Category Archives: musings

Opinions are like belly buttons

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I have never had much faith in my ideas.  I used to think my opinion wouldn’t be worth the air used to expel my thoughts.  But I’ve come to realize through blogging that there will always be at least one person who shares my opinion.  Some of my thoughts may go against the grain and rub people the wrong way, but opinions are like belly buttons, everyone has one.  Inevitably the words I put into cyberspace will resonate with someone and that, alone, makes the time it takes to write a post completely worthwhile.

There are days when I receive comments that completely argue the other side of the coin and that, too, makes the effort worth it because it always gives me another way of looking at a subject that perhaps I was viewing in too linear a way.  Those comments may help me to form an alternate opinion and see a point of view that I may have never considered.

my-opinion

(image courtesy of Google)

Sometimes the opinions I express quickly get the most profound reactions.  I could spend hours trying to piece together a meaningful post, one that comes from the depth of my writing soul, and it inspires nothing.  But a collection of sentences that I didn’t over-analyze and spend hours interrogating spurs discussion and controversy and keeps the comments flowing.

It’s difficult to know what will grab the attention of other people, but I can only write with the hope that my opinion matters.  And the most important person it should matter to is me.  I have to give myself permission to stand behind what I believe, whether the masses agree or they differ in that opinion.  Perhaps what urges me to continue in this quest is the love of a healthy debate – being able to hear arguments from both sides to come to a healthy consensus.

That is the true joy of expressing a thought.  Regardless of what thought it is, an opinion will undoubtedly weigh heavily on at least one person and make them think.  Maybe that one person will be me, and maybe it will be you, but whomever that person is, it was worth putting the words on the page.

What’s your opinion?

This one time, in Texas……

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I have lived in Ontario for most of my life, but in 1998 I moved to Halifax to live with my best friend Sandra. I got a job at a bakery and, with the low-level of pay that was minimum wage, struggled to make ends meet. There was nothing left at the end of a pay period to allow for much of a social life so the internet quickly became a great source of amusement. Back in those days, there was a social site called ICQ and I met a myriad number of people from all over the world. One fellow in particular captured my attention and we developed a friendship that seemed to plant the seed for a greater attraction.

We wrote poetry and song lyrics together and would spend countless hours on the phone talking and singing together while he played guitar. We knew we had to meet face to face. My best friend and I decided we would spend our vacation driving through the States and that Austin, TX would become a stop on our whirlwind tour.

The hours we spent in the car, although amusing, were long and arduous and we would find creative ways to keep each other awake. Sandra knew the steel trap that is my mind stored movie quotes ad nauseam and she would give me a quote and I would quote back from the same movie. She made the mistake of asking me to do some scenes from Arthur, with Dudley Moore, and I began with the introductory theme song and continued to do the movie almost in its entirety. The sign for Austin loomed ahead as I came to the end of my monologue and Sandra breathed a sigh of relief.

The meeting with Danny went extremely well and he was excited to take me to his work the next day. His excitement had a child-like enthusiasm as he toured me around the facility. There are some details that I don’t recall specifically, but he was trying to explain the weight of something and handed me a concrete block so I could comprehend the comparison. I picked up the block and immediately dropped it at my feet. Searing pain registered in one of my fingers and as I looked down at the block, a small scorpion scurried along the ground away from the block. Danny’s shock registered immediately and the color drained from his face. He knew I had been stung and hurried me inside and grabbed his pack of menthol cigarettes. He began chewing some of the tobacco and placed a wad of saliva soaked tobacco on my finger to draw out the poison.

scorpion

(Image courtesy of Google, but the resemblance is uncanny)

Hind sight being what it is, I should have gone to the hospital, but I’m here telling the tale so the worst never happened. I did spend an inordinate amount of time in a great deal of pain. My lips went numb for a few hours as the diluted poison surfed through my veins and my finger throbbed like a Fred Flintstone toe after being crushed by a boulder. Danny trapped the little bastard that assaulted my digits and after a few minutes of shaking the glass jar that was his tomb, the scorpion committed his own form of Hari Kari by piercing his own skull with his poisonous barb. Although I did feel a small amount of satisfaction watching the life ebb from his crunchy little outer shell, it didn’t alleviate any of the pain.

