I had not realized I had ignored it. I could always count on it to lead me through my life so, when I really searched, I found it where it always has been, rendered visible to all, worn proudly on my sleeve.
Yearly Archives: 2015
My heart chose you
9 CommentsIn the endless sea of possibility,
my heart chose you.
Even though so many things didn’t add up,
the circumstance was wrong,
and the timing was so off,
my heart still chose you.
It wasn’t love at first sight.
My heart has hurt before
and had healed.
It is cautious and careful.
I went in with my eyes wide open
and my heart sewn shut.
Soon, the stitches began to fray,
and as much as I tried to turn from the truth,
my heart chose you.
And if it happens anew,
if we live again in a different lifetime,
no matter when or where,
my heart will find you
and choose you all over again.
How will you remember them?
2 CommentsUndoubtedly, you’ve seen them. The men and the women of the Royal Canadian Legion Branches have been doing their duty, standing at local businesses with their trays of poppies, collecting donations. I see them every year. I donate several times every year and I am proud to don my poppy to show my support.
But Friday morning, November 6th, 2015, will stand out in my memory as the day I was truly humbled and I knew precisely what I would be thinking during my moment of silence on Remembrance Day.
My friend Karen was enveloped by her navy blazer, her hair neatly braided, and a bright red poppy radiated from the lapel on her jacket. But that bright poppy was no match for her vibrant smile as she stood in the rain with her tray of poppies strung proudly around her neck. When I asked her why she was standing in the rain as opposed to being under the shelter of the covered entrance to the store, she paused briefly, looking into the sky while summoning her response. When she replied, it stopped me in my tracks and hit me right in the heart. She said, “I don’t know. They stood out there for us so the least I can do is stand out here for them.”.
For a few seconds, I was frozen in my spot. I smiled at her and continued into the store to buy my morning paper. I reflected on what she had said to me and, once out of the store, I stopped and chatted with her in the rain some more while I donated the rest of my change.
The thought of what she said still brings a tear to my eye every time I recall her voice saying that brief but overwhelmingly gracious line. That sentence was profound. One simple line put Remembrance Day back into perspective for me.
So easily at 11:00 am on the 11th day of the 11th month, we all take a moment to share silence to remember the fallen, praise the heroes and thank those still serving to protect our basic rights and our freedom. But how much do we think about what those soldiers really endured to fight for us? How deeply will we let our brain delve into those dark places to be able to scratch the surface of the atrocities the fighters of those World Wars, and the many conflicts since, have been made to bear?
As the previous generations fall into the past and subsequently we skip quickly ahead to the next epoch of humanity, how many stories of our fallen ancestors will continue to be shared? My maternal grandfather died of a heart attack long before I was born. He served and I know so little about his sacrifices for our family and our country. His stories of bravery seem to be tucked away with his photographs and his absence.
Hearing Karen’s thoughtful reasoning behind standing in the rain with her tray of poppies made me want to research the time my grandfather spent serving his country. I want to feel that connection on Remembrance Day and I want to share that legacy with my nephews so their generation will understand what it means to show courage in the face of adversity, so they will appreciate what it means to sacrifice yourself for the greater good and how bravery is defined by doing something you believe in, no matter what the outcome.
To all of the men and women who are currently serving, to all of those who have served in the past and to those who are finally enjoying the peace they fought so diligently to preserve, I salute you and I thank you. And at 11:00 am on the 11th day of the 11th month, I shall bow my head and take a moment to truly appreciate everything I have because all of you made it possible for me to have those things.
Feeling the pangs
8 Comments
This sums me up on so many levels.
The shit really hit the fan
9 CommentsDuring the eight years that I have been in a relationship with my dog, she has been nothing but loving, giving and very intuitive of my desire to not scoop the poop. I have almost three acres of land and she has been courteous enough to befoul the outskirts of my property and not defecate on the portion of greenery that I mow on a relatively frequent basis.
Today, I cleared the lawn of the remnants of chewed branches and fired up the mower for what may be the last mow of the season. We have been enjoying a later-than-usual heat spell so mowing in November is an enjoyable treat. I nonchalantly pushed the machine in the usual fashion, adhering to my own rules of the direction of lines in my lawn maintenance, and it happened. The shit literally hit the fan (or the mower blades, close enough).
