{ late night }

untitled there is this new and frequent ache of loneliness, this untouchable, unreachable throb. barriers surround me in my solitary awareness; smiles shine out through the hollowness, hollow. inside: a rushing, a whirling saturation of thoughts: inescapable, overanalyzed, unshared. inappropriate words, plucked from ancient scenarios, defunct cirumstances, and blatant ignorance, hurtle at me (the persona, the shell)-- they don't even hit me. i wish they would hit me.

{ revelations of self }

Thanks to Peter at slowreads, I have had the chance to take a very interesting personality profile based on Carl Jung's interpretations.

You yourself can take this test at humanmetrics.com. If your results are as shockingly accurate as mine, I'm sure you'll be intrigued! Here is what I've found out (or, rather, confirmed) about myself:

Your Type is:

INFJ (Idealist: Counselor)

Introverted - 22%
Intuitive - 25%
Feeling - 75%
Judging - 100%

You are:
- slightly expressed introvert
- moderately expressed intuitive personality
- distinctively expressed feeling personality
- very expressed judging personality

Counselors have an exceptionally strong desire to contribute to the welfare of others, and find great personal fulfillment interacting with people, nurturing their personal development, guiding them to realize their human potential. Although they are happy working at jobs (such as writing) that require solitude and close attention, Counselors do quite well with individuals or groups of people, provided that the personal interactions are not superficial, and that they find some quiet, private time every now and then to recharge their batteries. Counselors are both kind and positive in their handling of others; they are great listeners and seem naturally interested in helping people with their personal problems. Not usually visible leaders, Counselors prefer to work intensely with those close to them, especially on a one-to-one basis, quietly exerting their influence behind the scenes.

Counselors are scarce, little more than one percent of the population, and can be hard to get to know, since they tend not to share their innermost thoughts or their powerful emotional reactions except with their loved ones. They are highly private people, with an unusually rich, complicated inner life. Friends or colleagues who have known them for years may find sides emerging which come as a surprise. Not that Counselors are flighty or scattered; they value their integrity a great deal, but they have mysterious, intricately woven personalities which sometimes puzzle even them.

Counselors tend to work effectively in organizations. They value staff harmony and make every effort to help an organization run smoothly and pleasantly. They understand and use human systems creatively, and are good at consulting and cooperating with others. As employees or employers, Counselors are concerned with people's feelings and are able to act as a barometer of the feelings within the organization.

Blessed with vivid imaginations, Counselors are often seen as the most poetical of all the types, and in fact they use a lot of poetic imagery in their everyday language. Their great talent for language--both written and spoken--is usually directed toward communicating with people in a personalized way. Counselors are highly intuitive and can recognize another's emotions or intentions--good or evil-- even before that person is aware of them. Counselors themselves can seldom tell how they came to read others' feelings so keenly. This extreme sensitivity to others could very well be the basis of the Counselor's remarkable ability to experience a whole array of psychic phenomena.

Mohandas Gandhi, Sidney Poitier, Eleanor Roosevelt, Jane Goodall, Emily Bronte, Sir Alec Guiness, Carl Jung, Mary Baker Eddy, Mother Teresa, Nelson Mandela, and Queen Noor are examples of the Counselor Idealist (INFJ).



Ideal Jobs for the Counselor:

The Counselor (INFJ) is a more private person than the Teacher. They, too, can be found in the field of education as a professor, teacher, counselor, or educational consultant. Sometimes they feel a strong calling toward the religious life as clergy, nun, or director of religious education. Social service jobs, such as social worker, social scientist, or mediator can fit their needs. Some Counselors work in human services, marketing, or as a job analyst. Others are drawn to the arts as a novelist, designer, or artist.

Other information about the counselor personality can be found here.




What kind of personality type are you, and do you think this fits? I think this fits me to a tee. It's nice to feel understood ;)

{ my morning porch }

I've been enjoying Dave Bonta's short tweet-style blog, The Morning Porch for a few days now since I discovered it. I love the simplicity and consistency that his little writing routine establishes, and I have to say that I became envious of his early morning porch patterns a few days ago.

We ourselves have quite a lovely porch on the front of our house--it came optional with the house, and for the minor sum it would cost us, it seemed more than a good deal to add it when we had our house built. Having moved in at the end of November, however, our porch became a glorified dumping ground through the move-in, through the winter, and even now, into the summer. Anything dirty, outdoorsy, oddly-shapen, or decrepit was left to collect on our porch, smashing our home's curb appeal into oblivion. Derek started the big clean up attempt just after the snow melted, building a small brick patio in our muddy backyard and relocating our barbeque back there. The defunct and hideous pair of 80's skis got shipped off to the dump this past week, thus freeing up even more room on the porch. And the outdated, laquer-flaking wicker patio furniture stacked every which way? This week we spray painted it a new shade of chocolate brown, dug the cushions out of the basement, and have set up a nice new little arrangement with it. The furniture looks cleaned and revived, if not, dare I say it, brand new. We purchased two outdoor rugs and set them up, one as welcome mat and one nestled beneath the furniture (loveseat, coffee table, two chairs) set up.

