Category Archives: enjoying life

Feng Shui or other motivational tools

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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!

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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!!

Long weekends are only long when you have to work them

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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.

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(image credit: citynews.ca)

Whichever side you are on this weekend – take some time to enjoy it.  At least it’s not snowing!!

 

 

A little music was all it took

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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.

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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.

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Another hurdle, a few more kleenex

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I knew today would be rough, another hurdle to overcome in a long list of firsts since losing my mom.  I spent some fun time with family last night having some good laughs, which was great.  After a fantastic dinner and jokes that only my family would appreciate, I got in the car to head home.  A dear friend had sent me a text message letting me know she was thinking about me and how much of a difficult time I would have today and the first tear came with many to follow.  I’m pretty sure what I experienced Oprah refers to as “the ugly cry”.

I vowed today would be better…and it was.  I made a point of keeping myself occupied by working on the scrapbook and some decorations I am putting together for mom’s upcoming celebration of life.  Sure, there have been a few random tears that have escaped during the afternoon but most of the day has been spent remembering her in a way she would want me to – with a smile and affection that has no boundaries.

These are some of the ways I have honored my mom today in her absence on this first mother’s day without her.  I miss you every day.

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The colors of life

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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?

Waging a war with words

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I charge into battle,

head held high,

armed with neither knives nor guns.

My ammunition carries no physical weight.

The only weapon I use to defend myself will not extinguish a life.

My battles are fought with words.

The only dagger I possess is my sharp tongue.

My army is my vocabulary,

my stealth is the thesaurus in my brain.

My mind is the only weapon that doesn’t need a holster.

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Crash – 100 Word Song

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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.

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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!!

 

 

 

 

 

Night skies and fortunate eyes

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I am spoiled.  I live in the most beautiful part of Ontario that offers an abundance of stunning scenery, unending lakes and breathtaking landscapes.  There are moments that I’m sure I take it for granted but most of the time I remind myself how fortunate I am to be living in such a paradise.

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And with all of the beauty that presents itself during the daylight hours, the sun pulls up the blanket of the horizon and the night-time emerges to share its splendor. The nocturnal winter creatures echo their cries into the vast blackness and the stars tentatively begin to dot the evening sky in their familiar patterns.

The spectral portrait of twinkling lights is awe-inspiring and, if the skies are clear, it is something we are lucky enough to see every night. I forget that city dwellers are not as blessed because their sight lines are lost in a jungle of concrete, street lamps and high rises.

Looking back a few years I was fortunate enough to be in Toronto in August of 2003 when the lights went off across the Eastern Seaboard.  Yes I said fortunate and I was in many ways.  I was staying with friends at Yonge and Sheppard and was to meet more friends for dinner at Yonge and Eglinton.  I was supposed to take the subway but was short on time and took a cab instead.  It escaped my attention through the first few intersections that the street lights were extinguished and, as we sailed through block after block, we began to assimilate to the slowing of traffic and the lack of store lights.  The city was getting dark. Had I been taking the subway I would have been trapped in a blackened metal tomb as opposed to looking in wonder at a bustling city slowing to a crawl in almost complete darkness.

The barbeque dinner was fun and certainly memorable but the most remarkable part of the night was the masses of people on the sidewalks staring up at the night sky after the sun had set.  The stars that I see on a regular basis were seen by so many eyes for what seemed like the first time.  They stood in complete reverence and the sound of silence descended on a city known for its bedlam and pandemonium.  The constellations brought peace to a city of calamity.

Strangers on the street that may have passed each other numerous times without a second glance were now sharing a small piece of the sidewalk, but not only that, they were sharing a small piece of heaven.  Those stars, no matter which province, which country or which hemisphere we are in, connect us.

That Eastern Seaboard blackout was a moment of serendipity – a fortunate accident that allowed many to gaze upon the panorama of stars that would otherwise be oblivious to them. It seemed to bring a sense of peace and fellowship to a city so bent on individuality and alienation.  I didn’t know that in that moment under the same starry sky that I sometimes take for granted that I could appreciate my life that much more. Since that fortuitous experience I make it a point to look at those stars as often as I can.

On the nights that we are fortunate to have a clear sky, I always take a moment to stand in the darkness, regardless of the temperature, and wish with childlike abandon that I will see a shooting star. Carpe noctem – seize the night, seize all of the wonder it has to offer and make sure to wish on that falling star.

What would your wish be?

 

The Miracle of Life

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Winter seemed reluctant to release its hold

as the Earth yearned to welcome Spring.

The sun’s rays massaged the ground and the trees.

A warm breeze whispered,

playfully tickling the branches on its journey.

The smell of wet soil rose to greet the morning

as the familiar songs of new life began to play

their symphony of rebirth.

For just a moment, I was an instrument in that orchestra.

The sun kissed my cheek,

as happy to see me as I was to feel its warm embrace.

I was comforted by its nurturing essence.

But Mother Nature’s heart is frozen,

her resolve, stoic.

Her icy talons hold Spring hostage in their death grip,

encasing it in a cold and lifeless womb.

The new blanket of snow

wrapped so tightly, ceasing the flow of life,

suffocating the season.

But at the core of her being, she is a mother.

Her heart will fill with a need

to birth this new life,

to nurture it and watch it grow.

She will proudly watch Spring take those first steps

and her heart will warm once again.

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Written for the Speakeasy at Yeah Write.  I was more inspired by this prompt this morning after waking up to 8 cm of fresh snow!!  We were SO close to it all being gone.

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  • Your post must be dated April 13, 2013, or later.
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