stuff

Photo by: Cocoen daily

Sorting stuff. Saving stuff. Discarding stuff.

It shouldn't be this hard to move from one place to another.

I want to travel light -- not just on the road, but through my life.

Less is more and more is less.

Less than a month until I'm on a plane to Cardiff. Trying to stay sane and not pack up my mind in one of these boxes.

an exotic man

Photo by: MaryFaith

I have almost been derailed from my epic Wales adventure. Love will do that to you.

I received my visa in early June, only three working days after I submitted all my documents. It was a shock to get it so early. The same time this was happening, I was beginning to have feelings for a coworker to whom I had been giving rides home. Also, at the same time, this man went on vacation for two weeks and upon his return our employer moved offices -- thus there was no longer a need for rides home.

So, for the last few weeks I have been on quite the emotional rollercoaster.

I've never fallen in love this way before -- so easily -- and so unexpectedly. Ironically, one of the things I found fascinating about him was his ease with travel -- and how much of it he has done.

I'm not certain of his feelings, but we have restarted the rides home and the conversations. Part of me believes he has been having the same confusion. Part of me thinks I can imagine anything I want.

It is a different kind of light that shines when you feel this way. It makes the idea of moving to the other side of the world seem very ridiculous and staying very simple.

I don't have to give my two month's notice to my workplace until the first week in July (in order to get a year's leave of absence.) I need to give my notice for my apartment July 1st or sooner. I have been mulling not going at all, mulling delaying the move until the spring. Much of this confusion was only muddled more because this handsome Somali-Canadian and I had temporarily lost our channel of communication.

But things are sorting out, getting clearer. His long-range plan is to move to Brazil, one of the many countries he has visited. He is an accomplished, self-taught, exquisite travel photographer.

I can come back in a year if I fall on my face in Wales and my job (or something similar to it) will be here. This connection has even shone a clearer light on this city of Toronto.

Webster's New World Dictionary defines 'exotic' as 1. foreign; 2. strangely beautiful, enticing -- derived from the Greek exo -- outside. A good word, as is 'enticing.'

Exhilarating, exquisite, exemplary, exotic.

A man in flipflops can be very sexy.

'the new normal'

Photo by: bradlauster

During my recent health checkup, a blood test revealed that my sugar and cholesterol readings were on the high side. Not enough to be overly concerned, but enough to try and correct the situation before it got out of hand.

To my surprise and total delight, my doctor recommended me to a naturopath, to get things on track with dietary changes rather than just writing me a prescription, to which I would be quite opposed.

Unfortunately, the naturopath is not covered by OHIP or any work benefits, and is therefore costly. Fortunately, she (the naturopath) believes we can get things back on track within two months, possibly only one.

I have been eating fairly healthily for awhile now, but this is the first time I've been to a naturopath, and have found out the error of my ways. I have been a big milk drinker my entire life, and have moved from whole fat to skim gradually over the years. BUT, apparently even skim milk is quite high in sugar, as are bananas, of which I was eating three a day.

The new regimen began about two weeks ago, and basically is a low-glycemic diet consisting of NO dairy, NO sugar and NO gluten, along with supplements to aid my liver in its cholesterol fight, supplements to aid my body in processing glucose and a mega-vitamin I have to drink.

I can fill up on most vegetables and most fruit, but my proteins and grains are limited to portions the size of a deck of cards. Example: A sandwich is made up of only one piece of bread.

As crazy as all this sounds, it really isn't that bad. I've always been creative and adventurous with food, so at this point it's kind of a fun challenge. And I'm extremely thankful I can eat eggs. They are my favourite food, and originally the doctor said NO eggs; however, the naturopath says only 20% of the cholesterol in our bodies comes from food -- and there's too much good stuff in eggs to drop them. (My sentiments exactly!)

The first few days the pounds seemed to be melting away, but after the first week, my weight seems to be about the same as when I began, which is too bad, as I do need to lose a few pounds.

