Thursday, January 28, 2010
I had to wait forever, or so it felt, for the bus to come and take me home tonight. It's so strange, how waiting by yourself can seem like hours have passed, but when you are with someone it couldn't be long enough, is never long enough for you to finish the conversation you were having.
So, the wait was lonely.
And when the bus finally came, I did as I normally do - step on, show my bus pass, and proceed to look for an empty seat, preferably by the window so I can just space out and watch the street lights go by. I found my seat, and it was crowded, and a man of about 35 sat beside me.
Of course, like so many young people today, I was completely tuned out with my iPod, music playing in my head. And, of course, in my lonely state, I was listening to the type of music that really does one no good at all - music that makes you only feel more lonely, or more sad, or more angry, than that certain mood you are already in. Why do we do that to ourselves? I don't really know. But it seems like it's a reoccuring ritual with me.
I'm digressing. Anyways, the song I was listening to - A John Mayer classic, nonetheless - was at a quiet moment, and I overheard the man beside me on the telephone. He said, "Hey hon, I'm almost home. Put the kettle on?" in a sweet, gentle tone that only meant one thing: he was talking with his wife who was waiting for him to arrive home from work.
I just thought it was the most consoling thing to hear at that moment. Because it led me to think how lucky someone is to have someone else to go home to. I think it could make the world of a difference in someone's day - like mine, for instance. Or for anyone who just needs a cup of warm tea to come home to.
Oh how I hope to call 'someone' from a bus ride home and say "put the kettle on" one day.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Oh no! I just realized that come tomorrow it has been one week since I last worked out, and it's only because I went to Whistler on the weekend, and then was sick for the past three days. What about my marathon??? The bandwagon drove off without me, and now I have to run to catch up with it. Better run a bit faster is all I'm saying...
It's a very frustrating feeling, when your field of study no longer stimulates you.
I mean, the type of stimulation that makes you excited to go to class, or to one particular class.
I feel as though there are certain things about journalism - and only certain things - that I don't think I will ever be able to enjoy.
For instance, I don't think I'll ever be able to enjoy writing about politics. I know it's important, and I've covered small-town politics in Ottawa and outside when I worked with the EMC, but I can't fathom doing investigative stories about some of the crooks that run our country. Not because it's not important: someone has to cover those and inform the public (as we've repeatedly been told 'that is your job as a journalist'), but I want to write when it doesn't feel as though it's a chore to get information. Maybe I'm just an odd journalist with different desires than most?
I want to write about the environment, and in that sense I think I could enjoy covering some politics - like the tar sands in Alberta, and what the provincial government is or isn't doing. Or about how much pollution coastal provinces let flow into our Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, or about Fish Farms, or earthquake preparedness, or animal protection, or hiking. Some of these could have some relation to politics, but not in the same way as some instructors would like it to be.
I've just realized I have contradicted myself, but it's a revelation about politics I suppose.
And I'm waiting so patiently to hear back from Canadian Geographic regarding a student internship I applied for there. Waiting, patiently... and impatiently, and anxiously, and intensely. Honestly, if I managed to get in with that internship I wouldn't know what to say. All I would know is that for once, for ONCE!! my dream of writing about the environment, about geography, could possibly come true. And if I don't get it, I think I'll be crushed. But that is life. Living like a small ant on the ground, hoping that someone doesn't come along and step on you... or if they do, you hope you fall between the grooves in their shoe and don't get squished against the sidewalk.
The worst analogy I think I've come up with yet. Oh, dear. ha.
The Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill
I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of this book. I found it hard to believe that the author was a man, because from every aspect, through every scene, and every situation, it was as though a woman was writing it.
The story of Aminata Diallo, an African girl kidnapped from her village and thrust into slavery in the United States. The author did an amazing job of researching the lingo - saying she has lived for 10 rain seasons - every term and every word showed that the author did his research. For that I commend him.
Each location the reader is taken to; the village in Africa, the slave ship where Aminata witnesses murder, starvation, rape, the Indigo farm, and New York, to Nova Scotia where she lives in a small hut and gives birth to her daughter... and the love she shares with the boy Chekura, and their wedding ceremony where they jump over broomsticks... it was all fantastic and imaginative. And sad. it is certainly meant to be sad. But it was encouraging to see a woman so strong, so successful, despite her misfortunes.
For that reason I'm sure some readers wouldn't like the book - the character has misfortunes but never flounders and I believe some would find that hard to believe, that that couldn't possibly happen during the 17-1800s when the slave trade was in full-bloom. But, nonetheless, I'd recommend it, and am glad it made my list of 25.
It brought me to tears, and I find a lot of books have yet to do that to me.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Ugh. There is nothing worse than being sick. And by sick, I mean aching body, pounding head, swollen and sore throat, congested nasal passage, tired eyes, hot and cold flashes.
I don't think we at all realize how nice it is to have people around you until you are sick. For instance, what I wouldn't give right now for someone to come rub my back, or feed me soup, or just sit under a blanket and watch a movie with me! I would give anything to have that. Unfortunately, my many long-distance relationships with friends and boyfriends has hindered that possibility of being consoled.
