Category Archives: honesty

Reworking the image of a mid-life crisis

20 Comments

I have noticed a few things about myself as I gracefully grow older, particularly over the last few years.  Grey hair and wrinkles notwithstanding, my perspective has evolved from the relatively carefree attitude I once enjoyed.   Gone are the days I flippantly put that first toe into the soothing waters of a hot tub and let my body follow.  Public pools are a distant memory and the frequency of my hand washing has increased exponentially.  Hell, these days I even avoid soaking in a bathtub.  I refuse to call myself a germaphobe but, if the label fits, I have three letters for myself – O C D.

I don’t know when this nuance in my psyche first began to form but it has taken root and branched out at an uncomfortable rate.  I haven’t reached the breaking point of color coding my closet or having my remote controls in a line at a 45 degree angle, yet, but I do notice the trending pattern and it has become somewhat disconcerting.

Perhaps this is a natural evolution from childhood to adulthood.  Maybe this is simply my acceptance of dealing with reality from an educated viewpoint.  Or just maybe, this is my mid-life crisis.  Conceivably I am taking things far too seriously but I cannot seem to access the earlier frame of mind that allowed me to live with reckless abandon.  I am stymied by my overwhelming urge to retreat from public spaces and the sharing of any bodily excretions that are emitted into public water.

midlife crisis(image credit:  someecards.com)

I can only hope that the misgivings of my mid-life irrationality will subside.  I hope to be able to, once again, access that childhood abandon that allowed my to enjoy my life without second-guessing it, or at least bring me reasonably close to that feeling again.  If not, I fear I may be sending my future blog posts via Skype from the bubble I have inhabited while banging on the keyboard through my rubber gloves!

Have you noticed any noteworthy changes as you’ve gotten older?

Why? Why did the chicken cross the road?

2 Comments

Lately I have been asking myself that question ad nauseam.  Surely there are a plethora of answers to this age-old question but in my case the punchline is “to take up residence at my neighbor’s house and cover my little slice of heaven with a large grey cloud”.

chicken

(image credit: nbcnews.com)

My house is my oasis.  It shields me from the reality of living in a tourist town by being perfectly located on a road that is five minutes outside of our bustling summer metropolis.   I live on a residential street that has only three houses and during the summer I can see neither of my neighbors through the seasonal foliage.  My home offers seclusion, it embodies peace and it epitomizes tranquility.

Until recently that trifecta of relaxation was a normal daily occurrence – and then things went completely fowl.  The neighbors decided to add six chickens and one rooster to their family.  The rooster, although inept at figuring out that he should only crow in the morning, was not a problem in the beginning.  Until I heard his chatter when I was leaving for work and again when I was coming home, I could not hear his incessant noise when I was safe in the confines of my home.  But the winds of change began blowing.  And by that I mean that the North-West wind pushed the scent of the coop right into my living room.

My dog seems to enjoy the pungent stench of bird but I prefer the oven-roasted-to-perfection variety.  There is a noticeable level of odor when dealing with fecal matter and chicken poop ranks high on the list of loathsome smells.  There have been many occasions when my dear, sweet pooch has come home with the lingering funk of Raccoon poop, or as my dad used to call it “Coon Coloogne”.  But even Raccoon poop can’t hold a candle to chicken shit.  Callaway found the mother load this morning and proceeded to baste herself in what she thought was a wonderful perfume and she was so happy to come home and share it with me.

I bathed her once before I went to work.  I bathed her again when I got home and the scent still permeates my home and my nostrils.  It is the smell that will not die, yet smells like death.  I have sprayed my living room screen with Lysol deodorizer and thankfully the direction of the wind has changed slightly.

If you receive an invitation for a sumptuous roasted chicken dinner, please remember to thank the neighbors on your way home!

 

The nominations are in, and the award goes to…….

7 Comments

I live in a small community.  In the summer months our population expands nearly as much as Violet Beauregarde in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory after she chews the ‘forbidden gum’.   And while there may be moments that the locals become just as blue in the face, we generally keep our heads low and count the days until our town is returned to us in a reasonable facsimile of what it once was before the tourists descended.

violet-beauregarde

 (image credit: thelongthread.com)

In the midst of the chaos, our narrow, two-lane roads become inundated with a wide spectrum of driving abilities.  The creative maneuvers in and out of parking spaces never cease to amaze me and, for me, defensive driving takes on a whole new meaning.  My father knew what he was talking about when he taught me how to drive!