I wasn't feeling any symptoms before I received the blood test results, so I can't say anything definite has or hasn't happened (other than feeling hungry most of the time). But -- and this is hard to explain -- I do feel lighter in my energy, as if my mind and body are better connected and not running into inner roadblocks.

I certainly hopes this works. As a very good friend -- who was quoting another good friend --said to me, regarding necessary dietary changes: It's 'the new normal.'

taking the leap

Photo by: sadashotit

Ah, the forward momentum has taken hold and it is leading me to Wales.

May be one of the craziest things I've ever done -- may be one of the smartest.

I have filled out my visa application online and am currently waiting for my passport to be renewed for another five years. It should be ready during the first week in June, at which time I have just to take my application copy, along with my passport, supporting documents and multiple photocopies, and get my fingerprints scanned and photo taken at an office downtown. Then my application is on its way to the decision makers in the U.K., who, according to their website, could have a decision made in no longer than a month's time.

If all is confirmed by mid-July, the journey is on track for me to be in Cardiff by mid-September, in time for a three-day job fair.

The online application was surprisingly easy to fill out. And it is a great benefit to me to be in Toronto and working a nightshift. If I were working in another city I would have to travel here to get my fingers scanned -- if I were working a day shift, I would have to take time off work for the scheduled appointment during regular business hours. There are decided advantages to working evenings.

And now that this step is almost complete, the moving and packing and selling aspect of emptying my apartment doesn't seem so formidable. I think I can keep it that way by doing little bits all the time. I'll bring things in my car that my brothers may want as I visit them this summer, sell and give away the rest, put a few things in storage.

The momentum is there now and I know it will carry me along.

questions

Photo by: *Hairbear

It has been almost four months since I've blogged and it's definitely well past the time for me to do an update.

I've been making preparations to move to Wales, and caught up in the midst of work, which for some reason, has become overwhelming.

I haven't filled out a visa application yet, but expect to do so in April. I found out in December that the U.K. has tightened up their borders since the economy took a global nosedive in 2008. After adding up my 'points'on their website, I came to the disappointing realization that they are only taking people who have Phds and make $60,000 a year (neither category of which I am anywhere near fitting into). Also, that particular visa has dropped from being good for three years down to two, a fact which would make it madness for me to pursue at this stage in my life -- not being independently wealthy.

But, in this case, there is another door, to which I do have a key.

I can apply for a visa based on U.K. ancestry (proof of a parent or grandparent being born in the U.K.), and that visa is actually good for five years, and from the sounds of it, much easier to renew if desired, after that time frame is up.

My dad's mother was born in England. Thankfully my stepmother was able to give me some much-needed birth information. The Ontario Archives helped me track down the date of my grandmother's marriage. It was frustrating finding and getting all the information and more frustrating applying for certified certificates through the Ontario government website, but by early February I had ordered the needed certificates.

I need five: my birth certificate, my dad's birth certificate, my parents' and grandparents' marriage certificates and my grandmother's birth certificate. I have received all of them now except my dad's birth certificate, which should be here by the end of March at the latest. His was slowed down as I needed to get proof of his death (which, again, my stepmother was able to send me), and because I don't think the Ontario government has the records before 1930 computerized, and my dad was born in 1929.

It's been fascinating and frustrating.

Also, I'm getting work on my teeth done and have found a doctor (and, thankfully, one who seems to know what he is doing) and am in the process of making sure I am healthy enough to consider what I am considering.

Sad to say, but true, I have avoided dentists and doctors since I have been in Toronto. The main reason, I guess, is that I have been healthy enough to do so. But another strong reason is that after the deaths of my parents in 2004 and 2005, I haven't had a lot of faith in the medical profession, nor wanted to be anywhere near a medical office. A lot of this was simply based on painful memories it was time to put aside or deal with, as I know, in my head, that doctors saved both my parents more than once.

