Bits of Things

Broadcast - worthy

2010-10-25T21:55:00.001-04:00

Meet Bru. She is our new dog!

The world is flat and I have fallen off it's edge

2010-09-19T01:23:00.000-04:00

I have not written here since June, it seems. I have thought of it, the way that one thinks about cleaning the closet or calling a relative that one is not close with. The thought passes. The idea that all this blogging, facebooking, twittering, etc is narcissistic has been coming back to mind. I still maintain that if you use it as a communications tool like all other mediums (like television and radio) it can be useful. I know people who use this medium to share organised, interesting, purposeful content. And if they were to suddenly be on TV or radio they would still be just as engaging. But would I broadcast on channel twelve that my kid said something cute today? Would I go on the radio to rant about cheese or parking meters? Probably not. I am not anyone of note and have no specific interest to focus on therefore what I say holds little relevance for the greater public and it comes down to that - the greater public. This is a public forum and I am broadcasting. But I do not deem what I am broadcasting to be relevant. So I have not posted.
So until I find something relevant to broadcast this channel will go dark.

Before You Grow Up

2010-06-23T22:06:00.000-04:00

So I was in the bookstore recently and I picked up this book for a friend of mine.It is called 365 Things to Do Before You Grow Up. He is a dear, fine fellow who is probably at his best when he is reveling in the silly, nonsensical or the simple. By simple I mean uncomplicated. So I bought this book for him to help him remember not to take life too seriously and to make a point of enjoying life's indefinable loveliness.
Well, I got the book home and realised I wanted to do the list. The 365 things, I wanted to do them all. And I wanted others to join me and have fun with the project too. I have mentioned it to a few people, including my dear, fine freind, and got some positive responses.
I decided it would be nice to start it on my birthday which is this weekend. Wisely MyDear suggested I do one item a week rather that one a day so as not to drive myself mad. That's why I keep him around. He is wise like that.
The first item on the list is celebrate another culture's holiday. Well I hunted around and found that my birthday falls on the Algonquin Strawberry Moon. It is the full moon marking the relatively short wild strawberry season. It is/was believed by the Algonquins that harvesting under the full moon was best to ensure a good crop for the following year.
So I have decided to go strawberry picking on my birthday. I do not know any songs or dances or traditional food (apart from strawberries perhaps) that would traditionally celebrate the Full Strawberry Moon and I dont think I can pick berries in the middle of the night but I can go out and gather strawberries, bring them home and mark the day. So I will.
If you, fine reader, would like to join in my 365 weeks of fun please visit the Facebook Group I have made for the purpose. Just click on the word participate

Gaiman's House

2010-06-11T20:56:00.008-04:00

This place is so enormous I have not seen it's edges
I don't believe I have visited the same room twice
Some rooms are filled with light
But most have shadows
     comforting shadows
          chilling shadows
         and wet shadows that cling
Some rooms are damp Grimm forests
Some are deserts with demons and wolves
Some are so cramped I can fit only my fingers over the doorsill
Some rooms are ordinary sitting rooms and kitchens that keep a gentle space
      waiting for my lover, my children, my animals and myself
Some rooms are so silent my breath shatters them and they are gone forever
This room is quiet but not so fragile
This room has great wide windows that look out onto the garden
This room holds my pen and paper

New Original Knitting Pattern

2010-06-07T13:15:00.004-04:00

Friar Tuck found himself with idle hands while thinking up new recipes for venison or hare and turning a blind eye to the flagrant breaking of the commandment "thou shalt not steal." So he knit up one of these for each of the green clad gents. Robin Hood and his Merry Men had to endure more than a few damp nights in Sherwood Forest and verily were grateful for the garment.

This is what can happen when MyDear says "wouldn't it be cool if..."

A medieval style men’s hooded garment inspired by Robin Hood. It uses seed stitch, shoulder shaping and short rows.

A great big thank you to Molly Anne Rothchilde @ Ariadne Knits who helped make the idea a reality.

If you want to see other pictures and/or buy the pattern to knit for yourself or a fella you like click here.

The latest from Monkey

2010-04-26T12:18:00.000-04:00

My name is Woodjerd.
I am a man and I fish.
I catch candy fish in the jungle.
Would you like one?

Basil, gentle and constant.

2010-04-26T02:40:00.001-04:00

I dreamt of her the night after she died and again the night after that.

The day we took her body to the country we saw a coyote on the way there, running in the field beside the road. The fellow looked at us as we drove by. On the way back we saw a raven. We had never seen a coyote or a raven in this place before that day.

John put his ring and a lock of Morgan’s hair in Basil’s mouth before we buried her - so she could find us, he said. She was enshrouded in a blue gingham sheet and settled in the earth under three stones on the hill overlooking the forests and the fields.

That night I dreamt of her, then again the next night. They were nice quiet dreams, no heavy portend or symbolism, just her there and me happy that she was walking and standing in the sun. The second night I told her I knew that in the real world she was dead but that in the dream it was good to see her again.

I have been sitting here mending the sheet where her claws cut a multitude of tiny holes as she struggled to get a purchase in the last weeks. Mending the sheet she died on. I keep wondering if it is morbid to keep it, if I should throw it away, if I should bother mending the many tiny holes. But I have not stopped.

No one can say she was just a dog. No one can say that any living being could take her place and be what she was.

1997-2010

I love you Baz.

2010-04-13T18:43:00.000-04:00

Sprocket

2010-03-30T21:09:00.001-04:00

There isn't anything better than a boy and his dog. From the first to the last you were every inch Stephen's Puppy Rocket. At first you were so small you fit in my purse for an outing to the tamtams. And you grew and grew. As a wily teen you ate through the mattress twice, licked the table while staring us down and ran away more times then I care to count. You were so fast and graceful we thought you must be part Greyhound. We marveled even as we realised you weren't going to stop running down that alley and we were going to have to go get you, yet again. You grew and grew until you had a pointy nose and great big eyes and ears at a permanent readiness for take off. I wouldn't say you were beautiful but Stephen would. To Stephen there was no better friend. You liked beer, you rascal, just like him. You grew and grew and went across the country with Stephen and his love. You were unpleasantly surprised by the rain but you still spent your days under the desk at Stephens feet or groaning and sighing dramatically on the couch. You grew and grew but this time growing older not bigger, and you complained more and needed special food and shorter walks. Stephen knew that you would not stay forever to be by his side, to be his best friend. He knew and we knew but we are still very sad, Sprago, that you had to go - very sad, indeed, that such a marvelous and singular fellow, who was so perfect for Stephen, and such an undeniable and irrepressible personality would today have to go. We are glad to have known you, Sprocket. You are missed.

Better late than never.

2010-03-30T12:30:00.000-04:00

Here is the latest journalistic endeavor by me. That's right, it's all about me and what I do. Isn't that what a blog is?

Another gem

2010-03-25T17:34:00.000-04:00

"Mommy?"
"Yes, dear."
"Uuuuummmm ... run into town and find a spoon or gears or fish to fix my camera.
"..."

"And hurry up or the wild things will get you."

More comics

2010-03-25T10:12:00.000-04:00

This time from a loverly little establishment called Wondermark

Click on image to enlarge

What is Love?

2010-03-13T09:27:00.001-05:00

Love is when a kid gives you her favorite toy to make your cold go away.

Love is when someone e-mails you to tell you all about the wonderful adventures she is having because she wants you to share the experience with her, even vicariously.

Love is when your friend gets it when something seemingly weird, gross or silly is important to you and gets on board because it matters to you.

Love is when your parent doesn't lecture you on a subject that is making you feel unsteady, just listens and reassures you that you do, in fact, have the answer and can do what you need to do.

Love is when your significant other brings something special home for you just because they knew you would like it, proving that you are on their mind even when you are not around.

Love is when a friend sends you an mp3 of an old, silly answering machine message you left on his machine and that he has overlaid nice music on to, making it sound all legit and professional, just so you will see how great he thinks you are.

When is it love for you?

If you like the mossy heart image check out it's creator, Laylock, the photographer and the knitter. She seems to have a wonderful sense of love too.

P.S. Tomorrow is Pi Day. I recommend you bake a pie, for yourself and/or for someone else whom you love.

I love spiders

2010-03-10T09:58:00.000-05:00

What animal(s) do you love?

Why I have not been blogging much.

2010-02-10T16:56:00.001-05:00

So maybe I have been cutting corners by posting comic strips instead of composing thoughts but, I gotta say in my deference, I am living a lot these days. It all revolves around the sorts of thing you don't blog about to the great webby void. I can tell you this, this latest Little Dee comic gave me a small amount of solace. Hope it does for you too.

This is me, seeking joy in the moment.

For those keeping score at home...

2010-01-30T16:05:00.000-05:00

I have posted my very first personally designed, available to the public, original knitting pattern. I don't know if anyone but me knows how exciting this feels. This is, so far, second only to getting a prize for my writing on the giddy meter.
...
Carry on.

Witches Gauntlets

2010-01-29T20:20:00.004-05:00

This knit pattern is for dual purpose cuffs. They are fingerless gloves in one direction and ruffled gauntlets in the other. As I always imagined witches to be naturally practical people and the wool I used is Zauberball - zauber being German for magic- Witches Gauntlets seemed like a suitable name.

Size: Women's

Materials:
Yarn: Zauberball, (Cranberry Blend)
Needles: 2.75 mm (US 2) DPN

Gauge: 8sts x 10 rows = 1 inch

Directions:

Cast on 240 stitches.
Join stitches to begin working in the round, being careful not to twist.
Round 1: k2tog to end (120sts)
Round 2: k2tog to end (60 sts)
Round 3: *k4, p2* to end
Knit as in round 3 until work measures 3 inches.
At the beginning of the next round turn work and knit back as follows:
Row 1: *p4, k2* to end
turn work and
Row 2: *k4,p2* to end
Repeat rows 1 and 2 for 1.5 inches (or as much space as you wish for the thumb hole)
Now rather than than turning work at the end of row 2 rejoin work in the round. In other words, do not turn - simply continue *k4,p2* in the round until work measures 7.5 inches or as long as you wish the fingerless glove side of the work to be.
Bind off, weave in ends and block gently.
Make another to match.

If you like, you can add some tiny buttons and button loops to the thumb hole edge to close it up when you are wearing them as gauntlets.

Go Boom

2010-01-23T23:48:00.000-05:00

Little Dee

A Present for Dr Cockroach

2010-01-09T21:45:00.004-05:00

There are days when you have to wake up earlier than you want to...okay, maybe that describes most days. Sometimes, on those days, something really nice happens first thing that makes the whole idea of getting out of bed feel worth it. Maybe your lover wakes you up in a particularly nice way or you get a piece of good news. It may be as simple as the plant on your window sill is finally beginning to bloom. For me, most of the time it is Monkey who does something that makes everything alright that early in the day. Yesterday was no exception.
The perfect breakfast chat.
When recounting these little events to people something is always lost in the retelling. The unrehearsed perfection, the spontaneity and suprise are all a step removed. Not to mention, how could I imitate her tiny, clear voice? Having the luck to record this conversation means nothing but her crystal blue, earnest eyes are left out of the priceless image of the moment.