Before repositioning everything on the deck, though, I had a good one hour sweep and hose-down session to clear away the dust and grime that has built up from being in a newly developed neighborhood (you wouldn't believe the dump trucks and flatbed trucks of topsoil, gravel, wood chips, and other variously dusty and grimy supplies that are daily, if not hourly, dumped on all our neighbouring properties!).

This morning was my first little affair with my morning porch. I woke earlier than usual for a teacher on summer vacation, having to wait for a delivery boy who undoubtedly would have trouble finding our hard-to-find house (he confessed on arrival that he had been wandering for some time and only my friendly wave alerted him to the fact that he was at the right place). Having done without caffeine since nearly the end of school, I found I once again had to fire up the old coffee pot this morning to get my engine chugging. I paired my raspberry-flavoured coffee with a fresh saskatoon berry muffin that I baked yesterday morning. My senses were quickly enlivened as I toted my treats outside with me.

On the way, I grabbed my favorite birthday gift--an Anthony Bourdain book, The Nasty Bits, given to me by darling Derek--and then made for the porch, an extra pillow in tow for my back. Nestled deep into the wicker loveseat and its cushions, I kicked off my sandals and let my toes hang out between the spindles of the porch, soaking up the early sunshine.

Right now, two hours later, I feel truly "good" for the first time in several weeks. It is a basic thing, but I dressed nicely this morning for my little date with my book on the porch; I made a point of combing my hair and suddenly felt better about everything. I greeted the delivery boy with a smile and eager chit chat which I was surprised to find bubbled up sincerely, with true happiness finally coming out of me. It's still too soon for a public confession of the hardship I have been enduring for the past few weeks, but it is a good feeling to know that, day by day, I am surpassing this trial, am finding new bits of myself, healed parts that have turned old hurts into new life.

Despite the appeal of sleeping in every day, I think I far prefer an early, quiet date with my morning porch, and I shall keep it up from this day forward. Although I won't endeavor to make it a daily installation as Dave has, I'm sure you can expect more brief tales of contentment to come. Maybe you should join in with me, sit out on your porch or stoop, and drop a comment or link if you've something to add.

{ amelanchier alnifolia }

I spent my afternoon picking wild amelanchier alnifolia berries. Can you guess what they are?

Answer: here in Western Canada, we know them more commonly as the "Saskatoon" berry, whether or not we are from Saskatchewan (I am not).

Poor hubby has found out that he will soon be passing a kidney stone and is thus keeping himself snowed under with painkillers. Before you think I was horrid to leave him in such a state, I assure you that first I helped to prop him up, give him some water and cranberry juice, and set his favorite show up on the t.v. Other than that, I felt there was little I could do, and he assured me I should spend at least a few sunny hours outdoors.

I decided to grab a mixing bowl (I'm all out of buckets and pails at the moment) and head a few minutes away (by car) to a ravine near the house where I grew up. My mom taught me about this secret berry picking spot as it is also near the house (a different house) where she grew up. I parked my car on the far side of a field and walked a few hundred meters to where the edge of the ravine started. There, I quickly started seeing the clustered little gems, mainly red and not quite ripe, with some perfectly purply-black ones interspersed between, particularly at the tips of the branches where the sun kissed them most. I spent a good forty minutes poking around in berry bushes, which were mixed amongst the rosehips and pines. Upon venturing a little further than I ever have in my past berry-picking excursions, I came upon a gentle cliffside, covered in slanted meadows, wildflowers in various stages of blooming (purple and yellow galore!) and seeding (with one of the largest white puff balls I've ever seen). The flowers were the least of my concerns at that point, though, because as soon as I turned just past the edge of where I'd been before, I found an all new berry grove, chock full of bushes that reached well over 8 feet tall and thus were winning out with gaining all that vibrant sunshine. That is where I found the majority of my purple pearls, depositing them by small and tender handfuls into my mixing bowl, nibbling a few as I went.

The majority were still unripe, though; thus, I plan to make a return trip in a week, and then a week after that. Derek's favorite berries are Saskatoons, and you can't really buy them in stores, so this year I plan to take full advantage of the free stockpiles in that little berry grove.

Until next week, I'll just have to hope that not too many other people (or birds!) stumble upon my secret spot. And next time, I'll take my camera.

Until then, view a sampling of Saskatoons I picked on farmed land several years ago.

{ it will make you smile }

I'm not one for embedding videos, but this one was too good to pass up! And now that I can see the sun coming up, I suppose I had better hit the hay (at 4 am!). Good night, and enjoy the short clip!

{ bog dogs }

So welcome to the frustration that has been keeping me perma-perturbed for the past many weeks.