I can't figure out why work has gone from bad to worse. I am exhausted from it often -- sleeping 10 to 12 hours on the weekends and barely able to make my mind work. The rush after Christmas never died down -- or, rather, it simply morphed into one situation after another -- and promises to continue to do so with a big office move in June and a layout makeover the same month. And I may be stressing myself out with the realization of all I need to do to make this move a reality. Ouch.

And, of course, I question the wisdom of the move. Is it not possible for me to be happy here in Toronto? I bring myself and my insecurities with me when I move. It's possible a new job in Cardiff would drive me round the bend, too. Then it scares me to think I'm considering staying in this city, because I think it's a slow death here.

I haven't had much time to play with the dreamy aspect of the move, not any actually -- and I think that is what I am missing. I want the move but am frustrated with how work just drains me and I'm not able to conjure up the fun of it.

Paul Harris, my former guide to Wales, invited me to his wedding in June!! This was in early February, and just a fantastic surprise and great news. Of course, I can't be there in June, as I'm still planning on being landed there in September, but it was good to hear he's getting married, wonderful to be invited, and nice to feel I'll have friends on the ground when I get there. But, I'm also sad that I haven't had time to get on Facebook and follow their wedding preparations, haven't had time to blog. This plan of mine should not be so wrapped in brown paper, as it seems -- yet, I kind of feel I'm wrapping it in this cloak myself.

I sought some psychic advice today. I haven't been to a proper psychic in a very long time, and accidently came across a notice yesterday of a major show today, and off I went. Spent too much money getting two readings, but I did need them. Of course, the readings were contradictory, which is still fine. I take what I want from them, and sometimes the contradictions help you realize what you want to hear.

The first reading was by a friendly older woman, who read cards and picked up rather quickly that my love life was nonexistent and has been for quite some time. She said that in mid-September I would start to live the life I was meant to live -- a fulfilling, happy life. However, she doesn't see me moving out of the country, or even out of Toronto. She sees me meeting the man of my dreams in May or June (in a park while he's walking his dog), and that I would be moving, but probably in with him. (If I were to meet anyone in Toronto, this would be a scenario that makes sense. The parks are where I go to revive a sense of self.) Unbelievably, she thinks I am up for a promotion at work (management jobs there are actually worse -- so not a good prediction.)

The second reading was a numerology reading, which I've never had done before. The reader was a gregarious Scotsman, decked out in a kilt, who was a natural showman and huckster, but whose energy I liked. He also picked out mid-September as a turning point in my life, but he said a move to Wales was in tune with my soul's purpose, and that eventually I would be working for myself as a writer.

These readings did help confirm my own feelings. I love the idea of having a man to share life with, but the thought of staying in Toronto depressed me. It is possible though that it could change everything. The confirmation of my own feelings about Wales and my sense of possibility there, did give me a renewed sense of hope -- which is what I was looking for.

This entry has gone on a long time. I've almost forgotten how to write, it's been so long. I don't imagine I'll be able to write often in the next few months. I already have the idea of changing my blog's name when (if) I get to Wales and calling it: A Canadian in Cardiff.

I'm heading off to Florida in mid-April for a week's stay with my stepmother, and am looking forward to the warm, floral-scented breezes.

Adieu.

Whoville

Photo by: mirandaceleste

When I think of the Welsh and Wales, I think of the Whos of Dr. Seuss' Whoville in the Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Specifically, those in the 1960s animated television show. The Grinch has taken everything away, all the tinsel and trappings, yet the Whos don't skip a beat, they don't even notice, and they gather together in the centre of town, hold hands, and sing -- and their singing floats up and up to the sky.

In Cardiff, people walk down the streets laughing, relaxed, shop cheerfully in drugstores, young fathers proudly push their children in strollers. Down at Mermaid Quay, the captain of a tour boat jokes over his mic to a quiet midday Cardiff Bay that his boat can't be missed -- it's the one with the handsome captain.

