previous workplace. How fitting that it would travel across the country on its own! With the rare exception such as travel guides, I usually only buy used books because I’m a big fan of the public library system (it was the best part of my childhood) and sharing books rather than collecting them and having them gather dust on the shelf.

When I was constantly travelling, I would get my reading material from book exchanges at hostels: read a book, leave it behind for someone else, pick up a book that someone left behind, et cetera.

While in northern Australia I shared a tent for a while with a French guy from Brittany who could barely speak English. He’d given up entirely on the John Irving book A Prayer For Owen Meany, which he turned over to me and I completely devoured. Upon finishing, I made an attempt at translating the plot for him but my French was wholly inadequate for the bizarreness of Irving’s storytelling. We had a good laugh over it, anyway. When I remember the book I can’t help but think of Bruno and his mop of curly brown hair, big smile, and teeth that would only excite a dentist. I have lots of stories like this locked up in my memory vault — stories of books and people and the intersection of both. The only thing better than having your imagination stirred is to stir someone else’s!

Related posts:
August 30, 2007: On Patriotism and Being Canadian

I often see Beano looking at himself in this mirror. (Taken with the Canon A520 for stealthiness.)

If there is dust, it will find Xena.

Your laundry activities are cutting into my nap time. Please reschedule.

Today I pulled my wedding dress out of its storage container, hung it up, and took a few photos of it before I sent it on its way.

There’s a lot of emphasis on the wedding dress as a symbol of marriage, because for the groom a tuxedo can be worn for other occasions. A wedding dress simply can’t be mistaken for anything else, especially if it has a train. Anyone can spot a wedding a mile away once that dress comes into view.

When I was at The Brides’ Project over the weekend, they told me as with all private donations I could write a letter to accompany the dress, which would only be opened once the new owner claimed it. Every dress has a story, and mine is no exception. But mine is such a big story that I don’t know if I could tell it in a letter format. After all, I’ve been writing in this website for years and I don’t think I’ve finished telling our story.

I was thinking I could write an open letter here and just put the URL in the letter with the dress. Maybe other brides-to-be will see it, and think about what it means to walk down that aisle. I don’t believe you have to get married to make the commitment to love and care for someone the rest of your lives, but if you choose to get married the highest level of commitment will be expected of you, and only you will know if you can live up to it.

Three years down the road, I can honestly say I would probably pick the same dress if I could do it all over again. The shop owner told me flat out that it was all wrong for me, but I didn’t listen to her and tried it on, anyway. Once I saw myself in it I knew this would be my wedding dress, and once she saw I was right about the dress she stopped trying to talk me out of it. There are some things in life I am certain of, and choosing that dress was one of them.

The other was marrying David Fielding, in spite of everything that happened since. My only regret is not meeting him sooner, because then we would’ve had more time together. Maybe we would’ve even had a child together by now.

It’s taken three years, but I’m finally ready to let the dress go, to make someone else happy on her wedding day, and benefit a child or adult dealing with cancer. It’s taken me a while to find a sense of purpose again, and now the dress can begin its own new journey, too.

I spent Saturday afternoon at a house on Broadview Avenue here in Toronto, documenting the search for a wedding dress for a photography client and getting a firsthand look at how The Brides’ Project works.

It all started with an email from Haida last week, inviting me to accompany her on a bridal-themed weekend which included trying on wedding gowns and attending a bridal show. She sent along a link to The Brides’ Project and I was intrigued by the concept as this is something I’d never heard of before but wished was around when I was shopping for a wedding dress in ‘04/’05, even before cancer had touched my own life in such a personal way.

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Alberto demos his race shirt and number as Beano looks on. He and his friend Marco are visiting from Mexico to do the Scotiabank race on Sunday. Alberto’s doing the half marathon, and Marco’s doing the 5k.

Notice how Beano manages to get into all the photos?

And is this not one of the most attractive tequila bottles you’ve ever seen? It’s too attractive to open! I’m told it’s better than Cuervo (the export that everyone knows), but I have yet to find out. Not that I’d remember what Cuervo tastes like, anyway, as I’ve avoided tequila since a rather nasty overdose of the stuff while in Australia and that was back in 1992. Funny how an adverse tequila experience can make such a lasting impression!

Enough cameraphone pics, now that I’m back home I can start posting some real ones!

After a couple of hours’ sleep on the plane last night, an early morning debriefing with the catsitter, cleaning the House of Fielding, and some work time in front of the computer, I was feeling a little inhuman this afternoon. A nap cured that feeling, plus some kitty love from Xena and Beano after they patiently stood around with a “Well, aren’t you going to feed us?” look on their faces.

There was enough sitting around in rush hour traffic to record some vocal displeasure from The Old Bean for taking him to the vet and holding him prisoner. He gets louder than this and bangs on the cage with his paws, but the wailing is what makes me wish sometimes that the vet’s office was closer to us. But I do like the vets and everyone there knows both Xena and Beano and their medical histories, so I’m willing to do this drive when necessary. Hopefully it will be a LONG WHILE before it’s time to head back.

I’m happy to report that Beano’s expensive cardio ultrasound, which I booked months and months ago, shows no serious issues. He has a weakened heart valve that’s causing the murmur discovered in January, but it’s a ‘monitor’ situation rather than ‘must treat’ condition. I also had Beano’s kidney levels checked, but I haven’t got those results yet.