(Me in front of a house in Rustico, PEI — part cold, part stunned by the yard-full of decorations.)

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Ah, bliss. I’m with my family, getting through the pile of books I brought with me, and doing lots of nothing.

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I know I’m relaxed because I’m laughing at everything, especially my brother’s dog, with her moans of pleasure or tiredness, and her swamp-gas farting.

Last night was our company Xmas party. It was great to kick up my heels with these people who all work so hard together through the year.

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The event was at the Steamwhistle brewery, a converted old railyard roundhouse. So the beer flowed free and I drank my head off, as you do at these things. I wore my kilt, so I got the requisite question and some grabbing, but I didn’t get to be inappropriate because the one guy I fancied… Well, you know. He’s in the other 96%. So I got to watch him try to score all evening, then finally succeed.

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Of course, getting entangled on these trips is a bad idea, I know that from experience. Last night at the party a friend gave me an update on the fella from a few Christmases ago. He’s happily involved. I was indifferent when she told me, but I must confess that this morning I feel less indifferent. (For future reference, I never want these updates.)

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Drink makes things important that aren’t.

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Now I’m on an airplane, rehydrating a hangover with a plastic glass of ice water. A million thanks go to my teammate Shannon, who drove me to the airport. I dread to think what a shambles I would have been if I had to get there on public transit with my overweight bag and three hours’ sleep. Thanks also to Lisa and Alvaro, whose medicine cabinet I raided this morning for some Tylenol. I figured they owed me: their puppy pissed on my bed.

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I’ve had lots of requests over the past few days for me to move back to Toronto, which would be far too easy. But no, Scotland is calling me home.

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For now, I’m off to see my family, and I can’t wait.

Yesterday I got a pay-rise. And a free lunch with some of my team-mates at The Coach. And a gift certificate — which I had to spend last night ’cause I’m leaving town tomorrow. I bought myself some smelly stuff at Aveda, which I would never have bought on my own.

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Just now at the office, I got gifts from Catherine (my editor) and Julia (who visited this summer).

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It’s all a bit overwhelming to me, and it feels like it’s underlining something I need to learn about gracefully accepting gifts, rewards, and compliments — and handling the idea that I might be worth them.

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Before my mad dash to the mall, I had dinner with my friend Robert. He’s such an amazing man. Not only does he run a great restaurant here in Ontario for the half of the year when he’s not in Trinidad, he also works tirelessly raising money for charities. Last year he collected $30,000 for other people in need. Even better: he makes it fun. He’s not long-suffering or showy about it; he does it purely out of love. Being in his presence last night, I was so moved I couldn’t help getting teary.

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The richest people I know are also the people who give away the most and live the biggest adventures.

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Over our excellent dinner (at a Thai restaurant at Alexander and Yonge — check it out) Robert acknowledged the life I’m living: “I look at you,” he said, “and you’ve really got it made.” Me?

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I do, I really do.

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I remember the instructor saying in a workshop I took years ago, “How good can you stand it to be?” It’s true: we can do great things, or we can create messes. It all ends the same, but the experience along the way is so completely different. I know that I’m the author of this abundance that I’m blessed with right now. At the same time, I know that it flows around me; I didn’t do this at all. A life that works is a combination of sweat and magic.

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I’m overwhelmed with joy and gratitude.

Mentioning that I’d lost my gloves wasn’t a cry for help, by the way. I went to the Mountain Equipment Co-op yesterday to get my suitcase fixed and I picked up a new pair. So I just wanted to head off any last-minute Xmas gifts in case my family were on here with thoughts of circumventing my “no stuff” Xmas plan.

It’s been a busy weekend. Lots of visiting, heading back and forth across town. Yesterday I hung out with Cosgrove and Eric, then went to meet Kirsten and her family (drinking margaritas and drawing with her son, listening to her talk about plans for a bicycle trip to Peru and wondering if it was time to get back on a bike and do an adventure with them again). From there I went to our friend Tammy’s annual soup party, where I had some really engaging conversations with people whose lives and work are totally different from mine (I love that). Afterward, Cosgrove, Eric, and I went to a party with people who, in the social scheme of things, I should have had a lot in common with, but I found most of them loud, annoying, and pointless.

