Posts Tagged With: words

small talk

** This was actually yesterday’s post, but the wordpress app and I are not seeing eye to eye (on the iPad) — and apparently now online on the desktop, too!! (just lost 1/2 of this post although I saved the changes) — so it was not able to be published last night. **

You know how a few days ago I said I was going to stop some things? Well, I did and I have. To a degree. It’s hard, man! I check my e-mail today and see that someone I follow on Twitter has been quoted in The Daily Call (?),  and not knowing how big of a pit I would be falling into, I decided to take a quick look. Ha! What a mistake that was. I did manage to pull myself out after 5-10 minutes, though. Tried to scroll through my facebook feed without clicking any links and to be honest, I can’t actually remember how successful I was. But since I did get two loads of laundry done and one bed stripped and re-sheeted/linened before heading out to the city for my hair appointment, I think I did okay.

There’s a lot that goes on in a hair salon — chit-chat, gossip, the radio plays, the television is on the local 24-hour headline news station (sound off), the phone keeps ringing and people come in and go out. So as I’m getting my hair washed I can’t help but see some of the stories that are on the news and it’s all I can do to keep from allowing the water to blind me to save my sanity.

As I sat for my cut, my hairdresser and I spoke of many things, as we do, and once we got the stupidity of the news stories out of the way we moved on to other things: Fashion, the beauty industry, our children, Christmas. We discussed how the beauty business is a billion dollar industry and that even though we both find it ridiculous, it is, after all, her livelihood; how horrible we both find any number of things about the fashion industry, including the fact that women’s sizes now stretch shrink all the way down to 00 and 000, and that certain trends just won’t die the horrible deaths they deserve; my son being in grade 8 and loving his vintage adidas jacket, and me dyeing his hair black for Hallowe’en, while her boys are grown and survived some dubious fashion trends that still refuse to die. We talked about my mother’s aborted postponed/rescheduled hip replacement surgery and her father’s recent cancer diagnosis. We mentioned make-up and eyelash enhancing volumizing serum and then we laughed because we both know that I don’t wear make-up and thus have no wisdom whatsoever to contribute to any such conversation other than, “If I wear mascara, people think I’m dressed fancy!” We discussed how I already knew in grade 9 (almost 40 years ago!!) that I was wholly incapable of conversing with any of the other girls in the washroom at a dance because all they were talking about was shampoo, hairspray, and boys. She complained that it was totally unfair that I had been able to realise that, already, at age 14.

We finished up, we settled up, and we booked my next two appointments.

The realisation that I am actually able to make small talk came as a bit of a surprise to me. And a welcome one at that. Whew!

 

 

 

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Categories: friendship, memories, NaBloPoMo, NaNoPoblano, Uncategorized, words | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

#inktober

So there’s this little thing called inktober and this year I decided to participate, even though I’m not much of a drawer. I mean, honestly, even in school, my doodles usually just consisted of a couple of flowers, some pom-pom looking trees, or 20-30 different sized triangles joined together. Sure, I took art in grades 9 & 10, but my favourite units were lino-cut prints, ceramics, plaster sculptures, and the like. Sketching was really not my thing.

Still, I thought, it’s not about how good or bad I am at it, it’s about doing it. I didn’t keep up with all the prompts (which trust me, I needed since me just sitting down and drawing something will result in the same aforementioned doodles, still, after lo these many years) but I did manage a few. I posted them to instagram, but only to my private account and not to my blog-associated one, since I’m shy that way, but I thought I may as well share them with you here.

sword

          

shy

                                 

crooked

run

shattered

teeming


cloud

 

Categories: art, memories, NaBloPoMo, NaNoPoblano, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments

poetry on a monday

I think I’m calling this one drowning.

windows open,
autumn breeze;
all the air
but i can’t breathe.
something’s wrong,
i feel it here.
for far too long
i’ve been living in fear —
things that happen,
things that don’t.
what if payment’s due
like some bad loan?
stop. take a breath.
need to slow it down.
4 count in and 4 count out;
’cause if i can’t control it
i may just drown.

Categories: NaBloPoMo, NaNoPoblano, poetry, Uncategorized, words | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I’m going to stop

For a long time, I didn’t watch the news.

For a long time before that, I did. It was the 10 or 11 o’clock precursor to bedtime. It meant the end of the day; time to see what had happened in the world, in the country, in the neighbourhood. Then, a few years ago, I had a baby. I think that’s when I first stopped watching the news — new baby, no sleep, oddly timed feedings/pumpings, etc., etc. Then when I tried to go back to it I could no longer stomach it. It was bad news most of the time and it really stressed me out. So I stopped.

