we are the sound

wednesday:

i am struck immediately upon entering the church by the sheer cacophany of colour. the lines that extend from the alter to all three entrances on kent street are a riot of reds and blues and greens and purples and yellows and browns and mauves and ceruleans. and the second striking thing is the sound: the absolute silence of four hundred people, shuffling slowly, methodically up the marble floors toward the alter to be marked with the sign of the cross, the beginning of lent, the reminder of a tradition that comforts in its historical presence.

a few hours later, with the warmth of mostly cooked squash, a tumbler of red wine, and in the presence of the best of friends, i see these same lines impressed upon my eyelids as we chatter and laugh and celebrate one more year and one more joy. tulips from the afternoon- delivered by the strangest of men- unfold slowly in the privacy of my room upstairs, a secret i'm not yet willing to share.

thursday:

kate and i snicker as i drive around in circles, seeking the elusive entrance to a store that- once found- may well prove to be my financial downfall in the future. later, when i refuse to take the 417 because my car is shaking like an irishman in prohibition, we admire new edinburgh and i watch out of the corner of my eye as she traces a small pattern on the window as we wait for red to bleed into green.

i wake up with a jolt shortly before seven, and instead of being responsible, i watch four hours of jermaine and bret, singing about god knows what and admire how damn sexy artistic talent of any kind really is.

friday:

i wake up and wash my hair without running out of hot water. later i find out that this is because the shower had in the early morning, its sounds drifting to my unconscious, was had by morgen before he snuck away to work. i capture kate again, and we pick up groceries- i pinch jalapenos (mipronouncing them in my head as jalap-annos) and prod lettuce heads with due diligence. i even remember to get toilet paper, even though it's not on the list. when i get home, the kitchen is a disaster within minutes- new dishes piled on top of old dishes piled up, and the floor covered with remnants of meals had. i wash things, with ridiculous music on in the background, and then, while talking on the phone to the east coast, i chop, slice, measure, bake, and prepare a meal that somehow morphs into a mexican feast.

when liz arrives, i've actually changed my shirt and my old dirty jeans to something a little more respectable, a little less worn. when we open the first bottle of wine, the last of the prep dishes are being done and the first bit of mexican is ready to be served.

over the next six hours, i am innundated again by a cacophany of colour- reds, and whites, and darks blues mostly. when kellybray arrives and the cake comes out, there is a moment of silence as we all indulge the sugar monsters within. later when peter is having piece number two, and manages to blurt out "it's delicious!" as an answer to a totally unrelated question involving the okapi, the room dissolves in laughter for a good five minutes, with no one really understanding why.

at three am, wrapped in the ugly blanet and scrawled across a couch older than i am, i can't seem to get my mind to stop jumping around. images flood my senses, and the taste of wine lingers in the back of my throat.

yeah, i love.