So I’m brushing my hair last night, and I looked in the mirror, and – hey, when did my hair get so long? It was only a month or so ago that I was moaning about how I wanted Pre-Raphaelite locks cascading down my back, and I was all mopy about how it would never happen. Looking over my shoulder into the mirror, I can see I’m mostly there all of a sudden.

My hair is acting in a peculiar fashion. I decided a while ago to put an end to the never-ending cycle of chromatic experiments that I’d been doing for the past couple of years, and to put a seal on it I resolved to henna my hair, which is the kiss of death if you ever want to use chemical colour again. Natural herbal colour and chemical colour don’t mix well at all. (Think of that scene in Anne of Green Gables where her hair turns green, and you’ve pretty much got it.) So I did my research, ordered some brown henna, and did the deed last weekend. Now my hair is more like I remember it: thicker, wavy, even. And, apparently, longer. I cringe when I think about the chemical damage I must have done. Henna is a natural conditioner that’s great for your hair and scalp, and heaven knows I needed help. Maybe my hair is rewarding me.

It’s a beautiful day today – more like what we expect from late June in Montreal. Sunny, a bit humid. I never cease to be amazed at how much of an effect the weather has on my mood.

I taught another class last night. At the end of a workshop I always ask if there was something the students would have liked to seen more of, less of, explained differently. Last night when I asked, all they did was thank me for being clear, concise, unbiased, and dynamic. I even got a round of applause. Not only that, they all decided to come back for my next workshop in two weeks as well. I think I must have hit on something, here. I’m always surprised when people enjoy my workshops – not because I think they’re bad (I work too hard on them for them to be anything but good!), but because I think those attending will be left rather neutral towards me and the material. All I’m doing is giving them information, after all, or guiding them though an exploration process where they discover their own answers. I keep forgetting that while I’ve known this material for a while, they’re all new to it, so it’s two solid hours of discovery and communion with others of like mind, where as individuals they often think they’re alone in their interests. The newness of it all, plus the bonus of meeting others, has to be exciting. I must be facilitating this excitement and discovery is some sort of constructive fashion. As much as I think I’m not a people person, a friend pointed out to me the other day that I care about others, which automatically makes me a people person whether I like it or not. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be as approachable. Which makes sense, in an irritating sort of way. The reason people like being with me and seek me out is because I’m a decent human being, even if I’d prefer to be alone a lot of the time. Seems contradictory, but it isn’t. Alas.

As if Vanilla Coke wasn’t enough of a discovery, now I’ve found a new chocolate bar too: the Hershey’s Sidekick. The wrapper says, “Milk Chocolate, Peanut Butter and Soft Nougats”. (Nougats? I though “nougat” was a collective term, like “chocolate”. But I digress.)

In reality, what they’ve done with this new chocolate bar is a simple case of cross-breeding a Mars Bar with a Wunderbar.

It is soft and yummy. It is evil.

Two Vanilla Cokes left.

Now it’s raining again.

I live in a city with a schizophrenic weather system.

Marika Bournaki is the name of the eleven-year-old pianist who knocked my slippers off with the Chopin. Here’s a full list of the performers and their pieces; you can click on each name for a full list of their accomplishments.

And what have I done with my life?

Just kidding. These kids have had opportunities that didn’t come my way, that’s all. I chose different paths. What a world lies ahead of them, though…

See? Now it’s sunning out.

It’s raining again.

If you surf through various Montreal blogs, you discover rather quickly that we talk about the weather frequently. For example, the five Montreal blogs I checked out this morning all mentioned that it rained this weekend. Mine didn’t, but this post makes up for it. (I decided I didn’t want to dwell on standing in the rain for forty minutes on the corner of Cavendish and Sherbrooke, where there’s a nasty wind-tunnel effect. And you certainly didn’t need to hear how miserable I was.)

We’re very sensitive to weather. It changes, frequently. We’re at its mercy, even though we don’t allow it to stop us. A Montrealer can make it to work through pretty much anything, which is why we laugh at Torontonians when they call out the army after a snowfall. Still, weather play an enormous role in our lives. The sun comes out – we smile. It rains for six weeks – we grump. (And become perpetually soggy, which makes our tempers short.) Yet through it all, most of us find the room in our days and hearts to appreciate the weather. “Look at that wind!” we’ll say. Or, “The lightning – it’s so brittle and beautiful, isn’t it?” Yep. Montrealers understand how weather fits into our personalities, all right. We are in awe, even if we grumble. We lean into a storm and relish it. We soak up the sun on the mountain when we can. Short skirts, sandals. Parkas, hiking boots. Gloves. Hats, sun or winter.

So, it’s raining today. Like it did Sunday, and Saturday too. This time last year, the farmers were crying for rain. The corn was only a couple of inches high. This year, they’re crying for it to stop. The stalks are rotting in the fields. Despite our lovely damp Spring, our fruits and vegetables will cost a lot more than usual this summer. They’re calling for a damp Summer, which means you’ll be seeing a lot of YUL posts about rain.

You’ve been warned.