I have blogged in the past about how there is no cure for stupid.  On Monday, after 12 hours of sleep and a relatively restful day, one particular driver not only proved the theory of stupidity but she helped me begin my journey out of my blogging funk.  Her asinine driving antics immediately had me formulating sentences for this blog and, if I could track her down, I would thank her for her reckless abandon behind the wheel of her red BMW because it provided some much-needed blog fodder.

Each of us when learning to navigate the control of a motor vehicle are inevitably told to yield to oncoming traffic when entering a roadway.  Common sense begs us to look both ways and only enter when it is safe to do so.  After realizing she had no access to the side road on which she had found herself, the winner of this week’s bad driver award decided to pull into the lane in which I was driving approximately 85 kilometers per hour.  Thankfully I had seen her easing out of the driveway and slowed my speed accordingly.  Not only did I have to slow my vehicle to avoid hitting hers, I had to come to a complete stop in the middle of a highway while she made sure her door was properly shut and her seat-belt securely fastened.

Had it not been for the fact that I was in utter shock at her complete lack of sense, I would have written her license plate number down and nominated her for the TV reality series – Canada’s Worst Driver.  I can only be glad the cars following me had the sense to slow down behind me and not decide to pass or she may have never had the chance to make it home that day.

Is it Labor Day yet?

 

 

 

 

I’m at a loss for words…no, really…they’re gone.

14 Comments

I was having a relatively simple conversation with my brother at my house when I realized there was a problem.  I was trying to bring a word from my brain to my lips and it just wouldn’t come.  I pondered, I furrowed my brow trying to push the word closer to my tongue but to no avail.  The English language, the language that I love to use so creatively, now evaded me.  I struggled to grasp for the word ‘futon’ but it was nowhere to be found in the cavity in my head.

emptyhead(image credit)

 I’ve been stumped before but usually, with a little persistence, the drum in my head begins to move and the words tumble like clothes in a dryer and eventually settle on my tongue.  But this time there was no drum, nothing tumbled, nothing settled and I stood there, muted by my exhaustion.

I have been lethargic, to say the least, when I get home from work and can’t find the energy to conjure words from my brain to my fingertips or even to transfer words from a page to my brain.  Writing and reading, once two of my favorite pastimes, are evading my realm of consciousness once again.

I am determined to tuck my body into the cocoon of my bed tonight, sleep until mid morning and wake feeling refreshed and ready to absorb words and create once more!

 

 

The good, the bad and the nails on the chalkboard

4 Comments

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.

nails-chalkboard

 

(image credit)

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

4 Comments

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.

circle the drain

 

(image credit)

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?

Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt

23 Comments

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.

calvin n hobbes

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.

(image credit)

Finding the time to make some time

3 Comments

I miss reading blogs.  I miss catching up with the friends I have come to know in this little slice of creative heaven.  And I miss having all of my writing cylinders firing at the same time.  If my life had a movie title it would be “Life Interrupted”.

The summer hospitality chaos begins a week tomorrow but with that chaos comes a reasonably regular schedule and a chance to corral the myriad of thoughts in my head and the opportunity to pin them down (I hope).

May the writing Gods nod in my direction and may my creative world ease back into its natural orbit in the WordPress galaxy!

 

 

Father’s Day so far away

2 Comments

new-36

This picture is my dad and I in 1970.  Seemingly, I was as stubborn then as I am now!  We were very similar creatures, my dad and I.  Although we would have some “heated discussions” during our ever evolving relationship, there was always love at the core of our bond.

My dad passed away in March of 2006 and I miss him every day.  I miss his silly sense of humor, I miss his charisma, his smile, and I miss knowing that he would be right there if I needed him.  This is a poem I wrote a few months after he passed.  He was a Councillor for our township and he was honored with a plaque that was place on a large rock in the local park and the planting of a tree.  Happy Father’s Day, dad.  We miss you.  xoxo    🙂

~~

As Seasons Change

We give these gifts of nature in your name,

To forever keep you near.

To take root in a place you kept close to your heart,

And represent the things you hold dear.

Your rock will remind us to always be strong,

And to remain solid in the lives we love.

And follow in the examples you gave us in life,

As you look on us from above.

Your tree will remind us to accept the changes,

Of seasons that come and go.

As the tree becomes bare at times in our life,

New leaves will blossom in time to show.

That nature is beautiful and life has a season,

but all things do come to an end.

And with each change and leaf that is lost,

Family and friendships help mend.

Branches sway in the winds of time,

And your whispers will be heard in the breeze.

Your memory lives on in the nature around us,

The air, the rocks, the trees.

Beginning a new type of cleanse

5 Comments

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.

bin

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!!

(image credit)