I hadn’t thought to look for any brown bombs on the lawn because Callaway is too gracious and too private to leave her feces in plain sight. I silently cursed as the wafting smell of dog crap reached my nostrils and I did everything in my power not to gag. I glanced over at the deck and Callaway was watching with a deep concern for my well-being. There was no sense of embarrassment coming from her, so I knew the poop in question had not been produced by her. We both glanced in the direction of the neighbor’s house and knew that the black lab from next door had left his calling card.
(image credit: quickmeme.com)
Perhaps we should have had a few more scheduled play dates so Callaway could train Casey in the art of excrement. At least I will be more prepared the next time I have to cut the grass and I will scan the lawn with a thermal imaging camera. You can’t be too careful these days and, as we all know, shit happens!
The more things change, the more they are different
8 CommentsBlogging is a fickle mistress. Back when I started this journey I had no followers and no clue what I was doing. I just wanted to write.
With much persistence and an avid desire to keep writing, I did just that. Along the way, people began to read what I had to say and, not only that, took the time to make comments and leave their two cents about the words I had spent so many hours crafting into submission. Those were blissful times in my life and, as the momentum continued, I gained new followers and new friends throughout the process.
But as with all things that change, and contrary to the subjective saying, nothing every really stays the same. Life gets in the way and those little joys that were once so ingrained in our daily lives are shelved to make room for reality. During the last three summers, work has taken a front seat while my creativity has been stored in a tool box in the trunk of my life.
Every autumn, I find the key, open that trunk and hope my creativity has maintained some of its shape during the bumpy rides it has been made to withstand. Although the integrity of my imagination seems somewhat intact, the struggle to achieve the same level of contact with readers and followers seems to wane. It is the fault of no single circumstance and it simply means I have to delve back into the vigor of writing that I had when I began this wonderful pilgrimage through written expression.
I have sworn to be diligent, not only in my writing but, in my covenant to be a good follower of all the blogs I have chosen to support with my likes and comments. I have been inattentive, through no fault of my own, and have made a pact with myself to make up for my negligence and become more of a presence in this world of words, especially with those who have stuck by me on this ride.
Relationships of every kind take effort. I look forward to challenging myself to put forth my best effort to post things of meaning and to post them often. I look forward to mending fences, creating new connections and having my little typewriter appear in many areas of this blogosphere and throughout the other worlds of people who love to read.
Sometimes it feels like only your keyboard will listen to you, but if you keep at it your audience will grow and you will find your true voice. ~ SN
The things we were meant to find beautiful
3 CommentsThey grab my attention
and hold me in their embrace.
Chasing them to catch just the right shot
is like chasing the illusion of perfection.
Their shapes, like our lives, can change in an instant
also changing our perspective.
![IMG_2347[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/img_23471.jpg?w=300&h=224)
Once you adjust your position
the view is never the same.
The closer you get to something,
the more beautiful it becomes.
![IMG_2348[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/img_23481.jpg?w=300&h=224)
Sometimes, if you are lucky,
the view is so much better than you anticipated
and those moments should be savored,
breathed in like a fine wine.
Our destiny is written in the sky,
our hope, painted on the largest canvas possible
but our dreams can change in a whisper.
Although the wind may alter the portrait,
perhaps it was meant to change.
Just maybe, life is as big as the sky
and those clouds should be the cherished blessings
of the things we were meant to find beautiful.
Turns out I’m not the biggest loser
9 CommentsFor the past month I have been diligently somewhat enthusiastically following a strict regimen of caloric intake to participate in a weight loss challenge (#wlc) with my best friend and her husband. I have made many sacrifices and changed my shopping lists multiple times to adhere to the necessary guidelines of not eating food I should not be eating. After thirty days, we have all weighed in and, although I am proud of my accomplishment, Daniel won the battle.
The deal going in was that the “losers” had to eat what the victor had been using as nourishment during the challenge. Daniel decided to change the rules and we had to succumb, I’ll admit enthusiastically, to a double cheeseburger today. Once the arbitrary new guideline had been established, I hungrily began making my shopping list for dinner. I already had frozen burger patties in my freezer but the necessary garnishes were required to complete my meal.
