Category Archives: enjoying life

The good, the bad and the nails on the chalkboard

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As my friend The Hook can attest to, working in the hospitality industry produces great blog fodder.  That, and it provides limitless material for a comprehensive sociological study into human behavior.  My mother used to tell me it takes all kinds to make the world go ’round but I don’t think she knew the extent of all of the “kinds” when she issued that seemingly harmless statement in my teenage years.

When you work in the hotel and resort business, you become accustomed to adjusting to many sorts of personalities.  Some are completely harmonious with your current state of being and some are like the ‘Lee Press-On Nails’ to the serene chalkboard of your life – although they may look beautiful on the outside, there is a spine-chilling quality that is undetectable upon first impression but makes its presence known very quickly.

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After only a brief glimpse of elapsed time following the summer solstice, I have already had the pleasure of experiencing the opposite sides of that personality spectrum.  My heart has been warmed by familiar faces and genuinely caring hugs.  My face has been creased with new wrinkles from so many smiles and so much laughter and the pool of new connections has become much deeper.

But the harsher side of reality has also made its presence known to our unpretentious sanctuary .  It has hidden in a well-packed suitcase and freed itself to roam our pathways.  It has infected the minds of children and made them question things that should not concern a child.  It lurks in the corners and it has the potential to become those aggravating fake nails careening down a piece of porcelain enamel.

Regardless of which side of the spectrum I find myself, I continue to love my job because I love being around people.  It’s in my blood…it’s in my heart….and I can only go into work each day hoping that the good will always outweigh the bad.

 

 

Stop talking in circles, I’m getting dizzy

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There are some very talented communicators in this world and I’ve met my fair share of them.  While attempting to respond to a question they never really give you an answer. They put on a fantastic ‘dog and pony show’ and all the while they are completely skirting the issue.  They will punctuate their long-winded response with many impressive adjectives but at the end of their verbal rant they have said absolutely nothing that remotely resembles an answer.   I call it ‘circling the drain’.   These people can go round and round, talk until they are blue in the face, but you still are left waiting for an indication that they have a truly analytical response for your original question.

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It’s an art form, really.  Inherently, every politician or shrewd business magnate possesses this quality.  If they are extremely gifted in this area you leave bewildered, scratching your head wondering if there was, in fact, a direct reply in that barrage of verbosity.  This rare talent is not just reserved for politicians or business people.  Undeniably, many others that walk this planet have this ability to dance around the issue that was presented and confuse us with an orated version of absolute nonsense. There is  no answer in their answer.

They skillfully weave an intricate web of words that resonate no actual meaning but you are so caught up in trying to chase that proverbial rabbit around in circles that you don’t realize that you are no longer even in the same race.  The original question eventually eludes you and you are so confused and lost in the spiral of the phonetics that nothing seems to make sense.

The Urban Dictionary defines the term ‘circling the drain’ in a medical sense.  It is often related to a person that is imminently awaiting death but still clings whole-heartedly to life.  If you twist this into a metaphor, the person answering your inquiry is similarly hovering on the edge of a chasm (of truth) and the life line to which they cling is being able to create an impressive diversion.

If you can keep your focus and interject as much as possible, you can keep the dialogue on the track.  Their circle of delusion will eventually get sucked down that drain.

Did that answer your question?   Was there a question?

Getting into trouble at school

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Last night was my nephew’s graduation from Grade 8.  Like every other family, we collected en masse in the auditorium and slowly felt the oxygen leaving the room as the number of attendees multiplied exponentially.  The ceremonies were late in getting started and after the first tapping of a finger on the microphone the noise of the audience was dulled and the festivities began.

The first thing that struck me about the celebration was the overwhelming difference from my grade 8 graduation to last night.  The girls looked like they were dressed for the red carpet and the boys were dressed to the nines.  Back in 19(illegible numbers) at my grade 8 grad, I recall wearing something that could have passed as a hand-me-down for Holly Hobby, minus the apron, and the boys wore jeans, running shoes, short-sleeved white dress shirts and clip-on ties.

The program for the evening kept to the letter of the printed description, minus the timing.  As speech tumbled into speech, I made the mistake of leaning over to my brother and whispering something about the extended ceremony and the fact that the grad class may miss their boat cruise after the graduation.  It was at that precise moment that my brother chose to whisper a response that not only shocked me, but made me start to giggle.  Now, when you are in the middle of an important rite of passage for a 14-year-old, giggling during the ceremony is frowned upon.

I did my utmost to stifle the laughter but that only made it worse and a small snort escaped.  This sent my brother into fits of silent, but convulsive laughter as well and we slowly lost control.  Tears streamed down our faces as we sought some sort of relief from our fits of hysterics but, every time we looked at each other, the inaudible giggles were compounded by more tears and several sideways glances from those sitting around us, including my sister-in-law.

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My younger nephew, who was sitting beside me, leaned over to quietly ask what was so funny.  I could only respond with a wave of my hand and more fits of silent laughter while trying to catch my breath.  Thankfully a somber moment in the ceremony grabbed our attention the restrained giggling came to an end.  I wiped the moisture from my cheeks and eyes and avoided looking in my brother’s general direction for the duration of the grad ceremony.

My nephew graduated with Honors and his class quickly exited the hallowed halls of their alma mater to board the steamship that was waiting for their arrival.  Like ants leaving a picnic, the cars sequentially left the parking lot and the evening came to an end.  I got in my car, a few chuckles escaping as I recalled the fun I had with my big brother, and heard the distinctly familiar ring of my cell phone.

