I'm lying on the couch in my newly renovated living room. I've just cleaned it in anticipation of showing it off to my grandmother tomorrow afternoon.
I guess I've been back in Canada now for 6 or 7 weeks and I finally feel like I belong here.
The first few weeks were rough: I was sad and depressed about leaving Krakow and felt completely displaced (for a while I bandied about the phrase relocation dislocation) and at loose ends. I hid out at my friend S's house in Leslieville, working from there most days and leaving the house only to run errands or to go to the gym and to check out the progress on my renovations.
But I've adapted. I'm living in my own house now and the renovations are almost completely finished. I no longer have to spend most of my non-working hours making house or car-related decisions leaving me more time to spend reconnecting with my friends.
Plus, it is summer and despite a strike by the city employees (creating mounds of garbage everywhere and shutting down public services like pools and ferries), Toronto is a pretty good place to be. The trees are green, the flowers are blooming, the sun is shining (well most of the time), and the patios are open.
A part of me will always miss Krakow, but for now I'm home and I'm happy.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Young Poland
Last Saturday, on my flight back to Toronto, I spent a few hours reading about my favourite period in Polish art: the Young Poland movement. The book was a farewell gift from a friend and provides art and architectural examples of the movement in and around Krakow.
Several of my favourite churches, galleries, and buildings were listed in the guide, and I was thoroughly enjoying reading about Krakow, when I turned the page and saw a picture of this guy:
This gargoyle perches on the building I lived in for the past two years. Imagine my surprise to see him featured in a guide to Krakow!
I knew my building was designated as a heritage building (it was the former power plant for Krakow before it was converted into an architect's office and apartments), but I guess I didn't realize how historically significant it really was.
Yep, I lived in a building with a gargoyle. Not many people in Toronto can say that.
Several of my favourite churches, galleries, and buildings were listed in the guide, and I was thoroughly enjoying reading about Krakow, when I turned the page and saw a picture of this guy:
This gargoyle perches on the building I lived in for the past two years. Imagine my surprise to see him featured in a guide to Krakow!
I knew my building was designated as a heritage building (it was the former power plant for Krakow before it was converted into an architect's office and apartments), but I guess I didn't realize how historically significant it really was.
Yep, I lived in a building with a gargoyle. Not many people in Toronto can say that.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Derek and Flannery
Here's the first anecdote of many about Derek:
Soon after I moved to Toronto from Waterloo, Derek was accepted into the publishing program at Centennial College. We ended up being roommates, living in a 2nd floor apartment in an old house on Keele St in High Park.
I've got so many great memories of that year: sitting on the deck gossiping and sharing stories about our lives for hours, both of us being terrified of the huge raccoon that used to live on the roof, laughing at our upstairs neighbour Rocker Dude, hosting cocktail parties that lasted all night (I don't think I've had someone pass out on my kitchen floor since those days), and just hanging out in our pjs watching TV.
That year was also the year I decided I would get a cat. For months before actually adopting the cat, I mused about what I would name her (for it would be a female). I wanted something literary. Perhaps Jane or Margaret after one of my favourite authors. Or maybe named for a fictional character. Possibly Daisy.
Meanwhile, Derek picked out his own name. For him the only possible choice was Flannery. Didn't matter to him that I had never read Flannery O'Connor. He stuck to his guns, referring to my future pet as Flannery in conversation whenever he could. And then he dealt the final blow, telling me (with a sparkle in his eye) that it didn't matter what I decided to call the cat, he would call her Flannery.
The morning we went to the humane society, Derek finally relented, saying that whatever I wanted to call the cat would be fine and he would go along with my choice. I think he secretly knew by that time that he had already indelibly imprinted the name Flannery on my brain.
So Flannery she was, and still is. I can't imagine her as being anything else.
Yet even though Derek gave me a Flannery O'Connor novel (aptly titled "A Good Man is Hard to Find") for Christmas that year, it was years before I could bring myself to read it. What would I do if I didn't like the works of my cat's namesake?
But, as always, Derek's recommendation was sound.
And oh how Derek loved Flannery, always scooping her up for a cuddle whenever he came over and wondering if she remembered that they had lived together all those years ago. Of course she did.
Soon after I moved to Toronto from Waterloo, Derek was accepted into the publishing program at Centennial College. We ended up being roommates, living in a 2nd floor apartment in an old house on Keele St in High Park.
I've got so many great memories of that year: sitting on the deck gossiping and sharing stories about our lives for hours, both of us being terrified of the huge raccoon that used to live on the roof, laughing at our upstairs neighbour Rocker Dude, hosting cocktail parties that lasted all night (I don't think I've had someone pass out on my kitchen floor since those days), and just hanging out in our pjs watching TV.
That year was also the year I decided I would get a cat. For months before actually adopting the cat, I mused about what I would name her (for it would be a female). I wanted something literary. Perhaps Jane or Margaret after one of my favourite authors. Or maybe named for a fictional character. Possibly Daisy.
