from evy's notebook

I love packages. They don't even need to be my packages - every time I see a box in my apartment lobby I get excited for whoever gets to unwrap something new. Though of course it's even better if the package is for me. I'm not a fan of consumerism, and I don't even really enjoy shopping most of the time, but seeing my name on a package can be the highlight of my day. Today I received not just one, but two packages, both eagerly anticipated. This is my unboxing post.

Click the envelopes to see inside!

Two and a half months ago I was reading the list of finalists for the Broken Pencil Zine Awards and a zine called "Walks That Make You Feel Something" caught my eye. Many of the other artists were listed by names that linked to their art, but Zoë Finkelstein's name had no such link. Luckily, a quick internet search found me Zoë's portfolio site, a full pdf of a zine about lists that I fell in love with, and her Instagram account. After months of messages, printing delays, and cat illness, I got this package in the mail this morning as I walked out the door for a morning walk with a friend. What a treat to show off some zines to a friend, as well as original collage Zoë made for me: "songs that make you feel something (part ii)".

When I packed up some old music of mine in my dad's house in Ottawa, I wasn't expecting to need any of my piano music, but I've found myself in the lucky position of having a piano in my studio right now. I've been daydreaming about the days I played in high school, the bus rides to my piano teacher's house, and the hours I spent on the piano bench practicing for my exam. I mentioned this to my dad, who kindly dug up my grade 8 RCM piano books from a corner of his basement.

Playing this music again is like walking onto a campus I haven't been to in years, like seeing an old friend whose name I can't quite remember. The notes are almost forgotten but still familiar to my ears and fingers. It's satisfying to relearn old music faster than I could if I was starting from scratch. I flip through the books searching for pieces I've played before - I distinguish those pages apart by their scribbles of wisdom from my teachers and notes to self from hours of practice and iteration. These books hold so many memories, and it's such a treat to play from them again.