In youth we learn, with age we comprehend

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I did a lot of things as a child – some are noteworthy and deserve mention and some I’m not so proud of, so I won’t expound on those moments.  I did make amends for those things that were not becoming of a young lady and I’m sure I learned from my mistakes because they were never repeated.

As much as I think I learned from those errs in judgement, I did not truly understand the consequences of those fateful actions until I was much older and reflecting on my youthful days.  The mirror has become a time portal and, as I gaze at my reflection, I see a much younger version of myself.   The translation was naive, a girl who thought she got it, but she was so far from “it” that she could never comprehend that distance.  It’s like the old adage “if I knew then what I know now”.  But if that were the case I probably never would have made the mistakes in the first place to teach me the lessons that I would come to comprehend so much later in my older and much wiser years.

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Time is a fickle mistress.  She has a way of seeping into our conscious realm when we least expect her.  She inadvertently brings up memories from our long-buried past to insinuate a lesson that we may have overlooked.  I can say from personal experience that there are many things I may have “learned” as a child, even as a young adult, but the learning portion was a mere drop in the bucket compared to what I truly gained from the comprehension of the true meaning of that lesson as I got older.

There certainly are things I would tell the younger version of myself if I could go back in time but, for the most part, I would live my life again because it shaped the person I am today, flaws and all.  Those misgivings I had as a child, the uncertainty of who I was, led me to make mistakes.  There was a fine line between being good and being bad and for a while I hung on the precipice, unsure of which force was stronger and which power would pull me in.

Looking back at those moments, now that I am beyond that cataclysmic time in my pubescent life, I can truly understand how those stages of life burrowed their way into my brain.  They were stored until the moment I could truly appreciate the lesson that was entrusted to the vault in my memory and now I really do get it.  What I may have learned in those formidable years I can truly understand now and appreciate the message.

What lesson do you appreciate most, now that you are old enough to understand its true message?

 

Peeling back the layers of the onion

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It is rare to find people who you can talk to about anything.  Words seem to just flow and nothing you say is awkward or judged.  There is no pause in the natural ebb of the conversation and there is no deflection to inane topics like the weather.   The connection exists on so many levels that no topic is off-limits.

Those people are hard to come by and each time you find yourself encapsulated in their presence, the synergy grows.  The things you anticipated would generate a look of surprise become predicted and that person peels back the skin of your onion, exposing another layer and getting closer to the core of your existence.  Sometimes that onion will cause some tears along the way but the true essence of its flavor will far outweigh the arbitrary drops of saline along the way.

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(image credit: flickr.com)

Words can be weapons but words can also be gateways into a meaningful relationship that is based on a true appreciation of what the other person represents in our lives.  Whether it is pre-destined chemistry or the slow development a true affection, the words uttered truly matter.  They are not said to fill a block of time.  They are communicated because of a shared interest in what is being said.  They are expressed in moments of affinity.

When conversation flows, it flows because of an unspoken bond.  It flows because two people feel a level of comfort that is achieved by honesty and a genuine interest in what the other person has to say.  It flows because they care about the words being said.  Minutes turn into moments and those moments linger through time.  Those moments repeat themselves and the conversation flows so freely that becomes etched in our memory and our lives are changed forever.

The truest definition of me

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The Earth enveloped the roots,

held them close in its embrace,

and nourished the growth of new life.

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 We placed our memories,

written in black ink,

and surrounded those roots with our love,

our cherished memories

and our hope for, one day, reuniting with those we have lost.

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 Each new leaf,

green with the promise of perpetuation,

reminds us that life goes on

and that we must find the joy and not the sadness

in the days in which we live.

***

We finally had the chance to place the rocks around my mom’s memorial tree yesterday.  After a lovely, and filling, brunch my family and I gathered around the tree I planted in my mom’s memory and we placed the river rocks etched with words that represented what friends and family remembered about her.  The best part of this moment is that is was not a somber occasion but a time filled with meaningful memories of a wonderful woman.  It was a brief juncture in our day where we could remember the happy times and not be plagued with the sadness and the sense of loss.

I cannot think of a better tribute for Mother’s Day.  My mom would be happy to know that we are able to embrace the multitude of wonderful moments we had in our lives and not focus on the fact that she was not able to be here to help us celebrate.  The power of what she was in lives is more than enough to compensate for the reality that she not physically here.

Her memory and the many lessons she taught will continue to exist within us.   Her love grows with each hug we give our family and our friends and we do her justice by continuing to live each day as if she were still here and covertly guiding our every move.