Meanwhile, Derek picked out his own name. For him the only possible choice was Flannery. Didn't matter to him that I had never read Flannery O'Connor. He stuck to his guns, referring to my future pet as Flannery in conversation whenever he could. And then he dealt the final blow, telling me (with a sparkle in his eye) that it didn't matter what I decided to call the cat, he would call her Flannery.
The morning we went to the humane society, Derek finally relented, saying that whatever I wanted to call the cat would be fine and he would go along with my choice. I think he secretly knew by that time that he had already indelibly imprinted the name Flannery on my brain.
So Flannery she was, and still is. I can't imagine her as being anything else.
Yet even though Derek gave me a Flannery O'Connor novel (aptly titled "A Good Man is Hard to Find") for Christmas that year, it was years before I could bring myself to read it. What would I do if I didn't like the works of my cat's namesake?
But, as always, Derek's recommendation was sound.
And oh how Derek loved Flannery, always scooping her up for a cuddle whenever he came over and wondering if she remembered that they had lived together all those years ago. Of course she did.
Derek
I'm sitting in Derek's home office, typing this at his desk, surrounded by his CDs and his books, looking at pictures of him and the people he loved, comforted by his cat sleeping a few feet away.
Although I desperately wanted to see Sari, I admit I was a bit apprehensive about staying here until my stuff arrives from Krakow. As long as I was in Poland, I could fool myself into believing Derek was still here. And I knew that there was no way I could keep his death at bay once I came back to Toronto.
But being in his space hasn't induced the grief I was scared of. Just the opposite - I feel much better being here with Sari and am comforted by staying in his house.
And now I realize, I don't have to write one letter or blog entry about Derek and what our years of friendship meant to me. There's no need for one goodbye or one final summing up. I've got so many memories and stories to share. I'll just write them down as I'm ready.
Home
After a long day, I made it home without incident.
Although I fly a lot, it never ceases to amaze me how you can be transported from one side of the world to the other in such a short period of time.
This morning I was thinking about the months-long sea crossings people had to make 100 years ago. Although incredibly difficult and grueling for some, the trip itself gave them time to realize that they were leaving one life behind and starting another in a new world.
14 hours on a plane didn't seem like a long enough time to end one stage of my life and start another.
But, regardless of how long the journey took, the new phase of my life starts today. I wonder what it will bring.
Although I fly a lot, it never ceases to amaze me how you can be transported from one side of the world to the other in such a short period of time.
This morning I was thinking about the months-long sea crossings people had to make 100 years ago. Although incredibly difficult and grueling for some, the trip itself gave them time to realize that they were leaving one life behind and starting another in a new world.
14 hours on a plane didn't seem like a long enough time to end one stage of my life and start another.
But, regardless of how long the journey took, the new phase of my life starts today. I wonder what it will bring.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
In transit
I'm on my way home, waiting in the Krakow for my first flight of the day. My suitcases are a hell of a lot bigger than this one, and I'm not looking forward to carrying them up the many stairs in my Toronto home.
Wish me a speedy and safe journey.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Saying goodbye
It's 11:00 pm and I'm sitting in the lobby of the Krakow Sheraton reflecting on my last day in Krakow. It is fitting that I'm staying here on my last night in Krakow. It's where I stayed on my first night here, and every other subsequent trip before moving here.
I woke up this morning with a feeling of panic, worrying about how I was going to make it through so many goodbyes today.
But I've made it without sobbing, although I felt like it several times. I walked around the Planty this morning, taking photos every few steps, then met my landlord to go through my beautiful apartment one last time.
And I made it through saying goodbye to 4 floors of people without losing my composure completely, although I teared up the very first time I said goodbye.
Tears threatened again at dinner tonight with my closest friends, but most of the time I just enjoyed their company.
I know I'll miss everything and everyone in Krakow, but I've finally said goodbye.
Note: I'm not ready to say goodbye to this blog. I've got thousands of photos to wade through, and memories associated to everyone, many of which I hope to share with you all. So more posts to come once I am back in my home and native land.
I woke up this morning with a feeling of panic, worrying about how I was going to make it through so many goodbyes today.
But I've made it without sobbing, although I felt like it several times. I walked around the Planty this morning, taking photos every few steps, then met my landlord to go through my beautiful apartment one last time.
And I made it through saying goodbye to 4 floors of people without losing my composure completely, although I teared up the very first time I said goodbye.
Tears threatened again at dinner tonight with my closest friends, but most of the time I just enjoyed their company.
I know I'll miss everything and everyone in Krakow, but I've finally said goodbye.
Note: I'm not ready to say goodbye to this blog. I've got thousands of photos to wade through, and memories associated to everyone, many of which I hope to share with you all. So more posts to come once I am back in my home and native land.
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