Great expectations

I have discovered, slowly, experientially, that expectations tend to rule our experience of joy.

As a child, I had never imagined or dreamed about a wedding day and the "necessities" attached to that day. My expectations were limited to wanting to have a big party to celebrate with my family and friends. I had the advantage of being the first of my friends to be married, so I had no model to which I should hold myself to—or against. The result: I loved our big day and have no regrets.

A family home, on the other hand, was something I have dreamed about for a very long time. Even as a kid, I loved looking at floor plans of new homes. The real estate section of the Saturday paper enrapted me with their pictures and plans like the comics held other children. I knew I liked Victorian houses. I knew I liked big rooms with lots of windows and light pouring in from all sides. I knew I liked trees and big back yards. Gardens and attics framed my homey expectations.

As I grew, a whole world—beyond suburbia—opened up to me, and I had the to opportunity to experience the urban side of life: both my high school and university were right downtown. My first apartment was in the Byward Market because by then I had already fallen in love with the busyness and attractions of urban areas. I loved walking to class in minutes, getting groceries at little shops along the way, frequenting countless restaurants that were within sight of my tiny apartment, visiting the local arthouse cinema weekly without having to worry about parking or bus schedules.

Derek and I decided, early on, that we're city people, at least for right now. We have built our lives around being close to where we work and play. So when we started shopping for a house in Ottawa, the options for us were clear. The main geographic criterion was outlined by our chosen school's boundaries. The main criterion in terms of options was, clearly, our budget.

Very quickly, my expectations were colliding. On the one hand, I didn't want to give up our almost car-free life, and on the other, I wanted to big house with the big yard. But without lottery funds, there was no way I could reconcile the two. We had to choose. And for Derek, I would wager, it was a no-brainer. But I must admit that for me, there were hesitations, vascillations. I would look up the downtown houses on mls and compare them to suburban houses of the same price, and I would bemoan the obvious difference in both house and land size.

My expectations, the assumptions I had made years ago, on what I should have, struggled to rule my heart. I realised, with frustration, that these expectations were built not on reality, but on suppositions, on a sense of entitlement. So I'm still working through the slight disappointment at not having a backyard (though we do have a huge deck). I have rationalisations at the ready, so I am well armed. But what it really comes down to is working through my expectations to get to the other side intact, and being more than happy with our new home.

A very, very, very fine house

After weeks and weeks of closely watching the unbelievably sloooow yet red-hot housing market in Ottawa, we've bought a house! There were moments of self-doubt, of panic, of worry, but in the end, we've found something that not only meets our needs but that we like a lot.

The girls were staying over at their Nana & Grampa's for the week for an unrelated reason, but it turned out to be good timing. We saw the house on the Tuesday and put an offer on it that very evening. The next morning, we got a counter offer and took it. We were signing the papers at noon and on a date to celebrate it over my lunch hour. Thursday and Friday were eaten up with mortgage brokers and lawyers and house inspectors (oh my!). We signed the final papers on Wednesday, and the house is officially ours.

Mind you, we'll have to wait until June 2 to call it ours and to start making it ours. The whole process is long and rather surreal. Have we really promised to spend that much money? Over 25 years? Good lord, how do people do this?

But then I remember that we'll be close to a big park and to the river, and I understand how we do this. It's a tiny corner of the world that is just ours, for our kids to grow up in. To make memories in. To stay safe in. It's home.

And here's a little taste of what you'll see when you come to visit us. Any time after mid-June, you're all welcome to come see.

I love teenagers

Seriously.

On Thursday evening, I went to SPAF (spectable pour aider les finissant(e)s), a fundraiser talent show that showcases the artistic abilities of the students at my alma mater, De La Salle. DLS, we were always proud to note, is the only French-language arts school in all of Ontario. I hadn't been to SPAF since my last year of high school, but a dear friend of mine—from high school—is now teaching there, so we thought it would be fun to attend. Five of my six best girlfriends from highschool, along with our token male friend, met at our old high school for the big event.

The old clichés still hold true: the place felt familiar yet smaller. It felt foreign but oddly comforting.

Kids were running around, flushed and busy with the execution of the big night they'd been planning for months. Kids in funky hats. Kids with piercings. Kids with normal clothes. Kids that looked like the kids from 1996.

The show itself was fun. The numbers were rather uneven, but it didn't seem to matter to them. The very talented stage band kept it all together: they played everything from hard rock to blues to funk to ballads. And then there were the various dance numbers, some strong, others less memorable. And the various bands and à capella singers. And visual artists showed their stuff in fun and innovative ways. There was even a young woman, whom I assumed is in the writing program, who recited a strange yet heartfelt ballad accompanied by a guitarist.

The evening had been about homecoming, but the feeling of coming home struck me in an entirely different way than I had expected.

As I watched these young people perform, I felt their energy and I remembered, more through my gut than in my mind, how it felt to be that age. Teenagers have this amazing exuberance, this verve that overflows from their lanky bodies and out into the audience of whoever is willing to sit down and listen for a few minutes. They are visibly trying to figure it all out, physically and emotionally, and so they create, create, create. Their world is small but it is expanding at an alarming rate, and so, too, are their minds.

I not only witnessed their aliveness, but I caught a bit of it myself. I was lucky to be a witness to what those kids had to share, even the painfully bad stuff. Their enthusiasm and even their angst seeped into me, and I brought just a little bit of that home to inspire me in my own art—of writing, of living, of being.