She would want us to be happy.  She would urge us to sacrifice ourselves for the things we believe in, the things we truly want, and she would tell us to never give up.  I can hear her voice in my head saying “if it’s worth having, it’s worth fighting for”.

I would move the Earth and the Sun to have her here for one more day but I will live each day contented by the fact that she resides in my heart.  Her voice is strong in my ears and her determination flows in my veins.

I am my mother’s daughter and I celebrate the fact that there is no stronger definition of me.

A wish saved for someone else

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Stars dapple the blackened sky of night.

I sit, chilled, pondering, not the expanse of the universe

but, the magical quality of those stars.

The silence of the night deafens me,

but the light from those stars has a musical quality,

tickling my senses as they twinkle.

Their ethereal incandescence is a gift.

The night is alive.

Constellations form as the night hurries to meet the morning.

Patterns shift as the world rotates on its axis.

I take in the wonder that is above me,

but I look away before it’s too late.

I want to share my sky,

hoping that a shooting star is seen

by someone who needs the wish more than I.

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(image credit: fineartamerica.com)

Shrinking bladder, hidden youth

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Gracefully getting older has its down side.  I used to enjoy interruption-free nights of unadulterated sleep but all of that has changed.  I have tried to reset my internal alarm clock but I still find myself waking, usually around 3:30 each morning, and playing the familiar game of find the bathroom in the dark.  If I have to be awake at that insane hour, I’m not going to assault my senses by turning the lights on.

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And it doesn’t matter if I have made the preemptive strike and visited the loo just before I crawl into bed for the night, the gentle reminder that I am no longer in my 20’s drags me from my slumber.  I generally lie in bed hoping the call of  nature will stop but there is no answering machine and that call just keeps ringing incessantly until I answer it.  When I finally return to bed I become a victim of my brain while my bladder falls back into its own deep sleep.

I have yet to find the switch that activates every functioning neuron in my head as soon as I wake up.  Those neurons jump into hyper-drive and begin to organize my thoughts into categories.  The first is usually work.  I go through what I expect to accomplish the next day at my job.  Those thoughts become more creative and morph into ideas for blog posts.  Thankfully I have a voice recorder on my phone so I can trap those ideas before they dissipate into the still air that I should be inhaling gently as I sleep!

I’m not sure when it happened.  I didn’t get the memo that my body was ready to start playing tricks on me.  I wasn’t prepared and had no way to defend myself from the attack.

I am going to construct a heart-felt letter to my bladder in the hope that it will rethink its nightly call and read it out loud tomorrow morning at 3:30 when I am lying in bed, wide awake, with nothing better to do!

 

 

To bake, or not to bake? That is the question.

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Once upon a time I had a cake decorating business that I ran from my home.  I made wedding cakes and novelty cakes and I really loved the creative escape….not to mention the fantastic smell in my house.

I slowly phased myself out of that cake business because “real life” didn’t want to make room for the enjoyable moments of,  not only creating extra income but, embracing another journey of artistic freedom.  But I’ve missed it.  And I knew I missed it but I didn’t realize how much until I agreed to make a cake for a 50th birthday party this weekend.  The birthday girl loves sailing and this was the cake I made for her surprise party.

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Just spending the last two days in the kitchen reminded me how one avenue of imagination can create a wider road of happiness.  This is one of my true passions and I made the mistake of ignoring it.  I put obligation and responsibility ahead of creativity and contentment.  And if the picture of the cake above wasn’t enough to make me rethink my decision…..

cake after

….the photograph of the rapidly disappearing remains of the cake certainly solidified my decision to put up my sign that I am back in the cake business.

Sometimes having to make a choice is difficult.  Sometimes we think we are doing what is best but maybe the best thing is to hang on to the things we really love and throw the rules out the window.  Life it too short to make decisions based on what we think we should do instead of making decisions based on what we really want.

Screw it, Ray Bradbury….something GOOD this way comes

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For the first time in my life, I feel like I am in the right place at the right time.  Something good is about to happen.  It may not be news-worthy to the world but it will affect me immensely.  I feel it.  I feel it like the Earth feels the tidal pull.  I feel it like the horizon feels the sun rise being birthed from its shores.  I feel it like the night sky feels the first star burning its light into the blackness.  It’s there…..and I can almost reach out and touch it.  I just don’t know what it is.

