It’s easy to forget that Buddy Holly was only 22 when he died. Listen to his records, research his success, and, by today’s standards, the fact that he was married — he accomplished a lot in a short time.
I’ve been in love with Buddy Holly since a junior high English project based on S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders, and I was sure that 22 for me was going to be a memorable year. It was, for lots of reasons — over the course of 21 months, I graduated university and left my hometown for good, I let someone walk out of my life who should have left a long time ago, I met three amazing people who “forced” me to be their friend but for that I’m very grateful, I found a passion within my industry (which I already loved in general, but discovering that I can and will defend digital media — creating things that newsprint can’t do — has opened some doors for me), and I lost two people who I still miss every day. Continue reading
Disclaimer: the title for this post is totally borrowed from a friend. I more or less bolted from the #makesomethingyeg launch party tonight, after toughing it out for about two hours and finally giving in to being terrified by the idea of mingling. On my way home, I texted a friend, asking if I could crash her apartment for a chai tea latte. (She makes really good chai tea lattes.) Continue reading
A quote from a friend this weekend will at first seem a bit of a stretch, but I swear, it’s all related.
Upon telling Z. that I still haven’t put my snow tires on yet, she replied, “You live in Edmonton, and it’s November. Really??” Continue reading
First, some background: in August, I mentioned to a friend, L., that I had been picking apples and thought it might be fun to make apple cider. I used the term “cider” loosely, thinking more along the lines of apple juice. She latched on to the word “cider,” however, dragged our mutual friend D. into the process as well, and so for the past three months, my fridge has been looking something like this: Continue reading
As a consequence of moving so often, every now and then, in the millisecond between asleep and awake, there are times I can’t remember what city I’m in. If I’d gotten into Lloyd really late one night from Edmonton, it was sometimes really heartbreaking to remember where I actually was. Not the best way to start a day.
It happened again this morning. In that half-conscious millisecond, I thought I was in Calgary. I’m going home next week, and I’m really looking forward to it — I haven’t been home since May, for a variety of reasons — but I’m happy here too. No reason to wish I were in Calgary specifically.
But that’s kind of set the bar for my day. When I was making my coffee, I dropped the full mug because I didn’t have a good enough grip on it and my hands just, for lack of better term, gave up.
If that’s not enough: Continue reading
I volunteer with organization X. (I am going to try my best to keep this fairly generic, as I want to keep working with them, despite my initial misgivings.) When I moved to the city, it was part of my deal with myself — if I was going to pick up and start over again in a new city, then I was going to get involved. Plus I have spare time, and my options for working with organizations that I think are doing good work are plentiful here. Continue reading
The duffel bags have been unpacked. I came back from yoga this morning (which was cancelled, sadly) and since I was already in fairly comfy clothes, it was reasonable that it would be easy to pull clothes on and off, deciding whether they should stay or go.
First, I did a count of my closet. Fifty-one items, give or take a shirt. I’m considering applying the 12-item-or-less checkout rule: if it’s the same item, it doesn’t count as more than one. (When I was a cashier, people like that drove me nuts. And actually still do.) The main thing that this would apply to would be my jeans and tank tops (I probably wear a tank top every day, either under an item of clothing or as a layer), but could extend to sweaters. But we’ll come back to that. Continue reading