My first words were, “I’m still laughing”, and I could hear that familiar sound on the other end of the phone.  We laughed again for another five minutes and I had to pull the car over because I couldn’t see well enough to drive!  That is certainly one graduation I will never forget – and when my younger nephew goes through the same ceremony, I’ll make sure my brother and I are not sitting beside each other!

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Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt

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I haven’t been writing much lately.  Whether that is a matter of dried wells of creativity or life getting in the way, I have been denying the reality when it comes to my lack of imagination.

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I wish, with every fiber of my being, that I could plunge back into that benevolent ocean of words and ideas and feel buoyant in those familiar waters.  I wish I could ride on the waves of imagery and fantasy and surf on the crest of that elusive swell of inspiration.  But lately the words evade me.  I am a helpless surfer sitting in the middle of a tranquil body of water with no tides to move my motionless board.

I need a storm in my brain to strike and gain some momentum.  I need the winds to tickle the chimes in my stagnant imagination and create a funnel cloud that gathers stories in its fury-filled path.  I need that still ocean to become animated and my lifeless board to carve its way through a sea of new tales.

Or maybe, I just need to write.

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Beginning a new type of cleanse

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Today is my first day off in twelve days.  I had envisioned being horizontal on my couch for a large portion of the day but an important task that I have continually buried in my brain has burst to the frontal lobe and changed my plans for the day.

Everyone collects things as they go through life.  Eventually you begin to share your life and you welcome another person’s things into your collection.  But sometimes those unions fail, for whatever reason, and after the division of that union some things get left behind.  Today is the day I begin the process of no longer possessing those things.

My entrance way will no longer be a storage locker for junk.  My plastic shed will no longer hide the numerous boxes that have since become apartments for families of rodents.  It’s time to claim my space and make it mine again.

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The bug jacket is ready and the 14 yard waste bin is in my driveway waiting anxiously to be filled and, although the mosquitoes may carry me away before I’m finished, I’m really looking forward to this cleanse!!

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Comfortably caged

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She sits in her cage,

singing because she finds joy,

she finds happiness in her solitude.

There is peace in her time alone.

Alone will never mean lonely,

and song is her companion.

She sings the notes

as they fill her heart.

~~

gargle164

Written for the Gargleblaster Challenge:

And so we turn to this week’s ultimate question. There are a million reasons a caged bird might sing, both literally and figuratively. Maya Angelou gave us one in her beloved poem. That leaves at least 999,999 for everyone else to explore. Tell us:

Why does the caged bird sing?

Give us your answer in 42 words, but be creative. 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.

Smelling the lilacs while my head’s in the clouds

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I have my window wide open today smelling the lovely fragrant scent of the lilac blossoms in my yard combined with the pungent odor of my freshly cut lawn.  For me, those smells are the perfect storm of essences and I could sit peacefully and inhale those fragrances all day.

I poured a glass of wine and sat on my deck with my feet up.  The sky wanted to participate in the sensory overload and this is what I got to see in different parts of the sky today.

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Early morning walk with my puppy dog.

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Interesting patterns during my drive.

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A closer look at the different textures.

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A deeper blue sky in the afternoon.

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A lovely way to end the day.

I hope you enjoyed your Saturday as much as I did.

Making sense of scents

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Growing up, the smell of bacon always made me recall the nights my father insisted we have Liver and Onions for dinner.  My mother would try to mask the smell with bacon to fool us into a false sense of security but we were on to her very early.  It wasn’t until many years later that I learned to associate that smoky smell with far more pleasant and savory tastes.

It made me ponder how a single smell can elicit such powerful memories.  The olfactory bulb switches on at a moment’s notice when a familiar scent touches an odor memory that has been etched into our brain.  Smells are one of the best ways to reconnect with our past.  During the cold January nights when I am forced to stand outside because my dog has yet to learn how to use the toilet, the smell of that bitter, cold winter air takes me back to the ski hills at Alpine in Collingwood.  I’ve lived in Muskoka for most of my life and experienced some extremely biting temperatures but, still, the memory that is brought to life is that of being a kid at a familiar cabin on a busy ski hill.

My mother’s purse, laden with the essence of Spearmint gum, the fragrance of a certain perfume or the whiff of something as simple as a laundry detergent has the power to create such sentimentality.  We are transported back to a glimpse of something from our past that has left such a lasting impression.  It may not even be a conscious memory but something about that lingering scent brings to mind a time that has long since passed.

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I was given a bottle of white wine recently that I haven’t tasted in years.  When I opened the bottle and that first aroma hit my nasal passages I was immediately transported to an apartment that I haven’t seen in decades.  The scent of that Verdicchio took me back and the flood of nostalgia overwhelmed me.

Smells, feelings and memories become so intimately and easily intertwined that a person can be overcome with emotion.  Odoriferous messages flood the senses.  Good or bad, we are ferried to an alternate dimension of our own reality and held as a captive of our experiences. For the past few wedding seasons I was a cake maker.  I loved the artistry that I was able to create but, better than that, I loved the smell of the cake baking.  The aromatic smell of chocolate cake will always be the smell that reminds me of my house.  And though I don’t create those cakes anymore the smell of unscheduled cupcake baking sessions transports me to a happy place.

Of all of the senses that I am blessed with, smell seems to be the front-runner when it comes to reliving a sense of the past.

What smell takes you back in time?

Follow my heartbeat

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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.

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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.