O ye.

Today, I made myself a reminiscent breakfast. Homemade hashbrowns with butter, onion, celery, paprika, oregano and basil. Lightly fried eggs, runny, with bright yellow yolks spilling into the potatoes once freed. Mayo on the side. This is a fairly time intensive breakfast, with potatoes being cut and boiled before they hit the hot pan and their vegetable accompaniment, but the time it takes is part of the luxury of this particular morning meal.

As I cut and cooked in my own kitchen, CBC on in the background, I thought about all the times I made this very breakfast in the kitchen at Atangard. Snippets of conversation and the sounds - footsteps on hardwood halls, doors opening and closing, yelled greetings and goodbyes and so much laughter - come back to me easily. But, more than that, the faces of all those breakfasts comes back. Mostly, I remember the smiles, all bathed in that yellow, windowless light, reflected off Ikea cupboards. They almost seem saintly, or at the very least, beautiful portraits in motion. Though I do not exclude myself from feelings of frustration in that same kitchen, I remember the warmth so much more; the conversations, encouragement and nourishment that I consistently found there. Time must be working its magic, because I can think about it now without feeling very sad and with more more thankfulness and joy than longing.

Into the very kitchen.

Marisa and Lisa, in "that atrium".

Tiff, Beth and Soph.

The words to sum up my last couple weeks would be:

"O ye of little faith".

I do not lay this out as a condemnation, but as a present reality and a reminder. I worry a lot. Often, "catastrophe mode" is my automatic go to in times of stress or trouble. A little over a week ago, my computer finally died (at 5.5 years, my MacBook Pro gave me many good years. RIP, girl). It wasn't great timing, with papers and finals on the horizon, and I maintained a relatively calm front for about a day, which then quickly turned to curling up on my bed, crying, railing, pouting, etc. Tim helped me make a plan to get a new computer that was financially viable. I am typing to you on her now.

We've been church shopping pretty hard. Within that, there have been moments of loveliness, sadness, doubt, and awkwardness. I have criticized and appreciated and been both graceful and graceless. Many times, I doubted we'd ever find somewhere that we'd both feel comfortable going. In the last two weeks, we've gone to the same church twice and we'd both like to come back to it after planting and get to know it more. Exciting.

I found a sublet for my apartment, my shower is getting fixed, and I have a really solid shot of getting this paper/project done well. I know things don't always work out and that the world is not a rosy, rainbow place. I think we all know that too well. But, so often I let such small troubles consume me. The kind of troubles that do have solutions and hope of resolution.

We leave for planting on Saturday. I am excited and eager for the season to begin, to see familiar faces and meet new ones. To help Tim. To learn a new job and role. To have energy for encouragement and cheer, which I struggle to find when being head cook. I am excited for it all.

Shitter hill. Fraser Lake camp.

Until next time,
Elizabeth

A Visit.

I flew back to Abbotsford earlier this month to conduct interviews for my research project. But, more importantly I got to hang with all the reasons it was so hard to leave the lower mainland. The combination of school and friend time made for a packed six days - but they were so lovely. It was so nice to sit with people, face to face or side by side. Talking on the phone is necessary and can be great when conducting long distance friendships, but there is nothing like bear hug/tight squeezes and eye contact.

Here are some pictures from my trip to the West Coast.

    

The ocean is still a major attraction for me, having grown up far away from one. A few of us stole away for a restful White Rock interlude the day before I came back to SK. It was a beautiful day. We walked the "boardwalk", had our first patio sesh of the season, soaked up some sun and (I) collected some rocks - indulging an impulse from childhood.

In addition to coming back to a familiar place, Atangard, I got to see a new place. A to-be familiar place. Tessa's house (a couple glimpses below)!

Found.

St. Partrick's Day has come and gone, and still the snow remains. It snowed all weekend here. I am getting a hearty welcome back, a scolding for leaving prairie soil for greener and rainier pastures for so long (please don't tell everyone that this extra long winter may be my fault). I do have two howevers though:

1. Winter is cold and icy and annoying (especially for those who have to shovel), but it is also beautiful.
2. I fly back Abbotsford today for six days. Not as much to the warmth of sunny skies, but to the beaming faces I miss so much.

As evidence, of 1. I offer the pictures below. The first two are from my walks to and from school. Sunny days are my favorite, and when clear skies reign, I take the most pictures. However, lest those from BC get too jealous, we do have grey/snowy days too.

Heading over the university bridge.

My street.

This next set is form Kinsmen Park. It is at the end of my street and I finally trekked across it to roost at my favorite coffee spot here, Museo coffee at the Mendel Art Gallery. I was delighted to find these metal sculptures all over! Tug-of-warring, bridging, hanging out. Kids/people in the park. In the last two pictures, not the sparkle factor in the snow. That day was so bright and the snow so fresh that I thought I was looking at Edward Cullen caught in the sunshine (yes, that is a Twilight reference. If you don't get it, you are are getting your comeuppance for being too cool to partake in the vampire, werewolf, over-dramatic, shirtless saga that it is). Cross-country paths are all over the park and while I was taking pictures, one speedy skier passed me twice.

This stencilled graffiti is for everyone to enjoy, but especially you, Meg Kroeker. When I spotted these at the end of my alley a month and half ago I thought of you immediately. Stencilled and weathered men with stories! Fishermen or steel workers, or farmers that have worked the same land for 40 years. Or maybe they live around here, making these streets their beds, immortalized on metal. 

Ed.

Rocky.

Have a lovely week everyone,
Elizabeth

Closer to Home.

