Praise then darkness, and creation unfinished

I haven't really posted about the New Year's visit to Montreal, in part because one of the things I did there was push myself too hard/do too much. ( not the main point here )

However, most of the Sunday outing was fun. papersky and rysmiel took several of us (their houseguests, and Rene's two houseguests) to Marche Jean Talon, a nice big market that has a really impressive spice shop. We started by slogging through some snow from the metro; it's Montreal, it's January, we have boots, not a real problem. Then we walked into the market and I said "Crepes!" and Papersky said she'd been planning on pointing people who believed in lunch at either the creperie or the fish shop across the hall from it. So I, rysmiel, and melopoeia and her husband Mike, and nancylebov got lunch, and papersky and jonsinger hung out for a bit. Around the time Melopoeia and I were finishing our crepes, she realized she didn't have her wallet. So, we sorted out the money (her husband, Mike, did have cash), and she headed back to the metro station to look for it. (Not found, she eventually returned, told us that, and went to retrace her steps. I don't know what the outcome there was.)

I caught up with everyone at the spice shop, where they had just started a long conversation with one of the people who work there (I think he said his parents own the shop), about a lot of different spices, and his travels to find and buy spices, and so on. Jon was in his element, of course, and the guy seemed to be enjoying himself: lots of questions, lots of "can we see some of that," and periodically "I'll take some of that, please." We spent a lot of time making subtle comparisons: when I remembered I wanted to replace my cardamom, he helpfully got out three kinds for me to smell. (The one I wound up buying is from Kerala.) Jon not only found things he wanted, he found things he hadn't heard of.

I also said that since I can't eat capsicum-spicy anymore, I've been looking for spicy things I can eat, and explained that black pepper, horseradish, ginger, garlic, and mustard have been good. I think he's already showed off the grains of paradise by then: pods with 100 or 150 tiny seeds inside, use 4 or 5 in a dish. I bit one to see what I thought, and bought two pods.

He got out some oblongs of "poivre sauvage," explained in English as wild Assam pepper [our enthusiastic salesman was fully bilingual, and the spice packages are mostly bilingual, but he sometimes came out with French names rather than English ones, and the store newsletter is in French (I grabbed one to take notes on), as is their cookbook]. The Assam peppers are smoked, a convenient side effect of being grown and harvested in an area where other farmers are smoking tea leaves. I believe it's in the black pepper family, but I got no botanical names. My notes say "use a mortar and pestle", because even if I had a spare peppermill they're much larger than normal peppercorns. (If I ever get around to setting up the spice grinder, I will try that.

I also have some "Tasmanian pepper berry," which tasted potentially useful and a bit hotter than either the grains of paradise or the smoked pepper; some cinnamon sticks (true cinnamon, not cassia), which I probably didn't need; and a package of rose petals suited for use as a garnish. I had been thinking of using the rose petals on a rice pilaf, but wasn't in the mood with the pilaf a couple of weeks ago. Maybe the next one. In fact, the only thing I've actually used so far is the cardamom (in a pilaf), because I have limited energy for cooking, and less for experimenting, at the moment. The rose petals were the sort of thing that happens when we're sniffing and discussing interesting things, and I have a credit card, and maybe because I was getting a little punchy.

I gave up on the spice shop sooner than my friends: I was overdue for a cup of tea, and when our friend got out three kinds of vanilla for people to compare and I couldn't smell any of them at all, I concluded I was out of nose.* So, tea and then wandered back for a bit (in retrospect, I probably should have gone back to Papersky's apartment, had a cheese sandwich or something, and caught my breath, but when I get tired or otherwise stressed my tendency is to stick with my people, even if there's another, at least as sensible, and relatively straightforward plan. (No, I don't appear to have learned much since declining medical attention after what was probably a concussion, in favor of proceeding to the Lunacon meeting I was heading to when I fell. Maybe the idea will sink in this time; a tired Redbird is still thinking better than one with a bump on the head, and may remember better.)

So, a bit more slogging through the snow, a can of maple syrup, some chocolate (other people bought more than I did, because I'd gotten quite a bit earlier in the weekend, from Papersky and in other shops), a longer-than-expected wait while Papersky and Jon Singer took a bus to drop off some useful supplies for a sick Alex (WINOLJ) and had a cup of tea with her and zorinth, and eventually dinner at Shambala, the Tibetan place on Rue St.-Denis.

I am glad I went out on Sunday, but I wish I'd either stayed in Friday, or stopped after the spices: the chocolate shop wasn't particularly special; I can get perfectly good maple syrup here in New York; the tea in the place Rysmiel, Nancy, and I waited wasn't very good; and Shambala, again, is perfectly nice but I've been there before and find it pleasant rather than exciting (and no capsicum rules out a bunch of the menu, though the dumplings were fine).

I think the shop does mail/Web order. http://epicesdecru.com.

* I was reminded that I wanted to post this by a conversation with adrian_turtle in which we were discussing smell, and sensitivity, and I mentioned running out of olfactory something shortly before we got to the vanilla.

It would be nice to be in Montreal for Worldcon. But: I get 2.5 weeks' vacation a year, and I have other things I need to do with it. I also have finite energy, and Wiscon feels large these days. If I had lots and lots of time, yes, Worldcon and some days to recover afterwards. It wouldn't have been the "take commuter rail to Worldcon" thing I pulled for Millennium Philcon (my last worldcon), but there was a certain appeal to a Worldcon in a conference center right above the metro station I use semi-regularly when going for dim sum or to Maple Delight for ice cream.

