Category Archives: holidays

Kissed by the sun and a breath of fresh air

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For those who think we are not connected to the Earth and its many changing seasons, I implore you to look at yesterday as a prime example of the thought behind that notion.  Although Mother Nature has been confused of late and is unsure what type of weather she should be serving at her luncheons, I am glad I was invited to the last two day’s feasts!

Mid to late March is a questionable time, at best.  We have been served snow storms, damaging winds, hail, rain and a myriad of other weather systems.  Yesterday was an almost perfect spring day, although the temperature was only 7 degrees, it was sunny and absolutely remarkable.  I have more of a tan now than I likely will in July or August.

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The mood of human beings is noticeably elevated on days like yesterday, especially at this time of year.  Lawns are raked (not mine, it’s still buried), patio furniture is assembled and set out, and although we know there is a chance of another random snow fall….we don’t seem to care.

I feel energized in a way I have not felt since the warmth of the sun left us last fall.  There is a vast difference between seeing the sun in winter and feeling its warm kiss on your cheek after the spring solstice has arrived.  The last two days were radiant and my mood could be described the same way.  I have color in my cheeks, a tan line on my shoulders and an energized consciousness that I have not felt in months.

Thank you, Mother Nature, for seeing fit to make us feel invigorated and welcoming a new week on such a high note. Hopefully you will remember how blessed we all felt this weekend and alter the forecast of snow and below zero temperatures predicted for later this week.  I don’t want to go from my happy mood to rocking back and forth in the fetal position.

Happy Easter everyone!  I hope you had a great weekend.

Santa’s not real?

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The Daily Prompt today is this - The Tooth Fairy (or Easter Bunny, or Santa Claus . . .) : a fun and harmless fiction, or a pointless justification for lying to children?

Some of my fondest childhood memories involved these mystical creatures.  There was an untainted enjoyment and a childlike sense of wonder that reality had not yet jaded.

I can certainly remember being horrified when my big brother dashed my illusory beliefs in these magical beings, but I didn’t hold any ill-will towards my parents for “lying” to me about their existence.  My childhood was kept childlike because of that continued facade.

I think of how my impressionable years would have been corrupted with reality and my imagination would have been stifled had I known the truth.  Believing in those fictitious characters allowed my creativity to plant a seed that continued to grow.  Even after I was told these creatures did not exist in physical bodies, the spirit they embrace remains the same.

Would I have wanted to grow up knowing the truth?  No way.  Those make-believe characters are still as much a part of my heart today as they were when I was a kid.  See you at Christmas, Santa!

santa

(image courtesy of Google)

This one time, in Texas……

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I have lived in Ontario for most of my life, but in 1998 I moved to Halifax to live with my best friend Sandra.  I got a job at a bakery and, with the low-level of pay that was minimum wage, struggled to make ends meet.  There was nothing left at the end of a pay period to allow for much of a social life so the internet quickly became a great source of amusement.  Back in those days, there was a social site called ICQ and I met a myriad of people from all over the world.  One fellow in particular captured my attention and we developed a friendship that seemed to plant the seed for a greater attraction.

We wrote poetry and song lyrics together and would spend countless hours on the phone talking and singing together while he played guitar.  We knew we had to meet face to face.  My best friend and I decided we would spend our vacation driving through the States and that Austin, TX would become a stop on our whirlwind tour.

The hours we spent in the car, although amusing, were long and arduous and we would find creative ways to keep each other awake.  Sandra knew the steel trap that is my mind stored movie quotes ad nauseam and she would give me a quote and I would quote back from the same movie.  She made the mistake of asking me to do some scenes from Arthur, with Dudley Moore, and I began with the introductory theme song and continued to do the movie almost in its entirety.   The sign for Austin loomed ahead as I came to the end of my monologue and Sandra breathed a sigh of relief.

The meeting with Danny went extremely well and he was excited to take me to his work the next day.  His excitement had a child-like enthusiasm as he toured me around the facility. There are some details that I don’t recall specifically, but he was trying to explain the weight of something and handed me a concrete block so I could comprehend the comparison.  I picked up the block and immediately dropped it at my feet.  Searing pain registered in one of my fingers and as I looked down at the block, a small scorpion scurried along the ground away from the block.  Danny’s shock registered immediately and the color drained from his face.  He knew I had been stung and hurried me inside and grabbed his pack of menthol cigarettes.  He began chewing some of the tobacco and placed a wad of saliva soaked tobacco on my finger to draw out the poison.

scorpion

(Image courtesy of Google, but the resemblance is uncanny)

Hind sight being what it is, I should have gone to the hospital, but I’m here telling the tale so the worst never happened.  I did spend an inordinate amount of time in a great deal of pain.  My lips went numb for a few hours as the diluted poison surfed through my veins and my finger throbbed like a Fred Flintstone toe after being crushed by a boulder.  Danny trapped the little bastard that assaulted my digits and after a few minutes of shaking the glass jar that was his tomb, the scorpion committed his own form of Hari Kari by piercing his own skull with his poisonous barb.  Although I did feel a small amount of satisfaction watching the life ebb from his crunchy little outer shell, it didn’t alleviate any of the pain.

