Somehow we ended up with kitten to call our own. She was going to be put down, on account of all the animal shelters in Thunder Bay being full. My heart grew three sizes that day, a la Mr. Grinch, and now we have have a wee feline to keep our feet warm at night. We have dubbed her Pierre Elliott Trudeau, and she is a sweet thing. She curls up on my lap while I work at the computer, and Andrew gets his kicks out of tormenting her with a blue thing tied to a stick. Somedays I like to build a fort out of the couch cushions, and she hides inside. We call it 24 Sussex. Other days she spends all her time sleeping in Andrew’s underwear drawer, much to his chagrin. And sometimes she chases shadows on the wall. I thought she might might be special for a while. But it turns out, she’s just a bit goofy. She is quite entertaining, to say the least, especially because she rarely lands on her feet. Now, I wouldn’t peg myself as a ‘cat person’ necessarily. And Trudeau’s presence really hasn’t changed our day to day wheelings and dealings, but I like having her around. She’s alright. The other night while Andrew and I were making dinner, we decided to add ‘Millennium Falcon’ to her name. We think it gives her a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ of the sci-fi sort. Let’s face it, it was either gonna be Millennium Falcon or Enterprise… or Warbird…. or Battlestar Galactica. NERD ALERT.

In other news, the skiing in Thunder Bay is ruddy fantastic; definitely the saving grace of this no-horse two-bit town. Andrew and I hit up Mount Baldy (Andrew on skis, and me on snowblades), which has a fantastic view of Lake Superior. No injuries were incurred, and some delicious poutine was devoured. Apart from being led down a lone narrow run which nobody else used, losing all speed and falling straight down through 6 feet of snow while calling after Andrew who didn’t answer, and then having to roll my torso onto the slightly more packed down snow to release my constricted body, it was a great day.

Furthermore, we went for a hike yesterday down by Mount McKay. We climbed and climbed up a fairly unused pathway and discovered a fantastic view of the Sleeping Giant, and the desert-like ice of Mother Superior. We had to cut the hike short, though, and backtrack the way we came when the snow became too deep and every step landed us buried up to our waists. So it goes in Thunder Bay. Sometimes the snow is just too deep, and you have to go home.

Here’s an interesting fact: A large amount of the traffic this blog receives is from people googling ‘Buzz’s girlfriend’ from the cinematic masterpiece and lovely Christmas romp Home Alone. I suppose that somewhere in the history of my posts, and for whatever reason, I quoted the brilliant line, ‘Buzz, your girlfriend. Woof!”… and this interests people. Curious. In honour of the season, and also because CBC is airing Home Alone right now, I figured I’d up my web traffic by making an official post on this memorable moment of motion picture mastermind. 

I like Autumn. I like it because it is a segue; somewhere between was and will. It was warm and it will be cold, but what is it now? Autumn isn’t now. It’s nowhere, and I haven’t been present during this season that I love so much. I’ve been contemplating too much, and now when I descend the steps of my ivy-covered building, the leaves are gone. I don’t know where I’ve been since they gave up their green and became crunchy cobblestones that stick to the cuffs of my pants. Transition is a strange thing when it happens so slowly. Change seems to be crawling quite slowly, almost impossible to witness. Up until now, I thought that I could just bide my time while I wait to get to what is next, but that seems silly and idle and something that I’ve already been doing for far too long. I am looking forward to what will happen next, whatever it may be, it just seems so far away. I’m left in the wake of something fulfilling, waxing elegiac for something that I haven’t even gained to have lost. Odd. I’m MP. I am five feet and eight and a half inches tall and fancy myself artistic. I like picture frames and the poetry of Emily Brontë. I have a purple scarf that I like to wear around my neck and I never spit in public. I have blue eyes, and I can pout spectacularly. I like daisies and paper lanterns. I took ballet lessons for 15 years, and still believe that I can dance. I want to be a rockstar, but for now am content to sing to the shower tiles. I am misunderstood. I aspire to happiness, and haven’t yet decided on a formidable career, although I’m testing the waters. I wear an amber ring on my finger, but only in the winter, and painted my apartment green. I struggle. I pierced my nose as a protest against symmetry when I was a teenager, and will probably many years from now go blind due to the macular degeneration that runs in my family. If I do go blind, I will become a sculptor; but for now and until old age creeps up on me, my eyes are just fine. I have two tattoos that I used to pretend were beautiful birthmarks that I should have been born with, but now I mostly forget that they are there. I have inspiration. I like to play the Moonlight Sonata on the piano when I am angry, and adore the artwork of Carson Ellis. I am unlucky. Pathetic Fallacy always seems to be in accordance with my life, and my favourite season is Indian Summer, even though it is politically incorrect. I like to stretch. I had my first kiss when I was fourteen, and know how to play the clarinet. I have an infectious laugh and keep dried flowers in a vase by my window. I am sensitive and analytical, and I listen to Hayden. I fear loss. I open my eyes underwater and like to paint my toe nails pink. I like to stay up late and wake up early, and my favourite CBC host is Barbara Budd. I like to wear a small ragdoll pinned to my sweater, and listen to acoustic guitars. I want to be remembered. I like to take pictures of chairs people keep in alleys, and like to look at people’s shoes on the subway. I avoid confrontation. I like to pretend that love songs are written about me, and I never put milk on my cereal. I grew up in Acton and I like to write stories. They are not published. I can’t define myself in a paragraph, and I believe that there are things about me that cannot be consigned to words, but nevertheless, I want you to know me. Happy Autumn.