Today was brunch with my editor and some people I’d met through her this summer. I walked home through a freakishly warm afternoon (I bought an ice cream — in December?), and I hung out here at home with Alvaro. Shortly I’ll be off for dinner with someone else.

So much eating. Somehow I’m still skinny. I guess it’s walking back and forth across the city. I expect to balloon once I hit Charlottetown.

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In my walks, I’ve had lots of time to think. It’s staggering, this city. It’s so dense with different sorts of people, and it’s impossible to be in this confluence of humanity without bumping into lots of issues (the environment, homelessness, the point of it all, etc.).

I’m thinking lots about this next book, and am feeling really challenged with the scope of it: how do I make a huge topic like climate change approachable, so I’m telling one story and not getting preachy or being wildly wrong when talking about something that I couldn’t possibly research completely.

On the other hand, I’m also thinking (again) about the question of how mainstream I want to get. I’m completely free now that I have my own press to do exactly what I want. And I do feel charged to write about characters with same-sex feelings, since that’s what I know and because I want to put the kind of work out into the world that I want out there, rather than complaining that everything on offer is photocopied from the same frivolous gay template. I also love magical realism, and the room it gives my imagination. And I know that reading such un-everyday logic drives some people squirrelly.

But then there’s that horrible feeling of apology that comes up when, for instance, people like my mum’s cousin ask to read the last book and I know it has scenes in it, and that it doesn’t make the conventional sense of a Maeve Binchy or Anne Tyler.

This, I know, is the sword of mediocrity, and I don’t want to fall on it. But I also don’t want to keep people out of the substance of my work by writing about characters that 95% of the population aren’t going to completely relate to. As Lisa said to me the other night about Idea in Stone, “I loved that book, but even as I was reading it I couldn’t help thinking ‘I don’t know how someone would go about selling this. Who would you market it to?’ It doesn’t fit into one category.”

This is the stuff of Writer’s Block: thinking about outcome and effect instead of just doing my work, which is engaging with my imagination and telling a story honestly. What I really have to do is just go into the story and see what’s there. It’s a mammoth trapped in an iceberg, and this is a warm December.

I’d like to hear people’s thoughts about this: What do you think? Would you rather see me write something more mainstream, or do you think it’s important to shore up the counter-culture?

I’ve got a busy day ahead, but it’s all fun. Visiting, visiting, visiting. (I’m triple-booked.)

I was up late last night at my editor’s, laughing with a gang of her friends until we cried. God, that’s therapeutic. I guess I was doing a lot of the funny-making, and I must confess that that’s got to be just about the best feeling in the world for me.

Between my work environment and times like this, it’s nice to be with people who ‘get’ me. I think it’s what we all crave most.

I lost my gloves.

I’m tempted to think I haven’t, because they’re both gone, but they’re not at Lisa’s and they’re not at work, which means they’re probably riding around and around on a TTC streetcar. I imagine them holding each other.

I haven’t been wearing them much this trip because it’s so warm. Of course, the natural tendency is to jump to the conclusion that the warmth is freakish and meaningful, but maybe it’s just warm.

It’s a stark contrast to my last December visit, though. I remember one night last year, stepping over snowbanks and piles of slush with inch-big, wet snowflakes hitting me in the face as I walked to my favourite restaurant to meet my editor (only to discover that it was closed). This morning as I walked to work, the sky was a bright pastel blaze behind the overexposed city skyline.

Big things are happening at work, and in the evenings I’m visiting with friends (friends are good; conversation is good).

I’m just stealing a minute to drop a line from work. I’ve been very busy with big work projects and visiting with folks. I’m down to that horrible slider-puzzle part of the trip when I’ve only got a few spaces left in which to see people before I leave (even though that’s a week away).

