Author: hamishmacdonald

Tomorrow is my UK citizenship ceremony!

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After sitting doing nothing in Halifax for five hours, I’m now faced with the prospect of having to run across the airport in Montreal to catch my flight to London. There’s an infant in the row behind me on this airplane and it likes to howl — exactly the sort of soul-slicing sound that would get me arrested for air rage.

But I’m sitting in Executive Class, being given all the nibblies and beer I want. Normally I wouldn’t be fussed about Heineken, but right now it’s doing a lot to alleviate my anxiety about getting to Montreal in time for my next flight. And you know what? If I don’t it’s Air Canada’s problem, because they’re labouring under the impression that I’m an executive, and will make arrangements for me. I see why people pay for this.

I’m also watching a program about some British guy who’s had himself dropped into the Everglades to demonstrate survival techniques. Instead of admiring him, I can’t help thinking, “Asshat!”

We’re descending now. Let’s see how this goes.

~

Yes! I’m walking from one flight right onto another.

~

Aww, darn. No cryo-pod, just a great big seat. still, it’s better than a kick in the head.

I had a nice conversation with a big, burly, yet shy gentleman who sat next to me on the last flight and was making the connection with me to this one. He’s lived all around the world, and now lives in Saudi Arabia. Given that he also once lived in Aberdeen, I’m thinking “oil”. People’s stories are interesting. And this whole listening business feels like a good habit.

~

Machines don’t work well in the cold. We’re still on the tarmac in Montreal, suffering from some sort of electrical issue, after waiting 15 minutes for a plane that was blocking our route to the de-icing station.

Waiting is boring and a waste of time, but I don’t mind this so much because this is where I’m supposed to be; there’s nothing this is making me late for — especially since I have a five-hour wait to go from London to Edinburgh.

~

I’m reading Whitman while eating strawberries, bread, and cheese, suspended impossibly, impossibly high in the air.

Here’s a passage: “Always the prairies, pastures, forests, vast cities, travellers, Canada, the snows”. Canada, the snows. There’s much more to it than that; even I feel compelled to assert this, despite my gladness at having just escaped the snows.

~

The moon sits in an azure sky with her distant cousin Venus just above a quilt of clouds stretched over the curve of the earth. The horizon is yellow into fiery orange-red.

The stewardesses are collecting the breakfast trays. I didn’t eat because my guts hurt. Every time I get on one of these high-altitude flights I feel myself inflate like some kind of antique pressure-measuring device made of pig bladder covered with badly-sealed balloon mouths.

I did sleep in my big reclining chair. And I was served on dishes, not in little puzzle-boxes. Everything in Executive class is a little better, and none of the improvements goes without being pointed out, which takes the gift out of it. And it’s only a bit better: yes, there’s a free wash-kit, but the toothbrush handle is like a plastic tongue-depressor, and feels like it might snap. When the head stewardess introduces herself at the beginning of the flight and offers her services, it’s from a list and she’s making the rounds. The checkbox duty of it kills any goodwill.

So this was a nice change, but not thousands and thousands of dollars nice. It’s too hot in here (as most Canadian buildings were for me).

I want to not be travelling. A few hours, a few hours.

Meanwhile, let’s enjoy the beautiful view up here of insubstantial, empty cloud continents between this airplane and the earth — endless unpopulated dunes of white sugar.

I can’t imagine anymore how anyone lives in a place where the weather has so much power over your life! Prince Edward Island was completely snowed in today, so though I was supposed to fly out, the day became instead a game of booked and rebooked flights, until this evening when I was waiting for a flight to Halifax in a dark but not-too-snowdrifty evening, and my flight was cancelled. Oh, it wasn’t because of the weather; they’d sent a crew person over who was now fatigued, and could not be asked to work another flight — even though the journey to Halifax lasts twenty minutes, which isn’t enough time for the trolley-dolleys to actually do anything.

But nevermind. I’d been cranky and temper-tantrumy today — in that way we can only be towards our parents, even though they’re the last people to deserve it. You see, it was my parents’ fault for choosing to live on this God-forsaken little Arctic outpost of an Island.