Every week, and consequently every month, that passes, I feel more at home here in Saskatoon. Perhaps one of the things that makes "home" so precious is that it takes time to build (and feel) it. When you do possess that heart warming thing called home, it is never more delicious than when you return to it after some spending time away. This did not quite happen when we returned from Calgary, but I was more than content to return to my burrow, my bed. My quiet home.

The quiet that comes with living alone is something I am becoming comfortable with. At first (and still sometimes) I have podcasts on constantly to fill the air with voices. As I cook, putter and do dishes I feel like I am a part of their conversations. Thank goodness for Jian Ghomeshi (Q), am I right? Honorable mentions to Ira Glass (This American Life), and Stephen Levitt and Stephen Dubner (Freakonomics).

My parents gift of (their) old couches made my place feel much more like a home. Lounging is a lovely thing to be able to do at home and this is considerably harder to do sans furniture. 

We had a wonderful time in Calgary, although in a sense it was bittersweet. It brought home the fact that my (living at) Atangard era is truly over. To see Beth and Mark's home in Calgary, unmistakably theirs, so far from Abbotsford was strange and exciting. It is exciting that we are making our way out into the world, pursuing careers and leaving home.

It sounds like we are leaving home for the first time. But Atangard really did become a second home, a second family to me. Since I am someone who gets VERY attached, I will mourn it just a little bit, even as I am thrilled for the marriages and house making and buying and all of those incredible stages we are entering into. La vie! It is always happening. I think it is possible to hold fast to things (friends, meaningful experiences/lessons) and still set them free as well. And that, my dear friends, is what I will try my very best to do. 

Here are a few pictures from Calgary.

Beth took us to a really cool spice store. I was in heaven.

Beth and Mark's kitchen.

Beth and Mark's windowsill.

Classic Beth. Cardigan ad stripes.

Friends.

Delicious Days.

Yesterday was one of those delicious days. The definition of such a day being, balmy temperatures in the midst of a prairie winter. I explored Saskatoon with my hood down, face uncovered, and sweating in my down jacket. No mitts! It was wonderful. It was also really nice to explore a couple areas of the city on foot - it is impossible to really get to know a city in a car.

There are trees here, full of red berries all winter long, which bring me a little hum of joy every time I walk by or under one. All the other trees may be bare and dry, but these are there, full of fruit, red against the white - a gentle but stubborn FU to winter.

Besides the respite from the cold, thus far in the semester, I am much less busy than the fall's mad pace. Enjoying time with Tim, and to myself, has been lovely. Nights of Scrabble, crib and madeleines. Nights of movies out and in. The Saskatoon Farmer's Market on Saturdays and visits to winter festivals with ice sculptures. I have had time to enjoy cooking again - for me, the joy is found in the process more than the result. For cooking, unlike just about everything else, I have nearly infinite patience. there has also been time with family and the beginning of new friendships. Delicious days.

I finally went to Collective Coffee (great space, solid coffee) and found out about this really cool co-work space/community/organization called the TwoTwenty, which I am determined to get involved in somehow. In this new city - there is still so much I don't know and I am still finding my place in it.

P.S. To my B.C. friends and especially Atangardians, I miss you everyday. I love you guys!

The Cold.

The whistle of the kettle. The hum of my AeroGarden. Footsteps in the apartment above and the scurrying of their small dog for a treat or some indoor exercise on these cold days. These are sounds of my house. My little burrow, half in the ground, a basement apartment with windows in each room to let the light in.

It is much colder here. Nearly everyone who hears I've recently moved from BC winces and asks how I'm adjusting. This question never phases me and I answer that it's fine, I grew up here and so it really hasn't been a shock. The thing is, the cold is easiest thing to adjust to. I actually take pleasure in meeting it head on. Unlike other things, like making new friends and dealing with bureaucracies, the cold seems very surmountable. I wear layers; leggings and jeans, gloves and mitts, headphones (serving as earmuffs) and a toque and a hood. I walk quickly. And despite the bitterness of the air and wind on the very coldest of days, I can not help but stop and appreciate how beautiful winter is here. The white sun is blinding reflecting off the snow. The conifers still have their needles to protect them, but other trees collect a layer of snow to shield their bare branches. The mist rises from the river where the unfrozen water water meets below freezing temperatures. Facing this winter - even just to walk to school and back, makes me feel strong. Though this is certainly taking it too far, I must admit that as I walk, I compare myself to pioneer women.

There is also inspiration in this extremity. Something about the juxtaposition of cold to warm and blinding sun to early dark. In the quiet, among the soft sounds of my apartment and in the less hectic schedule (for now) of this semester, there is space for words and art to resume. Exciting, and intimidating.

On the way home from school.

Little Things.

My home right now is a collection of little things. Pieces that are slowly coming together to make a home. A blue and white porcelain cup with my toothbrush and toothpaste in it on my white enamel sink. It's a small sink, with no counter to clutter with make up and hair elastics or necklaces, taken off before bed. These days, it is one of two adornments, one from Beth or one from Tiff. Reminders of these dear friends, carrying something with me that has passed from their hands to mine.

My apartment is one of twelve in an old building on the same street my great grandma used to live on. I like that. Though there are things in my apartment that don't work so well, namely the water pressure for the tub/shower, there are other things that are old and sturdy, like the painted white doors. There are also things that are charming, like a collection of interesting faceplates for the light switches, the archway details on doorways between rooms and all the exposed pipes carrying hot water to the radiators in the apartments above. 

There are funny things too, like the man next door who snores every night and goes to bed by nine. What makes it funny and not nightmarish is that it doesn't stop me from going to sleep. I hung my first piece of art and I now have a table and chairs. Little things. 

My neighborhood.