Red Planet Pancakes

2010-01-06T17:39:00.004-05:00

To me, there are few things more fun than messing with assumptions. When it comes to food I never realized just how hard-wired I was to the look I think food should have until a I drank green orange juice. Before you grimace too much it was a St Patrick's Day lark. My friends and I all made a brunch feast and decided that each food had to be green. So, armed with green food dye we made green pancakes, green syrup, green butter (I think) and green orange juice. None of us could drink the orange juice at first but after closing our eyes and taking the leap we successfully re-wired our minds into thinking that green orange juice was just as tasty are the original color. I won't discuss the health issues associated with food coloring here, just move on.

In the endless pursuit for healthy foods that Monkey will eat I have come to possess a cookbook by Jessica Seinfeld, wife of comedian Jerry Seinfeld, which is called Deceptively Delicious. The principle is that each recipe has a hidden ingredient, most commonly a vegetable or two that fussy children want to avoid. For the child whose preferred vegetables are cucumbers, peas and french fries (not just any potatoes, just the fried ones) this book is a VERY good idea.

The first recipe we wanted to try was "Pink Pancakes." This recipe really messes with assumptions. It contains beets so right away you know they are going to be a funny color but just how funny is a wonder. And man, are they tasty! We have decided they will likely be called "Princess Pancakes" or "Pancakes From the Red Planet" around our house but it falls to Monkey to make the final decision. They will become a regular dish, that is certain.

The original recipe called for pancake mix, which I don't use-preferring to make mine from scratch-and only made a small amount compared what we usually eat. So I modified the recipe and am so in love with the result that I don't think Mrs Seinfeld will mind a little free promotion going her way as I share my modified version with you. If you like this recipe and want to try more "sneaky veggies" recipes (they don't have to be just for kids, you know) run out and pick up her book.

Here is my version:

Ingredients:
1 1/4 C milk
      1 C cottage cheese or ricotta
   1/2 C beet puree (best if you puree cooked beets ahead of time)
   1/2 C grated apple
   1/4 C oil
    1 tsp vanilla
         2 eggs
If you want a smoother batter you can put the wet ingredients in the blender but as you can see from the first picture, the "unblendered" version works just fine, if a little lumpy.
1 1/2 C whole wheat flour
     2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon (optional)
Mix all ingredients in a big bowl and cook like one does pancakes. If you need help figuring that step out call your mom (or mom equivilant), she probably knows. And voila, red pancakes. Serve with butter and syrup (maple syrup, if you've got it) or omit the vanilla and cinnamon and go savory for lunch or dinner with a spaghetti-like sauce and grated cheese (seriously, try it-remember what I was saying about assumptions). Enjoy!

A Question of Villainy

2009-12-30T17:48:00.000-05:00

I have been thinking about heroes and villains. To be more precise, I have been wondering if a villain can ever be the hero of a story.

As the standard myth system goes, a main character usually mirrors the postive attributes of the society. The hero carries the hopes and conqers the fears of those who create the myth. Conversely, the villain embodies the terrors and sins that humanity wishes to overcome.

Our cultutre enjoys a "good" villian, someone acting bad with such style that we love to hate him. We shiver when she gives madness an element of sex appeal.

Stories like Buffy The Vampire Slayer came out of making bad guys look good-that is to say, appealing-and ultimately act good in some way. But that is the crux of my pondering; can a villain be the center of the story without doing the good deeds that heroes are required to perform? Could 101 Dalmations be told from the point of view of Cruella DeVil? And if it was, would the audience need to sympathize with her in order to stay interested or could Cruella remain as greedy, vengeful and insane as she is in the original?

At this point, I don't know of any stories (written, filmed, staged or sung) that explore this idea of the unrepentant or unreformed villain as main character. I think the only way to answer this line of questioning is to write a story from this perspective and see how it is received. Any thoughts?

Awesome at Being Modest

2009-12-08T10:30:00.012-05:00

Click to enlarge

My Precious Shoes

2009-12-07T11:29:00.003-05:00

Monkey has taken to wearing mismatched socks. I have no idea how this habit started but it is here and it seems to be here to stay. I have no problem with mismatched socks and those proud to wear them. Some of my best friends wear mismatched socks. I have intentionally knit socks that don't match for said person(s) and think this fashion choice shows moxie and individuality. The fact that I match my socks is only due to my preference of uniform texture and size. So when Monkey choose to wear one stripey sock and one spotted sock some time back I went with it, with delight. Judging by the people I know who do not match their socks I would say she is in good company.

We went to buy pants for the Monkey-Monkey pants, you might call them. While Monkey hid behind the jeans rack and called out "Mommy find me!" MyDear and I looked for pants that met our little lady's very strict specifications for clothing. Pants must be elastic, according to Monkey. The waist band on them cannot be too wide. They cannot be black or any dark colour, really, and they should, if at all possible, be pink. It being the season of brotherly love there were many fancy poofy dresses with snowflakes on them and great slouchy knit hats with pompoms at the crown.
Monkey was fondling a pair of little winter boots that looked like foot shaped Tribbles. She was bringing them over to show us, perhaps to ask to buy them (already a consumer at four, mercy) when she spied the most glorious vision of her young life. A pair of sparkly ruby slippers in just her size. She breathed a gasp of awe and her jaw dropped open. She fumbled to put the Tribbles back on the shelf without taking her wide eyes off the jewels before her. Abandoning the fuzzy boots to the floor she rushed over to the shining red shoes and hugged them to her chest.
"My precious shoes!" she exclaimed.
MyDear and I stared at each other in great surprise and amusement. Where did she come up with that phrase? Oh well, it was settled. We had to buy the shoes. Thank goodness they were not expensive. Monkey brought them to the counter, gingerly laid them before the clerk and stared fixedly at them while the transaction was made. I asked the clerk to cut the tags so Monkey could wear them right away and the woman did so with a grin. When they were handed back to her, Monkey breathed words of gratitude and plopped onto the floor to rip off her now inferior boots in order to wear her resplendent, her magnificent, her regal and stupendous, new sparkly shoes.
She has been wearing them daily ever since.

Another article

2009-11-29T17:29:00.002-05:00

Eventually this will no longer be news and everyone will want me to stop mentioning it every time...until then, here is my latest article.

Another lit contest

2009-11-29T17:20:00.004-05:00

It is the 6th annual Geist Literal Literary Postcard Contest! The nice thing about postcards is the same thing that is nice about haikus-they are short. This means it is a medium well suited to short attention spans, in readers and writers. This limited length is also what makes it challenging. How do you say all you wish to convey economically? Maximum length, 500 words. Give it a shot.
The deadline is January 15th, 2010

"A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day."

2009-11-17T13:03:00.005-05:00

On October 5th, I performed T-Paul Ste Marie's signature poem, live at a Slam event in Montreal, to commemorate his birthday. He would have been 44 years old.
Here is the clip.
If you want to hear/see T-Paul himself do it much, much better than I, check that out here.

The quote in the title is by Emily Dickinson

A Precious Quiet Morning

2009-11-13T09:42:00.004-05:00

Monkey and I woke up slowly today. There was no rushing off to the daycare, no insistence on going up to watch cartoons, nothing but lazing gently in bed, telling stories about the dreams of the night before and playing hide and seek in the blankets. She brushed my hair and asked me the names of things in French.
"Mommy? What is tickle in French?"
"Chatouiller." (pronounced sha-too-ee)
"Mommy? What is mouse in French?"
"Souris." (soo-ree)
I snuggled her as she pretended to be a baby, all curled up and squishy-smile-faced. I woke up slowly and she let me. It was just like in those short-lived old days before school and daycare and this busy, busy life ran the show.
Of course, we were still up by 8:30 but these days that's a luxury.

Another Me-me

2009-11-02T00:03:00.004-05:00

Latest article in the Link:

Slamming

I intend to write something here soon. No, really. Perhaps it will even be something thought provoking/funny/interesting etc. Who knows, there may even be pictures.

New Articles

2009-10-21T16:13:00.005-04:00

Just to keep you up to speed, if you are interested, here are two new articles I have written for The Link, one of Concordia's papers.

Shall I Compare Thee to a Random Act of Poetry?

D.D.O. Mayor Doesn't Want Competition

How to get over writer's block - according to me.

2009-10-19T23:43:00.001-04:00

I am learning that someone who identifies themself as a writer must just write. I have heard it said before and just like other sensible things like "plan ahead" and "wake up early" folks like me don't really get why until we do it.

When writing is what satisfies and fulfills you it is the act that matters more than what it produces. I expect when you are getting a pay check in exchange for the final product the weight of importance shifts some but I think, really, it has to be for the act if it is going to stay satisfying.

It is easy to get caught up in what you want to write, what you think you should write and what others think you should or can write. That, in my opinion, is when writer's block begins - the moment when you are no longer writing to write. At that point you start editing before you even put down the first word. You are choosing what is good and bad before it has even been created.

I did a writer's workshop some time ago with an amazing Canadian writer, Ivan Coyote, and the message was just that - write; just write. Do it often and do it without editing anything until later because the writer's ... what would you call it? Mojo? Muse? It's a muscle that needs to be exercised and the only way to keep it agile is through regular use.

So, how do you fight writer's block? You write. You barf out all the debris that has been clogging the conduit and stretch that scribbler's limb and eventually you get to the place where you are executing wordy triple back flips and if you keep at it maybe someday levitating.

So for anyone out there who wishes they were writing but are not, the answer is very zen; let it all go and just write. The rest will follow.

Fate

2009-10-19T23:13:00.006-04:00

Please visit this link.

For John, who dislikes travel and mingling in general.

Mother and Father, Bookends of Me

2009-09-28T22:22:00.005-04:00

The branch bends away, always away.

My father is a stilt walker
and his father was a farmer.
My father uses reason as a weapon
and his father used corporal punishment.
My father works in the theater of the heart
and his father's hands were calloused most of his life.

My mother is a healer
and her mother used pills.
My mother meditates
and her mother slept.
My mother knows there is something bigger
and her mother never wondered.

It is stunning where we come from
and what we do with that.

The branch bends away, always away.

Good freinds shine like stars without knowing it

2009-09-26T22:56:00.004-04:00

"...The Space Marauder comes in different shapes, sizes and sounds. Sometimes, she's 15 feet tall and walks along the street toward the grocery store to get some trail mix and some toilet paper. She ducks her head to avoid tree branches. You walk next to her and your head comes up to her knees. Residents slowly turn and stop conversations in mid-flow and gape. The Space Marauder smiles, nods to them and greets them with a friendly 'hello'. Her stride isn't too exaggerated but you have to take three steps to her one. After a block, you don't even notice the resident's stares. That's the effect of the Space Marauder. You feel calm and everything is the way it needs to be."

Excerpt from Sept 18th entry of The Age Of Raisin

Making note of ...

2009-09-24T21:49:00.001-04:00

According to Monkey milk smells like clouds.