Many things have happened to me throughout my lifetime.  Some of those things have been wonderful and some have been stored in the vault of memories titled ‘lessons’.  The culmination of all of those events has brought me to where I am now.  Because of those situations, I have gained confidence where I used to wallow in self-doubt.  I have achieved a level of comfort in who I am as a person.  And I have grasped the definition of what I want in my life.  It took me 46 years to get here but the journey was worth it.  I have finally allowed myself to be the person who was hiding in my own shadow.

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(image credit)

Sure, there are moments I fall back into the secluded darkness of that shadow but those moments are fleeting.  Those junctures of time only serve to remind me of who I once was and who I have since become.  I feed on the strength I have gained.  I thrive on being the person I was meant to be and I hold fast to the lessons that each of those bumps has etched into the road that is my life.

There will always be moments that I shall forget the tenacity that has brought me to my now.   There will forever be junctures in my life that I may lose sight of the higher roads that I have taken.  But I can only take comfort in the fact that the skin I am cloaked in now fits me as it should.  I can take solace in the conviction that I have learned from each lesson I was taught.  And I can count on the feeling that I am where I need to be and that something good IS going to happen…..and it’s going to happen to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

If I could see the hand gestures, I would know the Italians are angry…..

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I love pizza.  Once upon a time, pizza used to love me as well.  But as the decades have marched on, my relationship with pizza has become a mere shadow of its former self.  There is a feeling more akin to a contractual obligation than the heartfelt love we once used to share.  And as much as I continue to love pizza, its feelings for me still leave my heart (and my abdomen) feeling enlarged, but in a bad way.

In my quest to become healthy, I have been scouring the internet for recipes that omit the culprits responsible for wreaking havoc in my over-forty year old body.  Contrary to my belief twenty years ago, bread is not my friend.  That knowledge, combined with my love for pizza, nearly brought me to my knees.

And then I heard something in the distance.  I put my hand to my ear.  It was quiet at first, almost non-existent, but then it became louder and more distinct.  It was the angels singing….and they were holding pizza!  It was like coming home…only to no home I had ever known.  I was just taking a slice out of my oven and I knew.  I was like….magic.  Okay, so the last couple of lines slightly resemble dialogue from Sleepless in Seattle, but you get the idea…..

This “pizza” recipe is brilliant.  It has no yeast, no flour and no way of making someone avoiding bread be anything less than ecstatic.  And the taste was delicious.  For those who have not experimented with cauliflower in any way, now is your chance.  Had I not made this pizza myself, I would never have guessed it was made with cauliflower.  Here is a photo of the result and below is the recipe I found on Pinterest, with a few modifications.

cauliflower pizza

 1 cup riced cauliflower, 3 cups mozzarella, divided, 1 teaspoon dried oregano, 1/2 teaspoon garlic salt, 1 teaspoon crushed garlic, 1 egg, olive oil, mushrooms, artichokes, sun-dried tomatoes.

Preparation:

Pulse one head of chopped cauliflower into chunks in a food processor until it looks like grain. Microwave the cauliflower for 8 minutes.  (I don’t own a microwave so I heated some olive oil in a pan, heated the cauliflower to medium heat, covered the pan and reduced the heat until cooked.)

In a medium bowl, stir together 1 cup riced cauliflower, 1 1/2 cups mozzarella, oregano, garlic salt, garlic, and egg. Spray a cookie sheet with cooking spray. Pat mixture out into a 9-inch circle. Brush with olive oil. Bake the crust at 450° for 15 minutes.

Top the pizza with 1 1/2 cups mozzarella, mushrooms, artichokes, and sun-dried tomatoes. (I also added parmesan cheese) Broil 3-4 minutes or until cheese melts.  I’m sure there are a multitude of toppings….including bacon….that you can add to this pizza and be completely happy with the result.

Pizza and I have rekindled our romance, on my terms, and love each other once again.  Mangia…. and enjoy.

The wind beneath his wings – fiction

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Da-Vinci-glider

His ambition was unwavering and his dream was simple.  He wanted to fly.  And not by way of a commercial pilot’s license, he wanted to soar like a bird and feel the wind on his face.

He had studied Da Vinci’s sketches and the logic behind his contraption was irrefutably genius.  He set out to recreate Da Vinci’s brilliant apparatus and after a great deal of toiling and more than a few expletives he was able to stand back and appreciate all of his efforts.  It was finished.  It was brilliant.  It was ready for its first test.