We said goodbye to Danny and to Texas. Our journey continued and we made more pleasant memories in New Orleans, South Carolina, and enjoyed the pain-free remainder of our vacation as we made our way up the picturesque Eastern Seaboard and crossed the border back into Canada.

Things didn’t work out with Danny. He couldn’t understand my vehement objection when he asked if I would move to Texas. I’m sure I stared at the tip of my violated finger as I broke the news to him. I’ll take mosquitos and black flies any day. Scorpions?  No thank you.

What is the strangest thing that has happened to you?

my words

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(image courtesy of Google)

words-1

my words embrace me.

my words do not judge me from the outside.

my words speak volumes about who I am underneath.

my words define me in a way my speech never will.

my words convey an emotion that churns in the pit of my being.

my words will help you see who I truly am without the facade that I present.

my words are me.

my words allow me to speak with no sound.

my words allow me to feel with no pain.

my words are who I am and not who I pretend to be.

my words come from my soul and not from my mind.

my words drip with my emotion.

my words are rich with imagery.

my words are me.

my words bring me to a place of comfort.

my words help me find understanding.

my words draw characters in my imagination.

my words make those characters breathe life.

my words implore me to continue my journey.

my words free my creativity.

my words are me.

What does it taste like?

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The envelope stood alone in her mailbox, her lawyer’s name etched on the top corner.  The papers had come and it was finally over.

She headed to her favorite restaurant and bought a bottle of Cakebread Cabernet Sauvignon and brought the glass to her nose.  She could trace the hints of dark berries, Cassis and mocha.  The aroma penetrated her nose and she savored the scent.  When she finally let the glass brush her lips the wine spilled over her taste buds. It was heaven.

The bartender was curious and asked her, “What does it taste like?”

“It tastes like freedom.”

100 word challenge

This was written for the 100-Word Challenge at Julia’s Place.  I just stumbled on it, and I do love a challenge.

I’m sure the water is fine – Trifecta Challenge

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I’ve never been afraid of the water.  But perhaps after spending five years trying to calm the waves in my marriage I have been left with the slightest hesitation about diving back in.  Divorce can feel like a Tsunami, like the calm before the storm.  There is a sense of peace and strange tranquility and then the rush of emotion comes like a tidal wave engulfing everything in its path. And like the Tsunami, you know that wave is coming but it’s nearly impossible to get to a safe haven.

tsunami

(image courtesy of Google)

The dating pool, although seemingly non-threatening compared to the violent storm waves, beckons and standing on the edge of that pool is just as daunting as watching that tide surge forward.  The water may seem calm on the surface but the hidden dangers lie beneath that placid sheen and the potential for another storm gives me pause.  The slightest touch of the surface causes ripples and pushes me back from the edge of the pool.

I watch as the ripples dissipate.  The soft blue glow seems so inviting, but the dormant threat still lurks under the veil waiting to lure me closer to the edge, waiting to gently touch my skin and pull me under when I am blissfully unaware of the current below.  I can’t swim, not now.  Maybe sometime soon I will remember how wonderful it felt to float in that water, how comforting it was to be surrounded by its warmth and to feel buoyant.  Maybe soon, but not now.

I’m sure the water is fine, but I don’t think I’m ready yet to hold my breath and jump.  For now I’m content to sit on the edge of the pool and exhaust every argument in my head as to why I shouldn’t just take the plunge.

