Category Archives: musings

Ahhh….the profanity comes flooding back….

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I don’t have children but my countdown to the beginning of the school season is just as exciting.  There are no giant red X’s on any calendars but the anticipation for the first week of September is palpable.   While the teachers prepare their rooms with the letters of the alphabet strung across the top of the chalk boards, I am only concerned with three of those letters.  N-F-L

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(one of my favorite pics of my dad)

 

My child-like excitement for the sport is well-known throughout my friends and family and especially by many others who are members of my football pool.  My incessant emails begin during pre-season and escalate substantially as the NFL ramps up to the first kick off of the regular season.

I prepare my dog for the blast of profanities (my sports-related Tourette’s syndrome) that will inevitably be passed from my lips only to fall on the deaf ears of the referees.  This is a beloved family tradition passed down from my grandparents and who am I to argue with tradition?  They were masters of the verbal barrage of expletives and were not selective when it came to yelling at referees  – hockey, football, baseball umpires, nobody was safe.  I reserve my assassination of the English language specifically for the line judges, field judges, side judges and back judges of the NFL.  There are also a few well-placed curse words expelled during fumbles, sacks and interceptions.  (I don’t discriminate.)

I have been busy over the last few days preparing my three pages of football sheets for the over 60 participants in my football pool.   Let the games begin and let my grasp of the English language be slightly marred.  Hell hath no fury like a woman watching football!!

The prodigious exultation of being a word-nerd

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Blogging has allowed me to become a true, and very contented, word snob.  I have always loved words.  As a teenager, I kept a duo-tang (who remembers those?) filled with lined paper and would make note of all the unfamiliar words I came across while devouring all the books I used to read.  Those words that eluded my pubescent mind became a staple of my vocabulary once I had defined them and cemented them into the library of my brain.  They circled my imagination and urged my cerebrum to come out to play.  They tickled my tongue and they began to flow like blood in my veins.

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(look at how lovely my penmanship was in high school)

I assiduously began to incorporate those words into as many scenarios as I could.  My teachers were duly impressed.  My fellow students merely looked at me like I had three heads.  My flamboyant wordiness was an ephemeral fantasy and I had to tone down my elevated rhetoric to become a conventional high-school student filled with angst rather than synonyms.

Today I still continue to incorporate those words into my daily conversations, not to sound more intelligent but, because I enjoy the way those words sound when I say them aloud.  I relish being able to use the phrase ‘alarmingly verbose’ instead of just saying “he talked a lot”.  I enjoy describing winter as arduous and not just “shitty”, although shitty can truly encapsulate the past winter months and potentially the ones to come.  And I will forever want to be mystified by language and not speak simply to communicate.  I want to thrive in my love for words.

My enthusiasm for articulate phrases has never waned.  It has followed me throughout my journey.  It has haunted my sleep and clandestinely pursued me during my conscious hours.  May those words forever churn in the maelstrom of my imagination and may I always be able to maintain my romance with the language of expression.

 

Feeling the burn

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candles

Candles burn, hearts yearn,

Wine fills up the glass.

Eyes glance, loves’ chance,

Time to make the pass.

Hand touches, blood rushes,

Hearts pick up the pace.

Distance lessens, romance beckons,

They linger face to face.

Lips meet, taste is sweet,

Blush is in her cheeks.

Hot breath, sweet caress,

The feeling that she seeks.

Touch sparks, bodies arc,

Passion is in the air.

Energy builds, needs filled,

Souls are laid to bare.

Solved puzzle, bodies nuzzle,

Two seem to become one.

Bodies spent, minds content,

her sky has found its sun.

(image credit)

I don’t have a can of spinach but I yam what I yam

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I am

I loved the book “The Help” and was equally impressed by how its story was portrayed on the big screen.  And through all the ups and downs of the characters and plot lines, there is one moment that is the stand-out scene for me.  After being spanked by her mother for doing something she mistakenly did for the right reason but in the wrong place, a little girl is then comforted by her nanny.  That nanny’s words to a precious young child still ring in my ears and have done so since the first time I saw the film – “Remember, you is kind, you is smart and you is important”.

When I saw the above picture, I immediately thought of that string of words spoken so beautifully to a child in need of a kind word.  I wondered how many of us would be able to say the same sentence to ourselves but replace ‘you is’ by ‘I am’.  And if we did say it out loud, would we really believe what we are saying?

I am kind.  I am smart.  I am important.  Those are powerful words and they should be allowed to shape my reality.  I have always believed I am kind, but the old me would have had a very tough time agreeing that I was smart and that I was important.  The inability for me to be able to put that “I am” before a number of adjectives truly did shape my young reality.

But thankfully the paradigm of my reality shifted and I found a new confidence to believe those words.  I am kind.  I am smart.  I am important.  I am many other things that I have found the freedom to believe about myself without letting outside influences impact the reflection I see in the mirror.

