patchouli and hoohas

these are the yoga scents and twenty-year-old-girl sights privileged at the coffee shop today.

and now back to translating (with my nose plugged and eyes closed)...

Sun Day

every Ottawan longs for the same momentous day of the year. no, not the day the canal opens for skating; (certainly) not Canada Day; not the day when we find out whether the Sens have made the playoffs either (though yesterday afternoon's elgin street party may suggest otherwise).

no: what Ottawans collectively and viscerally yearn for is today -- Sun Day! the first day of the calendar year when we can finally go outside without having to wear a balaclava and waffle-textured undergarments. the day when people are instantly pulled from the depths of their months-long winter bitterness and reach new heights of delirious optimism.

and so, outside, the patios are once again busting at the seams with giddy patrons. and the east shore of the canal is newly littered with bikini'd women (while piles of snow still cover the ground on the opposite side of the currently unkempt waterway).

enthusiasm is equally "everywhere" inside the coffee shops. iced teas and lemonades are the order of the day; a six-year-old boy has just wrapped his little mouth eagerly around the spout of the self-serve metal cooler that dispenses citrus water (sucking plenty hard on the teat); and, through a big-but-bashful smile, an eight-year-old girl is now waving vigorously at me from across the way.

Little Eight's enthusiasm is particularly notable because, after sitting down with her family, she proceeds to pass by me some ten times, deliberately trying to make eye contact with me, each time throwing a giant grin my way but never saying anything, in spite of my returned smiles and eventual hello.

she's clearly coming up with excuses to pass by -- throwing a straw in the nearby garbage; fetching yet another glass of citrus water (evidently unaware of Little Six's earlier visit). she seems to know me. but i have no idea who she is or how i've managed to attract her wonderful attention. (admittedly, i start to wonder whether i have some lunchtime burrito bits trapped in my hair.)

then i remember how things often come in threes. in this case, the threes of familiar-ish faces:

ONE: when i first arrived at the caé, i saw the lookalike of a guy i briefly dated a couple of years ago (a kind of hallucination that required an anxiety-ridden double-take to confirm away).
TWO: while in line, i ended up beside the manager of one of the campus coffee shops (who awkwardly seemed to not want to recognize me).
THREE: this little girl, who -- i now realize -- i saw for the first time earlier this morning. she was in the elevator with her mom, heading out for a bike ride together, and had been just as shy-meets-smiley then, saying goodbye to me with that same enthusiastic wave as i exited our apartment building lobby.

this is, i think, what we really love about Sun Day: in the wake of winter's inadvertent everyday scowling, Sun Day brings smiles that are delivered repeatedly and for no reason at all.

and now back to translating...

health

today's coffeeshop lesson of the day:

when you hear someone -- aka the thirtysomething blonde at the neighbouring table -- wheeze (nearly published as "weaze"... o_O) through a disastrously raspy voice, don't even think about assuming they're a diehard chain-smoker! they may, as it turns out, just be a very enthusiastic Goodlife fitness instructor.

(hope she notices the cross-trainers peeking now-triumphantly out of my backpack...)

and now back to translating...

mystery man: part III (or take II of parts I and II)

this evening, last week's barista-meets-delivery-girl greets me from the other side of the coffeeshop counter. it's quiet in here now. so, before serving me my hot tea, she enquires -- engaged and enthusiastic -- about "the event" she and i have yet to discuss. we proceed to back and forth about it, each of us sharing her own side of the experience. she tells me how some young woman had approached her near the drink bar and passed along the goods while on the phone getting confirmation that the timing of the delivery was in fact right. i tell her how i'd later learned that that young woman -- whom i'd never met, but who'd been commissioned to run the romantic errand on behalf of her metropolitan friend -- had been sitting right across from me as i received the gauzy blue gift...how she'd been on the phone with the Giver, covertly providing him with a play-by-play of my giddy reaction and then frantically hanging up when she saw me reach for my own phone in order to call him, in an it's-the-night-before-xmas kind of disbelief, to at least attempt to express my gratitude.

after a pause, and amid the kind of smiles that seem to float overhead and softly settle around you like a pillow or a cloud, she says: wow...it's kinda like in a movie!

yeah, he really is pretty great, i say. it's a response that spills out slowly and naturally from a very warm place deep inside my chest. nonetheless, when it's typed out, the statement is decidedly and regretfully inadequate.

upon sitting down with my tea, i flip open my laptop and, without feeling hurried, reread the last two blog entries. after all, one of the beauties of keeping a blog is that you can navel-gaze and otherwise indulge yourself as much as you want or need to. and, through this indulgence, i rediscover those moments: their surprise, my burning cheeks, the mystery man, his rare thoughtfulness, the fleeting and deluded and perfect feeling of believing i was the most special person in the world.

and it now occurs to me that another beautiful thing about blogging is time travel. today is a very sad day. but, thanks to this portal, i've momently resurfaced.

and now back to translating...

mystery man: part II

i'd already been in the coffee shop for several hours. catching up with a good friend first thing this morning, then working on polishing a (still ongoing) translation. all of it interspersed with brief minglings with several baristas.

long after i'd finished my hot chocolate and only shortly after i'd grabbed a sandwich and rice krispies square, one of the baristas -- whom i'd yet to mingle with today but otherwise know well (y'know, as much as a coffee shop regular might know a barista) -- walks over and, smilingly though quite tentatively, says:

hey there. i was instructed to deliver this to Trish. i don't really know anything else about it. but...you are Trish, right?

then, before returning to her post, she hands over a small, gauzy, light-blue bag. inside it are a scroll, with a long and thoughtful hand-written note in it, and a long thin box containing six chocolate truffles.

*insert long pause for general giddiness, notably featuring beet-red blushing*

truth be told, i know the identity of the man who sent the bag. but the mystery surrounding him (how'd he get the bag here? where'd he learn to be so considerate? how've i managed to be on the receiving end of such gestures? how do i encourage more of this behaviour?) remains.

and now back to translating...

mystery man

first thing this morning, i'm tucked into my favourite neighbourhood coffee shop, seated at one of the round tables by the window. as i'm about to indulge in the first sips from my very tall mug of hot chocolate and resume a literary translation side project, a very tall thirtysomething man (in loose jogging pants, with his toque snugly in place around his ears, and seemingly having just tumbled out of bed) walks over, leans down towards me and, in a soft voice, says: i see you already have a hot chocolate. but, just so you know, i've paid for another one for you. Gracie says you can claim it later today or even another day this week. 

then, after a brief pause, he continues: i know you have a lot of work to do, so i'll let you get back to that now. 

and, with that, and a warm gentle smile, he steps away from my round table, walks out the door, and heads off through the park and into the distance.

and now back to translating...

a tale of truisms

in music, silences are key to notes that play.
in dance, stillnesses shift shapes into being.
in translation, unrendered words have lots to say.
in coffee shops, empty mugs menace meaning.

and now back to translating...