I did alright without watching the news. If there was something big happening I was sure to hear about it anyway, whether it was on the radio in the car, in the schoolyard, or on the tv at McDonald’s. HardWorker still watched the all-day headline broadcast channel before she left for work or before bed, ostensibly to check the weather or the traffic. Whatever I did happen to see annoyed me no end and it wasn’t just the content. Not a single commentator seemed able to read the sheets that were in front of them without stumbling over names, dates, locations, or the basic tenets of the english language. They make me crazy. I try to stay away from it if at all possible.

I found I was able to stay fairly stress free (news-wise) and life was good. Facebook was something I had discovered and joined years ago (after abandoning my mySpace page) and I enjoyed keeping up with family and friends from around the globe. New babies, vacation pictures, familial losses, even making new friends; it was all at my fingertips. I even joked with other school parents at SCC meetings that if the news wasn’t accompanied by kitten videos on Huffington Post it meant nothing to me. Then it all changed. People started regarding the Huffington Post as a real “newspaper”. The major networks all have Facebook pages, as do all of their regional stations. All the Posts and Times and Gazettes are there as are numerous weekly or monthly magazines. People quote Twitter on their FB pages and link to just about everything that gets published anywhere. It’s too much. Too much to read. Too much to follow. Too much to click through.

It’s too much. Sensory overload. And let me tell you, I barely link any of my accounts, I don’t check my mail every hour, and I’m only on Twitter about once a week. I HAVE A FLIP-PHONE. That’s right. I HAVE A FLIP-PHONE. I do not receive badges, banners, or updates; do not get pinged every time a new e-mail comes in; no swish or chirp when someone tweets something. It doesn’t seem to matter. When I do check Facebook there is invariably some new horrible thing that is being shared by everyone I know. When Hardworker comes home and asks, “Did you hear about …?” I have to say that I did. Whether I wanted to know about it or not. Apparently we no longer have the option of not watching the news.

Well, folks, I’m taking it back. I’m going to stop watching. Stop reading. Stop scrolling. Stop clicking through links. I’m going to stop. I know that some people will think this is no way to live in this day and age. They will call me names and tell me I’m part of the problem. I’m telling you this is the only way to live in this day and age. If I don’t stop I won’t survive.

So yeah, I’m going to stop.

 

Categories: family, friendship, media, NaBloPoMo, NaNoPoblano, Uncategorized, words | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

poetry on a thursday

Although this wasn’t written today it is fairly new; with the cool air and the autumn breeze it seemed an appropriate day to share it.

My God! Do you really not see what I see when I look at you?
The way you sparkle when you laugh, like the diamonds of early dew;
the light that glows from deep in your soul when you’re telling me something new;
the strength that emanates from your hands when you’re working with a tool;
the depth of wisdom behind your eyes that shouts that you’re no fool;
the flow of your hair, the curve of your hip that your beauty do betray;
the love that breathes and beats in your heart — it all makes me want to stay.
I wish that you could see yourself through my eyes now and then;
you wouldn’t doubt your value or your worth ever again.

This poem percolated for a few days, and I lost some of it while wool-gathering. I think it still turned out okay. 

Categories: friendship, love, poetry, Uncategorized, words | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

musings (on death, in this case)

The first line of this crept into my head as I was peanut-buttering my toast this morning. No idea why, but I thought I had better sit down and find some paper pretty quickly (kind of like that split second when you know you’re about to throw up), so I did just that. And ended up with this:

 

I have held the hand of Death
as it invades and seeks to usurp
the breath of Life in a loved one’s body.
While Death is not pretty and Death is not proud,
wanting and waiting to snuff out the Life within,
it does seem to care for the shell and the skin without.
Rarely have I felt a hand so soft or smooth
as one struggling to hold on to another day or two.
Skin stretched taut over cheekbone and brow
may seem a grotesque mask to some,
but if so then surely one made from the finest silk
with nary a furrow or crease.
It is almost as if Death, knowing its own reputation
doth proceed, has searched for some small way
to repay the great sacrifices made,
and understanding that family and friends may be holding fast,
offers the only softness it knows,
one of gentle touch.

 

As I said, I don’t know where this came from, I only know it had to come out.

Categories: loss, love, words | Tags: , , , , , , | 2 Comments

amy

I went to see AMY yesterday.

I knew I wanted to see this movie from the moment I became aware of its existence. I knew I would love it. I knew I would leave the theatre angry, frustrated, sad, and smiling.

