Ophélie Lechat

I’m a bit late in posting this.  A few weeks ago, on the last day of my internship at Radio-Canada, I went on air to talk about knitting.  While knitting.  And wearing a knit sweater.  Woah!

(The knitters out there will want to know: I finished a pair of Charade socks made of ShiBui Sock, which I’m not terribly happy with — the base yarn is gorgeous, the shades are beautiful, but the color pools like crazy in broad uneven stripes.)

You can listen here — though if you talk to me regularly, you might not be up for another 20 minutes of me rambling about knitting!  Jonathan Ayers, who teaches at Effiloché, was also there.  He made a gorgeous pair of gloves and a beautiful version of the Hemlock Ring blanket.

Crappy picture courtesy of my Macbook!

That’s right — after I checked off the last thing on my to-do list for this evening, I made a paper crane out of it.

In high school I ate a pack of Starburst a day (… and lived on cafeteria food.  How am I still slim and not diabetic?).  I would make paper cranes out of all the colourful wrappers (my favourites were the ones in the green wrapper, though I couldn’t tell you what fruit they were supposed to resemble) and pass them to my high school boyfriend.  He has “scary tattoos” now, and he looks pretty tough for a guy that makes delicious food for a living, but back then he kept all of those tiny paper birds in a shoebox in his room.

Now I make those birds out of tea wrappers, receipts, magazine pages… and to-do notes.  It’s satisfying to turn what was once a stressful list into something pretty.

Victoria harbour. Photo: Palestrina55 on Flickr

I find myself listening to a lot of Jack Johnson lately.  Maybe it’s because it reminds me of the last time I was in BC for a good amount of time.  I worked at Vista 18 restaurant, on the top floor of Hotel Chateau Victoria.  I worked the early morning buffet shift, which means I left my mother’s apartment at 5 am and walked to work around the harbour while the nearby Starbucks was opening.  I played Jack Johnson’s In between dreams every morning.  Actually, I think I listened to it on the same iPod I have now.

I would pour coffee and tea, set up a huge buffet, refill the scrambled eggs, bacon and waffles, bus tables, make lattés.  Around eleven we would clean everything up and start over for lunch.  I worked with some fantastic people.  I made about five dollars a day in tips, and what was then an amazing hourly wage for a Quebec girl used to $6.50-an-hour-at-Dunkin-Donuts.

On my days off I went to the beach with friends, took camping trips and walked around Victoria with my mom.  Every night we had dinner together in her little apartment, then we would walk two blocks to the beach and sit on the sand to watch the sunset.

1:12 scale cake by sk_

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I once made a miniature fimo pea pod that looked pretty good, but this is incredible!

Image: Naka7a on Flickr

I’ve had a sore throat since Saturday and it’s really putting a damper on my days.  It’s always there, nagging at me, stabbing every time I swallow.  The (temporary) cure?  Cup after cup of hot tea with lemon and a tablespoon of honey.  I tried those throat-numbing lozenges, but they only made my mouth numb and didn’t get to my tonsils.

The weather has been gorgeous in Montreal: there’s no snow on the porch, J. has taken his bike out for a few rides, and I’m wondering whether I should grow a balcony garden.  I tried last year but the squirrels ate everything.

Soon it will be warm enough to hang the sheets out on the line, to have morning tea on the balcony, to walk to the metro without a heavy wool jacket and snow boots.  Sometimes I think we stay in this cold city because we love the feeling of spring so much.

I told myself that if I cleaned the kitchen and dealt with my paperwork, I could go check out Ariadne’s sale.  I did, and came home with some very nice, very useful yarn.  You know what rocks?  Not being absolutely-totally-broke.  Having some leeway.  Being nervous about my upcoming trip to the dentist because I don’t like the tooth polisher, not because I’m afraid I won’t be able to pay the bill.

Now I’m home, it’s late, I’m working.  I think I work better at night.  I enjoy the daylight, go outside, relax.  When it gets dark, I can work.

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You know what I miss?  Target Women.  I re-watched all of them yesterday because I found out that Sarah Haskins wasn’t making them anymore.

I also miss Salad Fingers (warning: creepy).  When I was in CEGEP, I used to watch these late at night, between coming home from a late shift at the coffee shop and getting up at 6 to go to class.  I’ve always loved creeping myself out.

These days, when I’m alone at home and want to scare myself into insomnia, I read about plane crashes and disaster zones.  I read about survival in unlikely situations.

Most of these tips actually make me feel less empowered and more vulnerable.  I need to take a first-aid course, I need to get stronger, I need to learn to fix cars and shoot guns and start fires in the wilderness.

A few days ago I was joking with Marc-André that I could have a series of books, like the Martine ones, except mine would be Ophélie goes to the yarn shop, Ophélie takes too many courses, Ophélie and the not-good anxiety.

Add another one: Ophélie goes to the gym.

I’ve been doing Ashtanga yoga two or three times a week since July, and I love the results, both external and internal.  Now, though, I feel like I need more cardio: I get the urge to jump on a bike and go for a long ride.  I’m a wimp who isn’t willing to bike in -12c weather, and I don’t have a proper bike, so  I decided to join a gym.

On Tuesday I grabbed my gym clothes, water bottle and lock, and made my way across town to my university gym.  Those places fill me with anxiety — everyone is so fit, everyone looks like they know what they’re doing, aren’t they going to roll their eyes at the new girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing?

Well.  I got lost on the way to the cardio room.  This place is huge, there was no map, it was full of football players.  Then  I realized I’d left my pass in my locker.  I went back.  I finally got settled on the elliptical trainer when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Where’s your towel?”

The gym attendant kicked me out. I tried my best: It’s my first time!  I don’t have any cash on me to rent a towel! I’ll try my very best not to sweat and get the machine dirty!

Nope.  I went to yoga instead.  It was comfortable and friendly, everyone smiled at each other, and while there might have been a football player in the room, he wasn’t intimidating in the least.

“In the gospel according to Émile, there is a parable about a man from Galilee – or maybe it was Verdun.

Anyway, he goes to a store and asks for a bicycle.
The saleswoman says, “I have no bicycles but I could sell you a car.”
He says, “I don’t want a car, I want a bicycle.”
She says, “Bicycles are outdated, not as efficient, and not as durable in all weather conditions.”
He says, “True, but I still want a bicycle.”
She says, “Cars are not as bad as they used to be. All you need to do is make small alterations to your house in order to build a garage for your new car.”
He says, “If you can’t offer me a bicycle, then I will have to take my business elsewhere.”
And she takes him to court.”

Go read the rest at the wonderful, wonderful Spacing Montreal.

… the offensive nature of some words in some contexts, this is what was going through my mind, explained much more eloquently than I ever could.