I felt like a thief, looking over my shoulder across the parking lot, as I smuggled my contraband ingredients to my car. The jar of pickles, processed cheese slices and bun lay hidden in my grocery store bag as I tried to conceal my guilt on the way to my car. I have been known to cook several very upscale meals but, when it comes to my burger, my cheese of choice is synthetic Kraft Singles and nothing else will do!
![IMG_2337[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/img_23371.jpg)
The burgers were cooked perfectly. The pickles were just as salty as I remembered and the almost-real cheese dripped from the burger patties just as it should have. My dinner was delicious and the anticipated two extra pounds were worth it.
As I say my “White Rabbit” three times tonight at the stroke of midnight, I can only hope luck will find me once again this month and continue the trend of shedding pounds. I may not be the biggest loser but I’m still a loser, and I’m okay with that.
A little blood on Halloween seems almost redundant
4 CommentsI used to love carving pumpkins. I was one of those weirdos hoping to have the most creative pumpkin on the block, so I bought a carving kit and some patterns and locked myself in a room to avoid distraction.
Walls were spattered with stringy pieces of eviscerated pumpkin. Elongated strings of profuse verbiage slithered under the doorway, assaulting the ears on the other side of the door, and small drops of minor arterial spray infused themselves into the paint on the wall. But at the end of the painstaking process I achieved success! The copious amount of band-aids, blood loss and light-headedness were worth the effort. My pumpkins were the talk of the town. My then-boyfriend’s children (who I still refer to as my step-children) were even proud to acknowledge the creativity on our front doorstep.
After my first attempt, I became a little less guarded when it came to the carving process and the whole family would get involved. Where there were originally only two arms covered in pumpkin guts, eight sticky arms reveled in the joy of dissecting the large gourds and separating the seeds from the gooey mess. Each of us skilfully created our masterpieces and sat back with a smile as the toothy pumpkins returned our stares.
The house would begin to smell of the roasting pumpkin seeds and, after a massive clean up, we would light our pumpkins and snack on the seeds in the darkened living room. The memories of those nights of laughter and camaraderie are the ones I still hold close.
As the eve of Halloween approaches, I am slightly saddened that those years are so far behind me. I live on a street where no children trick-or-treat so there is no need to create any more scary faces. Perhaps this year I should take advantage of the fact that my digits are all still intact and drag out the carving tools once again. I’m sure my dog would like to sit in the dark with me staring at faces like these:
Happy Halloween everyone!
Which side of the road should the chicken be on?
7 CommentsIt is almost November and the weather is going to great lengths to remind us of the impending torture of unpredictable temperatures and precipitation for the next thirty plus days. Today was a glowing example of that. The remnants of Hurricane Patricia swirled hungrily around our little town and brought with them the feeling of doom that always precedes winter. The rain fell sideways and the South West wind systematically unzipped our coats to leave us feeling exposed to the elements.
On my drive home from work, watching the storm-laden sky become even darker, I could think of nothing more than crawling into a cave of blankets in my living room and allowing myself to succumb to the heat that would soon be escaping from my baseboard heaters. The thought of having to cook a full dinner did not impress me at all so I visited the grocery store and purchased a warm, fragrant pre-roasted chicken.
There is nothing better than comfort food on a cold, grey night. The pungent smell of the chicken permeated my kitchen as I boiled some potatoes and made a somewhat deconstructed stuffing. Onions and celery were left to saute with some bacon as the potatoes were mashed into submission. I usually love to add some flare to the presentation of my meals, but comfort food speaks loudly and needs neither pomp nor circumstance to assert its message.
The food was delicious. My heaters obliged by taking the chill out of the air but the meal lacked a certain something. I love my solitude. I enjoy my own company and I have several friends, one close friend in particular, who admire me for being so content on my own. But my “Thrifty Thursday” Chicken (as the store labelled it), my mashed potatoes and bread-less stuffing would have tasted much better had I been able to share it with someone special.
There is much to be said about living on your own. That privilege of freedom defines gratitude better than a thousand dictionaries. But the joy of being in a room with someone who helps accentuate your happiness is immeasurable. Whether those moments are shared in silence or lost in a cacophony of laughter and endless conversation, those are the moments that create memories. And those are the moments that can sometimes make solitude feel a little more like loneliness.
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