Just when you thought the road was solid...

Life is never what it seems. 

Whoever wrote this old adage was quite the spark.  

One minute I was skating home on the footpath from a french comedy night which appeared to be quite hilarious (I understood the words rabbit, hair and thank you in a total of two hours and two pints) and the next minute my right sock and shoe had became completely drenched; an illusion made from gravel-like ice floating on the top of a giant puddle. I had gently immersed my whole foot up till the ankle.

The perception of space and the feel of my soaking sock pierced this optical illusion.

This is certainly not the first time I have believed something to be absolutely horse shit. Illusion and Delusion who were born as twins, have been strong yet rather undesired presences in the my life. They have always wrestled against me, tag teaming each other to pin me in such unusual positions that had it not been for the perspective I saw of the world I probably would have felt the pain to its zenith. 

Both of them psyche me out constantly in their own individual yet almost identical style. Illusion would haunt me with that wispy voice of his; painting pictures like, look our existence has a happy optimistic finale to it, you're body is really solid, you think you're sitting in a chair and you'll be 29 years of age in a May. Whereas Delusion would attack me with repetitions like, you're a really shit-house English teacher, you will never change being a moody sod, you believe you know who you are and believe what other people (especially the convincing ones) tell you. 

To put it mildly - I'm fucked. Although I did hear in the locker room that I'm not the only one they wrestle... 

But then I was thinking of the good things that can come from wrestling with these two. 

The exercise for one, is a great way to keep flexible and fit with regards to a proper warm up before hand otherwise there can be injuries; the revelations, when I'm suddenly made aware of a stinky armpit in my face or sweat dripping in my eye; the confidence it brings when wrestling two of the greatest giants and still being able to come home at the end of a long match.

Well I have to get ready for a match. 

Until then....

Winter is here and so am I.

The sky has fallen and slopped icy clouds all over Montreal.


It is an obstacle course to get to my work, which is a thirty minute walk away through treacherous urban terrain. The wind threatens to rip half my face off, snow works to seep into every available crevasse targeting my flesh and of course there's my arch nemesis - the dreaded black ice, which has only started to burgeon across every walk space. Consequently, I have already slipped once which shouldn't surprise those who know my defaults.


There are little men in tiny little yellow Tonka trucks that chase each other down the footpaths on opposite sides of the street. Despite their efforts of pushing the snow to the side more starts to plummet to the ground anyway and my inappropriate shoes still get wet.
Last night as I powered home I had my reins pulled to a slow trot when an elderly couple filled the width of the sidewalk newly created. The only solution was to forge through a snowy barrier to resume the pace. Although this action didn't happen until some time had passed, it seems the freezing cold puts my thoughts on ice also.


I was told by a real Quebecois, "The idea is to look like you're not cold, just like you're walking on a beach."


To which I replied, "I only act when I get paid for it."


I think the key for this little Auzzie to survive the Kingdom of Ice, is to find a hole in a tree, tuck myself in all cozy and wait out the winter. Unfortunately I'm not a squirrel though, so to flourish like a true Quebecois I must walk in the foot prints made by others while looking like I'm doing a folk dance, eat every hour to fuel the goosebumps and wear sturdy boots and a jacket that isn't too short in the arms. I'm yet to fix those ones...


My shoulders have already began to feel like they are permanently glued to my ears and due to my fixation towards the ground, in the event of shielding my lower face from ripping off, I am creating a rather nice hump in my upper back. A somewhat attractive and relaxed posture, wouldn't you say?


The saving grace to a Canadian winter is being active when there's light and drinking a little something to provoke the cockles of my heart to work properly. And of course, writing to you lovely people...


Now to make pie!

Chinese Water Torture

My editor had once told me, as buckets of water fell from the sky that I shouldn't worry about my writing.

"Just keep doing what you're doing whatever comes into your head," she said over the largest bowl of coffee I had ever seen, "it's inspirational stuff."

"What was I doing?" I mused aloud but the sky had already stolen the attention with a quake that seemed to rip open even the clouds. I wasn't to know, I suppose. The conversation had changed.

Her words were very reassuring at the time albeit when you're staring at a blank page for two hours waiting for that spark of inspiration, thought, feeling, hell - even a wild goose chase with incoherent banter to jump start the action and yet nothing comes of it, it's genuinely disheartening; the cursor perseveres to tap impatiently like some Chinese water torture. 

In this instance, knowing what to do or having the awareness to propel this over due action could have presented some benefits. Isn't that why we go to schools, universities and push ourselves up those mountains of knowledge?


If I were to recapitulate those days, I repelled the idea of "needing" to install an academic brain to be able to create - to be able to write. I had clasped my "free" pen that I often found multiplying in my bag like the mysterious sea monkey, as though it had been a symbol of freedom. I could do it anywhere, anytime.


Now I write on an expensive laptop, which I have to lug around, with not even a hill of knowledge in sight of how to jump start some tiny little words to form a tiny little thought.


We can certainly convince ourselves of the most incredible things...


I think its time for another bowl of coffee.


Until next time...

"From small beginnings come great things..."

To all my dear readers (who perchance stumble upon this premier blog)

This is beginning of many a beautiful friendships: one that is between my fingers and the black keys in which I strike, another between our eyes surveying the same thoughts and stories written and finally the comments in which you will no doubt share with me.

Friendship.

I've perused the globe for friendship, like-mindedness, laughter and of course love, to surprisingly find it pretty much all over like a thick molasses - from the origins of my birth place in Melbourne all the way up the east coast of Australia, across continents to Europe, China and other parts of Asia, to end up in Montreal, Canada where I'm currently sticking fast (but unfortunately not soaking up a lot of the french language as quickly as I would've liked) to the culture, the environment and of course the food.

The winter encroaching upon us here in Montreal which can peak to about minus forty in February is, in my opinion just as beautiful than the spring with all her fragrant blooming jewels.
The ice formations in the wilderness of Quebec, (when I visit) the constant flow of warm cups of tea, a good microbrewery beer, playing hockey in the snowy backstreets of Montreal, eating a warm buttery baguette with hot soup is the saving grace to a long dark hibernation. Sure I may move more slowly and occasionally have to bury my hands in my armpits like a squirrel tucked away in its burrow but its all part of the liquid experience of life - isn't it.

Well stay tuned to some more adventures as they come and I'll be sure to entertain for you.

You with me?

Let's live!