You know that feeling, after a long winter, where you get your summer clothes out of the attic or whatever back of drawer they've been languishing in, and you lay them out on the bed and have a good look, probably a bit of a sniff too. They might smell musty, or perfectly laundered, but there they are, and it's time to start wearing them again... Well, that.
I have been aching to blog. I'm now back in England and the internet is effectively defying me. At Ruth's, it turns its nose up at my computer. It shuns me like a disgraced daughter. I do everything right, but it says 'no'. Not even in capitals. And I'm about to move into a flat where there's no broadband. Ha! I bet there aren't that many of them left, but I'm about to take one. So I haven't got back into my pleasing evening blogging rhythm yet, and perhaps I shan't. Perhaps it's just not going to happen. Whatever the when, it's time. 
There's little point trying to catch up. I've had some truly massive times between this blog and the previous one. I've left Montreal and a relationship. I was sad to leave it, even though it feels right. I am full of gratitude for the all-out-ness of what we chose to do and how we managed it, and now I'm not there any more. It's a time of huge opportunity, not insignificant discomfort, excitement and hope. I have to mention the glory of my leaving. Goodbye was lasting long and feeling painful, like peeling a plaster off sensitive skin all slowly, feeling every stretched cell. A ritual was suggested and that ritual was, aptly, a sun salutation. So, in the middle of Pierre Trudeau, just in front of security, we saluted the sun and the whole of our experience (both sides, of course) and then said a swift goodbye. It was perfect.
As I sat and allowed myself to cry properly, mourning the experience while feeling moved and thankful too, a uniformed lady approached me and asked, 'Ma'am, are you going to be okay?'. I reassured her that I was. She didn't seem convinced, but she did seem warm and willing to take a punt. She left me to it. I remember hearing somewhere, and I can no longer remember where, someone saying that they loved watching people crying in airports. Not through Schadenfreude or any particular glee at lost baggage situations, but because people hugging and crying, whether they be saying hello or goodbye, is a signal of a huge flow of love. Goodbye isn't tricky when you're not that fussed. Hello doesn't bring a lump to your throat and water springing out of your eyes, if you haven't missed a person. I felt this keenly as I gathered myself, relocated my passport and went about the business of actually leaving Canada.
So much to be grateful for. A spiritual and serendipitous weekend with lovely, loving people helped me chew through all of what had happened. I have come out of it feeling the benefits, feeling the gratitude and the love even more strongly and feeling proud and happy that we did what we did. I feel open to the next adventure and the next offering of love (there are so many - every song, every gift of attention, every breath of concern or delight or compassion - they are all around me). And what I can give is as important, maybe more so, than what I hope, expect, prepare to receive. What can I give? There's a question to keep a person busy for a lifetime. I'm so grateful for experiences I could never have imagined having, but have had. I'm humbled by music and loveliness. I'm blessed with good people all around.
There's no end to good people. Yesterday, I chatted with a publican for a specific reason. In the process of that, he told me all about his grandchild and the particular flavour of love that she filled him with. He struggled to explain: 'It's just... SO GOOD,' he said. 'There's none of the pressure that there is when you have children. It's just love.' What a gift. The interview itself was short, but this man gave me so much more. Thank you.
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