We said goodbye to Danny and to Texas.  Our journey continued and we made more pleasant memories in New Orleans, South Carolina, and enjoyed the pain-free remainder of our vacation as we made our way up the picturesque Eastern Seaboard and crossed the border back into Canada.

Things didn’t work out with Danny.  He couldn’t understand my vehement objection when he asked if I would move to Texas.  I’m sure I stared at the tip of my violated finger as I broke the news to him.  I’ll take mosquitos and black flies any day.  Scorpions?  No thank you.

What is the strangest thing that has happened to you?

Love Actually ~ Valentine edition

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There seems to be a common theme throughout the blogosphere surrounding the celebration of Valentine’s Day.  And until I reread my thoughts and deleted the 500 +  words I had written on the subject of the commercialism of the day I would have written an entire post about the monetary veil that looms over this auspicious holiday.  But something changed.  The words I had composed left a bitter taste in my mouth and what I had written felt inappropriate in relation to the manifestation of my tumultuous emotions.

heart

(image courtesy of Google)

Don’t get me wrong…..I don’t hate Valentine’s Day. I, like so many of you, don’t believe in the hype of all the industry propagation that surrounds it.  Candy manufacturers and card makers jump at the chance to cover their windows with hearts and arrows to remind people to spend, spend, spend for their loved ones and money is discarded on items littered with hearts and oozing with sentiment written by the prolific writing staff at Hallmark.

In a moment of what can only be described as lucidity, I realized that there are many people walking the face of this planet who are unable to show their emotion as easily as I do.  There are many who do not feel as comfortable with the phrase ‘I love you’ and cannot utter it as often as they feel it is deserved and wanted.  In that moment, I understood that Valentine’s Day may be the one day that they can express their love through cards and flowers.  They are able to show the love they feel on a daily basis but are unable to articulate as often as they would like.  After years of being disgusted by the store displays enticing people to spend money, I got it.   Maybe the cards and candy hearts are the only way some can divulge their feelings without suffering the spontaneous embarrassment or discomfort of uttering those three words aloud.  Because I feel so comfortable pronouncing the emotion I have, it never dawned on me that others do not share that luxury and perhaps this day is their moment to shine.

Many people I know are far more fortunate and have displays of love bestowed on them quite frequently.  Ironically, Valentine’s Day is hijacked by those fortunate souls and held hostage with threats if they are not bathed in ornate displays of store-bought compensation.  They reside on a pedestal, but still hold their partner accountable for lavish gifts and dinner, negating the fact that they see more affection in a year than others that are only privy to on a day that comes once a year.

I was watching Anderson Cooper last night and his co-host told a story that brought me to tears.  She read on the internet about a woman from Houston, TX who had been married for 46 years had always received a bouquet of flowers from her husband with a card that simply read “My love for you grows”.  Her husband passed  away and the following Valentine’s Day, the first one she would spend alone, she received a bouquet of flowers.  She was angry at first and called the florist to ask about the delivery and was told her husband had prepaid for that same bouquet to be delivered on Valentine’s Day for several years to come.  When she opened the card it read “My love for you is eternal”.  (yes, I’m crying)

Maybe I’m getting older, maybe I’m getting wiser or perhaps I had that moment where the lightbulb finally shone brighter than it ever has in regards to Valentine’s Day.  Whatever the case may be, these words from Henry David Thoreau ring true today ~ It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of the people in my life.  Whether in person or in words, you all inspire me.

Photo Challenge – Islands

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A Word in Your Ear picks some great words for a weekly photo challenge.  This week the word is “islands”.  Here are some pictures from my first, and probably only, cruise.

Cruise 2010 - after St. Thomas into St. Maarten 049

Cruise 2010 - after St. Thomas into St. Maarten 067

Cruise 2010 - after St. Thomas into St. Maarten 405

Cruise 2010 - after St. Thomas into St. Maarten 011

The cruise left Fort Lauderdale and sailed to Puerto Rico, St. Thomas and St. Maarten.  While the scenery was breathtaking, the three weeks following on land still feeling like I was on the ship was a slight deterrent for cruising again.  Next time, I fly, I land, I enjoy….and I don’t have to take sea sickness pills on dry land.