There wasn’t really anything in the movie that I didn’t already know; no secret confessions; no deep, dark revelations; no surprises. And I’m not anywhere near to being what you would call an obsessed, huge, or even big fan of Amy Winehouse.

There it is: I’m just some average music lover who appreciated the genius of a young singer-songwriter — and I knew all about her.

What is it about us, as a people, that makes us think we have any right to know everything there is to know about celebrities? Why do we build people up to impossible heights, making it equally impossible for them to lead any sort of normal life, and then revel in their inevitable downfall? Listen, I know she had problems, I know she was a substance abuser, I know she had an eating disorder. I know that the general public is not directly responsible for her death, but come on! Truly, I think we all need to take a good hard look at the way we treat the artists we love: actors, musicians, writers. We think someone does a great job, is fantastic at what they do; we admire their artistry, their talent, their gift. Then we harangue and harass them, chasing them down, following their every move, feeling like we deserve to be a part of their lives. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy seeing photos of my favourite artists. But I like to see what they choose to share with us. I don’t like, nor do I or anyone else need to see celeb x caught in an illicit lip-lock with celeb y after midnight in some swanky club, or celeb z stumbling to the curb having been tossed out of a neighbourhood burger joint. It’s none of my business. It’s none of your business. It’s certainly not the business of 142 photographers. We have created this mess. Every living soul has a derailment or two or twenty-eight over the course of their lifetime; we don’t need to try and make every single one of them into a massive train wreck.

Look, I know the drill: the person who needs help has to want the help. You can’t make someone go to rehab and expect that it will stick at all if they don’t want to be there in the first place; but you sure as hell aren’t helping them any by telling them they’re fine and don’t need to go. Amy Winehouse was possessed of a tortured soul. Her struggles gave her the foundation for her artistic expression. She wrote what she lived and I don’t doubt that she relived those experiences every time she breathed life into them on the stage. She was a poet. She was brilliant; she was young; she was scared; she was in over her head. She was sweet; she was funny; she was smart. She was like a firework: we hear the sizzle, the whoosh, the lead-up; then there’s this awe inducing flash, an explosion of colour and light interrupted by the bang/pop that we know came first but just couldn’t keep up; then gone — the absence of the light and colour so stark that you can almost feel it; and we’re left with a lingering puff of smoke dissipating into the atmosphere much faster than we would like.

This movie. I grinned. I chuckled. I grooved. I clenched my jaw. I shook my head. I laughed out loud. I smiled a lot. I cried. I sang. I was prepared for all of the feelings. Some of it was hard to watch, even though I knew what was happening. I had seen it on the news, after all. Some of it was fantastic, simply mesmerizing. I was surprised by what triggered my tears: Tony Bennett. Man, I love this movie.

I do miss you, Amy Winehouse. I would have loved to hear (and feel) whatever else you might have had in store for us.

Categories: loss, love, music, poetry | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

springtime

Four little haiku written on a sunny day in the middle of April, on a day trip to the hairdresser’s.

you shine so brightly

like a star that is falling

lighting up the sky

springtime and fresh air

like a cleansing breeze you breathe

new life to my soul

the newness of grass

awakened from winter’s sleep

bright and verdant green

hum of the dryer

soft music and phone ringing

hairdressers’ soundtrack

Categories: poetry, words | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

stream of unconsciousness

well, do they?

well, do they?

Do jellybeans die? I don’t think I mean for real. I don’t know. It was in my dream. And I’m not even sure where it fits in, but I woke up last night at 2:53am wondering “do jellybeans die?”
It went something like this: blah, blah, cruise ship/office tower/mall, serial killer, David Hasselhoff, blah, blah, Mandarin employee (both the restaurant and her ethnicity – but she may have been a secret agent and not just a waitress), giant escalator-type thingy that’s more like a ride/secret passage, blah, blah, giant sushi tray (for landing in), bandage, damaged, rip the bandage off, and that’s where I woke up — wondering “do jellybeans die?”
‪#‎brilliantmind‬ ‪#‎yogadidthis‬ ‪#‎ineedtodrinkmore‬

Categories: words | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

if it’s Tuesday this must be poetry …

you come to me

you come to me from time to time
with neither reason nor with rhyme
you come to me in memories
you come to me in dreams
you come to me and fill me up
until I’m bursting at the seams
you come to me on starry nights
on gloomy days devoid of light
you come to me with sparkling eyes
if I hold my breath I can hear your sighs
you come to me and whisper soft
those words of love keep my soul aloft
you come to me — is it your intent
my sanity to steal?
you’ve already taken all my heart
won’t you come to me for real?

Categories: words | Tags: , , , | 2 Comments

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