gravity.

I am packing. In fact, I haven't really started quite yet. (I've been so busy!) I am moving tomorrow, the 30th of April.

I've been taking the little postcards down from my walls and this morning I stuck this bobby pin in this little wad of yellow sticky wall stuff.


A friend told me that our relationships are like silly putty, sometimes. That the ones that last the longest leave the biggest imprint. And the deeper the imprint, the more time it takes for the silly putty to return to its natural form, to fill itself in from that imprint.


It's true. There were only two little holes where I had stuck in the bobby pins from this morning, and I put a few more in after stabbing it again, this afternoon (--while having some stimulating conversation with Bell and Rogers phone/internet folks. Those phone calls always take so long.).

These imprints were, naturally, more shallow. They hadn't had the same time to set in.


So, that's symbolic image of the day. Isn't it kind of beautiful? Things take time to heal. Imprints left from relationships are different depending on the nature and length of the relationship. Some leave a bigger imprint on us than others.


But it's worth it, the waiting and the filling in and the time, are so worth it.

where we grow up

14 Grange Ave. Toronto, Ontario. I lived here until I was 9 years old.

I had never before noticed this crack in the staircase. It must have gotten worse as time went on. My brother said that our dad always wanted to fix it.



The squirrels and our old Chinese neighbours would always eat the cherries off of this tree.

The front door. We hardly used it.

We knew it was a stranger at our door when they would knock on this one.

The side door. This is the one we used almost always.

When we lived there our dad would get rid of the graffiti.

And I saw this almost everyday.

I love my mom. I cannot help but see her in other people. I cannot help but look at strangers, sometimes homeless ones, and think and know, that is someone's mom.

But our mom isn't homeless, not anymore.

I have a story, just like everyone else. And I guess I wouldn't have mine any other way, no matter the pain and the growth and the realness and rawness of a child with parents who did the best they could.