Courtesy Not So Common

2009-09-21T23:43:00.003-04:00

I think perhaps we, as a society, are in need of a refresher in Miss Manners common courtesy etiquette. In all domains from traffic to chat rooms people seem to have forgotten that there are other people around them effected by what they do. We seem to have forgotten that anger and entitlement are not decent reactions to every day minor annoyances. Perhaps what we need is to have it spelled out for us in a concise list of appropriate behavior so we become more aware of what it is we do and why we keep getting those sour faces and rude replies. I would not be against it being taught in school for a generation or two.

Image found here.

Few things

2009-09-14T13:47:00.003-04:00

There are few things I can think of more inviting than this.

Sigh.

The ability to deal

2009-09-08T12:53:00.001-04:00

i warn you against falling prey to the “but it’s not like i imagined it” syndrome.

this actually applies to any and all art. it will be one way in your head. then it will look different on the canvas. you deal, you adjust, you change your head-picture, you adjust.

the ability to deal is the talent, not the perfection in your head. nobody will ever see the perfection in your head. sorry.

this is why some artists kill themselves.
—Amanda Palmer

To learn more about Amanda Palmer go to:
http://blog.amandapalmer.net/post/179940893/introducing-the-who-killed-amanda-palmer-dvd

This quote was found on this site: http://theanticraft.com/blog/

Home Made Bathroom Cleaner

2009-08-27T22:33:00.005-04:00

This is a recipe I came across on a now canceled Canadian daytime talk show. The host was really into promoting green living; how to compost, eating local, reuse, recycle, be kind to the environment kind of stuff. At the time I was looking for some cleaning products that would address the concern I had about having a dog and a baby who would be constantly coming into contact with surfaces that I needed to clean ie; floors, table tops, windows, mirrors etc. This show had a on guy who demonstrated how to make your own bath and tile cleaner. Everything in this recipe is edible, maybe not tasty but not poison by any means. I realised that from that moment on every surface in my house had to be "lick test" worthy which is to say that if my baby licked it there was no possibility that what I had cleaned it with would make her sick. This cleaner works really well and I would never go back to store bought products. The other bonus of this recipe is that it is dirt cheap to make and you likely already have everything you need to make it in your house right now.

Equipment:
Large Bowl
Fork or Whisk
Measuring Cups
Tablespoon
Funnel
Empty Bottle (approx 500ml with a nozzle if possible)

Ingredients:
Baking Soda
Liquid Soap (I use Dr Bronner's Magic Soap which can be bought at most health food stores but any environmentally friendly, natural all purpose liquid soap will do. I don't suggest dish soap, shampoo or laundry soap as they all have additives that may leave a film)
Water
White Vinegar

Instructions:
Mix in a bowl
1 2/3 Cup Baking Soda
1/2 Cup Liquid Soap
Dilute with
1/2 Cup Water
Mix well.
Add
2 Tablespoons Vinegar
At this point there will be a lot of frothing and foaming due to the vinegar and baking soda combining. This is totally normal grade 3 science experiment stuff. Enjoy the show.
Make sure there are no lumps. If it is too thick add small amounts of water until you get the consistency you want. It should be thick but not a paste.
Use the funnel to pour the mixture into your empty bottle.

To Use:
Always shake well before using. Use just as you would any liquid bathroom cleaner. You can even use it to clean the toilet. It also works well on chrome fixtures. Rinse well after use. That's it, that easy.

In the bottle this cleaner will dry out slowly over time. Whether because the vinegar or the water or both evaporate I am not sure. If it does thicken or dry out it can still be used if you just add a bit of water and shake well. If the nozzle gets clogged simply unscrew it, wash the nozzle out and put it back on.

I hope you like this stuff as much as I do.

Haiku poetry contest!

2009-08-17T09:53:00.004-04:00

Can't beat a poetry contest that caters to those of us with a short attention span.
This contest is linked to technology and the iPhone so if you have qualms with mixing art and microchips stay away but if you think that poetry should participate in the progress of technology go here. The contest will award one haiku the honor of being featured in an Ann Marie Fleming short animated movie. So another reason to participate is to support a Canadian woman film maker. If you haven't heard of her and want to know more about Ann Marie Fleming look at her bio and noodle around her site. Be sure to check out some of her movie clips.
The contest closes September 1rst so shake a leg people, start bangin' out pearls of wisdom and beauty!

You can't make this stuff up.

2009-08-09T23:26:00.002-04:00

While My Dear was settling Monkey down for bed the other night they had the following conversation:

Daddy: You have to go to sleep, my little bear.
Monkey: I'm not your little bear.
Daddy: Oh no?
Monkey: No. I'm Mommy's ... and Mommy is mine.
Daddy: Well who do I belong to then?
Monkey: Uuuhm. Avis ...... and Bhyrn.

Avis and Bhyrn are friends of ours who come over for dinner sometimes. I must inform them of their new charge.

Notions of Grandeur

2009-08-04T20:22:00.007-04:00

Click on image to enlarge.

Bath Day

2009-08-01T19:57:00.002-04:00

When I was small, small enough that I needed a step to brush my teeth, had to stand on a chair to help with the dishes and was as tall as the kitchen counter, we made a chocolate birthday cake by melting chocolate bars in a pot for the icing. It was my grandfather's birthday. He was coming all the way from Vancouver to visit us.

I had a green chalkboard with the alphabet and numbers one through ten painted all along the top. As a welcome message I wrote a birthday greeting for his arrival. I wrote it all by myself and was proud of it.

"What's a ... bathday?" my brother asked.

"It's not bath day" I sneered. "It says happy birthday, Grandaddy."

My big brother, five and a half years older than me, now in sixth grade, his strawberry blonde hair darkening as it always did with the onset of winter, hugged his sides and honked with laughter. Growing red with rage I could now see the obviousness of my mistake. Bath day, how stupid.

Lactating has made me soft

2009-07-21T18:58:00.003-04:00

I was talking with a friend today. This friend and I met in mechanics school. This is almost a decade ago now. At that time I was newly my own person and on a dream filled road to restoring vintage cars in my own garage in some back water town. That was the dream. Not for everyone to be sure but it fit me like a jumpsuit. At that time I shaved my head a lot and the biggest Italian guy in the school confessed to me during a smoke break that he was kinda afraid of me. I smoked back then too. I was still kind, still smart, still witty and sharp but I was perhaps sharper. I was willing to bathe my hands in toxic chemicals and endure crass sexist jokes. I reveled in dark bruises acquired through hard work and wanted to prove that I could hack it just as much as any guy.
My friend is still in the mechanics biz, in fact he has graduated to larger machines and diesel engines. Me, I left it all and eventually had a kid. After that I couldn't imagine putting myself in a toxic environment (literally, not the emotional kind) as that would mean bringing some of that home to my kid. I was not okay with that. So my tool box of impact sockets, torque wrenches, drum brake tools and the like stayed in the basement waiting for the unlikely day that I would for some reason need them.
So after two floods in our basement I was yet again drying off my unused, unloved tools and wondering why they were still in my life. As I was saying I was talking to my friend today and I asked him to come over and take what he wanted from my tool box. He said "you don't want them any more?" And I said that they were just taking up space and that I was never going to use them again. I jokingly told him that lactating had made me soft. We both laughed and agreed that that was just fine. In fact it's great. I wouldn't trade my life for anything

That time again

2009-07-21T08:04:00.003-04:00

It's time again to think about winning whacks of cash and accolades for the letters you string together. CBC holds this contest every year and the prize includes getting published in En Route magazine, appearing on CBC radio and being handed a cheque of no less than $6000 for first prize. What have you got to loose? I mean really! They want short stories, poetry and creative non-fiction (I'm thinking of you, Voo). So go to the website and look it over then root through your bag of words and send your latest masterpiece! Here is the link.
CBC Literary Awards

Something you don't see every day

2009-07-02T21:04:00.002-04:00

It's not every day you come across a call for poetry, prose and non-fiction submissions on the theme of "dinosaur porn." You read that right, my friend. I have been looking around for something interesting to post, something to do with submitting writing somewhere and boy... doesn't get more singular than this. Ferno House is based out of Toronto. Now, the call ends August 6th but don't dilly dally with your tales of prehistoric dalliances, people.

Salmon in the stream, all.

2009-06-27T15:02:00.004-04:00

I spoke to my mother on my 36th birthday and she told me that she had experienced a sea-change in her 36th year. A great shift occurred in her life. She left journalism and teaching and began a long and fruitful career in alternative health medicine which she still enjoys doing. She reflected on how I was now going through my own big shift by going back to university and how ironic or fitting it was that I had chosen journalism without realizing the path I was following, the footsteps of my mother that I was walking in - in my own way.
There was a time when I would have screamed and pulled my own hair out rather than be compared to, mistaken for or in any way resemble my mother. Sounds strong to say, perhaps but we really did not get along for a long time and in many ways we are very different. As I get older however the less I mind being like her. Doing things that she has done and gravitating to places she has been. It is fitting in a "completing a circle" kind of way. The more mature I get the more I see my mother as a woman and a human being before seeing her as my mother. I have come to the conclusion that I am not my mother but I am my mother's daughter. And that is just fine with me.
It makes me curious about the road that Monkey will go on and how it will reflect the roads that the women in her family have walked before her. Will she be unlike any of us ever could have ever dreamed to be or will she follow the river we were all born in to the same ocean we all were drawn to? I expect it will be surprising measures of both. I look forward to finding out.

I'm in!

2009-06-18T14:57:00.004-04:00

I'm in. I'm in. I'm in-I'm in-I'm in! I have just received my official acceptance into the Journalism program. (insert dance of joy here)
Yay!

A Gift From My Father

2009-06-16T13:24:00.002-04:00

Almost ten years ago my father gave me a piece of paper with his "recipe for happiness" written on it. It was nothing fancy and there was no pomp in the giving. I found it years later in a box and only then realized just how sweet and loving a gift it was. I framed it and look at it from time to time. It always make me warm to read it. Here is what he wrote (in the original french and then translated).

Salut ma fille chérie,
"petite recette" de BONHEUR
1. Être disponible aux changements
2. Savoir équilibrer instinct et raison
3. Vivre l'instant présent
4. Cultiver un connaissance de soi,
des autres et de l'univers par une vision ouverte et perméable
5. Agir précisément et au bon moment
6. Savoir s'abandonner aux gens et aux evenements: faire confiance

Voila c'est tout ce que tu as besoin de t'inquiéter. Je t'aime
-----------------
Hello my dear daughter,
"a small recipe " for HAPPINESS
1. Be open to changes
2. Be able to balance instinct and reason
3. Live in the present moment
4. Cultivate knowledge of self,
of others and of the world through
an open and unrestricted perspective
5. Act precisely and at the right moment
6. Be able to give oneself to people and to events: trust

There is all you need concern yourself with. I love you

The daycare shift

2009-06-11T09:40:00.006-04:00

Bright and ugly in the morning. I didn't get a lot of sleep so am still feeling a little bent. Monkey is in week two of full time daycare. She has stopped hanging on to me like a drowning person but she does still cry as I leave. She waves goodbye with big plump tears ricocheting off her rosy cheeks and says in a tiny quavering voice "Bye Mommy." Makes me want to scoop her up and run away to safety every single time. We are both learning to be big girls and stick it out because after a short while the suffering goes away and there suddenly exists a vast expanse of time for fun and activities which would not happen if we were together.

