Morning skies full of promise
allow us to enjoy the end of summer,
before autumn reigns.
collecting the memories of summer,
until we can live them again.
My dad was a cunning individual and in the years before he launched his illustrious real estate career he sold insurance. He innocently entered a doctor’s office in Oakville, set his sights on my mother during a routine sales call and he was smitten. She was the secretary in the doctor’s office and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit taken by his boyish charm. He shamelessly flirted with her before he left the office and my mom, engaged to someone else at the time, was nevertheless flattered.
(how could you not be taken by that face?)
His creative approach to making that next contact was brilliant – coy with a hint of brazen boldness. He knew there was an undeniable connection and he did everything in his power to make sure that, even if it was not face to face, they would be in contact again. His devious plot mixed with a relatively innocent phone call asking if he had left his non-existent galoshes in the office began a romance that blossomed and turned into 44 years of marriage. They have both since passed but I’m sure the romance continues in Heaven.
People who know a good thing when they see it will find numerous ways to insinuate themselves into another person’s life. It may be glaringly obvious, or it may be a slow acclimation into their every day routine. Regardless of how it happens that strong connection should be embraced. We are drawn to these people for a reason and our souls were meant to collide with theirs. Call it what you will – serendipity, fate, Kismet – but it’s hard to argue the feeling when you meet a kindred spirit.
Meeting someone who your soul connects with is an experience that can be sadly overlooked. Whether it flourishes into romance or blooms into an exceptional fondness that lays the foundation for a great friendship, we need to heed the signs that lead us into the company of that kindred spirit. It is rare to find someone who you can have a boundless affection for and it deserves to have a chance to grow into a lasting relationship.
Have you ever met someone and just known you had to be a part of their life?
Today is my first day of two days off in a row! Sadly, I think the last time this phenomenon occurred was during the Christmas holidays when I had a horrible case of Pneumonia and couldn’t get off the couch. Not even the sun shining through my bedroom window this morning could pull me from under the cover of my duvet. I did rise at 7:30 to tend to my four-legged roommate but, after returning to bed, the clock read 10:39 a.m. when I finally emerged from my cocoon.
It’s amazing how quickly you can lose your grip on reality. Work happens day in and day out and, if you let it, work can consume your life. I awoke this morning almost struggling to come up with something fun to do since my day off usually consists of laundry, house cleaning and other mundane tasks.
I did mow the lawn and weed around my mom’s tree to feel some sense of accomplishment today but the day rapidly evolved into a day of carefree abandon which I have not been able to enjoy in a while. My travelling companion and I hopped in the car and headed out onto the open road. The sun was shining, the sky was a remarkable shade of blue and the roads were all but abandoned.
I finally felt a true escape today that I have not felt in a while. I didn’t think of what would happen at work tomorrow because my tomorrow work-day was extended for another 24 hour period. I didn’t care that I hadn’t vacuumed my house because I still have tomorrow to vacuum. It was a memorable day of reckless abandon and not having to share the open road because all the tourists are happily ensconced in their city homes. It was just me, my dog and an endless stretch of sun-streaked pavement.
It’s amazing what you take for granted. Those seemingly meaningless pleasures suddenly become treasured moments when you realize that you are unable to enjoy them as often as you would like. Driving along winding country roads with not another car to be seen was my perfect moment today. It gave me time to breathe. It gave me time to reflect. And it gave me time to just be myself.
When was the last time you had a perfect moment?
My head is here,
lost in what looks like a painting.
Texture emulates emotion, freedom.
The horizon represents reality,
meeting effortlessly with creative indulgence.
There are no rules in the clouds.
My heart is here,
swelling with emotion,
nurtured by nature and blessed by light,
comforted by the embrace of the essence of life.
free to move in a path that is meant only for me.
In what could have been described as a clandestine meeting, a good friend stopped by tonight to merely exchange a handful of cash for two spots in my football pool. We hadn’t seen each other in a while and we fell easily into a comfortable conversation about our writing. He is currently writing a novel as well and we both have been challenged with individual hurdles and brick walls in the process.
During our conversation he reminded me of a very basic rule that I had long forgotten. Writing is not about grammar. It is not about punctuation, capitalization or italics. Writing is very simply about storytelling.
Deep down, we both know that being able to creatively express our ideas is the basis for the passion we both have for writing. Being able to use words to introduce characters, describe beautiful imagery or construct interesting dialogue deserves more of our focus than moving commas, changing adjectives or repositioning quotation marks.
There are companies specifically formed to pick out those common mistakes that writers make in the moments they become truly lost in the story. That is their gift, their job. A writer needs to remember that his or her gift, his or her job, is creativity – the gift of being able to weave a tale like no other because that story comes from a magical well to which nobody else has access.
The writing is about those ideas that swirl around in our heads at 4:00 am and relentlessly linger until we write them down or record them on the closest available device. The writing is about those characters gnawing at our consciousness until we give them a voice, until we tell their story.
We both need to realize that our gift is that story deep within us. And the sooner we stop spending time worrying about how to properly punctuate a sentence we wrote six months ago, the sooner we can free our brains to let that story loose and see where the journey will take us.
There is something hiding behind his eyes,
waiting to be revealed.
Maybe next time.
His gaze meets mine,
but his real truth hides under those spheres of blue.
Those eyes suspend me in an alternate reality,
never able to see the truth,
or never wanting to.
No promise is ever made,
but the promise of what could have been is uttered.
An opportunity presented too late.
A ship had set sail and lost its way in the sea of realism.
Two souls meant to meet,
were two decades too delayed.
Maybe next time,
a new life, a new circumstance.
Maybe next time
he’ll find me first.
It is a very rare occurrence when my emotions take me by surprise. I am usually fairly in tune with them. But, tonight, driving past my mother’s old house, the same house I drive by every day on my way to work and again on my way home, the emotion stored within those walls hit me like a ton of bricks. Tonight I glanced at the house, as I do every time I follow that familiar road, and I burst into tears.
I don’t know where the tidal pool of emotion came from but suddenly I was flooded with images of moments that became important memories in my life. Christmases, birthdays, family gatherings and quiet nights spent as a family were at the forefront of my brain. Lingering snapshots of magical kisses witnessed by only the walls upstairs slowly transformed themselves into moving pictures to replay the scene. That house, the building others would only see as walls and a roof, was my home. It was the vessel that helped create and store some of the most precious moments of my life.
And although there were many happy times, there were also moments of great sorrow. Those walls echoed as I told my parents, hysterically through sobs, that my best friend had passed away in 2003. That roof sheltered both my parents as they battled their illness and those walls protected them for as long as they could. That structure that is a seemingly unnoticeable building to passers-by will forever have a large part of my history carved into its frame.
That architecture will always be a part of me. Each time I drive by and take the time to trace the outlines of those walls there will always be an affinity to its design and purpose. It is said that we need to let things go to be happier but I feel the need to embrace those things to stay connected.
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