Be a powerful voice for yourself.  Be willing to admit your strengths and embrace them.  Be proud of those things that make you who you are.  I yam.

When a Bubble Guppy goes from a mystery to a memory

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Life is a perplexing thing.   There is no rhyme nor reason to the circumstances of our daily existence.  If there were a giant book of instructions and an elongated list of logic explaining the happenings in our lives it would be in a language nobody could decipher.

We are not meant to know the meaning of things that occur while they are happening.  We are merely challenged to learn from the events we encounter and use that knowledge to enhance our future.  I found myself in the middle of one of those moments last week.

They were a lovely family, originally booked to visit the lodge in July but had to postpone due to a medical diagnosis that required immediate action.  Even after rescheduling their vacation, a last-minute trial became available to help battle her recent diagnosis of Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  Two trips to St. Margaret’s Hospital during their four-day “vacation” were made much more bearable by their one “magical” day at Shamrock Lodge.  I was extremely fortunate to be a part of that magic by being asked to make a “Bubble Guppy” cake for her daughter’s 2nd birthday.

I had no idea what a Bubble Guppy was but my longing to make this vacation memorable was overshadowed by my ignorance and this is the cake that arrived at their table and made three generations of their family smile….especially the two older generations.

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I will forever remember driving home that afternoon to finish the cake for an early celebration because her treatment came first.  I will always cherish the look on her two-year old’s face when she realized this cake was for her and it was a Bubble Guppy cake.  And the moment that I will hold closest to my heart is being a part of a celebration that may not happen again if the medical trial fails.

Life is a perplexing thing.  But watching a family hold each other close and truly celebrate together helped me slightly dispel the mystery.

Life is about commemorating the moments we are able to celebrate.  Life is not about worrying about what comes next or what we may miss.  Life is about making the most of the time we have together and living in the now.  Life is about having a Bubble Guppy cake and being able to share it with the family at your table, not ever considering they may not be there for the next birthday celebration. And life is just about being with those who you hold closest to your heart for as long as you can.

If I have learned anything this past week, I have learned that life is too short to spend on things that are not number one on your list.  If there is something you want, chase it.  If there is something you yearn for, pursue it.  And if there are people in your life that make your days brighter, do everything in your power to make the sun shine on them for as long as you can.

You never know when that Bubble Guppy will revert from a cherished memory to simply a mystery.

 

 

A post about the a-hole at the liquor store

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For those who follow my blog or know me personally, you know I live in a small town.  Our liquor store is an over-sized log cabin that can be accessed by land or by water.  Because we host a large percentage of the city’s population in the summer, our LCBO is a bustling metropolis at the slowest of times.  Cars line the two-lane black top to be able to pull off the road into the parking lot for their chance at a desired parking spot.  For those unlucky enough to be a few minutes too late, we wait in line for the next available spot.

Today I was first in that wait line.  I pulled into the lot, waited patiently on the side of the entrance, and watched a few happy customers as they left the store with their familiar brown bags.  As I was looking at their contented faces heading towards their BMW’s and Lexi (Muskoka plural for Lexus’), a beat up pick up truck, paying no heed to the rule of the line-up, ignored me patiently waiting for a spot as if I were invisible, passed my on my driver’s side and decided to create its own “parking spot”, conveniently blocking a total of four vehicles from exiting their soon-to-be-vacant actual parking spots.

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The driver of the truck got out, acknowledged my car waiting to park, also acknowledged the woman in the Lexus trying to exit her space, shrugged and made his way into the store.  I’ve seen my share of selfish moves since Toronto moved North for the summer but this one truly angered me.  This guy saw me waiting for a spot, saw the Lexus driver (and, potentially, two other cars) waiting to exit and blatantly sauntered across the macadam into the store as if the rest of the world did not even exist.  I was speechless, apart from a few well-placed expletives.

I am a patient person.  If you are in a rush, I am the first to let you go ahead of me to help you in your quest.  But if your quest is to be the most arrogant and uncaring person in town, count me out.   I only wish I had the foresight to take down  your license plate number so I could rat you out in a more personal way.

Thanks WordPress….do you have any tissues?

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My third year anniversary on WordPress is rapidly approaching.  Since my timid foray into blogging, I have truly come into my own and really love this journey I am on.  I have discovered so much about myself and thrown myself into an outlet where I find I can be really honest about my feelings and opinions.

Over the course of my presence here, WordPress has made many changes and upgrades to their program.  The cause for my tears and subsequent request for tissues is the addition of “related posts” at the bottom of our existing posts.  This subtle link at the bottom of my posts has caused me to click on one of my previous posts about my mom and my tears didn’t even have the option of staying or flowing – they started at full force and kept coming.