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I had dinner the other night with the owners of the company I write for, along with some of the team members, and a client of ours who used to be in patent law before the dot-com bubble burst and took away all of his business. Now he’s back helping companies like ours become positive monopolies. We had a fascinating talk that night. It was neat to hear him tell stories of working with Apple, Sun Microsystems, FaceBook, and just about every major technological player in hardware and software.

Fact du jour: Apparently the iPod isn’t patented. Steve and the team were so concerned about leaks that they didn’t want to file documents that would give away their trade secrets. Hm; who knew?

When I came into the office yesterday I saw the caterer’s bill for the meal lying on the desk I’m borrowing: $1,700. So this is how the other half lives.

But the other side of the equation is what the people in our program do with their new-found wealth and freedom. No one’s obliged to be charitable, but man is it moving to hear the stories of those who are. These people are used to being successful, and know how to get results, so when they turn their minds to solving problems they do amazing things — like the fella who built five schools in his area (you can build a school?), another who’s shipped millions of dollars worth of aid to Belarus, or a woman who’s created a fundamentally different way for families with special needs to receive care.

The news seems to be about things falling apart, about the evil in people’s hearts — particularly people in business. It’s difficult to think about them any other way. But twice a year I’m exposed to an invisible movement made up of very successful people who are good, loving, committed human beings. I don’t always agree with everyone’s politics, but if this is how they’re choosing to use their success, more power to them.

A Canadian firm has come up with a product called Cold-FX, which they claim makes a cold go away three times faster. Having a cold, I figured I’d try it. So? Yup, it seems to. Maybe this was one that would have gone away quickly on its own. Maybe the result is due to the placebo effect. Whatever the case, all that’s left is a slight cough, and that’s worth paying for in my books.

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So the Canadians have cured the common cold. (Kinda.)

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Then there’s the recycling. It’s really good here. I have to walk about a mile with my recyclables in Edinburgh (even further if I want to get rid of my glass), and there’s absolutely nothing in the city centre on the street. Here, I can walk along the street, finish my drink, and find a recycling bin for the bottle or can within fifty feet. I like that. Whatever the economics or sense of recycling, I can’t imagine there’s any good argument for just landfilling all this stuff.

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And how about having the Internet everywhere? This afternoon I turned on my Pocket PC’s WiFi antenna, and connected to the ‘net via wireless points that have been installed on the hydro poles. I’ve wanted this for a long time.

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(Though it does strike me as a bit strange now that these wires are aboveground.)

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~

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This afternoon I sat in the orchestra pit and craned my neck up to see Wicked. It was kind of like Jaws, watching the top of the witch’s hat go back and forth, but I really enjoyed the experience. The handful of musicians were friendly, and it was fun to see the show from their perspective (I’ve only ever been onstage, and only had an orchestra on two occasions). I like the show, too. It’s got its fluffy moments, and there are lots of those requisite power ballad moments. I think we’d all like to have those in our lives, chances to stand downstage centre, declaim our thoughts and feelings in song, and know we’re going to be heard. But for all the fun, the show is clever and has some darker, more political themes than most musicals.

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Brett and I went for pierogies, and I also had some fried potatoes with white vinegar with them. It was all very Canadian. Even the restaurant had a Canadian feel (something about the exposed brick, the wooden features, and the photographs inside). I’m increasingly aware with these visits that there is a Canadian ethos. I want to learn how to articulate what that is, just as I’d like to be able to communicate the Scottish aesthetic. (Make that plural, as there are many Scotlands.)

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I worked late last night, since I had to finish an article but next week’s workdays are already spoken for. Then when Lisa got home from her catering shift, she, Alvaro, and our friend Brad went to a party. I was so tired that I said I didn’t think I could hold a coherent conversation; so the bastards left me alone with a woman who was perfectly nice, except as we talked about the Concorde and her breast feeding her new daughter (explaining as she took another satay chicken skewer that she was eating for two), I couldn’t help but wonder if she was coming on to me, and I was struggling to stay coherent.