A businessman walks through Sophia Gardens and stops to pick up a discarded pop can. There is a sense that if a child were in trouble, fifty people would drop everything and run to that child's rescue. Every time I pull out my map on my circuitous bike trips, someone stops to make sure I can find my way.

The Whos melted the icy heartless Grinch, so it's no wonder that depth of sentiment leaves me in a sense of awe.

The very funny travel writer Bill Bryson wrote in Notes From A Small Island -- about a much too short visit to Wales as part of his travels through Great Britain -- that he was endeared, on watching a soap opera in the Welsh language, that the Welsh had no words for 'dirty weekend' and had to revert to English to describe the illicit liaison.

In a well-observed piece for the TimesOnline last year, Hugo Rifkind pondered 'Why Wales Is Suddenly Cool,' and one of the reasons he came up with was that the country hearkens back in a consciously-retro way to simpler times and values.

Jim Byers, travel editor for The Toronto Star, simply says "This place is seriously undersold."

Amen.

journalism

At the end of October, our editor-in-chief of 18 months was guided out the door.

The situation at work has been so dour and restricted and manic during that tenure that those of us who are still there are feeling a little blinded and stunned at the daylight streaming in.

Celebrations and therapeutic dart games have ensued.

Still, the distaste for all that can be bad and wrong about this industry, on top of the disintegration of the industry itself as any of us know it, is leading many of us planning 'exit strategies.'

tenby, little town of the fishes

Tenby, Pembrokeshire, Wales

Top to bottom:
1. S. Beach, low tide
2-4. N. Beach
5. S. Beach, high tide

rhythm of life

My recent stay in Cardiff has set my mind on moving there.

So much to do now, it is mind-boggling. I am hoping I can be there by next September. This trip was very helpful in making me feel I can do it -- one small step at a time.

The place feels like home in every way, and I feel I can get work there. It doesn't have to be in the media (newspaper journalism is crumbling worldwide). I look forward to just living and working and being part of a community. On the side, if it presents itself, BBC Wales is there as something to play at.

It won't cost me more to live there than here, and most places there come furnished, so I 'simply' need to get myself down to basics, basics and throw things out, give things away, sell things, and put the rest in storage.

All of this has to be finetuned, of course -- but the sense of forward motion is good.

When I was in Cardiff, I followed the advice of Paul Harris, my trusty guide for all things Welsh, and went to sit in on a practice of the Cardiff Arms Club Male Choir. They practice on Mondays and Thursday nights, and because I was there for almost two weeks I went to two of their Monday night practices. So, so amazing.

The first night they were recording a 30 second radio jingle with the BBC for the opening of the John Lewis Cardiff department store in late September. Fascinating to watch that process (fascinating for me -- very repetitive for them).

The second Monday was a regular practice and a group of 20 other Canadians showed up to watch, so the choir put on a bit of a show for us. This group of about 70 men, mostly middleaged and older, unspectacular in many ways, opened their mouths and filled the air with life. The sun outside the large picture windows was setting and silhouetting the empty, dark stadium and light clouds, and inside these voices swung high and low and interplayed.

Since my return to Toronto, I've attended a performance of the Toronto-Welsh Male Voice Choir, who I also heard last March. I didn't think they were very good then. Maybe it was the venue, because this time they sounded good indeed. And they performed Rhythm of Life -- a song I heard in Cardiff for the first time and loved immediately. This performance by last year's runners-up in the BBC's Last Choir Standing -- the Welsh Ysgol Glanaethwy -- is remarkable (they would have had my vote.)

Apparently the song is originally from Sweet Charity, and its lyrics probably more adult and cynical than the tune suggests. But the tune, and the listening to it, is full of joy and sure sets one dancing.

Caerdydd -- September 2009

Top to bottom:

People Like Us: sculptor John Clinch

Mermaid Quay, Cardiff Bay

Cardiff Market

Y Mochyn Du, local pub

Millennium Stadium on River Taff

Cardiff Bay from Penarth

From Pit to Port: John Clinch, Jon Buck