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(image credit)

Once I cleared the blurry vision and was able to control myself, I realized what a great extension to my blog that this little tear-inducing gem had become.  If readers are interested in the blog post that day, they can click on the links to previous posts they may have missed and be able to follow my earlier thought processes that may have some relevance to the entry I had recently posted.

I appreciate that WordPress is bringing my past into my present.  They are connecting the dots of my artistic as well as my emotional journey and allowing others to participate in the history of my blogging adventure as well as the most recent part of my writing experience.

Tissues are available at the door.

 

 

 

Finding little pieces of myself along the way

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I lose time.  I don’t mean I have dissociative fugues and the inability to recall past events.  Time simply rushes by me at such a fast pace that I seem to lose little pieces of myself along the way, pieces caught in the vortex of the life I am living that is whirling by at a great speed.

Those missing bits seem to fragment during my busy work days and I don’t always recognize their absence until I inch closer to my day off.  I feel like a part of me has been eclipsed, hidden in a shadow, waiting to be rediscovered.

Today I had the benefit of finding some of those remnants of myself and putting them back where they belong.  Today I came home from work, knowing that tomorrow is a day free from structure, and allowed myself that moment to finally relax and let those misplaced segments of my life re-establish themselves.  Today I put my feet into the wading pool, bought for my dog, and let the water wash away the lingering moments of my work day.  Today I put together the puzzle that is me with the pieces I had lost during the week.  Today I made myself feel like the garden AND the rose.

It is important to take that quiet moment to collect all of the pieces of ourselves that are essential to us and recreate the whole picture of ourselves.  Segments of us will get lost along the way but the significant substance of who we are will always find its way back.  And in the moments that I was gathering the scraps of me that I had left behind, I came across this picture and it all made sense.

make a life

(image credit)

I followed the crumbs back home

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“A party without cake is just a meeting.” ~  Julia Child

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 I’m not sure how old I was or what passing birthday had just eclipsed my dream of being a child forever but I remember the birthday cake my mom had made.  It was a chocolate cake with homemade buttercream frosting and a bittersweet chocolate ganache.  It was decadent.  It was made with love.  And to a child still in single digits, it was crack cocaine.

Every special occasion I demanded politely requested that my mother painstakingly recreate that masterpiece.  Throughout my childhood, I never deviated from that cake.  It is one of the favorite memories I have of my mother.  I cannot recall whose smile was more prominent when the cake was delivered to the table, hers or mine, but I do know that cake was our moment to share.

Over the years, I lost track of the myriad number of times that cake graced our dining room table but I never lost my love of that cake.  I saw how much effort my mom put into that special treat and, perhaps through osmosis, I garnered the same conviction that cake made people happy.

After being absent for some time, due to unforeseen construction on the path of my life, I am back on the road that leads straight to my oven and my decorating tools.  I missed cakes.  I missed the escape from reality that decorating affords me and I missed the joy in people’s eyes when they had seen what I created for their special occasion.

The piping bags are ready, the cupboards are stocked and the fondant is ready to roll.   Let them eat cake!

Or sometimes more than a thousand words

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When I first saw it, I was captivated by it.  A simple photo of a friend on Facebook grabbed and held my attention but it was no ordinary photograph.  I had hoped there was more of an explanation to it than mere Photoshop and I was thrilled to hear her tell the story behind the picture.

She had agreed to have her portrait done by her friend who is fascinated by the origin of photography.  He posed her and painstakingly went through the process that photographers went through back in the late 1800’s.  His camera was an antique with the accordion-style lens and the black hood that covered the head of the photographer.

He waited until the precise moment that he thought he had captured her true essence and he let his finger plunge the button that would acquire every detail of her spirit.  The result of his effort was remarkable.  He printed her face on tin to truly encapsulate the original process of printing a photograph.

I stared at her photo for a long time.  There was so much more to it than just a picture of her face.  There was a story in her eyes.  His diligent process captured much more than just who she is now.  This snapshot seemed to hold the story of generations, perhaps lifetimes of moments that led up to her being in his studio and posing for this shot.

It wasn’t a selfie or a picture as a second thought.  There weren’t 100 takes in a minute because that is all we have time for nowadays.  He paused, he let the camera do what it was meant to do and he took a thousand stories, captured them in one single photo and printed them on a piece of tin.

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Look at the artwork in this photo and hopefully you can now understand why I was so drawn to my friend’s picture.  Without the use of any computer tricks, this photograph projects so much more than just a face on a piece of paper or a computer screen.  This picture has depth, emotion and a lifetime of moments that led to her presence in our present reality.

If I ever have the chance to do this, I will jump at it.  I would love to see what kind of story my face has to tell and what ghosts from my past linger in the background, searching for recognition.