Having said goodbye to them this evening, thinking I wouldn’t see them until at least next summer, I thought, “The measure of a man is how he behaves under stress.” I wasn’t happy with my behaviour today. When my flight was cancelled, I found I couldn’t muster any indignation or upset. Sure, Air Canada totally screwed up on what was already a stressful day, but instead I got another chance to hang out with my parents and my nephew, whom I love (my brother and sister-in-law have already gone back “Up West”).

The hardest part of missing my connections is that I’d been upgraded to Executive Class from Halifax to Heathrow. Instead of trying to sleep sitting upright in a chair like a plank of wood, I was going to finally experience one of the fancy cryo-pods I’ve been walking past on my way back to the Steerage compartment.

But wait! When I called the hotline number to rebook my flight, it turned out that by upgrading me to an Executive ticket, Wendy here at the Charlottetown Airport twice-blessed me, because that meant I got to skip the queue (which, I heard on leaving the airport, could be from three to ten days’ wait for another flight) and get booked out tomorrow. And… I’m in Executive Class on the overseas leg of my journey. Wahey!

So it’s time to have a late dinner and a big ol’ drink with my beloved folks. This long day is done.

This is my last night on PEI. Normally this part of my travels is a fun and relaxing break, but I have to admit that I haven’t been as present as I’d have liked for the festivities. My family is really important to me, but every night my brain has been tilling up worms of worry in my brain over my work situation.

I fly out of Charlottetown Airport tomorrow afternoon… hopefully. They’ve forecast a snowstorm — about the fourth since I came here — but I have an eight-hour layover in Toronto. Normally the thought of that would turn my stomach, but at least it gives me some room for delays. If all goes well, I’ll be back in Edinburgh by the 3rd. Ugh, 24 hours of travel is not something I look forward to, but I want to sleep in my own bed!

So this was not the postcard holiday, but maybe there’s more value in spending real-life time with my family, letting them contribute their ideas and support. And this is not to say that I didn’t have fun. I did lots of reading, napping, eating, and playing with my family — as evidenced by this silly video my sister-in-law took of my brother and I trying to beat hell out of each other in a boxing videogame: (Warning: Clip has audio.)

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LkfIrwFjBpA&rel=1]

As a contrast to my previous freaked-out post…

Lisa’s band, Dirty Dishes had a “Jamboree and Bake Sale” on Tuesday night and they rocked the house down. Their act was polished smooth, and the banter between them was so warm and lighthearted that you just had to laugh and clap along — and try to not sing! The songs are all so eminently singable, even if you couldn’t hope to match the intricacy of the Dishes’ harmonies. There’s nothing worse than paying to see a good act then having some person trying to join in from the crowd and hear themselves. I didn’t want to be that guy.

Problem solved: I bought their demo CD, so I can have them at home. And the girls raised a wagon-load of money — enough to record and produce a full CD.

~

Last night was the Strategic Coach holiday party, which was a lot of fun. We went again this year to the Steamwhistle Brewery, a converted old brick railway roundhouse near the lakeshore whose giant windows look up at the glass monoliths that make up the skyline. The beer was free and free-flowing, everyone pulled out the best and handsomest version of themselves, and we had an opportunity to celebrate what a great and rare thing we have there as a team. I also had a laugh when I found my friend Gary there: turns out he was the caterer for the event! (I must tell him at Lisa’s party tonight that the food was great.)

Afterward, Margaux and I went to one couple’s house party, where I had great chats with the folks there (some of whom I’ve not had many opportunities to connect with before).

Our swell legal guy Jonas and I sat in front of a laptop for a while and he pulled all his favourite musicians off the ‘net to perform for me. I was pretty blurry by then, but I know I’ve got a list on a notepad to follow up on. I’m grateful, ’cause I like music, but I never know where to find more of what I’d like. Jonas is one of that new breed of social influencers with this, as well as in art and literature. I often feel like I’ve been asleep in class when I’m around him — but he makes it fun, like there are exciting, original things to catch up on.

We stayed at the party until some sick time like 6:30AM, when Jonas had to leave to get his things, catch another taxi, and move to Chicago! Moo and I shared a cab, and she dropped me here on her way home. Sleep hit me like a train as soon as I put my head down.

