I held you in a dream.
You became a part of me,
as if my body never ended
and you were merely
an extension of me.
And though I felt like I was floating away,
you were there
to pull me back to you,
to hold me in my slumber,
to keep me in your embrace,
to never let me go.
**I saw a video of these otters slowly drifting apart and coming back together. They inspired this poem.
It happened. Winter finally ended and the deluge of a new reality is seeping in the front door. Today, the lodge officially opens for business and life, as I know it, will drastically change for the next six months.
No longer will I be able to hear my dog snoring from the corner of the office. The dark days of winter, which seemed so cold and lonely, are a thing of the past and our first group arrives today, marking the beginning of a very busy season.
I am always torn this time of year. Being busy is wonderful. I enjoy interacting with a myriad number of personalities and I do enjoy engaging more in the active part of my job. However, the increase in my hours at work means a decrease in my creative hours at home. My reading suffers, my dog sees me far less than I would like and my blog always seems to take a bit of a back seat while I am perched high in that saddle, ready to ride into action.
But I shall carry on, knowing that the sunset of my busy season is a mere six months away and the idle time, which can sometimes seem monotonous, will once again be waiting for me to bask in its splendor.
“Happiness is a warm puppy.” ~ Charles M Schulz
~~
I have had the pleasure of sharing my life with this beautiful creature for the past 8 1/2 years. She has been my companion and my confidant without question. Last night she had her second seizure in exactly six months to the day. I must admit I handled this one much better than the first but it is still a very traumatic event.
It is a horrible sensation to feel helpless, unable to control what is happening to the one living thing that has given me unconditional love since we first laid eyes on each other. The only thing I could offer her in the moment of her worst distress was the return of my unconditional love.
I remembered to remain calm. I kept her out of harms way as her body remained rigid under the gentle touch of my hand. Once the sound of my voice could be heard again, she began to relax.
You don’t have to have a child to feel like a mother. I lay in bed after she finally went to sleep, hyper-vigilant to the point that I remained awake for hours after the event. I listened for any odd sound in her breathing and for any strange noise similar to the commotion that originally alerted me to the seizure at the beginning. Once I did drift into slumber, any unfamiliar discord woke me with a slight panic but the puppy continued to snore softly in her bed.
This morning, she is the same puppy in a dog’s body. She is full of energy, eager for her walk and her treats and acting happily like nothing ever happened.
We see the vet in a few days and fingers crossed we get a relatively clean bill of health. I’m not ready to imagine my life waking up and not seeing that face.
Second hands tick,
the incessant sound of time passing
yet, time seems to stand still.
What feels like a year,
is simply a collection of days,
falling into a pattern of weeks.
The metronome of life
chimes steadily in my head,
gently reminding me
how slowly time can pass.
But time marches on
and, even though it feels like an eternity,
the perpetual movement of time
always pushes forward.
~~
Spelling mistake aside (because it is an inside joke), the subject line of this post refers, in both parts, to a lively conversation I was a part of at the dinner table last night. The age-old debate of whether men and women can really be friends circled around the table and the argument became quite animated. There was a noticeable divide between those who thought men and women could be friends and those who thought the dynamic of sexual, or chemical, energy disrupted any potential of a platonic relationship.
Since I have many cohorts of the male persuasion (sans benefits), I was vehemently arguing the fact that men and women can, indeed, be friends. And now, as I sit in my darkened living room writing this post, it is difficult to have a Star Trek movie in the background talking about “Nebular penetration” as I argue for the chastity of an idealistic friendship. However, it is a fitting continuation of my earlier conversation.
Perhaps I am slightly obtuse when it comes to reading signals, but I am relatively confident that I am able to decipher whether or not a man has intentions beyond a nonphysical affiliation. I have always had male friends and I have never had the slightest doubt that those male friends see me as just that, a friend. But some of my litigious dinner companions made every effort to dissuade me.
Our conversation became heated at times but we continued to volley the notion of platonic friendships back and forth until the strings on our metaphorical racquets unraveled. We eventually had to concede the match and nobody was declared the winner.
I came home with the same point of view I had during our impassioned debate. I truly believe that men and women can be friends – no strings, no ulterior motives, no hidden agendas. Convincing the others involved in that discussion may be a no-win situation but I will continue to maintain my opinion and defend it with all the intensity I can muster.
So now, I have to ask…..where do you stand on this debate? Can men and women just be friends?
Most days our time is spent on routine tasks. We get up, we have coffee, we prepare ourselves (and possibly a family) for the approaching day and we leave the house, or not, with confidence as we anticipate the next eight to twelve hours of our lives. It seems like a standard operating procedure.
