enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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I wish that Sunday morning coffee could last forever...

Ah so yesterday was a bit of a waste!

I went to the mall at about 4 p.m., since I realized that I don't have an appropriate coat to wear in Italy. I need a coat that is not too long or heavy, such as is the coat I usually wear here for winter before it gets really cold (and then I wear a long, down parka exclusively), so that I can bicycle. But unfortunately the only fall coat that I have that meets these criteria is not a very good coat. It has a wide open lapel and even with a good scarf it is not sufficient for a full day of walking around as a tourist. I'd definitely catch a chill.

I suppose I could buy a coat in Italy, but then I'd have to take my current coat there and bring another back. I want to minimize baggage. I wish I'd thought of this earlier.

Ah sigh. The trials of different climate zones.

But anyway it was a waste, as what a waste of time without finding the "right" coat. I found a few that fitted but I can't stand buying things that are cheaply made - poor fabrics, etc. - because then I'll not wear them in future. I'll probably end up buying a coat in Italy.

So four hours at the mall. UGH. I do hate the mall. I even tried on a couple of bras and could not find one that would fit properly. Why are bras so damn difficult to fit? The sizing is all over the place and I CANNOT believe that I am now a 34D. I mean, I have bras at home that are 34B and still fit! I know the answer to this: the lowest common denominator. Everything is made in China - not to fault the Chinese - but to keep the costs as low as possible, and quality has gone right out the window. I wish we could return to the days when we did not have all of this mass-produced, ill-fitting stuff and people just had a few clothes that were made properly by a tailor who was fairly paid. I think I'm going to have to start making my own clothes again.

I DID run into two friends at the mall - actually the couple who are going to Italy - so we wandered around a bit and had a nice chat.

I still have a latent sadness about my landlord. It feels cold to call him that. I should call him "my friend, R," instead. I have post cards all over my apartment. That was his way of communicating, especially on holidays. He would buy an interesting or pretty post card for me and write a note on it. I think I am going to take that on as my own tradition. One of the recent ones, for example, is actually a picture that was taken of one of his paintings of the muses of the orchestra, and that he was going to sell copies of as post cards in music stores, potentially. The back of the card says, "Dear St�phanie, What a cruelty to leave Italy! But it's happyness (sic) to know you are back...Hope to see you soon."

Anyhow. I think I learned some things from that young old man. He would smile at that.

I took some pictures yesterday on the way to and from the mall. I thought they were turning out well but they are actually kind of rotten. It's blizzarding now, so it looks quite different. I feel very lucky that we get to see the four seasons here. My mother is in Florida right now (she emailed me yesterday for my paternal grandmother's shortbread recipe; Merry Christmas, mother!).

I really do wonder sometimes how I was born of that mother! But let's not go there... My mother is an early baby boomer who came of age in the 60s, only maybe she was too early or it is because she was the oldest and a girl in her family, but she turned out more like the generation before. Only without the maternal gene. So my mother looks on the outside like a more laid-back younger generation, whilst really being well suited to pearls and getting drunk on martinis after the husband returns from work. A good example of this is that my mother has an email account. Let me tell you that in the entire fifteen years that my mother has been on the Internet, my stepfather has NEVER ONCE learned to use it. He has NEVER SENT AN EMAIL IN HIS LIFE. Nevertheless, when my mother sends me an email, guess in whose name the email is sent?? YES! Her email address, even the newest one, acquired about a year or two ago, is my stepfather's name!

I've asked my mother over and over again why SHE does not have a name, but I never get a satisfactory answer. It's utterly ludicrous.

Let's just not talk further about my mother...it gets me hot under the collar. I suppose you can see why my mother is disappointed in the way that I have turned out. I did not get an MRS degree. :)

Ah well. Why can't I have a cool mother??? I'd even take a totally NOT COOL but gushy and loving mother.

You know, I even wonder if my mother would be happy if I were to, say -- totally hypothetically, of course -- get together with a guy like M. I remember when I was in my 20s and I casually mentioned to my mom that I'd started dating a new guy called Brian. The only thing she was interested in was what he did for a living. When I responded "engineer," she said, "That's perfect!"

"But, but...he's a body-obsessed triathlete who prances around in front of the mirror and spends more time on his hair than I do...His language skills are terrible; I don't think that he has ever read a piece of literature." (Aside: I only dated him for about a month, because he pursued me aggressively and frankly because he had a hot body. ;) Those were the days BEFORE I became a nun. You might well be very surprised to know that I did quite a lot of that whilst in university and in my twenties, generally...so many "appropriately posh" guys, whom I could see nothing in but the opportunity for some decent sex. Eek. Funny to think of it...But it makes perfect sense, as an act of rebellion, pendant que j'y pense.)

"Where does he live?"

"He has a condo in Kits!lano!"

"That sounds perfect!"

"How is his decorating?"

"Very faux-Toronto cocktail set. He hired a decorator."

(I'm laughing inside at this point, whilst I'm guessing that my mother is salivating on the other end of the line.)

"Oh, that's great. Men don't know anything about decorating, anyhow."

OH LORD.

You know, I wrote an entry about forgiveness yesterday, but as I think of it, I can't help but laugh at the ludicrousness of my mother. I don't even resent her anymore for being so hopelessly foolish. I suppose that there is nothing to forgive.

One of the very interesting things that has come out of my time at the counselor is the fact that I haven't allowed myself to feel good about the good relationship that I had with my father, because my mother had always told me that my dad was not a good husband and not a good provider. She always resented the fact that he didn't make much money as a veterinarian, unlike his contemporaries. It is true - my dad was a terrible businessperson, kind of like me. We were both made to be impulsive. I hadn't realized it, but for so long I'd felt that I wasn't entitled to appreciate my dad for what he was, because I felt I had to take on the fact that he let my mother down.

So what a relief when the counselor told me that his view is that the only relationships we need to take responsibility for are the relationships between us and the other person, not the relationships that the other had with yet others! What a relief! I can't wait to use that on my mother the next time she complains about what a bad husband and father my dad was! "Mother, that is BETWEEN YOU AND HIM. THAT is not MY problem." Tee hee.

Seriously, sometimes the answers are so simple and so close by and yet we have circled around them our entire lives.

Well on that silly note, I will sign off and see if I can post those not-great pics of the snow prior to the blizzard.

Oh! I got my hair cut on Friday. I told the hairdresser that it was getting draggy. (I love my hairdresser, so no complaints, really. We always have the best conversations.) But I think he went a little bit scissor happy on the sides and back. I could see that he was cutting a lot off. It looks cute but I think I'll either go fully short next time or grow the layers back out. Ah, it's only hair, anyhow! It grows! It should be interesting to see how curly it goes when I wash it today, now that all of the bulk is gone. Well at least I won't need a blowdryer in Italy...

God, I wish my spirit were still free. Sometimes I feel so burdened with all of this thinking and planning. Hair shmair.

10:34 a.m. - 2008-12-21

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