Have my children Kevin.

Another day of calm, another day of sureness.

I worked in the kitchen today and arrived at six in the morning, with the city still sleeping through the bakery windows dripping with tacky Dollarama decorations. Clean shirt, ex boyfriend jeans (the ones with the chartreuse ink stains), stolen hat, last night's makeup.

Oh my Lord. That reminds me: last night. Last night, the Salmon and the Giraffe went for round two. Thankfully there was not an open bar in sight, instead the Salmon's sights were dead set on a garish gymnasium at the University of Manitoba. Let me rephrase that. Last night, I went to a high school provincial volleyball game (two of them actually) in a gymnasium and ate pretzels and made fun of Sven while he perused the room as fast as a fish. In perfect Salmon form. ON A FRIDAY NIGHT, at that. I rarely go out these days, never mind to a flippen' volleyball game (two of them) to teach my spiky haired jock friend to take some photographs for his portfolio. Sven wants to be a sportscaster when he grows up. He will make all the women at the station fall in love with him thanks to his charm and those damn dimples. Gross, a volleyball game. On a Friday. I still can't believe it. BUT, I did learn a great lesson though while sitting on those bleachers in put-on agony.

Don't be critical until you try.

So I went and ended up having more fun than Sven (who burned through five rolls of film at that!). I took three photos throughout the night and I have a feeling that the second one I took will end up being the best portrait of my entire photography career. Three teen boys wearing nothing but black skivvies, black and yellow body paint and a whooooole 'lotta team spirit holding up a "Kevin have my children" sign on one side and "Goooooooooo LANCERS" on the other. I went right up to them, confident that I wouldn't have to ask them to pose or tell them what to do, and asked if I could shoot their photo. Their reaction was seismic. Epic. Worthy of a standing ovation. They posed, screamed into the lens of my camera, grabbed their bulging crotches, shook their waif-thin hips and blew outlandishly long plastic horns an inch from my face. Without a moment's notice, I clicked and didn't even bother to take another. I just knew. If you can operate a manual film camera, then you know the feeling. Same goes for riding fixed; if you do it, then you know. I knew that that single moment was the best thing I have managed to freeze in time in all of 2008. And I took a 'lotta photos this year with all those friends, weddings and babies to blame.

All of this understanding because I swallowed my pride and let myself be taken to a sporting event by the Salmon. It was excellent and I would do it again.

With last night spinning in my head, I worked happily for nine hours, only stopping once to make myself a double espresso very slowly in all of the surrounding madness of Saturdays at the bakery. I enjoyed it and then I got back to work another happy six hours with three amazing women. We each had our own lists to check and tick and our bodies were whirring in constant motion as we helped each other along. We sang too. Sufjan Stevens entire 'Seven Swans' album, we sang along to that and we sang along with every word from the 'Across the Universe' soundtrack. It was lovely. I made fifteen loaves of bread. It was the first time I had ever been allowed to manipulate dough (never mind make it) in that kitchen and I took full control of the moment and enjoyed every minute thoroughly. Kneading, a timid pat on the rising dome, more kneading, up to my elbows in the finest white flour in Manitoba (maybe not), shaping, rounding, more flour, more kneading, hurling those fifteen handcrafted half spheres on the bread table with such a velocity it shook every time. 15 X 8 times. 120 times. It was heavenly. The young people who work the counter up front came in and out of the kitchen periodically and would make fun of my technique. I was in my glory and didn't give it two thoughts.

I also learned how to clean turkeys. I have always wanted to learn that. The opportunity arose today and naturally, I jumped at the chance. Working with meat is therapeutic. It sounds ridiculous, but I love it. It is flesh and savory and we are supposed to eat it. In that obligation, we should also respect meat and prepare it with upmost care. I took it apart with upmost care. Burning hot bones stripped bare by human hands, just like in the Renaissance.

Good Saturday, about to get better.
Hiiiiiiyah.