I spy with my third eye

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Being intuitive is a blessing.  I’m not clairvoyant, nor am I a psychic medium, but I do listen to the little voices in my head.  I trust my gut and if I didn’t do that my beliefs and my vision would be extremely limited.  Those wise, inaudible voices have led me in directions that I would never have seen myself going and they have stopped me from making some egregious errors in judgement.  Sometimes I am deaf to their wise words, but I blame nobody but myself for tuning them out.  I know they were there and could only sit back, shaking their heads in disgust and disbelief when I ignored them.

intuition

That divine breath and those silent whispers also help to feed my creativity.  Their incessant murmurs push open the door to my imagination and their audacity knows no boundaries.  There is no time of day that is sacred, no moments that they do not feel their intrusion is warranted and there is no warning before they emerge.  Once that third eye is open, words seem to fight over themselves to be the first to reach my fingertips and be expelled onto the screen.  I am grateful for their whisperings and will heed their advice for as long as they bless me with their wisdom.

As much as I would like to take full credit for the words I compose, I have to feel that intuition when I’m writing.  That third eye, that sixth sense, allows me to feel how the character would feel.  I have to know their thought process and how they would react to the situation I carelessly cast them into, and those voices help me hear the voice of those characters.

Writing would be a very lonely business were it not for those invisible cries of tiny authors that wait, sometimes not so patiently, on my shoulders.  Do you hear the voices too?

The best of Christmas

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Each year, when my father was still with us, he would phone at 6:00 am to wish me a Merry Christmas and get the day started.  This year, the lines from Heaven must have been pretty open because that phone in my head rang at 5:30 am and I was wide awake (thanks Dad!!).  But this, begrudgingly, is among the favorite of my Christmas memories.

There are many Christmas traditions we still follow, and although they become slightly modified as the years pass, the holidays wouldn’t be the same without them.  After we moved to our tiny little town, Christmas Eve was spent bundled in our warmest winter gear standing at the end of our driveway.  The sirens could be heard before the truck was spotted and the lights would crest the hill by our house.   Santa Claus was atop the biggest fire truck and would pass all of the eager children, bundled tight like we were, waiting for a glimpse of the big guy before we were hurried off to nestle in our beds.  There were no visions of sugar plums, and the wonder of how he fit his every growing frame down our very thin stove-pipe was enough to keep me awake for hours.

Santa on a fire truck

As the years passed we began to give back.  We would faithfully wait at the end of our driveway with a case of beer for the jolly man.  I mean, he had to have been frozen up there and what better way to keep him jolly than some beer?  I’ll never forget the eve of one particular Christmas when Santa told us that he didn’t drink beer, but instead enjoyed a Rye and Coke.  I guess everyone has a Christmas wish and the following year we granted his with a tall glass of whiskey and carbonated syrup.  My gifts were fabulous that year!!

We almost missed him this year, and I raced to the corner of the next street to catch him on his way back.  I stood in anticipation, forever in the shadow of the child I once was and with the smile of the child I hope to always be, and Santa waved and wished me a Merry Christmas.  My night was complete.

Each Christmas morning, we were allowed to open our stockings and then were forced to stare longingly at the big presents under the tree while we choked down some form of breakfast.  Complete and total torture.  That tradition should have been abolished, but still remains intact much to my nephew’s chagrin.  (although my brother’s Eggs Benedict makes the wait worthwhile!)  Paper flew, boxes were cast aside and we became buried in a pile of pure love.  Thanks to my mom, inevitably, one or more of the presents would still have a price tag on them and that became a much-anticipated tradition as well.  My brother followed up spectacularly this year by not only leaving the price tag on a gift for his wife, but the price tag was hanging outside of the gift box and not wrapped up inside.

My mother had become the David Copperfield of making presents disappear.  She mastered her craft so well over the years, that we would receive some of our Christmas presents in March when they magically appeared months after the festivities had ended.  It was always a race between my brother and I to see who would open the last present on Christmas Day.  We would skilfully hide a gift or two and casually pull them out an hour or two after the mayhem had ended.  My mom really upped the ante on that one and it was anyone’s guess as to whose Christmas present was going to appear at Easter!!

As I sit writing this, the dessert is in the fridge waiting to be finished, my brother has put the turkey in the oven and we will meet again in a few hours to enjoy our family dinner.  This is the best of Christmas.  It’s not the presents or the tinsel, it’s time laughing about the price tags and the long-lost gifts that is the most important to me.  It’s Santa Claus on a fire truck and being tricked by my nephew to play a Shepherd in church on Christmas Eve.  It’s a glass of wine with the people closest to me, the people who don’t care that I have to unbutton my pants after eating too much turkey.  These are my precious Christmas gifts and the best of my holiday.

