Photo

The bus was crowded. I kept squeezing towards the back and luckily ended up in front of a woman who had just popped out of the Fifth Element.

On top of her head was this mustard-knit reggae toque, barely containing her larger-than-life orange-coloured fro. Rather star-like with the sun streaming through it. Her large headphones appeared essential for keeping it all in place. All of that was intently bowed over her knitting. Warm wood needles slowly caught eye-popping red wool from a 70’s-style duffle bag. Bright yellow, of course. Her caramel knees acted as a perch, with some fun pink Converse as a base.

Maybe she sensed my…admiration? (Granted I also had been staring intently at her knitting, figuring out what stitch she was using.) Because when I sat down, she plucked an ear from a headphone and turned to talk to me. She asked about my arm warmers and whether I had made them. I confessed I hadn’t but that I had some in the works. She had just learned to knit as well. Fun.

When I went to leave, we turned to say bye to one another. I considered inviting her to come knit with me and my friends, but was pretty sure she was soon going to go on some celestial adventure instead.

Sometimes I regret not being bold enough to take a photo when I really want to. She was so pretty and funky and colourful that she silently begged to be captured. Yet instead of getting a photo, I got a few great moments. After our chat, I’m sure I could have asked for a picture. But I didn’t need one anymore. A wonderful memory emblazoned in my mind.

Reading

The other night I stopped reading a book half-way through because it was too painful to think of enduring the last half. I’m happy that I know when to call an novel quits these days. It took many post-university years to quell the English major in me. What if the story got better, even redeemed itself? Shouldn’t I judge based on the whole package? Uh-uhn. Gone are the days I read for a living. I feel, I’m supposed to enjoy the books I read. And there are too many books I want to read in my short lifetime!

I got to thinking, why I wasn’t enjoying the book? Sure, it was clever. But--the clincher--it drew too much attention to its cleverness, which hampered my reading. The book was like a self-absorbed, vain person. And who wants to hang out with one of those?

I also recalled something one of my profs said: great writing makes for easy reading. Hmm…that may not be completely true, but I think the essence is. Two of my favourite authors (Faulkner and Woolf) aren’t necessarily “easy” to read. Their writing, however, is immersive and even if I have to slow down to catch an inference, I’m not pulled out of the story by the devices being used. They are subtle…woven in. I stay with the story and with my reading.

The book I cast aside was too proud of its devices. I paid more attention to the technique and, therefore, kept falling out of the story. It cited sources almost every line because the girl telling the story was the daughter of a professor. And the novel was structured according to a course syllabus. I liked both techniques at first, but eventually the sources starting coming up in almost every sentence and caused my head to hurt, especially because I didn’t understand their numerous nods to old movies. I felt like I should have bought the annotated version and that just felt simply wrong. This was no Ulysses.

I wonder if authors are trying too hard to distinguish themselves? Maybe it feels like their stories have been told so they have to try really hard to repackage them? Of course, it’s not that way for all new fiction. And I do have complete respect for anyone who’s dared to write a novel, let alone get it published. (Also why I'm not going to out the book here.) It’s just that lately the newly published novels I’ve picked up are too caught up in their devices.

So, for now, I’m reading an oldie that I had yet to discover. Relief.

Bulk-Food Snippet

i'm strangely fascinated yet repulsed by my fellow shoppers at the neighbourhood whole foods. they unabashedly treat the bulk aisles like a snacking smorgasbord. while i dutifully filled a bag, two people hustled by me and within seconds of each other, started snacking down. somehow they managed to restrain themselves from plunging their hands in the bins. but seriously, it's only a shade of grey more hygenic that they cupped their hands around the bulk shovels. next time, when they no longer have the element of surprise on their side, i'm going to point that out.

Glow Snippet

the sun all low and gleaming and gold. everything bathed in an incredible--aww--autumn light. the willowy trees languidly glisten. the fire escapes are fairy lace.