After his laborious journey to bring Leonardo’s masterpiece to life, he intuitively knew he must wait until morning.  He wanted to be mentally and physically prepared for what would happen next and he knew a good night’s sleep would help him be at his best.

He looked up to the ceiling and yelled, seemingly to himself, “Get a good rest tonight.  Tomorrow, we fly.”

Morning came and the weather was perfect.  The sky was clear and the breeze guaranteed a splendid baptism into the world of flight.  He climbed the stairs to the attic and the sun beams peeked through the cracks in the roof.  The man in the corner of the room looked terrified.  The stranger was haggard, unkempt and the duct tape over his mouth prevented him from nourishing himself.  But even in the man’s fatigued condition, he was sure this man would still make a great test subject for the inaugural voyage.

He left his captive once again and wheeled his new gadget out onto the crest of the large hill that protected his house from unwanted visitors.  He had already created the launch ramp and after some serious effort on his part the plane was set and ready to be cut loose.

He ran back into the house with the enthusiasm of a child and dragged the man out of the attic.  The man put up a great struggle but he was no match for the willpower of the scientific mind.  Once the man had been strapped in, he viciously tore off the duct tape.  The man’s curses echoed in the valley below.  He methodically explained the steering mechanism to the man and explained what would have to happen during updrafts and downdrafts.  There was a pause in his instructions when he sadly mused that he would not be the first to test his gizmo but he was not stupid and knew there was room for error.

Once the tutorial was finished, he wished the man well and cut the umbilical cord holding the plane to the launch pad.  Gravity took over and the plane began to pick up speed.   The man’s screams could not be heard over the cacophony of the plane hurling down the launch ramp.  The loud noise of the wheels on the track stopped suddenly and the plane was in the air.  As graceful as an Eagle, the plane hovered on a gust of wind and seemed to stand perfectly still for a few seconds.

The breeze changed direction and he thought he was about to witness a magical flight.  But the plane seemed front heavy and could not maintain itself in the air.  He watched in horror as the plane did a nose drive, plummeted and crashed violently in the valley far below his house.

Reluctantly, he climbed into his ATV and drove down the long and winding path to see the carnage and sort through the wreckage.  His pilot did not survive the crash.  There were pieces of the plane he could salvage and he would begin building as soon as the light of the morning allowed him to begin.  Tonight he had another job.  Tonight he had to find himself a new pilot.

~~

Written for the Grammar Ghoul Challenge to use the above photo of Da Vinci’s sketch and the word “dream”.

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You can take the city out of the girl AND you can definitely take this girl out of the city

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As my car edged closer to the core of the city, my pulse quickened and beads of perspiration formed on my forehead.  My hands became clammy and my body began to violently reject the smog it was forced to inhale.  I had entered my nightmare.

Although I had planned well for my entry into the bustling metropolis, I had failed to mentally prepare for the barrage of overwhelming stimuli while simultaneously maneuvering my car through the streets of Toronto.  I had meticulously drawn my route to the convention centre and arrived without incident.  Fleeing the scene of the trade show, however, was an entirely different story.

I should premise this paragraph with the fact that I drive a manual transmission – a gross error in judgement when driving in an urban area. The “quiet” side street that I used to enter the underground parking was a mere memory.  The exit, entering into the maelstrom of the end-of-the-day foot traffic, was a seriously steeply-graded hill and one infused with pedestrians.  Once I had made it successfully to the top and had not made contact with any bumpers or human body parts, I was dumped into the middle of Front Street, not only in rush hour traffic, but in the hour leading up to a major league baseball game.  The pavement was a sea of relatively happy people on their way to a Blue Jays game and I was trying to regain feeling in my leg after trying not to roll back into the car behind me or plow through the pedestrians in front of me.

My calf muscle argued vehemently about the constant clutch action but I continued along the somewhat familiar route searching for the much calmer side street I had used that morning.  I put my signal on, anticipating the upcoming turn and trying to change lanes, and was met with a few honks and dirty looks.  City drivers tend to have no patience for people who have not mastered the art of “offensive driving” and are unsure of where they are going.

After what seemed like a lifetime, I made it through the winding avenues to the much more forgiving expressway.  My heart beat quieted slightly and I no longer felt like I would spontaneously combust.  It was  not until I was comfortably North of the city limits and could see parts of the Precambrian Shield that I felt like I could relax and enjoy the journey home.

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Next time, if there is a next time, I will be smart and reap the benefit of public transit to get to my destination.  My blood pressure and my calf muscles will thank me.