Week two and she has made friends and looks forward to going but she still refuses to eat the food they give her (which is delicious by the way, wish they were cooking for me, I would eat out of tiny bowls for some of that stuff, yessir) so today we tried an experiment. Don't give her breakfast at home and see if hunger will win out over fussiness. Sounds as cruel as putting a puppy in a cage but sometimes one has to do these kinds of things, I have found. If she doesn't eat at lunch they will call me and I will bring her home and feed her here where she knows the territory and we can pander to her desires. The goal is not to starve her, just to get her to try the food over there. A mouthful would be a small victory.

Motherhood has taught me a few things which I am unapologetic about; tricking your kid into doing something good for them is okay and bribery is a viable parenting technique when used with restraint. Oh and mother's kisses have healing properties - makes me feel like a superhero.

Now that she is in daycare I have the time to get back to some writing before my summer classes begin. As is apparent, I am presently procrastinating about getting started. Plus my mind is still foggy. The tea is not helping. Maybe I should make another cup...

The Waiting Game

2009-05-29T10:56:00.003-04:00

I am being driven mad by the waiting.
The sluggish gears of the scholastic machine.
Waiting for the grey hand holding the "admitted" stamp to fall.
I busy myself with daily things but there is a mail box in the back of my mind, out across the lawn of my imagination and I look out my inner window several times a day to see if the little red marker has been put up by the postman of life.
A person could grow ill from the tension and frustation that waiting weedles out of them.
Finding it futile and stupid doesnt make it stop or any less maddening.
Waiting is and when it is done for something you really want but have no power over it is deadly and sapping to suffer under.
It is a dripping tap across the hall.

Two New Haikus

2009-05-12T16:41:00.003-04:00

Be. Be. Be. Be. Be.
For it is all One Big Now
Be. Be. Be. Be. Buzz.

Going on a trip
Gonna give and get good love
A well trodden path

Another Lit Contest

2009-05-04T23:23:00.003-04:00

This one is for poetry or prose and is organized by Matrix magazine and Pop Montreal. Submit your best work and if you win you get a free trip to Montreal, sweet digs at a B&B and a VIP pass to Pop Montreal. Plus bragging rights to being "Canada's newest literary darling." Can't beat that, right? Contest closes June 19th but don't procrastinate, enter now!

It's a machine!

2009-04-22T14:29:00.007-04:00

There are days when the Dollar store is the best thing ever, days when even the garbage you throw away from the purchase lightens your mood. Today is that day for us. Around here a toy for under two dollars that makes the Monkey squeal with maniacal laughter for a solid ten minutes does two things; makes you feel less guilty for buying yet another toy that she doesn't need and makes you wonder if she will ever stop laughing like an evil genius (yikes!).

I just have to share this with you folks. Who doesn't love a toy with kids on the packaging with bugged out eyes saying "It's a MACHINE!" as they gaze in horror/disbelief/desire at the monster spewing bubbles from it's toothy maw? Check it out (I had to tape it back together after it had been opened in order to scan it).
But the warning on the back is by far the best part. When My Dear read this to me in the car I thought he was making it up, because he does that. In case the writing is illegible it reads "Bubbelor is a gentle monster machine. He likes making bubbles outside on sunny days. Don't drink his bubble liquid! Bubbelor will get very angry."

Check out the bolts of lightening! Are you having flashbacks of Ren and Stimpy too? It's Log and Powdered Toast Man all rolled into one plus a little je ne sa quoi.

What's even better is that the toy itself (which looks nothing like the picture, really) works and is a huge hit.

Ah Dollar store, how we appreciate thee for your tiny miracles.

One of Those Moments

2009-04-10T15:32:00.004-04:00

Monkey to Mommy: You are twelve years old.
Mommy to Monkey: I'm twelve?
Monkey: Ya.
Mommy: Well, how old are you?
Monkey: I'm forty-seven.
Mommy: Wow. I had no idea.
Monkey: Ya. I'm older than you.

2 Day Poetry Contest

2009-03-19T09:31:00.003-04:00

This looks like a lot of fun. These folks are out of Winnipeg. You receive a list of words and you have two days to compose a poem using all of them. If you win you get a cash prize! If you are game to give it a shot act fast, all entrance fees must be postmarked no later than March 27th. Happy writing!

A little Me-me

2009-03-17T23:23:00.003-04:00

My first ever journalistic article was published in the Concordian today. If you would like to read it click here.

You Never Blog Anymore

2009-02-28T01:41:00.006-05:00

I have been experiencing blogger guilt.

I have a few blogs I like to read and so I check them each day to see if a new post has been put up. Maybe daily is a bit excessive (obsessive) or maybe I have more time on my hands than I feel like I do but the truth is I check them daily. I am always disappointed when there is not a new post. If the author goes several days without a new entry I get bummed out and after a week I get annoyed. I think to myself, "Don't they consider the readers? Don't they understand that some of us are quietly waiting for a new instalment of their witty quips and sparkling clarity? Why have a blog if you are not going to post for ages at a time?"

These are selfish thoughts that do not take into consideration that people have lives away from the keyboard. These thoughts disregard the notion that sometimes people are stumped for something to say to the great silent void of the internet. These nattering voices ignore the fact that someone might feel that even if they have thought of something to say there may be self-doubt about whether anyone would really want to hear it anyway. I know, as a reader and appreciator of these blogs, that whatever they say I have, do and will enjoy. Why else would I come back, almost manically?

That said, I know the reasons why one might not write because I experience them myself. Every time I count back to the last time I blogged (hate that term by the way, such an inelegant word-blog, all derivatives of it only become more awkward and unappealing) I think "I should write something...but what?" and then I move on to more pressing matters like homework, snack making, answering the phone and surfing other people's blogs. The longer it goes the harder it is to write anything. It is as if a widening chasm stands between me and my journal every time I step away from it. The guilt is all the more pronounced because I declared, in writing right here, that I would write at least once a week and I don't.

In truth I have a lot to say and very little time, day to day, to say it in. I don't know if anyone wants to hear what I say but I don't mind that so much. I like placing a concept or feeling in front of me to see and examine. I don't mind so much if others look too or not at all. That was something I struggled with at first with having a blog. This act is a public expression of aspects of myself which I have no overt desire to make public and yet wish to express, simply to have them outside of myself. Convoluted, I know. The act of writing things here is not an ego trip for me but I see blogging as an innately narcissistic action (I am talking about personal journal blogs and not informational blogs). So am I being a narcissist for doing this or is this self-exploration? I used to have the same problem with distinguishing between selfishness and caring for one's self. In that area I came to the conclusion that people accuse others of being selfish only when they are not getting what they want from the one they are accusing. But I am getting off topic. When it comes to online journaling I am still ambiguous about whether my intention is narcissistic or not. It is all about intention after all. And yet, I guilt myself for not writing as if I have neglected a chore. If this was just linguistic wanking I think there would be no guilt.

I wonder if all online journal writers go through this? Even the ones with big readerships and oodles of comments every entry. I wonder if I am just chasing my own tail? One word of advice I can suggests to other bloggers out there experiencing "Entry Guilt", don't apologize. None of this is really real anyway. If you have real things to do out in the real world and you are not going to loose a job, your health or a friendship over a late entry or two..or ten then don't worry about it. If you feel the need to apologize to anyone make it yourself because what are you writing it for anyway? The pleasure of it, I hope. And for sure don't take to heart my little voice's selfish nattering about wanting a fresh entry every day. Even I don't listen to that voice, neither should anyone else.

Art, work and conscious thought

2009-02-18T22:08:00.005-05:00

The relevance of art is on my mind a lot right now as I am putting together an article on the relationship between art and economic recession. I have interviewed people on the subject and most say that arts must be protected at this time of global crisis. However one perspective I have found is that art is the creative expression of life and the beauty of life and it always is, whether one has money or not. It just is. Art is.
I came across this just now which nicely ties knitting in with this whole notion and what he says about art I could not express more eloquently or evocatively. Please have a read.

2009-01-24T20:37:00.004-05:00

do things for others

but remember, a broken
back carries nothing

The Ever List and Self Control

2009-01-13T09:31:00.004-05:00

It is one of those frigid January days when it looks more grey than white outside. I am making a list of the things I should do today and wondering whether I will really get any of them done. This list has been piling up for about a week and I can't really figure out how I went a whole week without getting any of it done. How does that happen? Every day I would make my mental list and every day it would not get done. Not that I was just a lump on the couch all day, every day, for a week, au contraire. I just keep shuffling today's list and items keep falling off it. You know, the list that is always today's list - the ever list. Things get written down on it every day, over and over, without getting done. Like mailing things. And putting away the clean folded laundry.

But yesterday, instead of putting away the laundry, I did something new. I went rock climbing. It was fun and scary and a real test of my trust levels. It was great to feel my muscles stretch and work like they haven't in...a while....a long while. I felt a bit like a cat in a tree at times though, realising I was up higher than I thought (thank good I'm not actually afraid of heights) and having no more easy hand holds to go to and having to either take a scary difficult challenge or - let - go - of - the - wall! Which brings me to the trust thing. My belayer (not sure if I spelled that right) was a lady I have known socially for about ten years, a girlfriend of a friend or a room mate of a friend, that kind of thing. We are not very close but she is a fine person whom I get along with. She has been climbing for a couple years and knows her stuff and she was belaying me which means she was the one to keep the rope tight if I slip and let me down slowly when I had gotten to the top. I can tell you, having another person in control of your safety is a big deal. It took me a few climbs before a really believed(in my muscles) that she could and would catch me if I fell and letting go of the wall did not mean death or agonizing floor kissing. It was quite an eye opener to see just how precious control of myself is to me. But liberating to know that I could let it go, at least a little. Conclusion - I will climb again.

I thought I would be sore today but I don't seem to be. I just have to work that "get stuff done" muscle. I'm sure I'll need to soak in the tub after that, boy.

Memorable moments are sometimes lost when not recorded.

2009-01-05T21:45:00.004-05:00

"What time zip, Ahmmy?"
"What, Monkey?"
"What time zip?"
"I dunno, what time is it?"
"Forty-fee!"

I am Dancing with Glee

2008-12-23T11:06:00.001-05:00

A minus. Actually two A minuses. In one class I was one of only four students to get such a high grade. Yay me!

Katsup

2008-12-22T10:49:00.003-05:00

Let's see.
Finished the fall semester- pretty sure I got quite good grades.
New car! - Honda Hybrid. Ssssoooooooooo lucky.
Did makeup on a student/indie/no budget short film- Was reminded why I don't work for free any more.
Been spinning wool - One of the most centering things I have done in a long time.
Knitting secret socks for Oli - After reneging on a knitted xmas gift 2 years ago (still not finished) I am not telling him about these puppies until they are complete.
Making deep and tender connections with far flung friends - love has no long distance charges and e-mail rocks.
Solstice dinner was moose meat fondue with sake, mandarin oranges and ginger cookies - Good way to spend the longest night while watching 25 cm of snow come down.

