There has always been a lot of green in my life. A colour I find comforting, yet still a little mysterious. Today I was dreaming of my old room when I first moved to Toronto, on Markham Street. The first thing I did when I moved in was paint it this glorious green. I spent the day with a stranger who helped me fill the holes and "cut in". My lovely roommate Steven made us a delightful meal, "His Mother's Tilapia", and we all dined together, an instant community. This stranger is still with me, much less strange now, and I feel lucky. This past fall I was surprised with this wonderful little green velour chair that looks as if it fell right out of the fifties, perfect condition, not a mark on it. It is just the right size for my 5'3" stature or, more realistically, holding the otherwise strewn about clothing in my bedroom. My mother was just here for a visit. She stayed in my bedroom and seemed to enjoy the chair as well. We spent a week visiting museums and eating nice food. When my mother was closer to my age, she took a trip to Ireland and brought all of her sisters and herself back claddagh rings. They are an Irish family and have always worn them proudly. Knowing that the history and the green stone have a whole new meaning for me now, she felt it was the right time for me to have her ring. Leaving it with me the morning she left, it hasn't left my finger since.
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