the adventure begins!

Packing up my home was hard and also beautiful! It made me realize:

1) I am extremely tired of moving. I have moved too many times.

2) My home is full of beautiful things - little physical manifestations of love and grief and play and longing and belonging and most of all, of growing (up?).

3) My dried flower collection is a little bit out of control.

I disassembled all my bouquets and various strange dried flower arrangements into their component parts, and I'm looking forward to re-alchemizing them into new creations when I return!

I can't believe I get to ride this ferry all the time. And there is Soames, my beloved little mountain, my daily ritual, a beacon in the skyscape! What a perfect way to embark on an adventure. Sometimes this passage feels like the gate between worlds.

I had a lovely day in Vancouver yesterday visiting with friends all about the West End, and ended the night being held captive by a gorgeous set of dance performances. Friendship is magic. Art is essential.

After a flight in which I cried profusely about Cinny, and about moving into a new chapter without him, I arrived in Edmonton late this morning through flip phone and public transit navigation skills - aka I asked a lot of questions to strangers. I now love Edmonton's public transit system-- both because it is extensive, and because everybody is so nice (but not too nice!) - so many held open doors, transit tips, and quick little gestures of camaraderie and shared humanity that left me feeling like we were all riding the tides of life together, but without any of the let-me-tell-you-my-whole-life-story droning that I have often been subject to on buses in other cities. Edmonton, a working-class city (or so I think...).

I am making a promise not to spend my travels numbering my grievances about Vancouver as compared to literally everywhere else, but I will give myself this one and only moment to say that I most certainly do not ride the tides of shared humanity on the Skytrain, or the bus (I don't even know what the bus system is called in Vancouver - why doesn't it have a cute name like San Francisco's Muni, or BART?).

I digress.

Upon arriving in Edmonton, I was launched immediately into my final French tutoring session before my immigration French exam tomorrow - which unfortunately ended in a complete electrical orgy in my nervous system (not in a nice way) due to a slight insinuation on the part of my tutor that I might fail the oral exam.

I then spent the rest of the evening regulating said nervous system, so that it would not revolt against me tomorrow during the test! And I am proud to say that I prevailed.

I had to pull out all the stops, which included full-blown witchcraft inside of this VERY not witchy AirBnb (besides the bathroom, which has bad witchy energy, I think).

(the bathroom)

If you have deigned to read this silly post, you can now enjoy a tour through the altar I spontaneously assembled in order to gather my power for this exam tomorrow!

A collection of objects which have meaning to me, which I will now detail.

A stack of my luckiest articles of clothing, which I shall wear tomorrow all at once for maximum power. Peeking out the side of this photo is my favourite green bandana, which I shall wear in my back pocket to harness gay energy.

My brown lipstick and eyebrow gel which shall be used as a disguise to woo my examiner into wanting to give me a good score. Also, a purple pen to harken back to the young writer in me who wrote with purple pens, tearing through oh-so-many journals with oh-so-much to say (nothing has changed, except now I get to say stuff in French and Spanish too).

My passport and work permit, for obvious reasons - they should merge and I should be able to roam in both fake-ass countries! S'il vous plaît, Canada. Also, in the foreground, an airtag I bought for Cinny as he was disappearing, which spontaneously went off today while I was freaking out and power-walking down the street loudly practicing my French. Cinny is here! I was immediately soothed. He is my light in the dark.

On the note of moving around - my little Edmonton transit card, a lighter (light in the dark!), and the tail end of an analog watch which I bought for the stupid exam (digital watches, even my old Casio, are not allowed). The watch is very butch in a fun way that is so not me, and I will be creating a leather wristband for it when I get home.

Also pictured here is my beloved deoderant, because I am a smelly lesbian (look closely and you will see that all of these objects are resting on a Vancouver Dyke March bandana, which was stolen for me by a sort-of-ex turned friend and comrade - classic - who co-chaired the dyke march that year, of course).

Money! I want it. But actually, I want to channel my Capricorn energy, the suit of Pentacles, and dreams of material flourishing (pictured: a melatonin pill, for a strong dream-sleep). This French immigration exam is one step along my wintry journey of pragmatic dreaming (even if I have to take the exam again in the spring). During the summer leading up to now, I worked my ass off and saved a whole boatload of money so that I could make space for myself to dream and I am grateful to better understand both the potential and the responsibility of material resources.

This pouch was given to me a couple of years ago by a very dear friend, around the time of the passing of a mutual friend and member of our community, who was taken far too young and was a very special and colourful soul. I did not know him nearly as well as any of my friends and peers did, but he passed in close temporal proximity to another community member of mine. Losing members of my Latinx, queer, immigrant, and activist communities so young, that summer, lit a fire in me to honour them by carrying the dreams of our various peoples, and the way they connect us, forward. I am reminded of one of the engravings at the San Francisco AIDS memorial:

"Walker within this circle pause / although they all died of one cause / remember how their lives were dense with fine compacted difference".

The community members I lost did not die of AIDS, but these words ring true to me for all of the movement activists that came before me and left us here in the waking world with dreams yet unfulfilled. I believe those dreams are our responsibility.

As I hope to fulfill the wildest dreams of my ancestors, trying as I am to discover them, I hope to love-avenge the dreams of the lives who have touched mine, and who have nourished and bolstered the hearts of those I love, carrying them with me in all of their uniqueness and splendour.

After that rather intense note - queer magic! Disco balls and silly earrings, and pink suede pouches inspired by five year olds and unicorns. Being queer means I get to have queer joy alongside all the angst, which is unlike anything else, and means all things are possible, and can be explosively delightful.

My hard drive full of the photo, audio, and video from my Masters thesis work in the Andes, working with the coolest people on earth. I partially booked this trip to Edmonton to force myself into a work retreat in which I will finally make headway on the creative storytelling outputs from that project. Those stories, though here pictured in an ugly grey rectangle, represent to me a possibility model for a future that I would like to dedicate very much of my life to cultivating - one of reciprocity, friendship, and respect for all beings.

My beloved flip phone, which forces me to be present and connected to my surroundings in often embarrassing ways (most especially when I am trying to navigate geographic space, which is not my strong suit despite being a Geography major).

The Red Tent, which I am currently reading as one of my tiny entryways into understanding my Jewishness. Bring me the stories!

My almost-finished journal, where I have been ferociously and unabashedly (and unprecedentedly) dreaming for the past couple of months.

We need to live so we can become queer elders!

(no notes)

Because going to the health foods store is, somewhat embarrassingly and expensively, a very good nervous system regulation strategy for me. Also seen here is a vial of lactaid forced upon me by a friend, which reminds me that people care about me and I should also care for myself (and not eat dairy with no lactaid like a feral hyena every day).

Spooky vibes.

The end, basically. After all my witchcraft and reflecting on everything I could possibly ponder in this life, I went for a run to get my zoomies out and I ended up dancing wildly in the dark streets. I gave what I considered quite a stunning performance to someone's cat in a window nearby.

P.S. a window into me navigating public transit (for tomorrow)

It does make me feel like I'm on a real quest, making little maps like this ...