That's the Coles Notes catch up.

To come:
Indie film wrap party - will bring cookies and not stay long.
Physio is really helping solve my jaw problem saga- That is a blog entry all on it's own
Xmas with a small collection of family - rib roast, roast veggies, ginger beer and laughter.
New Years - having a small group of good freinds over to play board games and more laughing is on the menu.
Then school starts up again on January 5th.

Feeling good about life. Hope you are too.

'tis the season

2008-12-03T20:15:00.002-05:00

The term "ginger-goon" started among my friends way back. I don't know who coined it but it doesn't matter much. The term was inspired by Calvin and Hobbes and the snow-goons which are mutant wrong-looking (or wrong acting) snowmen. One friend in particular was fond of ginger bread but not fond of gingerbread men in a traditional sense so began to make strange gingerbread figures. I think it started with gingerbread men with nooses and gingerbread women with alarmingly large bosoms. And we all just ran with it. There were ginger cragen, ginger saphic love bunnies, gingerbread persons with two heads. Gone were the days of quaint ginger bread stars, x-mas trees and men with all eyes and legs where they are expected to be. We had crossed over and there was no going back. Just look. This year, in my stayed old age, I created cookies with cookie cutters only and look what happened!The damage is done. I was never normal to begin with but now I can't even pretend.
I suggest all of you create unconventional holiday things this year. See what happens.

Don't Chase Me Ahmmy!

2008-11-29T13:38:00.004-05:00

I have been reading in bed for about 20 minutes when Monkey finally decides to open her eyes and greet the day. I don’t get the customary “hello Ahmmy” that I am used to because what has caught her interest enough to wake up all the way is a pillow she had been sleepily rubbing her feet against. Her first groggy investigation of it has shown Monkey that the pillow has pictures of animals on it so her first words this morning are the delighted declaration of “Bear!” and the growly grumble of “Tiiiigerrrr!” She sits up to show me her discovery, her light coloured wavy hair sticking out in all directions. “Bear!” she says again.
A game we like to play is about animal sounds. I will ask her what sound various animals make. I go for the ones she knows like elephant which make a kind of raspberry sound. And cows which say moo, as we all know. But I like to throw in some conundrums like seahorse just to see what she will say. I never correct her as I figure in her world roosters may indeed say “eeeee!” She has never met one so anything is possible I suppose. Kangaroos say “Ach” with a strangled surprised sort of sound, as do bats and whales. Giraffes roar almost as fierce as lions but monkeys are quite gentle, only uttering a jovial “ee ee!” Bears, in her understanding, are cuddly and make a “mmmm” sound accompanied by a self-hugging motion. But tigers are always dangerous sounding creatures.
So this morning bears are greeted with delight and tigers are greeted with a knitted brow and a showing of teeth. Monkey goes on to introduce me to the donkey and the pig. It seems the pig is sad as Monkey demonstrates by pushing her lips way out and looking at me beseechingly. “Pig sad” she pouts in an exaggerated way. But there is not pause. We are right back to greeting the bear with joyful abandon. “Bear!”
Soon it is time to get out of bed and greet the diverse items in the kitchen
“Hello table. Hello paper. Hello sink. Hello towel.” This begins a new game of Monkey’s devising.
“Hello ephalent” she says to me with a gleam in her bright blue eyes.
“Elephant? I’m not an elephant. I’m your mommy!” I reply as expected.
She giggles. “Hello puppy.’
“Puppy!? I’m not a puppy. I’m your mommy!”
More giggles. This goes on; tiger, cow, cat, birdy, until it is time to eat.
After having sat so nicely on her chair for a whole ten minutes or so eating peanut butter toast she slides to the floor to warn “Don’t chase me, Ahmmy!” as she runs away. As I clear the dishes she laps me on her circuit yelling “don’t chase me Ahmmy!”
I bend down and make a swooping ogre face as she rounds a third time screaming with delight at a pitch only dogs should be able to hear.
I realize as I wash up the dishes she is being too quiet. I dry my hands and seek her out. She has found my notebook and pen. It is only by luck that she has chosen a page I was not already using on which to do her doodles. She sits on the bed narrating as she makes short random strokes on the paper.
“Doggy” she requests hold the pen up to me.
“You want me to draw a dog?”
“Yah.”
We lay belly-down on the mattress and settle in for some drawing. I draw a dog laying with it’s tail curled around it’s body. The only thing that sets it apart from my drawing of a cat laying with it’s tail curled around it’s body is the floppy ears.
“What’s that?” I ask Monkey to see how close my drawing comes to the real thing.
“Doggy” she says matter-of-factly.
Upon request I draw an ephalent, a fish and a seahorse. To her great delight Monkey has just taught herself to do a somersault while I labour over the finer points of drawing a horse.
She stands and gallops out of the room.
“Giddy-up!” she cries, signalling that drawing time is over.
After we gallop around the table a few times I think it is high time to try something less strenuous.
“Do you want to see Gramma?” I ask.
“Yah!” is the decisive reply and without hesitation Monkey is at the door ready to visit Gramma.
As we mount the stairs Monkey calls up to announce her arrival “Laaamaaaa! Hello, Lama. Ah coming, Lama”
Monkey’s Gramma is always delighted to see her and laughs often and easily in her company. Gramma and I sit and chat while Monkey runs circles around the place looking for the cat, pulling the odd book off the shelf for examination or jumping on Gramma’s bed. After she has stripped down to her diaper leaving her clothes strewn around the place, Monkey stands stalk still next to Gramma’s rocking chair and calls out plaintively,
“Help Ahmmy, tuck! Monkey tuck!”
“Are you stuck Monkey?” I reply in mock alarm. As I crouch down to investigate the mystery of her invisible bonds Monkey screams gleefully away calling back “Don’t chase me Ahmmy!”

2008-11-29T11:42:00.002-05:00

Dios de los muertos
and I am wondering
if you are passing through
checking for lit candles
put out for you

say
if you wouldn't mind
if it wouldn't be a bother
would you drop by
to use your razor
or your teeth
and cut this kite string
i want to let you go now
because you never call any more
and i don't have your new number
and if i can't have your laugh
and your brown eyes
i don't want to stand here waiting for them any more
yes
i am a fool
just
if you can
let me
let you
go

The Houses We Live In

2008-11-25T22:45:00.006-05:00

Fiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners [...] when the web is pulled askew, hooked up at the edge, torn in the middle, one remembers that these webs are not spun in mid-air by incorporeal creatures, but the work of suffering human beings, and are attached to grossly material things, like health and money and the houses we live in.
Virginia Woolf
A Room of One's Own

Having a fondness for spiders and all things "webby" I particularly like this quote I found today. Fiction is felted in with realty, the two cannot be seperated without destroying the whole. Reality is the sum of all the beautifully mundane things like going to the bathroom and looking in every pocket for your house keys. One's body is sometimes refered to as a temple or home- the place where the heart or soul resides. A person's casket or tomb can be thought of as their final house. I have often thought that a person's history/life story/body of work can, metaphorically, be thought of as that person's house. All the proof of where we come from, made of what we have been given and signs of our existance are the houses we have built of our lives. A part of Micheal Angelo resides in his paintings and sulptures. Old Bill Shakespeare is in his plays. Emily Dickenson resides in her deceptively simple poems and perhaps always did and no where else. The funny thing about these homes of the famous dead is they are empty now of all but furniture, old tableaus and echos. But what marvelous structures they are.

Tooth-some Wisdom

2008-11-24T19:37:00.007-05:00

I wrote this in May 2002. I came across it earlier today and decided to share.

My jaw still hurts from having my wisdom teeth out. I have a quiet frustrated outrage over the fact that they call them wisdom teeth and then pull them out. Leah wrote a thing one time about how they should be called vision teeth. I think it would only be fair if they called them optional or transient teeth so you know from the beginning that you shouldn't get too chummy with them. I was always looking forward to mine coming in. I saw it as a step in my maturity, a rite of passage. But instead my teeth did a thing called "impacting" which could sound good or bad depending on the context. Turns out dentists unanimously agree it is bad. And bad things must be "removed before they can cause more damage"
...
My wisdom-my potential wisdom was ... damaging me? Couldn't some agreement be reached between me and my malcontent teeth?
Nope, they gotta go-and why did you wait so long in the first place?
...
Because I want to be wise...
...
So now I am four teeth lighter and I can open my jaw about an inch and a half, two inches. My back molars feel looser, my eye teeth feel tighter and I am wondering if it was the right decision. But everyone- EVERYONE- complies to the holy word of the men in white coats and I often doubt myself and chalk these feelings up to stubborn innocence of the facts. Still I can' shake the feeling that I gave away something important. So here I sit, struggling through my sandwich, mulling over the significance of four bones at the back of one's mouth and the possibility that everyone is ignoring the importance of them. That, just like when you grow up you realize you lost something important when you stepped away from childhood, it could be that those of us who rid ourselves of these chompers later cannot put our finger on the source of a feeling of unease or loss or distress. Because no one acknowledges this step in the right manner. It is seen as an unpleasant "procedure" that is common place and unimportant.
Well, I choose to give it importance. I choose outrage at the disregard everyone has for my lost symbol of wisdom. I choose to consciously relocate the symbolic physical location of my wisdom. I will have wisdom eyes or wisdom toes or wisdom hairs or wisdom vertebrae! I haven't picked the new seat yet. Perhaps it will choose me.

What are your wisdom tooth related thoughts and stories?

Cold Weather Haiku

2008-11-21T18:35:00.002-05:00

So chilly-willy
and thick socks just won't do it
lets kindle the hearth

Surfing the main course

2008-11-16T23:35:00.005-05:00

I feel as though I have spent the whole day surfing. It was fun, loud, strenuous, and satisfying but now I am exhausted and sun burnt. I long for my bed. In reality I have not been surfing- it being November, in Canada, no where near a coast, surfing is not an option. But I have been on quite a ride all the same. 18 members of my family descended on our home (at our invitation) for supper. It was a week in the planning and two days in the execution (if you included prep cooking). 12 adults and 6 children under 10 years of age. To our credit the food was tasty and everyone left happy. But our nerves were quite frayed by the end of the night...which is now...so to bed...to bed and no more 18 person meals for at least 6 months. Perhaps only once a year...if that....to bed.

Haiku day

2008-11-05T00:41:00.002-05:00

Essay handed in
got a better idea
just a day later

Close-knit wise guys.

2008-10-22T22:39:00.000-04:00

Birthday Haiku

2008-10-17T01:08:00.003-04:00

mom says at birthdays

the lions share of the day

goes to who birthed you

Now, being a mom I think I am qualified to disagree. I do not want the beam of festivity shined at me on Monkey's special day. I want to continue to bask in Monkey's imperfect unpredictable splendour just like every day. I think it might be nice as an adult to honour that lady who squeezed you out, or reared you, or both, in some way on your birthday but as a kid there is nothing greater than excitedly ushering in a new faze of this marvelous, mostly unexplored life and revelling in the ritual that is YOUR DAY! I would never want to take that away just because I have a scar to proove where she came from. I am happy I borned her and when she understands stuff like that she will likely be happy I borned her too but for now let us all celebrate the wonderful universe that is Monkey.