So, the work thing, since I brought it up the other day: I won’t be writing for Strategic Coach anymore. Instead, they’ve asked me to take on being “Storyteller-in-Residence” full-time, gathering the lore about the company that is their best possible marketing and proof-of-concept. To be honest, I’m scared ’cause it’s a shift and I might suck at it. But Lisa, Alvaro, and Cosgrove talked me out of my tree yesterday afternoon and I had a nap, after which everything looked different. After all, my former editor (I need a new name for our relationship now) did everything but use skywriting to send me the message that I’m going to be completely supported and that everyone from the top down wants this to work.

I just had to grieve for a bit about the loss of a role I’d really enjoyed. I still get to write anything and everything I want through my own press, and maybe it’s time to concentrate on keeping my output for myself. I am also going to take on some freelance writing: this change was a lesson in eggs and baskets.

Over the course of last night’s parties, I found myself concentrating on story, and the people around me — whom I already liked — took on an added dimension and became fascinating.

So here I declare it: For me, 2008 is The Year of Listening Closely.

Change is scary (especially when it’s a reminder that everything is actually always in flux).

I tend to freak out at first, the my self-righting mechanism kicks in — which has just happened, so I’m fine. Things’ll work out, whatever that looks like. Historical precedent in my life says that each progression is even better than what went before.

Sorry for being vague; I have the liberty here to share my inner state but not the details.

My first week here was easy and fun. I was healthy, I was visiting with people at work and during social time, things were falling together spontaneously and easily…

Then I got sick. I wasn’t sleeping properly and caught the office cold everybody has.

My friends’ dog ate my handmade greeting cards.

Toronto was hit by a major snowstorm and everything was cancelled.

Riding the TTC streetcars and subway lines across town started giving me panic attacks.

The hardness of Toronto’s water has made my torso react as if someone splashed me with acid.

And this morning I had a conversation with my editor that represents either a transition or an ending, depending on how my brain spins it from one minute to the next. One thing is decided: I won’t be travelling to Toronto anymore for work.

P.S. Apologies if I’ve not been very communicative. Sending e-mails here involves connecting to UK mobile roaming data services, which costs a lot.

I’m in a little coffeeshop on Roncesvalles, a long street with streetcars rumbling up and down on the far west side where Toronto tumbles off into the highway and Lake Ontario.

Waves of cool urban life splash westward; this area is the latest, it seems, to be inspired with the breath of reinvigoration that eventually gives way to the halitosis of commercial gentrification. Still, Toronto retains a character all its own, with the little post-war houses and pockets of local and indie culture amid the glass and steel towers.

~

For any Finitude readers, I stole this evening to slip back into the world of the book. Who knows? I may get Chapter Twelve finished and out before the holidays are over. I’m imagining eighteen chapters altogether, so we’re getting close to the end.

I’ve been working hard here, really enjoying the company of the great souls I have the pleasure to work with. The community around Strategic Coach is such that I can talk about the weirdest of my weird notions with them and they don’t bat an eye. In fact, they usually respond with a book recommendation.

I had to bail out of today’s workshop because I had too much writing work to do. I managed to get everything done and distract lots of people from their work so we could chat. It’s good I don’t work in an office. In fact, this afternoon I had to leave and go to a nearby coffeeshop to get an article written — after which I went back to wreak more social havoc. There are too many people I like there; what can I do?

Outside of work, some great spontaneous plans have fallen together, like veggie dinners with Margaux, watching movies on the couch with Alvaro, or watching Lisa’s band rehearse at home for their concert next week. And last night turned into a reunion of the old Algonquin Park winter camping gang at the Alias:Wavefront offices, where our old Coach-mate Bill now works. (They make the software most film and videogame production companies use to create their CG images.) We used one of their enormo-projectors and watched Full Metal Jacket — life-sized,with sensurround audio, pizza, and beer. Real boy-stuff.

~

I’m eating too much. Ah well. As Patrick pointed out in an e-mail, “That gives you a project for the new year, and you like that.”

~

An awful lot of my friends here are married and now having children. Sometimes I feel I’m falling behind. Enviable freedom and independence? Or just lonely, headed for sad irrelevance?

Yikes, best not dwell there.

This is one of my favourite views in Edinburgh.

It’s +13C here today. They’re getting snowstorms in Toronto and Charlottetown. Ah well.

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