There is only one way to go, and that is forward. Everything else in my earthly path of existence seems to disagree, but I forge ahead, ignoring any warning signs.
Life is a contradiction in terms.
I pick and choose my meanings.
~~ Written for the Gargleblaster #162.
Which way to go?
Give us your answer in 42 words. Don’t go where we expect you to. Don’t write down the first thing that comes to mind. Think, craft, edit, and craft some more. Give us your very best.
I am admittedly in a slump. Usually I have to fight off the writing demons in my brain and ask them to speak one at a time. Lately it seems they have staged a coup and the only sound seeping from my cranium is crickets.
Sometimes I see brief snapshots of what those writing demons look like, laid back in the lounge at the back of my brain, crushed velvet smoking jackets on and snifters of Remy XO in their greedy little fists. Those bastards didn’t even invite me to the party!
Little do they know that after my mom’s service on Wednesday, I am cleaning house. Those reclining leather loungers are gone and in their place will be some relatively uncomfortable and completely motionless wooden chairs. The smoking jackets are going to Salvation Army and that Remy XO is mine!
I have the movers ready to help with the refurnishing and a yard-sale is being planned for the ornate wall decorations they seem to have collected over the years. Hopefully the extreme measures will help and the fruits of my labor will be rewarded with words. If not, I know a cheap writing team that may be available next week. They were pretty good for a while but they’re so damned stubborn sometimes!!
There is a slight buzz across the Canadian provinces and it has nothing to do with Black Flies. The Victoria Day Long Weekend is upon us and, for those who are fortunate enough to have Monday off, that means a three-day weekend. The multi-lane highways that allow travelers to reach our vacation destinations in Muskoka are already becoming congested and the stress levels of those trapped in their cars in slow-moving traffic is escalating exponentially.
They’re coming. The locals feel the change in atmosphere like a phantom pain in a missing appendage. We sometimes wake in the early hours of Friday morning in a cold sweat, knowing what is in store but never fully prepared. Although we survive this phenomenon every year we are never able to control the urge to flee and hibernate until November.
When faced with the promise of a three-day weekend, historically, I would be overjoyed. Now the long weekends have the reverse effect on me. I work in hospitality so those three precious days are a thing of the past. What began as joyous memories of lounging in the sun without a care in the world slowly evolved into feeling like I am in a constantly moving rocking chair – it gives me something to do for three days, but it gets me nowhere.
Long weekends, for those of us on the job, become extremely long. We awake on Friday morning to the guarantee that our work day has just been multiplied by 1 1/2 times its normal duration and will continue as such until the small reprieve we get with a regular work day on Tuesday.
Long weekends, for those who have clawed their way through traffic to arrive in the sanctity of Muskoka feel the time slipping away as soon as they step out of their cars. What they had anticipated would be three days of recharging their batteries becomes a blur of time and, before they even realize what happened, they are getting back into that vehicular jungle to fight for their place in the highway hierarchy on the way back to the city.
(image credit: citynews.ca)
Whichever side you are on this weekend – take some time to enjoy it. At least it’s not snowing!!
I have been purposely not posting over the last few days because, as I look back, my last few posts encompass the overwhelming, undulating emotions one goes through after a loss. Although it has been slightly cathartic, it also made me realize I need to snap out of this feeling of wallowing and focus on all of the positive feelings I experience when thinking about my mom.
Last night was a very healing night for me. While working on the scrapbook and decorations for her celebration I began to make a playlist of many of her favorite songs to listen to during the reception after the service. That music took me on a journey I never anticipated and I got to experience my relationship with my mom all over again.
The road trip of memories lay stretched before me and I hit the gas, negotiating the turns and rolling into my early youth. Music was always playing in our house and, as I recalled the many nights of games and puzzles as a family, the sounds of the 70’s classics drifted back into my mind. I could see and smell the old family cottage in my memory as if I had just walked through the door. The strains of music lifted my spirits and helped me float back to a place I hold so dear.
This song is just one of many.
I made a brief stop in my young adult life, remembering how I used to sing the songs from Annie ad nauseam and my mom never tired of listening. I secretly wished I had red, curly hair and freckles and I’m sure my mom knew that about me but the songs, to her, sounded just as sweet coming from a child with brown hair and green eyes.
We grew together through music and, although my mom admittedly had trouble carrying a tune, we shared a love of old musicals. The clock raced forward and those old musicals would come back, time and time again, to play an important part in our relationship. After my dad passed, my Christmas Eve was spent with my mom watching The Sound of Music, every year.
Those songs last night, those happy memories hidden within those soundtrack scores, were all I needed to be lifted above the fog that has been weighing so heavily on my heart. A few well placed notes on a page and suddenly I feel like it’s okay to be happy when I think about her. I don’t have to be sad all the time, nor would she want me to be, and that is the message she sent to me through song.
I’ll never stop being sad, but those precious moments of being able to smile again are worth every tear I’ve shed.