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I’m starting to feel a little bit like that again, but I’ve got a bottle of wine in a paper bag in front of me, and when I finish my root beer (another of those “can’t get it there” treats), I’m off to another house party, where I may or may not know anyone other than the host.

I’m sitting in a vegetarian restaurant, waiting for my editor and her boyfriend.

I had a terrible hangover when I woke up this morning. At Gord’s party last night I was handed glass after glass of red wine, and, fool I was, kept taking them. I had lots of good conversations, some with old friends I didn’t know would be there, and some with strangers. Stranger-talks can be so rewarding, since their content comes out of nothing and I always learn something about something. I even found myself pitching one guy on The Strategic Coach Program, and a woman told me she’d heard of me because she’s in the program.

I took the streetcar across town at some silly time to get home, then was followed for a block by a homeless guy who would not take my “No”. There are so many beggars in Toronto it’s staggering. (Coincidentally, before I took out my Pocket PC to write this, I was reading Wallace Shawn’s The Fever which is about this social split. Yes, the “Incontheivable” guy in The Princess Bride and the dinosaur voice in the Toy Story movies is a serious playwright.)

There’s a fella across the restaurant who I went to Dalhousie with. Since university, he’s become famous for being in the band Sloan. I don’t want to go over and say hi, because I don’t want to come across like a slavering fanboy. He was such a nice guy back in school, and I always thought he should be my best friend instead of the guy who was my best friend. (Though now that I look back, it’s plain that my best friend’s “transgressions” have more to do with the fact that I fancied him rotten and he wasn’t wired that way.)

Okay, my friends are here, so I’m spared jumping across that social distance.

P.S. I did end up saying hi. It was no big deal, and Jay’s still a nice guy.

P.P.S. Here’s my mobile number in Toronto if anyone needs to reach me:
647-285-0888

My last two days in Edinburgh, everything tied up beautifully — so much so that I actually slowed down and relaxed. This, of course, meant that I woke up yesterday morning with a cold.

It started as a dry throat, one of those constant swallowing things that made me think “Maybe I just used too much garlic in last night’s dinner. Yeah, that’s it: too much garlic. It’s not that I’m sick.” Of course, by the time I reached the airport, I was sniffling, and by the time the plane landed in Toronto my head felt like it was going to burst from the pressure. But I was smart this time and packed mittfuls of batteries and stuffed my memory cards with hours and hours of episodes of Carnivale, so I just zoned out and went to 1930s dustbowl carnie-land for the day.

Alvaro picked me up from the airport — and he had the cold, too! Then Lisa came home, and she had it. Now I’m at the office, and everyone here has it. It’s great: I don’t have to be “on” because everyone else is sick, too.

Happily, it’s going through all its stages really quickly, like something from science-fiction (clones growing to maturity in a day, that sort of thing), so I’m hoping it will clear out of my system in short order. I’m chewing on vitamin C tablets to help that along.

This always happens, doesn’t it? You don’t get sick when you’re busy or stressed, but the minute you relax it hits you. I’ve got to learn not to get so wound up.

Of course, now that I’m here I’ve got a lot to do. My first task is to try to figure out how to get a stupid file from my Pocket PC beside me to thon Macintosh in front of me.

Yay! Did it! I’m happy I’ve learnt how to travel well. I should write a follow-up to my geeky mobile office article, about what to take when travelling to different countries and connecting with all manner of different computers. I’m finally good at it. Ah, but I forgot to pack my Strategic Coach nametag. I always forget something.

Here’s a pic I grabbed while waiting for my bag to disgorge from airport depths onto the baggage carousel:

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We’ll file this one under the “graphics department needs a slap” category. Yes, I brought a tinned haggis, but a live chicken? No.