Happy birthday, baby.

A New Ancient Tradition

2008-10-11T09:09:00.004-04:00

I have been writing Haikus. It is a peculiar poetic medium to me, it feels kind of like word hors d'oeuvers. But I have been seeing whether or not this ancient Asian metre can accommodate modern subjects. They write up very fast so now I have this pile of tiny poems and no idea what to do with them. My solution? Blog it! Therefore at semi-regular intervals I will post a haiku. Starting with this one.

computer still on
my eyes dry from over-use
when will I sleep?

Famous Figures from the 80's - Where are they now?

2008-10-11T08:42:00.005-04:00

Monkey came over with a Han Solo doll and a Rebel fighter pilot doll. She handed me Han Solo and said.
"Here, Ahmmy. Take the man."
To which I replied "That's Han Solo."
"Han Solo?" she asked
"Yes" I said.
So I took Han Solo and she held the Rebel fighter.
"Hello Han Solo" said Monkey's doll.
"Hello Rebel fighter" said Han. " How are you?"
"I sad" replied the Rebel fighter, bending low at the waist.
"Oh no" Han responded with concern. "Would you like a hug?"
"Yes"
Han Solo bent to give the fighter a hug.
"Is that better" he asked.
"Yes" said the fighter with relief. "Come on, Han Solo! Lets go see Farmer John."
At this time Han Solo, the Rebel fighter and their two human appendages went off to find Farmer John at the barn but instead they found Teela, He-man's Warrior Goddess friend. Teela, Han Solo and the Rebel fighter discussed many things such as where the farmer might be, whether or not the fighter was stuck and needing help, why Han Solo was sleeping and other important subjects.

CBC Literary Award

2008-10-07T17:42:00.002-04:00

Here is an opportunity for every Canadian who secretly or proudly enjoys writing, to step outside their comfort zone, show what mad skillz they have and knock the country's socks off! Here is the CBC Radio writing contest open until November 1rst. Enter a short story, a piece of creative non-fiction or one or more poems. There is an entrance fee used for administrative do-dads but if you win you get a huge cash prize, your writing published in En Route magazine and you likely will be asked on to a CBC radio program to show off those mad prize winning writing skills. If you have some writing hiding in your closet, dust if off and submitt it. You can do so online or by mail. It could not be easier. So plug your nose and jump!

Phew!

2008-10-01T22:52:00.003-04:00

Tadah!
I was getting tired of the black background. It felt a little too moody in that "I write in the dark about dark things and cry in the rain" kind of way. So here is the new face to Bits Of Things.
It took quite a lot of fiddling, to the point that I was messing with the script which I know nothing about. "Whats this do? Ooh that kinda worked. Lets see what happens if I do this?" That kind of thing...might explain why it took so long.
Anyway, tadah!

Yay love!

2008-09-26T22:43:00.006-04:00

So the friend I was talking about last post (this one) has awarded me the prestigious "I(heart) Your Blog" award. After my "existential muddling" post she sent me a note saying she liked my blog just the way it was. Friends are awesome, dontcha think?

This is a share-the-love kind of thing so I am asked to offer this award to 7 other bloggers I enjoy. Upon looking in my favourites list I realize that I, yet again, am stepping outside the rules. Some of my most frequented sites have little to no words at all! So here is my list despite the fact that it does not precisely fit the expected form.

Knit and Tonic
Skonen Blades' Photos
The AntiCraft
Kreddible Trout's Photos
Claire Land
Ariadne
Brain Goo

Some are craft based. Some are sites of "outerspace" freinds (by which I mean freinds in the real world I knew before the internet "inner space" thing got involved). All smart and often fun folks and sites in my opinion and worth getting outside your comfort zone to have a gander at. I have not included "She Read And Reads" because she is linked at the top and got an award already so she knows she rocks. (I think you rock Avis, in case you didn't know).

Annuality, A New Day.

2008-09-24T20:37:00.008-04:00

So it seems I have had this quiet little thing going for two years now. I am as shocked as you are. I even missed the "anniversary". Seems it was officially the 10th of September 2006 this accidental blog started but no matter. Though I took no notice last year, I normally use the beginnings and endings of these annual cycles to review and take stalk; to see where I've come from and where I wanna go. So you are being taken along for the ride. Keep your arms and legs inside the blog at all times please. Enjoy.

Today I received a link to the blog my friend recently started. It is nicely organized, sticks to a theme and is consistently filled with useful and interesting information. Check it ou t.

So here I am two years into my blog and upon seeing my friend's boffo (yes, I said boffo) site I am wondering if I should be getting my act together.

Should I get a theme and stick to it? I had assumed a theme would organically evolve...but as I reflect the only theme I see is me talking about my life which is hardly out of the norm for me or, I would think, of any particular interest to anyone who doesn't know me. But I might just be being harsh. So let's say I have a theme-of sorts.

Should I fill my entries with useful information? Apart from my last entry where I alerted all non-pirates to International Talk Like a Pirate Day I don't think I have advised, directed or alerted anyone to much of use, per say. I suppose I could begin doing that but where would I start and where would it end? I see the word "Theme" floating to the surface again. Shoo, you silly constructive thought. Well I am a writer and I do like that subject and know where to find info on getting published. I could add those things in. And I am a knitting fool so I could put more of that in, which I haven't much up until now.

Should I be more consistent? I have thus far attempted to make a minimum of one entry a month. I figure that is not taxing and if I write two or three then I am suddenly super productive! You gotta like that feeling. But maybe one a week wouldn't be too much of a strain. If I started to feel behested (not a word? not a problem) I could always ease off. It's not like anyone will fire me if I shirk.

Well alright then.

Okay, Q. Public, you are witness to my second anniversary resolution. I hereby declare that I will write one entry a week. I will include a minimum of one useful or interesting link per month (any suggestions on subject matter welcome). But I have reserved the right to NOT choose a theme apart from whatever it is I have been doing thus far.
Let's see how this goes.

.......

Does this count as my first weekly entry?

Friday is International Talk Like a Pirate Day

2008-09-18T00:19:00.001-04:00

My pirate name is:

Black Bess Flint

Like anyone confronted with the harshness of robbery on the high seas, you can be pessimistic at times. Like the rock flint, you're hard and sharp. But, also like flint, you're easily chipped, and sparky. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

Having fun, Ahmmy

2008-08-26T20:08:00.004-04:00

Some little voice in my head whispers "remember this" as I become light headed from blowing bubbles for Monkey in the bath tub. She holds one gently perched on her outstretched palm as she uses her other hand to swiftly crush every other globe coming within range. Transparent domes girth her pale belly as she giggles, her arm and neck stretched up as she reaches.
The same voice whispers as she walks up to me masking her face with a cardboard from a recent delivery. From behind the partition she knocks. To our combined delight when I "open" the cardboard door her beaming face is framed by a bevelled brown rectangle. "Hello!" I exclaim. "How are you?"
"Having fun, Ahmmy" she replies thoughtfully.
She was recently given a baby doll which she has dubbed Sooshish, the first given name that has stuck for more than a day.
When given a piece of paper and a crayon she commissions works from me instead of drawing her own.
"I waaaant.....hamburgers and apple trees" she declares.
"Really? Are you sure?"
"Yes...please" is her steadfast reply.
Remember this, the voice whispers. And I do.

Frustrated!

2008-08-08T13:49:00.002-04:00

I was sure I was doing everything right. I went to the fall registration orientation and the next day got up early (first day of registration) to go talk to an academic adviser to be sure there was nothing I should know that I didn't. I told the fella all the classes I wanted to take. He said it all sounded great. He asked if I wanted to register there with him. I said I still had some schedule details to work out so, unless he thought I shouldn't, I was going to register online later in the day. He said that was fine and if I had any difficulty or questions to give him a call.
Then I got home, worked out my schedule and started to the registration process. There was one class (English 212) I had been unable to register for the semester before because I had been too slow so it was my first priority this time. I punch in the numbers and...
FULL!
AT 11 AM ON THE FIRST DAY OF REGISTRATION!!!
I call my academic adviser, the secretary tells me she will get him to call me.
...
2 DAYS later he calls me all "hey, whats up?" and I'm all "I tried to register, blah blah blah" and he's all "ya that class ALWAYS fills up fast" And I'm all "you could have TOLD me that when I was sitting in your office at 9 am on the first day" And he's all "I don't now everything about every single class" And I'm all "But you just said you know that THIS ONE fills up fast and aren't you PAYED to know this stuff? You're supposed to ADVISE me!"
AAAARRRGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!
#@&$ing red tape, bureaucratic, good for nothing, pencil pushing, layabout, no-good-nics! I mean COME ON! I am now 3, count'um THREE, semesters behind in my scholastic plan. And what might have fixed that is a TINY mention of the fact that this is a very popular class and I should get on registering for it right away. IS THAT UNREASONABLE TO ASK FROM AN ADVISER-SOME ADVICE!?
grumble, grumble, snarl, swear...

Puddle Jumping

2008-07-01T22:32:00.006-04:00

I would like to spend all my time listing the wonderful things going on. Things like the wonder and delight in my fathers face when he read my "prize winning" poem. And the fact that I received my copy of the magazine in which my poem appears the day after my birthday. And the fact that many thoughtful people whom I love contacted me on my birthday by phone, e-mail and in person to wish me well. And to boot I think I will- very sure I will- get an A in my first university course in over a decade, the one in which I wrote two formal essays for the first time ever and got A-'s on both (please, no autographs). And the fact that I have been having a very beautiful month long e-mail conversation with a dear friend I thought was more or less off the radar for good. A conversation that has opened my thoughts to so many wonderful things.
I would like to spend all my time thinking about and talking about and acting on these splendid happenings.
The reality is there are equal measures of dark and weighty subjects to occupy my mind.
But as Monkey has shown me, if you want to jump in puddles you have to get a bit wet. To live a full life there will be elements that don't feel good. But wet cuffs dry and all things pass in time. And hey, I got to jump in puddles!
I highly recommend it.

Ladies and Mommies

2008-06-17T13:38:00.008-04:00

Monkey and I were in the car today travelling to the Value Village to find atrocious $4 sweaters to harvest for yarn. That is an idea I got from my friend on the wet coast and I think it is so brilliant I am following her lead. So on the way Monkey looked out the window, and in her usual way said "What's that, Ahmmy?" As we were at a stop light I could follow her gaze and see that she was looking at a billboard ad of a lady in 80's sweats gleefully holding a cellphone to her ear.
I have just finished a class on mass communication in which I studied, in depth, the ramifications of media on society and my final essay was 8 pages on the subject of billboard advertising; the techniques used and the ways it damages society. So when my toddler pointed out that ad only 2 days after I finished writing this rather dense essay I was at a loss as to what, exactly, to respond to the innocent question; "what's that, Ahmmy?" Do I go into a lecture on how the imagery is misogynistic and may damage her self-esteem? Do I ignore the question all together? Do I lie in some "benign" way by not acknowledging that it is an advertisement for a phone? Do I explain the elements in the imagery and what they are meant to represent?
She's 2, people and I am taking mass media WAY too seriously, I think.
"That is a lady" I replied mildly.
"Lady?" She says, true to form.
"Yes."
"No...not lady" Monkey responds pensively. "That is a....mommy!"
"A mommy?" I say.
"Yes" she asserts. "That is a mommy."
So evidently there is a distinction between ladies and mommies and apparently mommies smile gleefully off the tops of buildings like Olivia Newton John King Kongs! Please adjust all preconceived notions accordingly.