To all of you and all of yours – a very Merry Christmas and happy holidays.

Twas the night before Christmas – the blog edition

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Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the blogs
Edward Hotspur had his bacon, Angie’s Grapevine had her dogs.
The synonyms were used by Honie Briggs with care,
And Homesick and Heartstruck, her feelings she would share.

The Jiggly Bits was nestled all snug amongst her words,
While Sethsnap had artistic visions and took pictures of the birds.
Kevin’s Blog was editing, following the writing tips,
While 40 is the new 13 was creating, snacking on her chips.

Le Clown’s newest blog had created such a clatter,
And 25toFly’s  comments only added to the chatter.
Away to the keyboard The Daily Post flew on its quest,
Tore open the gates of creativity and posted its newest contest.

The reviews from Rick Mallery let us all know,
About the masterful words of Dianne Gray, written from below. (well, Down Under, but it didn’t rhyme)
When, what to Fear No Weebles eyes should appear,
Ned’s Blog, in all its glory, showing no WordPress fear.

With a well-versed writer, so lively and torn,
I knew in a moment it must be Girl of The Corn.
More majestic than eagles the stanzas were put,
And I knew in a heartbeat, Ad-libb3d was afoot.

“Now Prego! now Gibberish! now Notebook and Leash!
On, Toolbox! On, Campari and Sofa! on, Cliche! (not pronounced properly, but go with it)
To the top of the Fresh Press! to the top of the wall!
Now write away! Write away! Write away all!”

As Rarasaur roars before the wild hurricanes fly,
When they meet with a Creative Liar, and mount to the sky.
So up to the Matticus Kingdom they flew,
With Lindau’s Wild Ride and a Writer Fellow too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in my Realm,
The Ambling and Rambling of conTIMplating at the helm.
As I closed my keyboard, and was winding it down,
The Byronic Man was making a sound.

Portrait of Addiction spoke with such fervor,
And words were carefully crafted by bottledworder.
A bundle of phrases Pretty Feet took from her stack,
And Pretty Little Dreamer, the words she attacked.

With their keyboards they created with zest and with zeal,
They wrote just as passionately as brunch for every meal!
It was thursdayagain, the words he did reap,
And in between writing they read shrinksarentcheap.

They wrote from their hearts, like it was their favorite job,
And inside of them all lurked a Geeky Book Snob.
Polysyllabic Profundities wrote to make you think,
Afraid to close her eyes because I miss you when I blink.

On The Homefront took a few precious moments to reflect,
While somewhere in Lost Angeles, his writing he did perfect!
They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work,
Blending a symphony of phrases, responsibilities they would shirk.

The Writer I could be pounded endlessly on the keys,
While The Life and Times of Nathan Badley kept up the pace with ease.
There were 5 things to do today, Impressions of a Princess surely did see,
And we all lost our Large Self to the feeling of writer’s glee.

Inspiration sprang to its feet, to its words gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a high powered missile.
But I heard it exclaim, as our brains turned to fog,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good blog!”

 

Let your heart be light

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If there is one thing the holidays should teach us, it’s to let our worries go.  It may only be for a few precious days while we focus on the things that are truly important, but if we can embrace that serene feeling while it is in our presence, perhaps we can carry that feeling within us for an extended period of time and not have it fizzle out with the digestion of all that turkey!

Every year it seems the stress is increased exponentially around the Christmas holidays.  The days that we get a reprieve from work are meant to be our “down time”, but the pressure and time constraints of creating our own Hallmark  holiday are overwhelming.  The influx of family from all parts of the globe, the search and rescue mission for the perfect Christmas gifts and the attempt at giving Martha Stewart a run for her money at the dinner table all compound to make the stress level reach its maximum capacity.

martha-stewart-christmas

I had the Christmas Carols gently soothing my mood the other day and I took a moment to really listen and absorb the words.  ”Have yourself a Merry little Christmas,  let your heart be light”.   That was an “a-ha” moment as Oprah would say.  That simple string of words had such a profound affect on me and I realized that it doesn’t matter if the presents I wrap look like my dog wrapped them.  Nobody is going to care if I spend Christmas day in my pajamas and my hair looks like I just removed a toque I’d been wearing for days.  The holidays are for just being, not for being perfect.

Take a moment to ask yourself what the holidays really mean to you.  Is your definition of Christmas a perfectly wrapped gift?  Or is it the precious moments when you share a laugh or a hug?  Let your heart be light, and enjoy what the holiday is really meant to represent.  If you worry too much about the perfection of the celebration, you’ll miss the beauty of the holiday.