Therefore, I will have to feed myself soup, rub my own feet, and sit in the bottom of my shower to try and make it feel remotely like a bath. What I wouldn't give for a BATH! People! Do not take for granted your ceramic tub - it's times like this I'd give you $20 just to use it.
sick, bed-ridden Jesse Bell.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
As written by my father, Mr. Bell...
Last night, after supper, I was sitting at the kitchen table reading my library book. All of a sudden who flies in and sits on the top of my page but Ms. Ladybug.
We see her around every day or so, on the kitchen sink, on the window screen, on the floor by the fridge (where it is warm in the morning), or on the window screen in the afternoon when the sun is shining.
Once she was in my hair and another time on my sleeve. She likes to fly onto the lights above the table. I have placed her on the potted plants many times.
Our resident ladybug appears to be doing well, while wintering in the Bell house.
This morning she was on the rim of the sugar bowl having a sweet little snack.
As winter wears on I hope that she makes it to spring and one warm day I can take her out the back door and say...
"Get out of here you stupid bug!"
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The Call of the Wild by Jack London
It was a quick, enjoyable read. I first heard of this book watching Into the Wild. It was one of Chris McCandless' favourites, and ever since then I've always wanted to read it. Finally, I did. And for only $2 at a second hand store!
the Call of the Wild was a story about a St. Bernard dog named Buck, who was taken from his home during the gold rush in Alaska, and put to work pulling a dog sled in all areas of the state. It showed how Buck, who at one time was a home-grown, home-fed, nurtured animal, tackles the obstacles that confront him in the wilderness - the hostility of other dogs, the elements of the weather, horrible men - and how he comes to learn that he was meant to do this, be in the wild, all along.
It reminded me a bit of the movie Homeward Bound, and how animals will do almost anything to survive. But perhaps my favourite part in this book was when Buck meets John Thornton, who ends up saving Buck's life. And particularly how Buck discoveres that he never realized he could experience "love, genuine, compassionate love, was his for the first time. This he had never experienced at Judge Millers... but love that was feverish and burning, it had taken John Thornton to arouse."
Another book I'd suggest to my followers!
Alright. First test. Training starts today, Tuesday, Jan. 19. 5.25 km. And... I'm off!
Update: Finished the 5.25 in just under 40 minutes I think, but I have to start using a stopwatch and timing myself. Honestly though, there is nothing I can think of that feels better than to run - all your stresses and your worries and concerns just dissapear for the time being, and its wonderful. You should try it.. that is, if 'you' are even following my blog!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Watership Down by Richard Adams
What an amazing book. When I was young, my sister and I used to watch the movie - rabbits were our favourite. And I just recently made a list of 25 books to read before I turn 25 (just over 2 years), and I thought I'd add this book to my list.
It was the first I read, and it was more than I could have ever wanted from a book about rabbits. Adams does such an amazing job creating a world where you, the reader, actually believe that rabbits live in such a way - with Owsla (government) and a Chief Rabbit, and the little rabbits with no say in how they pass silfay (poop) or eat their greens.
The story line is phenomenal and I found myself falling deep and deeper into the rabbit world. The adventure that Hazel, BigWig, and the others find themselves on is so well described and so well portrayed that you forgot at times the characters you are getting to know are even rabbits. But then you are reminded they have long ears, a furry tale, and dig tunnels.
I would suggest this book to anyone who wants to read something they can't bring themselves to put down. It was magical, and that is an understatement.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
I've been invited by a very good friend to run a half-marathon in Ottawa, in May. And I am going to do it. The challenge starts very soon, with a weekly routine leading up to the run.
I think to warm myself up I'll do the Vancouver Sun Run in April. At least, to give myself a 'head start.' Wish me luck. Updates I'm sure to come on my progress over the next few months.
Run, run, rudolph.
Friday, January 15, 2010
I went for a run this afternoon. And I loved it, because whenever I run in Steveston (where I live) I see all sorts of animals. For instance, I run past a big, dead tree, and usually in it sits two bald eagles. They are beautiful.
Today was especially neat, however, because I got within feet of a blue heron. And this is the second time it has happened.
The great blue heron is the largest in North America, with a wingspan of 180 cm. As you can see in the picture I've taken, it has black feathers, red-brown thighs and feathers. It is beautiful. Some people don't favour birds, but I can't help but think they are the most gorgeous creatures on earth.
The Blue Heron migrates from Florida, Mexico and to South America, and also, in Steveston. Which is lovely. They are normally found in marshes, and Steveston has many of that. I've watched this particular heron sit and listen to the water before it strikes its beak down, usually finding a turtle or fish. I've never seen it pull up a turtle, but according to Wiki it does eat them. It also eats shellfish, insects, rodents, reptiles (snakes) and other small birds.
I do think though that my favourite thing about them is their eyes. They look at you, and when they do you feel like they are examining you, contemplating whether or not you are a threat to them based on your movements, your reactions. But the look they give is more than just a form of defense, it is somewhat intimidating, intense, and yet they do it calmly, as though they aren't afraid at all. You wonder whether they themselves will turn on your and attack you with their beaks.
Perhaps the nicest thing about herons is... they are nowhere near becoming extinct. They are of the 'least concern' in conservation status, and that makes me rather happy.