~

This was written for the Trifecta Challenge:
EXHAUST (transitive verb)
1a : to consume entirely : use up <exhausted our funds in a week>
b : to tire extremely or completely <exhausted by overwork>
c : to deprive of a valuable quality or constituent <exhaust a photographic developer>
2a : to draw off or let out completely
b : to empty by drawing off the contents; specifically : to create a vacuum in
3a : to consider or discuss (a subject) thoroughly or completely  

Please remember:
  • Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
  • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
  • The word itself needs to be included in your response.
  • You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
  • Only one entry per writer.
  • Trifecta is open to everyone.  Please join us.

Telemarketing at its best

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They’re out there – lurking in the shadows, fingers haphazardly typing random phone numbers into their keyboard and blind-siding unsuspecting people with their scripted sales pitch.  And as much as we despise what they represent, they are merely doing a job.  They are collecting a paycheck.  But at some point during their work day, they become desensitized to reality.  They become so immersed in that script and they no longer have the free will to listen and respond appropriately.

telemarketing

(image courtesy of Google)

My mom has lived alone since my dad passed away in 2006.  She received a phone call the other day from an unrecognized number, but she picked it up anyway.  The person on the other end of the phone asked for my father.   My mom told the caller that my father was deceased and the caller simply replied, “I’ll call him again some other time”, and the call ended.  I may not be the most intelligent person on the planet, but I’m pretty sure he’ll still be deceased the next time they call.  Or perhaps this particular company has a listed number for Heaven and, in that case, I would love to see the long distance charges for that call.

I have been one of the fortunate ones and have not be inundated with telemarketing calls since I gave up my land line.  My cell phone has been safe thus far, but I do miss the moments of trying to confuse those callers and rouse them from their hypnotic state.  I would ask them personal questions about themselves and then would inquire as to whether there was an inconvenient time for them that I could call them back.

What is your favorite way to handle telemarketing calls?

The Watchers

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As I child I would lie in the grass for hours, watching the clouds and their ever-changing patterns to see what images I could find in each collection of vapor that passed by.  It is still something I love to do, but sadly I don’t get to do it very often anymore.

Recently I have begun to notice patterns in the snow, especially the patterns created as that snow clings desperately to the bark of the trees.  The position of the snow and the melted remnants of snow around it created what I saw as a panda bear feeding himself.

panda

This is the image I saw this morning.  The snow pattern on the left made me think of Santa Claus.  It wasn’t until I looked more closely adding the image to this post that I saw the face on the right of what may be a youthful member of the chimpanzee family clinging to the tree.

face

If this was my Rorschach Test, I hope I passed!!  Do you see what I did, or do you see something entirely different?

A closed mouth gathers no foot

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Blessed are those with the gift of discretion – those select members of society who have the foresight to think before they utter their thoughts aloud.  They carefully create the vision of syllables tumbling from their mouths in perfect synchronicity and follow through with eloquence and grace on their delivery.  Their words are distinct and, most often, fraught with meaning.  Their sentences have symmetry and structure and have been scrutinized at great length before being uttered.  They leave no opportunity to say the wrong thing.  In short – they think before they speak.

Because nature dictates balance in all things, there are also those who throw caution to the wind.  They randomly spew the first words that enter their brain without giving them the benefit of being filtered through the proper sieve of political or even conventional correctness.  The words are out there, hanging in the air like the particles of moisture in a dense fog.  They become thick and difficult to navigate without inevitably crashing into an invisible concrete barrier.  When the burning heat of embarrassment burns away the remnants of that fog, the orator stands alone with one foot firmly implanted in their mouth.

foot-in-mouth

Having the wisdom to compose a thought before it is cast out to the point of no return is the key to not having the bitter aftertaste of ten-year old running shoes saturating your taste buds.  Formulating a response with deliberation ensures that you are clear in what you want to say without being hurtful, cynical or idiotic.  Knowing when to step back and think before you speak gives you an opportunity to sound thoughtful and articulate, without the aftermath of explanations and backtracking.

Unless you have a foot fetish, keep in mind that words are more appreciated when sentences are given a moment to take their proper form.  Knowing what you want to say is decided in a second.  Being able to control the outpouring of emotion and present those ideas properly is worth the extra ten seconds to avoid the taste of Nike mouthwash.