This is what you get when you have two puppies (who need to pee frequently), an unlandscaped yard (due to a building company who will not come and tie up loose ends), and reoccurring rainstorms, perfectly timed out so that your permanent habitation is in a total bog.

I bring you the bog dogs. Only one is shown here in this photo, but Kona (border collie) is no better. Shown above is Banjo, the dog we adopted from a rescue agency. He was found as a five week old puppy, kicked in the head, with a badly broken jaw, and abandoned in a ditch to die. Second Chance Animal Rescue Society (SCARS) found him, gave him three surgeries, and had him live with a foster family during recovery. We met him one day a few months ago at the dog park, jolly little fellow that he was, and fell in love. We put our name on the waiting list to adopt him (we were third), and we were chosen to be his new family.

He is cute here, but looks can be deceiving. I am glad he is all recovered and that his jaw is holding strong and his teeth on his right side are coming in normally, which no one thought would ever happen. In fact, he is so well healed that he has no trouble at all eating the bottoms of our chairs and baseboards! And now, zero in on those muddy paws for a moment. My back entrance, where the kennels reside, is nearly as muddy as the outdoors, and I've had to get myself two pairs of shoes to cope with this mess: the muddy outdoor shoes (seen above), and the muddy indoor shoes, in which I walk on my own tile floor. Every night I go to bed with this restless, irritated feeling, which I then pinpoint is linked to the mud that is in my house and thus tracked all over my kitchen and, occasionally, even the carpet. Thus, every night (as I did last night), I resolve to thoroughly mop and wipe the tile and linoleum the next day. I woke up this morning to thunderous rain pouring against the house, and a flooded, muddy yard. Not too soon after, the whimpering pups started needing to go outside to do their business. Much to my chagrin, I had to let them out, and they pranced and frollicked outside in the swamp that was my yard.

I have decided mopping can wait another day, and the two shoe system will have to continue. In the meantime, I'll just focus on Banjo's straight teeth and ignore the four mudcakes beneath him. Say a prayer for sunshine tomorrow with me?

{ artsy and appetizing afternoon }

So, we went down to the artsy district today for the annual "Art Walk" that I am sure to never miss. Hundreds of local artists came out and lined the sidewalks peddling their wares and showing off their talents. I love the diversity I saw; some sculpted, others did on-site portraits, others were expert craftsmen of glass, wire, collage, or pottery. We visited our friend, Giselle, who's been doing very well with her career as a budding artist, and I even found out she did a set of paintings based based on viewing my wildflower photos from the dog park (shown left, above, and on my flickr).




Derek and I also grabbed an impromptu lunch at a local rockabilly (50's) type diner, New Orlean's style (although we're in northern Alberta!). I wish I had taken my camera, but I know we will be back. We feasted on our first ever tastes of cajun/southern style food--mini biscuits with jalepeno jelly, sweet potato fries, a blackened chicken po'boy sandwich, and a set of four fritters (sweet potato, crab, shrimp, and--my favorite--corn). It was delicious food, excellent service, and a wonderful atmosphere (we grabbed a window seat and could see all the art-selling going on outside). If you're ever in Edmonton or Vancouver, be sure to check out Dadeo restaurant!

{ ascension II }

i sunk, face down, into the depths of the puddle--
murky, horrifically bone-chilling,
light-dimming, stealer of warmth--
i lost my sight, could not find a
single
breath
to
catch

a caress, from behind,
on my exposed back,
an opened flank,
ignoring the mud, overwhelming the chill
made me aware
that this
is a puddle;
i stood in my highest stance,
leaving a mere remnant of self submerged
and found the sunshine.

{ ascension }

“I'll lift you and you lift me, and we'll both ascend together.”
- John Greenleaf Whittier

It is truly invaluable to have some friends and companions to lean on in times of a deep, spiritual sort of loss. I think the mark of a true friend is that they themselves feel your hurt so deeply that they descend into the pit of hurt with you and you then help one another cope enough to climb out, hand in hand.

I snapped this photo last week at a construction site not far from my house, and these past few days, as I go through a hurt too painful to talk clearly about at this point, it has such spiritual overtones to me. There are these intersecting staircases in front of a gloomy sky, and I think they speak to which way you can go when you find yourself in turmoil. When in a stormy season, you can descend further and further down, following a set of seemingly endless stairs, or you can choose to slowly climb upward. I like the companionship of the two sets of stairs in this photo. It reminds me that I am not doing all that upward and downward climbing alone.

It must be said at this time that I have married the most wonderful companion that life had for me, and I don't know how I would continue upward without him. Slowly we're making our way up, but some steps are harder to climb than others. Yesterday was very hard, but I think I've moved up a step in waking up this morning and seeing the sunshine and having abundant kisses from my puppies.

For those of you who've sent me kind words regarding this hard time, I thank you for walking these stairs with me.