Energy being finite, I will visit Montreal and the people I care about there later in the year, when everyone is less overwhelmed. The disadvantage is I don't get the cool energy of lots of people bouncing off each other, but I also don't have to put as much energy into the socializing when I'm seeing three or four people, or even a dozen for an evening when that isn't part of an n,000-person event. I live in a city of more than 8 million, but I don't interact with them socially in groups that size very often: the thousand people near me at a Worldcon are part of a different kind of thing than the hundreds near me on the rush hour subway, or even the crowd at a concert that I'm attending alone or with one or two friends.

One of these years, I will get to Worldcon again. In the meantime, I hope those of you who are there have a wonderful time. (I have enjoyed Worldcons; at this point, I doubt that I can do so if I have to go right back to work afterwards. Not if I think of the whole experience: because a month or year later, I'd remember the crash as well as the good stuff, and in the moment I'd have to deal with the tiredness and with working while that tired.

[Does anyone know if bittercon exists on Dreamwidth as well as LJ?]

Another set of saved comments from my journal, for later reference and, if you want, discussion here: ( defining people, avoiding overcommitment, what understanding people might mean, friendship and romantic relationships, being angry at lots of people, testing )

I thought about going to the Gay Pride March today, either as a participant or to stand on Fifth Avenue and watch. I concluded that I don't really have that much energy right now, and that I don't need to do this anymore. It needs doing, but I don't need to be doing it.

I don't need it for myself: I know I'm not alone, I know this is my city, and I don't feel the need to remind myself that yes, I'm queer that was one of my motivations for marching when I was involved only with cattitude. And the march doesn't need me: it's a big thing now, lots of people, lots of groups and floats, pretty rainbow-colored subway posters telling us what trains to take to get there. We're here, we're queer, and this city is definitely used to it. The State Assembly passed same-sex marriage earlier this month--and my being there, or not, isn't going to convince the Republican boss of the State Senate to let the bill get to the floor for a vote.

I was grumpy about this earlier--more about feeling I had to stay home than about missing the parade, really--and I talked to Cattitude and adrian_turtle and felt much better. But I am visible as bi, in a lot of contexts, and I was there marching in the early 1980s when it wasn't as easy for a lot of people, and when I needed to be there, and when it probably meant more not only to me, but to the people watching us march. And maybe next year I'll have the energy, and go.

And I should think about why I'm not out at work--though I think that's more about being nervous about being out as poly, and having already mentioned cattitude (he's the partner I live with, and spend the most time with), than about passing as straight.

[This post was prompted in part by one from athenais about similar topics.]

I thought it would make sense to go to Sahadi (downtown Brooklyn) first and then stop off in midtown Manhattan for copper wire (suited for jewelry) on the way home.

I didn't take into account that I can't get out of Sahadi without a heavy bag, though this time it was only about half full and I spent less than $20. Nor did I take into account general tiredness from schlepping, nor the nuisance of carrying said heavy bag up stairs to Metalliferous and having it in my way.

I thought of this before I got back on the subway. Thus, I have no copper wire. Lemon curd is some consolation, however.

In the course of one of our morning conversations, papersky pointed out to me that all of my partners tend to work too hard. She suggested that two might be coincidence, but three suggests that there's something I'm looking for, or that this correlates with something I'm looking for. Alternatively, there may be something in me that attracts people who also tend to work too hard.

Just now, on the phone with cattitude, I said "I don't mind having three partners who overwork yourselves, as long as you're overworking yourselves with the right things." He agreed, saying that if you're going to do that, you should like the work.

Fortunately, none of the three seem to think that I need to work harder--if anything, they're better at reminding me not to overexert myself than I am at reminding myself.

Sometimes cutting myself slack and doing the sensible thing means skipping something I would enjoy. In this case, a party. I was looking forward to seeing people, but it would have been an hour and a half each way; I've done two social things in the last few days, and am going to Boston next weekend, and it seemed imprudent. I hit the point of realizing that I'd regret staying home, but I'd probably regret going, for different reasons, and that the sensible thing was to turn around, come back here, and drink tea with cattitude.

elisem posted, quite well, on related matters a couple of days ago, under a heading like "The Intermittent Elusiveness of Desire." Sometimes the things I want are elusive; sometimes, odder and in some ways more distressing, desire itself is elusive.

I saw my doctor recently (for a routine checkup, which found nothing problematic or surprising). He asked how I was doing, and I mentioned my current commute. He sympathized, and said he'd moved back into the city because the commute from Plandome [the stop before Port Washington] was too much for him. And then he said that it sounded like I didn't have time for exercise, so I told him about my gym's Xpressline program.

But I rather think he was right: not just that I've stripped away a lot else to keep exercise in there with this job/commute, but that this is at least part of why I (again) didn't get to the gym this weekend. Another part, of course, is that it's a lot less trouble to stop off on the way home than to make a special trip downtown: there is no gym handy to my home, the nearest branch of my gym is in Harlem, and the one I usually use is in Midtown. (Geographically, Harlem is closer. In travel time, ditto. Psychologically, once I'm on the A train, it's only one stop further, albeit a very long one.)

Tomorrow, I'll do my freelance proofreading on my way to work; go in, do such work as they offer me, and find out whether I still have a job; and almost certainly go to the gym afterwards. My figuring is that if I am still employed, there's no reason not to, and if I'm not, I'll want the comfort of shoving heavy pieces of metal around.