This weekend kept moving in the right sort of way, the right mix of physical and emotional.
Bonding time over the garden, it seems so barren now but I can already see the spring and raised earth tomatoes overgrowing their cages and wrestling with the peppers for sun.
MC and a certain courage I can see in her, despite the striking similarity to my little sister there is more to her than common expressions and attitudes and this happenchance (pun intended) friendship is one of Toronto's wonderful gifts.
Dinner at a vegetarian restaurant on the outskirts of chinatown, Arnon's new cuddle quite the catch indeed. She has a brain and a smile, that's hard to find these days.
Afterwards, it was Saturday night and I felt beautiful and wasn't ready to give up on the city yet and begged for one last adventure before turning the car westwards and homewards.
We caught "Spirited Away" at the Paramount (why they changed the name from Chihiro's Journey I'll never understand), that I'd missed while I was in France because I was always on a train at the times it was playing and wandered away from the screen with fairytales and water dragons dancing in my eyes.
I wandered up to the bathroom at the cin�ma partly out of need partly out of curiosity, and managed to scare the hell out of a young lady by talking to her while she washed her hands (stupid me made eye contact and smiled too, in a public bathroom? What was I thinking?!?), and then wandered back down the steep chrome stairs pondering how there is a sleek chrome waiting room between the two washrooms and how no one dares look at each other as they pass, their shoulders inches and yet worlds away at the same time.
At the foot of the stairs was a vision in the trenchcoat that he's going to be buried in, tall and strong and motionless amidst the bustle, legs askance and head lifted to the high-slung monitors in the center of a cavernous room.
I was utterly conscious of the hip-hop fellow staring at the checkerboard pattern on my stockings, aware of the gold-lam� girl staring at the way I stalked in my parisian skirt and american doc boots.
I was utterly conscious that the vision I was marching towards was a moment I'd long awaited somehow.
Today was quiet time and some inner confusion, then climbing and while I didn't make as spectacular a jump ahead as last week, I managed the same 5.6's as last time, got to get comfortable with my new gear, and maybe next week I'll have the strength for that sixty footer.
Or maybe the week after. The steady ache of knowing I pushed as far as I could go eases the urgency somehow.