But life has a way of throwing a myriad number of curve balls into our otherwise predictable strike zone. It can be exhausting trying to anticipate what is coming next. By 3:00 pm, the wall looms directly ahead and we plow right into it.
There is much to be said for getting to the point in your life that admitting an afternoon nap is acceptable. It doesn’t make us old, it makes us smart. If you can afford yourself a bit of a break, a 2o-minute power snooze has been proven to boost your energy level, your cognitive skills, your creativity and your memory.
So the next time your boss catches you catching some z’s at your desk, you can simply tell that executive figure that you are clearly increasing your productivity in the workplace.
How do you feel about an afternoon siesta?
My dad was a staunch believer in always giving 100 percent effort. His mantra played over and over in my head every time I wrote a test in school and every time I had to put any form of exertion into a task.
Somewhere along my journey through this life, that chant of success began to increase in volume and unwittingly seeped into every other aspect of my life. Sometimes it felt good and other times it felt more like punishment.
I began to take most things to a new level. And going overboard on simple achievements was just the beginning. Realizing I couldn’t attain perfection led me into a pattern of over-eating.
When the over-eating became much more noticeable, I began to over-analyze and over-think everything about the problem instead of just recognizing it for what it was and dealing with it head on.
Of all the things I do with the utmost intensity, over-thinking is the worst of them. I cannot seem to let what will be just be. My brain configures numerous scenarios, all with different outcomes, and will not stop when it should be satisfied. There is always another possibility. This is a fantastic gift to have when I am writing fiction but, when it comes to creating plot lines based on my reality, it is a detriment to normal productivity.
I expend a great effort each day to quell those thoughts. I could take an issue so benign and have it twisted into something so distorted from its original form that it becomes a gnarled version of what it once was and something so far removed from what it ever should be. If I could ever transfer these thoughts to pages of a novel, it would be quite the story.
For now, I will wait out the current situation that has me over-thinking. I will listen to those little voices as they churn out ending after ending but when I reach the point that I eventually find out what will really happen, the wait will be over.
I remember the phone call like it was yesterday. My brother called from Vancouver in the wee hours of the morning to tell me that I was an aunt and my nephew had safely entered the world. I was living in Ontario and felt like I was a world away but somehow felt like I was in the room with him at the same time. That phone call came 16 years ago.
Tonight our family gathered at my nephew’s restaurant of choice to not only celebrate the auspicious occasion of his 16th birthday but also the successful completion of level one of our graduated licensing system for new drivers. Yes, local friends stay off the sidewalks, my nephew is behind the wheel.
It was a numbing experience watching their familiar vehicle turn onto the road that led to the restaurant and not see my sister-in-law behind the wheel. TJ held the very proper pose of hands at 10 and 2 and didn’t even flinch when his dad lobbed a snowball at the car and hit it squarely in the middle of the driver’s door. You could feel the pride, and some relief, radiating from his 16-year-old face as he crossed the parking lot.
As I write this post, their family has returned home and, at his request, TJ is out driving around our small town taking his dog “Zoey Hot Wheels” for a car ride. I’m sure it is the first of many trips they will share with him behind the wheel and I couldn’t feel more proud of his smooth transition into the next phase of his life. Happy birthday Buddy!!
My drive to work each day is relatively stress-free compared to most commuters. I have a 10-minute journey through a small, quaint little town and the traffic in the winter is minimal at best barring any unforeseen wildlife charging through an invisible cross-walk.
This relaxing drive affords me the time to look around and absorb the nuances that make me appreciate the fact that this town is my home. Like all towns, Port Carling is steeped in rich history and tradition and we are proud to boast those memories in our Museum as well as through unique artist renderings. In 2005, “The Wall” was unveiled and, at the time, it was the largest historic photo mosaic mural in the world.
(image credit: muskokalakes.ca)
This tribute to history contains 9,028 individual photos that bring to life the 1922 RMS Sagamo going through the locks in Port Carling. These photos span a century from 1860 to 1960 and yesterday, for some reason, this mosaic really struck a chord deep within me. I have passed it every day on my way to work and never took the time to truly comprehend how snapshots of occurrences in our lives can create such a grand picture of our past.
So many little pieces of our history are used to make up our most significant memories. Stopping to look at this wall made me think of all the snippets that have etched themselves into my brain and have begun to create the mosaic of my life. Some of those fragments in time are dripping with vibrant colors of happiness and others are mottled with the greys of anguish and grief, but all of those hues combine to create the spectral portrait of my life.
If you were to create an emblematic picture of your journey, what would your mosaic look like?
polysyllabic profundities 