Hi there.
Tonight I am exhausted, a combination of too little sleep last night, because I was editing photos, and too much fight today with weasels who promised to finish their homework later if I would just please, please, PLEASE let them play video games with their friends after school. (And, yes, of course I suspected that it would end up this way, but I believe it’s important to let weasels navigate their lives when they ask to, at least when the stakes are only missed deadlines and lunches spent in study hall.)
This weekend was a big one – the reason I was editing photos was also the reason I was on an airplane to Vancouver, BC – the wedding of a dear friend of Theo’s. I knew a few folks who were there, even a few I’ve written about in the past, but most of the night I spent trying to remember names and bios, because the dating history of this group requires multivariate calculus to navigate properly. The rest of the weekend was a blur of errands, social engagements and food. Lots and lots of food.
The flight was…well, I hate flying, but the flight there was actually lovely. I met a handful of people and we all chatted, and then spent my time on the plane talking with a woman who was near tears about her aunt who was just diagnosed with brain cancer. We connected over the shared grief, and she told me all about the Philippines, where she was born. I was so engaged in holding her grief with her/distracting her that I barely noticed we had descended until the wheels hit asphalt with a crunch and a bump. Once through customs, where the officer asked me bluntly “why are you here?”, and outside, I sat down to wait for Theo, who had driven up to Canada earlier in the week. While I was waiting, I lent a pen to one family who were trying to jot down numbers, and my phone to a couple who spoke no English, hoping that the number they were calling wasn’t on another continent. They were thrilled with me, and thanked me repeatedly, I think, although we didn’t exchange even a single common word. When Theo drove up, she assumed I had suddenly learned Cantonese, given the ease of our conversation. Generosity is an easy language, I suppose.
Theo loves to eat, so I’ve had the benefit of being taken to all the best restaurants every time I’ve visited up there. My favorite is Cafe Deux Soleils, in East Vancouver, where they serve an eggs benedict with dijon that is worth the flight there. Theo and I walked up and down the Drive, looking for a card for the wedding, and then went to a discount wedding supplier and found a gorgeous tailcoat/tux with a beautiful burgundy vest for 120 dollars Canadian, which was a steal. Dinner was an unexpected combination of cheeses, olives, fruit and bread at the Libra Room, where a very young band was playing bluesy versions of popular songs.
Saturday was spent with friends, and then moving instruments, setting up, and dressing in a hurry. The group looked great in their tuxes, and I surprised everyone by dressing like a girl. The wedding was beyond incredible, and, although the drama was high, the evening was, on the whole, beautiful. The food – damn, these people know how to eat. Pates, cheeses (cambozola, a favorite, plus 3 year old Canadian, manchego, and more,) olives, bread, apricots, grapes, fruit, peas, beans, charcuterie…all beautiful and amazing. I got to take a lot of pictures and dance a bit and talk to friends.
Sunday brought more moving instruments and brunch, followed by me having a complete breakdown.
Ok, not complete. 83%?
*Sigh* Theo has been very kind about this, but it’s going to take a while for me to untangle all of it. Part was due to the flight, which had me nervous (for good reason, it turns out – the whole Pacific Northwest quickly descended into thunderstorms Sunday night, so the flight was bouncy, and SFO fogged in just in time to send us circling for about half an hour, waiting our turn to touch down.) Part of it was the drama. A friend was in tears, and I’m not exactly sure why. Although it was a happy occasion, there was a lot of prowling and crouching – I was probably the only one there not bumping into exes with every dance, and everyone there was dressed to impress. A couple times I had to walk out of rooms because the colors swirling around some of the guests were so stressful – hungry and a little desperate. Watching the actual dance floor was a good reprieve, because most everyone was happy when they were dancing, but the energy and the sound levels were still high.
And, well, I’m still working on this whole “having needs” thing, and, well, Canada is not a good place to be having that problem. Canadians are not just quiet Americans, as many Americans seem to believe. Canadians – at least the ones I know – are fiercely independent and self-sufficient in adult ways that I have yet to master. I’m used to deferring to others, and that’s an excellent recipe for losing yourself completely up there. It should be easy, right? If you need something, just ask, and you’ll get it. It should be so easy. Ask, and you get it. Don’t ask and you don’t.
It’s simple arithmetic. Just gotta ask.
*Sigh*
Except that it wasn’t easy. I was there with Theo, who doesn’t always see how much everyone wants to be with her, and so I spent the evening trying to keep up, but not managing to. I didn’t want to pull her away from her friends…so I spent a lot of time standing to the side and taking pictures. Meeting so many people all at once who know Theo but didn’t know me was a lot – they were all terribly sweet, of course, but it’s a lot to try to remember all those names and relationships. Thankfully, there were a couple of kids there, including the nephew of one of the brides – kindred spirits out a bit past their bedtime trying to navigate a sea of strangers. I made it a point to wave every time we ran into one another…and he remembered me with a big grin the next day at brunch.
But, beyond entertaining weasels…why *am* I here? It’s a good question, even if it was so abrupt as to nearly make me giggle at the border. (Helpful hint: Canadian border guards don’t always share your sense of humor, so try to avoid responding, “I don’t know – why are any of us here?”) Maybe this is it – one life, one random, biological opportunity to make babies and die. Maybe this is the hundredth time, and I’m still trying to learn to say, “Hey, love, would you hang with me a bit? I’m feeling overwhelmed.” Maybe this is the millionth time and it’s like a video game where you simply start over every time your onscreen hero bites it, so it doesn’t actually even matter.
There’s no way to know for sure, even if I do have my suspicions, and that means there’s no easy way out – no giving up because I know, for sure, that it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s actually everything. Maybe this is my meaning of life. Maybe I’ve tried to do this 100 times before and failed. Maybe this is my whole purpose.
Maybe not.
But it keeps coming up with such alarming regularity, it seems like it’s something I should probably pay attention to.
Need something? Just ask.
Want something? Just. Ask.
I can do this.
What’s easier than asking, right?
Right.