Apocalypse now?

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Ah, those prophetic Mayans and the havoc they can wreak.   The world has been abuzz with rumors of the end of the world on December 21, 2012.  I’m sure there are zealots out there madly packing the rest of their doomsday supplies into their bunkers and preparing for the implosion of our glorious Earth.

MAYAN_CALENDAR_large (2)

Let me first say I am NOT among the people who believe our world is coming to a complete and tragic end, but there is always that part of my brain, the part that I access when I am writing fiction, that leads me to ponder the calamity of that potentiality.  Within those firing neurons of my creative mind, the mottled dark clouds of possibility hover and the water that saturates those clouds nourishes the seeds of the garden of my imagination.  If the world does end in a cataclysmic event of epic proportions, there are a few truths I would like to state for the ethereal record.

I can admit that I have had impure thoughts, but that can only prove that I am human.  I can also say that I have loved deeply.  I can say that I have tried to suck as much marrow out of my life as possible, and I have learned a great deal about myself in the process.   I can say that I made mistakes, learned about the person I truly am and I gained self-confidence along the way.  I gave myself the freedom to express myself through this blog, the courage to believe that people would want to read it and find meaning within those words that I so carefully crafted.

I can say that I have seen the breathtaking beauty of the constellations unencumbered by the glare of the city, and I have watched the Northern Lights undulating like a green blanket across an otherwise blackened sky.  I have enjoyed the rich elegance of the four seasons and found a deep beauty within each of them.  I have made a snow angel, cried after watching a television commercial and known the overwhelming sense of bereavement after losing a loved one.  I can say that I have showered in the rain, and I have I can say I left this world comfortable to be the person I have become.  I can say that, while on this orb we call home, I truly lived.

If the Mayans merely ran out of time, material and energy to continue their calendar beyond December 21st, 2012, I will be back to pontificate on many more polysyllabic profundities.  But if the Mayans were right and there really is no tomorrow – what would you want the world to know before you departed this life?

Seeping into my sleeping

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It bit me again.  As I lay cloaked in my duvet, caught in the vortex of my latest dream scape, it methodically crept under the covers and sunk its pearly whites into my unsuspecting, dormant flesh.  It released its powerful venom and as that viscous liquid began to flow through my blood stream, I awoke with the need to put words on a page.  In a frenzy, I searched for pen and paper and began to jot down thoughts trying to keep up with the pace that my brain had set.  The perpetrator of the bite nonchalantly sat at the edge of my bed, grotesquely picking the dirt from under its nails.  As I continued to help the ink flow at the same hurried pace of the ideas that struck me, the writing bug simply smiled at me.  It waved, jumped from my bed and left me alone with my thoughts.

bug

(Image courtesy of Google)

In the waning moments of my unconsciousness, the characters permeated those forced waking moments and began to breathe a life of their own.  The inspiration was so overwhelming I had to leave the shroud of that warm duvet and sit at my computer in those wee hours to keep up the with the feverish flow of creativity.

More than a few minutes later, and after several disgusted glances from my dog, the characters were freed.  Their stories were recorded to their satisfaction and I was released from my graveyard shift of being their stenographer.  I put the laptop to rest and the dog and I headed back to the warmth of my bed and drifted off into an uninterrupted sleep for the rest of the night.

The light of the new day welcomed me from my slumber.  As I shook off the remnants of my sleep, the lingering images of the characters I had created in my semi-conscious state hovered like images in cartoon balloons above my head.  Vague recollections of the story line pieced themselves together although some details were still caught in strings in the web of my groggy brain.

The elusive writing bug escaped in the early hours of dawn and the puncture wounds are no longer visible from the late-night violation of my sleep.  The only forensic evidence that remains from my harrowing hopefully-soon-to-be-published experience are the scattered words on the pages.

Does that late night bug ever visit you in your sleep?