catching up on reflections from last month

Some pleasant parts of my recent trip to Canada:

- appreciating brilliantly clear, crisp, sometimes more-than-just-crisp cold weather. Felt like March ought to - with promise of spring, but winter not quite given up yet.
- driving a normal car, and not having to constantly think about which side I can pass on.
- eating lots of fresh fruit and veg - it's harder to find the same good quality of F&V in the UK, even in nice neighbourhoods
- visiting with Godwin Hrothmundsson, a friend from Greyfells, where I joined the Society.
He now lives in Toronto, not far from my parents, and is now owned by a lovely playful cat named Aoife.
He's taken up both birdwatching and photography of late.
- getting caught up with some archery-related friends, who I haven't seen in years. For the past couple of visits, I've thought 'geez, I really should call C.' and then promptly forgot about it. This time I actually called her, and she in turn found J., so we could go out for dinner together. They both look happy - happier than when we were all involved in competitive archery. That's not the fault of the archery, more the fault of our individual lives at the time.
- catching up with a high-school friend, Alan, who works at Sanctuary in Toronto.
It's a fairly traditional street mission, but with a minimum of guilt and preaching. He's about the only evangelical I'm still in touch with from highschool.
- finally meeting lanifer  and L. and dining with them and larmer . We had a lovely dinner in a sports bar, of all places, opposite the ROM. This part of Toronto always reminds me of dropping in on Eoforwic meetings, and of Guy Gavriel Kay's Fionovar tapestry, which starts not too far away on the UofT campus.
These visits were very nourishing while I was in TO.
I also managed to speak with my former roommate C, and my friend Enid, both wise and thoughtful ladies. Sarra managed to call between flights as she and her family were in transit, which I really appreciated.
It was wonderful to hear all their voices. Makes me wonder why I don't call more often.

Having come home I've decided:
- I want my own space, ie. eventually want a house. I don't know how realistic it is to hope to buy w/in the M25, but if I do get fulltime perm employment, I'll start a saving plan towards a downpayment.
- I want to declutter, and stay on top of it. This means fighting clutter more regularly, not just periodic, pre-move clearouts that are so hard and so exhausting. It means making new habits to deal with it.
Seeing the consequences of decades of just Building Another Shelf and Storing it in the Garage at my parents' home has told me how I don't want to live.
At Easter, the example of my family home was still vividly with me. It drove me to clear the lounge of the worst of the clutter. While Robert could probably think of more restful ways to spend a holiday afternoon, he willingly sorted and cleared and cleaned; we cleared half of one large bookcase, and most of a small bookcase of assorted Stuff. We hope to stash the small ugly bookcase elsewhere after the Blessed Visitation of the Plumber (now delayed another month, but that's another whinge).
I even pruned the library, as did Robert - anathema, I know.
Books are the hardest to let go of for me, especially reference books. But if I haven't read them since I bought them, and I don't have a plan to read them, then they're not doing me any good.
(It's easy to say that, of course - right now they're stacked in the Going to Oxfam space on the stairs, so they haven't actually made it out of the house...)

Happy St. George's Day

 SCENE I. France. Before Harfleur.

Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders 
KING HENRY V 
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'


...(and go look at Google's homepage)