Eight Kilometers to Away
I am away this week. Away, away, away. I packed up my clothes, a week's worth of food, books, my computer and my toiletries, loaded them onto my bike and I peddled off. Writing it, it seems simple, but to this parent, with a full-time job, grad school and a dog, it feels immense. This week, this gift of time and quiet, is a gift of the Toronto Arts Council, Artscape and my family. The TAC provided the money, Artscape is providing the space, and my family is helping me believe that a week of writing, alone, with time and quiet to think is something I can have. They are all helping me believe that my work has value, and they are investing in my writing, what I can create in the world through words. I'm feeling full of gratitude.
So, time. Riding the ferry over to the island was like a journey into winter - there was only a slender pathway of open water, and even that was crowded with ice. The sound of ice hitting the hull made the ride over interesting, and when the shelf was big enough you could feel it lift the boat and shift it just a little. On the island side I rode off the ferry, and along the outer side of the island. Four kilometers on this side of the ferry ride, four kilometers on that side, and eight kilometers feels like it is very far away.
Time feels like such a gift. Time to play with ideas, to rub thoughts together and see what comes of them, to walk, to ride, to take in sun, snow, ice and waves. I am liking this so very much. Not that I don't like all of the everyday things, but one can like one's lot and still enjoy respite. I will also like going home to my people, and my good dog and my comfy bed where the snuggles rest on Sunday. But right now, I am indulging in quiet.
I'm enjoying rediscovering my own rhythms - when I wake and when I sleep if left to my own devices. I'm enjoying eating the foods I want to eat - because living as a family means compromise between all of our food ways. Alone I eat more leaves. I brought more leaves and more fresh vegetable that was expected and had to engage in creative stacking to fit it all in my part of the fridge. I'm thinking about how we all eat at home, and how we can all get more of our individual preferences without cooking separate meals for each of us. I'm enjoying morning prayer - something that does not happen at home because I do not make time for it, and am thinking about how to build that in. I'm missing swimming, but enjoying being able to get up from my work, sometime in the afternoon when my body wants to move and the sun is bright, and going outside. For an hour. To just move. It was stunning to stand on the end of the pier, looking out at the lake, as the waves crashed in, alone today.
Sunday I will come home, but I have another precious day and a half to work on my book. It's better than this blog post, I promise, but it is perhaps sucking up all my good words.
So, time. Riding the ferry over to the island was like a journey into winter - there was only a slender pathway of open water, and even that was crowded with ice. The sound of ice hitting the hull made the ride over interesting, and when the shelf was big enough you could feel it lift the boat and shift it just a little. On the island side I rode off the ferry, and along the outer side of the island. Four kilometers on this side of the ferry ride, four kilometers on that side, and eight kilometers feels like it is very far away.
Time feels like such a gift. Time to play with ideas, to rub thoughts together and see what comes of them, to walk, to ride, to take in sun, snow, ice and waves. I am liking this so very much. Not that I don't like all of the everyday things, but one can like one's lot and still enjoy respite. I will also like going home to my people, and my good dog and my comfy bed where the snuggles rest on Sunday. But right now, I am indulging in quiet.
I'm enjoying rediscovering my own rhythms - when I wake and when I sleep if left to my own devices. I'm enjoying eating the foods I want to eat - because living as a family means compromise between all of our food ways. Alone I eat more leaves. I brought more leaves and more fresh vegetable that was expected and had to engage in creative stacking to fit it all in my part of the fridge. I'm thinking about how we all eat at home, and how we can all get more of our individual preferences without cooking separate meals for each of us. I'm enjoying morning prayer - something that does not happen at home because I do not make time for it, and am thinking about how to build that in. I'm missing swimming, but enjoying being able to get up from my work, sometime in the afternoon when my body wants to move and the sun is bright, and going outside. For an hour. To just move. It was stunning to stand on the end of the pier, looking out at the lake, as the waves crashed in, alone today.
Sunday I will come home, but I have another precious day and a half to work on my book. It's better than this blog post, I promise, but it is perhaps sucking up all my good words.