Square Pegs

2008-05-20T22:02:00.004-04:00

I was talking to a friend recently about this new sensation I have discovered passing through my consciousness on an almost daily basis of late. This sensation is not, in and of itself, new but the urgency and disquiet it inspires is. The sensation is the simple and overwhelming feeling of not fitting in. Now, one expects to have this feeling, say, in high school when one is still working out what and who you are before knowing where you should fit. And that feeling can trickle into your twenties if it takes you some time to mature and really "know yourself". But there is an assumption that eventually, when you have a deeper confidence in the idea of self in regard to your own inner landscape, that your "place" in the world will become evident, that like minded people will surface and you will have a sense of belonging.
Now, I have done a few things in my relatively short 34 years and I believe I have sorted out, to a great degree, who I am (in the deeper senses) and I like and have confidence in who that person is. But to my alarm I am realising that this feeling of otherness has never gone away. I have individuals I feel akin to and resonate with but there is still no group, no demographic, no sphere where I feel comfortable and represented as part of a whole despite the fact that, on the surface, I would seem to fit into many. I am a woman, a Canadian, white, a mother, bilingual, blue eyed, a knitter, a writer, a thinker, a student, a humanist, a lover, a baker of bread. But in any group of any one of those things I feel like the exception in every case.
All this I told to my friend, trying to convey the growing feeling of unease this realisation brought with it. And you know what she said? "Me too." Just turned 40 and just as misrepresented by all she sees as me.
And I think of another friend who kept telling me about how he cannot relate to his coworkers though they all be personable and engaging in their way. They are all...made to fit...or so it would seem.
I am reminded of a song I wrote about how, in our restless youth, my best friend and I would "laugh or yell at the world that had made square pegs of us" as if, perhaps, it was our environment that had made us malformed for the mold, alone in a crowd, in opposition to the norm.
And I am beginning to see that it is not that I don't fit into any group but that my group is not marketable, consumable, sitcom worthy. I am not represented because I am not a sheep. My demographic IS the exception.
And we are legion, honey.

It's been a hard day

2008-04-29T08:44:00.002-04:00

Watching time pass
over and through
the ice in my glass like a dispassionate god
passively watching things live and die.
It's been a hard day.

Reeling after another day
of reacting to other peoples baggage
feeling empty and tired
wrung out and unwilling to try anymore.
It's been a hard day.

Behold! The mighty bomber sock!

2008-04-21T17:26:00.003-04:00

Original design inspired by WWII shark-nosed bomber planes. Finally done. Hooray!

How did the show go?

2008-04-10T19:19:00.003-04:00

I can put it off no longer! I WILL not!
The show. The cabaret. My first ever production. No pressure, just all me to book acts, advertise and host with no previous experience. And how did it go? Well there's good news and there's bad news.
The bad news is 5 paying audience members showed up, 3 of those being my friends (thank you, you sweet, thoughtful, supportive people). The performers equalled the audience. Ouch. So I lost money on the advertising and gave the performers token pay out of my own pocket out of guilt for not giving them a roaring mob or at least a burbling crowd. In the shows defence it was as cold as a well digger's ass that night and the venue is not exactly central.
The good news? Everyone had a wonderful time! The performers thanked me for having them, the audience members said they really enjoyed themselves and would come again and the coordinator for the space said we should talk turkey about doing another show. We all laughed belly laughs and were moved and made pensive. No one yawned or made polite non-committal comments like "it was ... good...". And my carrot and zucchini muffins were a big hit.
But best of all. Are you sitting down? You know how people say that you loose stage fright after you get up there- I always thought those folks were full of ... hot air but it happened- to me! Normally my stage fright is so extreme that while I am on stage (which I diligently avoid) all I can seem to do is breath in- and in - and in and receded far back into myself wondering just when it is the crowd is going to kill me for being such a talentless hack. When I am up there it is all I can do NOT to rip my own skin off and dive screaming into a dark hole. So perhaps it is easy to see why I had a hard time believing that my feelings of deep peril would ever go away on stage. Well, perhaps the combination of such an intimate friendly audience and the fact that I had to keep getting up there to introduce the next act and read some poems as time filler was the perfect vehicle for riding out my dread and surfacing in this wholly new place of relative ease. I felt exhilarated and energized instead of relieved and exhausted. It was a revelation. Truely.
So all things considered the good out weighs the bad and I call it a success. Enough to give it another go in June. When I have the date set I expect you all to mark it on your calendars and rush to join the fun.

Welcome to the show!

2008-03-06T09:17:00.005-05:00

When: Doors open at 7:30, March 20th

Where: Centre St Ambroise, 5080 St Ambroise, Metro St Henri, Montreal

What: A live show of spoken word, improv comedy and music. A feast of language. An opportunity for you to get up and show us whatcha got!

If all goes well this will be a recurring event so tell your friends and come join the fun! Spoken word performance by Catherine Kidd, improv comedy by Without Annette and music by Jenn Anderson.

I will post an aftermath entry to let everyone who could not attend know how it went. But you should attend! You don't want to say to yourself later "Aw I should have gone!", do you?

The Winning Poem

2008-02-22T13:45:00.003-05:00

Of course I forgot to mention which poem I had submitted. Here it is.

The Poem On Your Body

I traced out a poem on your body
With a Japanese brush.
The first uneasy drop
Spread on your shoulder blade
Like a star.

Along your side I wrote the size and span of your wings.
At the base of your back
I catalogued the examples of your courage.
On your inner thigh
I wrote the details of your secrets.
Down your arms
was a list of your desires
and on the soles of your feet
in tiny letters
I chronicled your dreams.
Each word, each letter brushed
spelled out my love.

Our august sweat washed it all illegible.
Rubbing into our pores
the words reduced to m’s and r’s and s’es,
no longer words at all.
Then was the cohesion
when the poem became.
The knitting of cells and ink
braided the poem real
and such a soliloquy can never be spoken.

I (kinda) won!

2008-02-22T09:37:00.002-05:00

So I got an e-mail about a month ago from Descant magazine. They are a Canadian mag out of Toronto that publishes literature and art. The e-mail said that the poem I had submitted to the "Winston Collins- Best Canadian Poem" award had made it onto the short list. The e-mail asked if I would go to Toronto and attend the award soirée. It said the short list had 17 other finalists on it.
I was surprised to be a finalist but didn't figure I was going to win and travelling mid-week to TO was not a convenient thing to do so I put it all in the back of my mind. About a week later I got another e-mail saying "You haven't told us if you are coming." So I replied that, officially and unequivocally, I was not attending. A few days later I got a phone call from the editor-in-chief. "Are you sure you can't come?" So I explained that having made the 5-6 hour car trip to Toronto once with a toddler had been a real trial and I was wise enough from the ordeal not to repeat it. Also I work (granted I could take a laptop and work en route but I didn't mention that). She asked if I had a web-cam to "virtually" attend. I said no but offered to make a video poem of myself reading the submitted piece which they could show at the event. She said that would be great. So I memorized the poem, set up my little camera in a quiet spot and did about 3 million takes. When I finally had read it through smoothly I took one look at it and went to bed feeling puffy, lispy, stoned-looking, and unwarrantably pretentious. The next day I sent it anyway because I knew most of my insecurities were in my head and would not be so glaring to strangers.
I figured that was the end of it. But the very same day I got another e-mail from the editor saying that someone else was coming from Montreal with a toddler and maybe we could travel together. I called the editor (as she had kindly given me her personal number) and said "Really I would love to come but will not drive it. The train is a great way to go but I can't afford it. I would strongly suggest you recommend this option to the other people travelling there with a child. Thanks for putting me on the short list, blah blah blah."
To which she replied "Are you really sure you can't come? I shouldn't tell you this but you are on the short list..."
"You mean a shorter short list?"
"Yes. And we really hope you can make it to the event."
"Well as I said, I would come by train but I can't afford it."
I had also previous to all this called a friend or two (because, really, I did want to go, even if I had to do some creative financing later) to see if Morgan and I could be put up for a night but it seemed like all of Toronto was leaving that very day for Cuba!
She e-mailed me yet again that day to say that Descant magazine would pay my train fare.
Well hell. They really do want me there. So I made one last attempt to contact someone in Toronto to stay with. It was a go. It turned out that I would not have any work the two days I would be away anyway so it looked like the universe was giving me a cosmic shove.
Morgan and I made the trip. I gotta say, travelling with a kid really makes me empathize a LOT with single moms-it is not easy doing stuff with a kid in tow!
So all this long pre-amble to say I won "honourable mention", which translates as one of two runners up for the prize. The title comes with publication in the summer issue, a year's subscription, a bouquet, a certificate, a bottle of champagne and $250. Heehee.
This is my first lit prize and only my third or so publication.
Wee!

Help me, Buddha

2008-02-14T08:58:00.004-05:00

This morning while I changed her diaper, Monkey looked over at the mantle and spied someone who might be able to free her from the horrible mommy-monster's wipes-filled embrace.
"Help me, Buddha" she called plaintively. "Help,Buddha!"
As any good offspring of hippies would, I rejoiced in the idea that my little angel recognised the deeper elements of the statuette on the mantle but my plans to enroll her into some kind of spiritual practise in India were cut short when she changed her tactics and started beseeching assistance from the moose figurine sitting next to Buddha. Ah well. We can't all be enlightened every moment of the day, right? Any Roshi will tell ya that.

