Friday, June 21, 2013

{25}

It was my 26th birthday yesterday.

I'm in my late twenties! This is so weird!

I was saying to my mum-in-law yesterday: What if you only aged on your birthday? Like, what if every 365 days as you celebrated another year gone by you aged all at once--instead of gradually, a little every day? If you woke up, and looked in the mirror, and could see a year's worth of wear? And suddenly, you were {noticeably} a little achier, a little less metabolically quick, a little greyer, a little wiser, a little less flexible...?

She said, with a seriously pondering look on her face, "Hm. Yeah?" Because she's cute and British and would never say outright, "You're ridiculous and think about silly things." I like that about her.

Anyway. I was thinking about it because I was trying to think if I've changed that much since my 25th birthday and almost wish I could just see all the change all at once. It's just too strange to think that I'm constantly morphing into something else, every single second of every single day, without noticing it.

It's like I'm standing in one place watching trees fly by and thinking, "How is this happening? I'm not moving my feet!" And suddenly I'm somewhere else entirely and I'm disoriented and dizzy. But then I realize that nothing around me has changed at all--it was me. And my surroundings only look different because I've changed so much. And I can't do anything to slow it or stop it or reverse it. It's permanent! You can't go back!

I don't know. Birthdays are getting too Twilight Zone for me.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

{summer}

I'm about to walk down the street to Brad and Theresa's for brekkie. It's finally, finally, summer here and I've been taking full advantage of it: cheesecake ice cream in the park, long walks around the neighbourhood in the rain, little road trips here and there.

I've also been as busy as ever. I think if I'm not busy, my brain gets sad instead. So I stay busy.

I mean, it's not always grown-up, work-make-money-pay-the-mortgage busy {though there is a bit of that because, you know, responsibility}. Sometimes it's call-a-friend-up-for-coffee busy, or learn-a-new-song-on-the-piano busy. But it's busy, and the days are flying by like big old dragons.

Friendly ones, though.  photo 559AD1AA-3BCD-4D2B-A199-216E3C96B141-2988-0000015D13DD6154_zps4ffcf3b1.jpg  photo 1F561849-0908-4800-87BE-6DBC9C3715F8-2988-0000015D0B8C8997_zps752ad27a.jpg  photo C8915B52-965F-4AC3-AED6-6B7C6E4EDA16-2988-0000015D06993E3D_zps2f206b04.jpg  photo CA501DB1-8222-4DFD-BEB7-4F71201F0409-2988-0000015D01E90C34_zpseffb58ae.jpg  photo 3DB38C1F-0AE7-4C1C-818D-B79769C19F08-2988-0000015CFCF18411_zpsb4c8431f.jpg

Wednesday, June 05, 2013

{busking under the arch}

After the show, we headed over to Washington Square Park again to celebrate. And that's where we met Randy.
 photo 5272E0E0-C666-4F06-8287-DC83428065D0-4668-000002B2042DCD19_zps27d6f951.jpg He was playing his old acoustic under the arch. Pearl Jam and The Beatles and Michael Jackson. A guitar case full of loose change at his feet. His raspy voice bouncing off of the apex of the arch and drifting lazily across the cement park, finding its way to where we were.

We watched from a distance for a bit, and then we decided to go say hi. Because maybe it's a small-town-kid thing, but after you stare at someone for long enough, you feel like you need to go say hi. He was finishing up a song when we approached him and when he turned, there we were. 18 of us. With friendly smiles.  photo 4C4B31A1-465B-4F2A-9781-759F18D44D4A-4668-000002B25AC962A6_zpsf5148cbe.jpg  photo B51569FE-94D8-4023-A030-65787B3F709C-4668-000002B20A765059_zps013484e9.jpg
Within minutes, Randy was our friend, and we were crowded around him and his guitar, under the arch, singing Livin On a Prayer into the warm New York night air in scattered many-part harmony. We were joined by an exchange student from Germany who didn't speak much English but knew all the words, a scary-looking dude with long hair and a ripped Metallica t-shirt, a man in a black fedora, and, out of nowhere, a short, stocky guy holding a cigar and adding boisterous high notes and vocal guitar riffs in all the right places. ("Don't put that on the internet!" he said.)
We stayed there under the arch for probably two hours. Sometimes a crowd would gather to watch or chat, and sometimes it was just us, passing the guitar back and forth and laughing a lot. A good way to spend the night.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, we made our way back to the Subway, back to the hostel, and crashed.
 photo EDF0C821-F8F5-4568-A843-6B023FADC536-4668-000002B220293C24_zps370ea3eb.jpg  photo 9E795E05-69E5-41E8-B73D-F2071E929021-4668-000002B2565EB36B_zps9a50cb87.jpg