I feel his stare before I am aware of his presence.
If I had to, I could answer my own question.
I know why he suddenly appears.
My dad said he would always be with me.
The owl only proves his promise.
~~
Written for the Gargleblaster #160.
We’re turning to The Carpenters for this week’s ultimate question. This song has been stuck in my head since the gargleblaster started.
Why do birds suddenly appear?
Give us your answer in 42 words. We know you all know the next line in the song. Let’s see if you can make us think of something different. Take it out of context of the original song and help me clear my head!
I grew up in the 70’s. And in that decade color was so prevalent you could almost taste it. From the psychedelic album covers (for those of that actually know what albums are) to the drastic disco outfits and lava lamps – color was everywhere. Wall posters of our favourite bands awash in reds, oranges and purples were plastered on the walls in our teenage bedrooms and things as ordinary as kitchen appliances were bathed in a spectral representation of the full color wheel.
Mood rings were all the rage and my mother’s affliction for that particular piece of jewellery was my first foray into the correlation of color and feeling. Colors are tied to our emotions and even used to describe feelings. People will tell you that they are feeling blue when they are depressed or green with envy and when angered, they see red.
Contrary to some opinions we dream in color. The intensity of the hues in the hours of our sleep are described as representing the emotions we are experiencing in our conscious hours. Dreams of black often epitomize stress and the feeling of being overwhelmed and the presence of color can be translated into the myriad of emotions we face each day.
We all appreciate color in our own unique way – from the clothes we wear to the decoration and palettes we choose in our home. Color can be used to represent who we truly are and the state of mind in which we find ourselves. I love the outdoors so when it came time to choose the items in my home I brought a part of Mother Nature’s landscape indoors by decorating in greens and browns. My home gives me a sense of comfort with those rich colors and relaxes me in a way that a stark monochromatic home never could.
There really is something golden in the absence of sound. I am going to spend an hour after work letting the warmth of that orange sun settle on my creamy flesh. I am going to smile at the red buds on the branches and allow the blues and greens of nature soothe my soul.
What color are you feeling today?
My elders warned me – ‘life moves at a million miles an hour’.
When you are young and full of disdain for authority, you make up your own rules, you choose to believe what you want to believe. So I kept pace, moving along at that million miles an hour.
Who knew I would crash into my future self at such a young age? Who could have predicted my youth would come to such a screeching halt?
All I can do now is sort through the wreckage and try to put the pieces of the carnage of my life back together.
~~
Written for the 100 Word Song Challenge at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. This week’s song is Crash by The Primitives. Go check out the fun challenge and join in!!
![IMG_1227[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/img_12271.jpg)
Mother Nature cleared her throat to get my attention yesterday.
![IMG_1224[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/img_12241.jpg)
The sky whispered that summer is coming.
![IMG_1225[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/img_12251.jpg)
The clouds stretched to reach the sun. I watched as they slowly dissipated and the show was spectacular.
Time slows.
The air is chilled.
My breath lingers as vapor
and I feel you near.
Neither tick nor tock
echo in the hallway.
Hands are frozen and each clock, like you,
is suspended between life and death.
Which light is stronger?
~~
Written for the Gargleblaster at YeahWrite.
This week’s ultimate question was suggested by Erica M, and comes from Alice Munro’s short story A Real Life.
Have all your clocks stopped?
Give us your answer in 42 words. You don’t need to include the question in your response, but make sure your answer stands alone. What do we mean? Write down the question. Write down your response. Now cover the question with your hand and read your answer out loud. Does it still make sense when you don’t know the question? That’s what we’re looking for. Be creative, and remember: no family allowed!
I have been thinking about my mom a lot over the last week. Every time something happens or I hear something I think she would enjoy, I reach for the phone forgetting she won’t be there to answer. She was a big part of my day-to-day life. We were very close and talked on the phone at least once a day. Having that routine so abruptly altered is taking a great deal of adjustment and an overwhelming amount of tears.
During our lifetime, my mother had done many things for my brother and I without ever second guessing her motivation. She was a mother first and everything else came second. She would constantly put our needs ahead of her own. She consoled us, cried for us and cried with us, she gave us every tool possible to become the strong, independent people we are today.
Up to her last breath she followed that mantra. Although my mom had been sick for quite a while, the week leading up to her passing was one of her best in a long time. She was feeling “fine”, physically better than she had in months and her spirit was completely lifted. I have heard from many who have had a similar experience with their loved one – they seemed to rally back before their passing and it gave those around them that comfort of remembering their departed loved ones with more joy than sadness.
Her last selfless act as a mother was to leave us with memories of her being happy and not being sick. The last day I spent with her was just like hanging out with her 20 years ago. Her sense of humor was quick and twisted, and she had that spark in her eye that I remember so well.
I dream of her often and see her in little signs that she leaves in random things. We miss you, mom, and hope you are enjoying those Angel wings. You certainly deserve them. xo
polysyllabic profundities 