Putting priorities to bed

2008-01-30T09:31:00.001-05:00

For the past week or so I have been trying to convince Monkey that sleeping in her own bed is a great idea. It's slow going. As a compromise to having to wake up as many as six times a night to carry her back to her room and into bed I have set up a bed for me in her room, part laziness, part convenience, plus she doesn't wake up too much so I can get her back to sleep faster. We have been through this drill before only to end up all back in the big bed on a regular basis. I have also been trying to keep a strict bed time, nine o'clock, and getting her to actually fall asleep first in her bed before waking in the night to look for me. Often she won't fall asleep in her bed and has to be put into bed once asleep. I am still trying to figure out how to fix that. It has a lot to do with her not yet being weaned.
- I ranted to a friend recently about how there is this huge push these days to encourage new mothers to breast feed; there is an organisation called the "La Leche League" (spelling?) which is a kind of grass roots support system you can call for help or to answer questions about breast feeding. My rant was this; it's all well and good to push mothers to breast feed (got my own qualifications on that particular argument but lets move on) but where are these mother suckers when it comes time to get the kid OFF the boob!? But I digress. -
So Monkey is not weaned and now associates boob with comfort and safety (I got some exes who can relate). She almost never falls asleep without the boob. This makes it very hard to get her to fall asleep in her own bed and next to impossible for anyone but me to put her to bed. Not fun.
So anyway, because she is going to bed at nine (not always falling asleep for as much as an hour but whatever) she is waking up earlier and earlier. Today it was 8:15. As I lay there while she insisted on me getting up I debated the merits of putting her to bed later so I could sleep in some again. MyDear hadn't left for work yet and was greeted with a delighted "Daddeeee!". After the days first diaper change I put on the morning kids shows so I could go make breakfast and a cup of tea. When I came back with a couple of Eggos and my cuppa (with lemon as I feel a cold coming on) MyDear was watching Monkey rock out to the "Super Readers". We sat and watched her for a while until MyDear had to leave for work.
Once he was gone I started thinking about all the things I wanted to get done today and my mind turned to the sock pattern I am trying to create. At MyDear's request I am devising a sock pattern fashioned after a sharknosed WWII fighter plane. It is not easy but very engrossing. I keep not doing things like dishes, laundry, groceries because I am working out the sock pattern. (Yes, I am obsessed. I accept it.) So, needless to say things are piling up around here and I HAVE TO leave the pattern for a while and catch up some. Today is groceries, shower, put away clean laundry and try to get my laptop fixed for free. Seems like a do-able list but life has a way of stalling things. And of course spending my morning blah blahing on my blog is just ridiculous in the face of things but hey, if I can be engrossed by the idea of a sock I obviously DO NOT have my priorities straight.

Too Quiet

2008-01-23T13:53:00.000-05:00

I knew she was being too quiet. There is the quiet when Monkey is engrossed in a benign activity like filling and emptying her vintage barn with the mooing door. There is the quiet of Monkey "reading" herself a story. There is the quiet of watching for the millionth time the most exciting kids movie ever made- whatever that happens to be this week. And then there is the quiet of undertaking a forbidden activity. Every parent knows it. It awakens the parental "spidey sense". And yet I let it go for a few minutes because I was otherwise occupied.
In acquiring a sudden boon of house plants from a friend leaving the province my main concern was in regard to Monkey trying to eat harmful foliage. The sheer size of many of these potted beauties meant, however, that putting them up high or out of reach was impossible or down right dangerous. So the next logical option was to keep an eye on her to ensure no leaf munching went on. Surprisingly - to me at least- she has never attempted to eat the forbidden plants but the dirt... the dirt is at times irresistible.
So what should I find to explain the unnatural silence but my little angel with her tender tootsies nestled in a pile of potting soil while she methodically scoops more onto the floor with the heads of her two tiny "princess" dollies. Her big eyes shine up at me as she waits to see what my reaction will be. She seems torn between sharing her delight and dreading my reprimand. Though I was disappointed and annoyed (as much with myself as her) I must admit we did have fun washing her hands, feet and princesses in the sink before I had to go sweep up the mess.
All parents be advised, heed the "spidey" sense. Do not hesitate.
Lesson learned.

The Dark Mistress of Snot

2008-01-11T13:42:00.000-05:00

I don't think I have had the flu - the actual flu- since my teens. No wonder everyone rushes off to the doctor thinking they are going to die, that's the way it feels...for real. I think the criteria for judging if one has a cold or flu should be the regularity of complaints coming from the infected person; the more you complain the less likely it is to be the flu, because with the flu, one has no energy to complain, or roll over, or cough.
I started to see the virus in me as the manifestation of some Latin-American style "Day of the Dead" Icon, some skeletal creature in female form working her necessary evil on me through fatigue, head congestion and, the most evil of all, endless viscous snot.
I spent one night dreaming that the bed was a raft on a dark, choppy sea. I and the other raft members spent our time trying to knit a sail out of rags but just kept making more convoluted rags.
My snoring got so oppressive my Dear had to move down to the couch.
One night I sweat through five separate shirts.
For several days I felt as though I had swallowed razor blades and that and a completely blocked nose reduced my diet of tiny swallows of soup when ever I could raise my head.
But as thick as the fog spread by Lady Influenza was it lifted suddenly leaving me with a slight sniffle and little else as a memento.
I am stunned by how healthy I feel. I feel as though I ought to make an offering to Lady Influenza thanking her for the weird dreams and leaving me unscarred...but what? Used tissue? Ginger tea? Warm blankets?

Learning to Eat

2007-11-16T09:18:00.000-05:00

A friend has been staying with us with a wheat/dairy allergy. She says it makes her uncomfortable thinking that her eating habits inconvenience others. I found it a pleasant challenge to find yummy recipes that fit the margins. I scoured the internet and found a fabulous chocolate cake recipe which made her grin which in turn made me happy. So really the food "issue" made me more creative and made for a happy memory.
In talking with her about food and her allergies I realised it wouldn't hurt for us to try abstaining from wheat for two weeks and see if anyone here has an intolerance. I talked it over with my Dear and he agreed to give it a try.
That night we made a Mexican influenced stir-fry and asked ourselves what to have with it. What about couscous? Nope, all wheat. Okay, rice? Nah, not in the mood. Quinoa? Is that a kind of wheat? I don't think so... Quinoa it is.
The next day, off I went to the market to buy wheat-free things. Rice crackers, rice noodles, wheat-free pasta. I couldn't find rice tortillas in the store but I know a place that sells them cheap by the pound. And I bought a lot more vegetables and meat. Only when I got my wares home did I see that two of the pasta packages I had bought did in fact contain wheat. A clear case of take the time to read the ingredients carefully. Lesson learned.
That night we ate rice based fusili noodles with a meat sauce. My friend had warned me that rice noodles have a very narrow "ready" window. If you take them out too soon they are unpleasantly under cooked and a minute too long and they are sticky and mushy. I kept a close eye on them and rinsed them in cold water after draining. They did have a slightly gluey consistency that you don't find with wheat noodles but they were still tasty enough, and I think, properly cooked.
The next night it was spaghetti noodles with a rice and quinoa base. Those were yummier with a better consistency and less sensitive cooking instructions but the box only contained enough for one person or two if served as a side dish, and for the price, that is not worth it. I will, however, keep my eye open for other brands of noodles with quinoa and see if they are all expensive.
So tonight, I think we will have Chinese style chicken stir-fry. No faux-wheat issues to think about accept soya sauce, I realise. Must find an alternative for that.
On the whole I have been learning that a diet restriction as wide as "no wheat" can feel quite limiting but I am seeing it as a matter of perspective. If you think of the best yummiest foods as having wheat then you will feel deprived but if you think of the vast variety of delicious foods that do not have and often have never had wheat it doesn't seem like such a sacrifice. Also it is probably a lot easier for me knowing that I can go back to wheat if I choose, some cannot and thinking that you will NEVER eat a fresh baked loaf of pumpernickel ever again could and probably is quite saddening.
My delight comes from baking so I have been searching for recipes without wheat. Not an easy task. Many recipes started out as wheat flour based and have been adapted, these, I often find are like calling carob chocolate or tofu meat-only if you have never had the original can the substitute fool you. But I have been finding a few, a sadly small few, that never started with wheat and I am trying them out in turn to see how they hold up. The whole experience is a learning process but I am finding it an enjoyable one.

Morning Noodling

2007-10-18T11:04:00.001-04:00

The Monkey and I lolled in bed until quarter of nine today. When we finally opened our eyes to greet each other we gave the other a great squishy morning smile. On days like this I often get the gift of a "Hi mommy!" which starts my day off nicely.
I put on the kettle and popped a bagel in the toaster while Monkey wandered around reintroducing her clown to various characters in the kitchen. I started making a mental "should-do" list; dishes, buy baby wipes, do some laundry, etc. Meanwhile I flipped through a cook book ogling cake recipes and wondered which one my Dear would like as an after work surprise. Monkey ate a muffin and shared her Cheerios with me while I had tea and ate cream cheese and Joan's home made marmalade on a bagel. It was a nice way to start the day.
We went out and bought wipes but I am now studiously avoiding the rest of my "should-do" list. Thinking about my current knitting project. Wondering if I will get work today. Wondering if I should start tackling the tricky Halloween costume I have decided to make for Monkey. Should I shower now or later?
Monkey is enraptured by her favorite cartoon which frees up my time some but will I use that time "constructively"? Ah! I know, I will read the free paper and see what interesting events exist for my friend and I to do this weekend on my "day pass" excursion. Now that is time well spent!

Knit, Purl, Dream, Knit, Purl, Dream...

2007-10-17T10:41:00.000-04:00

I have been knitting to such a fevered pitch recently that I dreamed of knitting last night. I dreamed the act of knitting and nothing else, no plot, no characters, just yarn and sticks. This is what I get for making knitted objects a goal rather than a hobby. At least I have the good sense to know that I never want to get paid to do it. Making it a job takes all the love out of it. And there is definite love there for me. The fact that I got giddy when a burly P.I character on a TV show I like (Pushing Daisies) was revealed to knit under pressure shows that I am obsessed and loving it. I don't go gaga over "yarn porn" like some but the act of creating a usable, hopefully, beautiful object really satisfies me. No wonder I dream of it.

Long distance relationships

2007-10-03T08:43:00.000-04:00

We drove to Toronto last weekend to bring the Monkey to the zoo. Her favorites were the giraffes, elephants, gorillas and seals. While walking to the seal pavilion she was hollering "Seals, where aaarrre yoouuu?" in a sing song voice. And when we finally saw them she greeted them with a gleeful announcement of "Seeaalls!"
We stayed with a friend who always brings my spirits up. She has wonderful warmness and she gets excited about the same kinds of silly things as me. It's only a shame she lives in another city, like most people I would love to have close to me. I have some friends in this city and some of them I have known a long time but there is and always will be a distance of a sort. A squeak in my "letting you in" door. The ones I can fall down broken in front of are far away, the ones I would choose to help me up because they would do it just right. The ones who make me laugh from the gut, give hugs from the soul and gently but firmly tell it like it is all live away.
So despite the agony of the drive there and back the trip helped heal an empty feeling I had been having. I feel stronger after having spent time with someone I truly enjoy if only for a weekend.
Now all I need is to find someone or someones like that here but, of course, I don't get out much.

In the time it has taken...

2007-09-18T22:19:00.001-04:00

In June I sat down.
They told me to sit down.
My core vibrated with shock.
I thought "He never wanted to die alone".
I cried some.
I was desperate to mourn in a group,
To have and to be a witness.
I flew to where your name was on everyone's lips.
I got drunk on photos, hugs, cigarettes, poems and Fireball whiskey
And flew away again.

In July I listed your faults.
Love and frustration
Stretched my sadness into strange shapes.
I asked why you had died.
I spoke of you to few in fewer words.
I kept you secret.
I looked for you.
I wrote you letters.

In August I forgot you.
I lived.
I slept and woke up,
I ate and did laundry.
You were nowhere in my mind.
Sometimes I felt guilty for it
But mostly I lived.

In September I dreamt of you.
I heard poems by people you had introduced me to,
People who are not dead.
I cried waterfalls.
I composed poems to you as I fell asleep.
In the night I cheated on the father of my child with you, a dead man.

I always felt like your secret lover,
like if they ever wrote a book about you my name would not be in it.

I keep wondering if I would now love you this much if you had lived.