Brain Farts and the Science Behind it

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 13, 2015

Today I was chatting away with a coworker, during lunch. We often talk about different movies and television shows that pique our interest. Most of these are on Netflix. This has absolutely nothing to do with the topic at hand, but I thought I’d throw in a little distractor. I’m sneaky that way. Now you’re thinking about the latest thing you’ve watched on Netflix, aren’t you?

Moving along.

I was trying to remember a series of very well-known movies that this particular actress (which we were discussing) was featured in. I came up blank. In fact, I couldn’t remember a single name of ANY of the famous actors who played in the movie or even the general topic. Bizarre. Someone had snuck up behind me and managed to remove half of my cerebral cortex without my written consent.

I’ve watched these movies a number of times. When I tell you what it is, you’ll completely get it. But there I was…stumped. It’s as if Gandalf, himself, was standing there with his magic walking stick, thrusting and shaking it in my direction whilst screaming at the top of his lungs, “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!”

My brain was locked up. I decided to try the back door to see if I could get in that way. I got in, alright, only to discover a gang of crickets just hanging around, smoking and scratching their groins. They didn’t even have the decency to chirp. One even turned to me with an annoyed look on his face as if to say:

What…?

Apparently the aliens had removed my entire brain.

I was starting to look like some frantic lunatic in front of my poor coworker as I spat out words into incomplete sentences that went more or less like this:

“It’s the…!!! You know, that guy…who…, his name is….!!! Oh GAWD! I CAN’T!!! JEEEZ!”

“Who the frig STOLE MY BRAIN?!”

As it turns out, there is a perfectly logical explanation that’s not only been documented but several people have given this phenomenon, serious thought. In fact, one of them first started researching this socially awkward and random occurrence in 1890. Possibly that’s when someone noticed it was nearing an epidemic and thought it wise to look into it.

It was then coined: TOT (tip-of-the-tongue syndrome). Then, in 1966, a fellow named David McNeil published a whole paper on it in the Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior. You can download it here.

So, what’s this TOT thing all about and why is it happening (mostly to me, I’m convinced) anyway?

Evidently, it’s partially to do with age. No huge surprise, there. There are also a number of other factors that contribute to this annoying irritant. Sleep deprivation, anxiety, alcohol and distraction and basically anything that can affect your physical and cognitive health will be party to this and make it happen more often.

In recent years the causes have become much more interesting: psycholinguistic, for example. My, that’s a fancy word, now what the heck does it mean? Essentially, it’s the study of how the psyche responds to words and languages. So, an issue would be a temporary breakdown in your vocabulary word retrieval.

A large portion of: names, dates, places and numbers decided to go on vacation without checking with the rest of us, first.

Unfortunately I don’t have good news, fellow cranium-flatulators, on fixing this intolerable behavior. There are not a lot of ‘fix it’ solutions out there. However, one fellow made a few up of his own. Dr. Gary Small, a ‘professor of psychiatry and aging’ at the UCLA SEMEL Institute developed the: “Look, Snap, Connect” technique. If you’re interested, you can find out all about it, here.

I’m quite relieved that this is a relatively common phenomenon, even though I suspect I suffer from it far more than others.
I’m going to go with the: My-brain-was-full-and-I-needed-it-for-more-important-things theory.

Oh! And the move was X-men. See? Completely common, everybody has seen it and I haven’t a clue why I drew a blank.

The Line

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 5, 2015

There’s a fine line when dealing with internal and external clients. I’ve been doing what I do for 28 years and I think I’m pretty good at it. One of the things I’ve learned along the way is that no matter what, your customers are everything.

Sometimes, this means getting on the nerves of those ‘internal’ clients. These are your fellow co-workers that you need on your side, to do your job. Usually, they play in the technical, accounting or HR field. They also don’t ‘get’ sales people. Often, they’re not really client-centric. I find this funny because without customers, companies are nothing.

So. I will push the envelope with various team members to ultimately better fulfill our client’s needs. At times, this is necessary as much is at stake. It’s not all about getting the sale, for me. It’s about customer satisfaction, long-term relationship building, trust and yes, my reputation is tossed in there, too.

I not only sell software solutions, I sell engineering solutions and this means….a high-end project that needs to be managed, massaged, hugged and babysat.

I don’t actually manage the projects but sometimes the project managers need a little…nudge?

I’m always polite, but yes, people get pissed off at my tenacity. I really don’t care. It’s not about them.

You’re busy. I get that. I’m busy, the client is busy, the whole friggin’ planet is busy!

You’re not special by saying you’re busy. That’s an excuse for poor time management. Work smarter not harder, remember?

I may piss a few team members off, now and then, but I get the job done. I bring value to the client (especially after they’ve just spent $60K and are looking to spend about $60K more).

I CARE. I care about doing good business and making sure everyone is happy.

I usually get my way. People forgive that I nudged them (which is really just code for following up).

Client is happy. I’m happy. Technical Project Manager is getting over it and will be happy…

I walk the line.

It’s a fine line but life is good.

Running Before The Wind

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 2, 2015

Amongst other things, this is a sailing term. Many years ago, my now ex-husband co-owned a sailboat. And thus I was privy to learning how to sail.

Running, in sailing terms, is heading downwind with as much canvas as you can muster. This is what a spinnaker is used for. If you’ve never seen a spinnaker in full bloom on a windy day out in the bay…I highly recommend it. You’re missing out.

It’s truly an amazing and beautiful thing to see a sleek vessel completely under wind power, gliding across the sea with a massive kaleidoscope of coloured cloth, leading the way. It’s a high-speed, whimsical ride with whitecaps crashing on your bow and deep waters, rushing by.

It’s somewhat short lived, but it’s part of every journey and after we furl the majestic spinnaker to replace it with easier to maneuver sails like a jib or genoa, we can carry on our journey in the direction we wish to. We can tack or jibe with relative ease and not worry about the direction of our wind because we are in control, now.

The wind is our power source and we are the manipulator, the conductor of it.

However, there is something about having the wind at your back and not being in complete control that is exciting. There is a danger to jibing (you don’t want to do that when you’re doing this) and you have less steering ability; your boat is less stable. A sailboat that seemed under control can instantly become over-canvassed and in danger of a sudden broach.

The past three months, actually even before that, have been the most challenging, the most groundbreaking and life changing months of my life.

I think I’ve tackled my grief head-on and walked, consciously and directly into the centre of the fire. It burned like hell. But to dance around the outskirts, yelling that it’s going to hurt, is fruitless. This is how I live my life; I deal with the shit without hesitation because I’m only prolonging the inevitable if I don’t. I read that many people who go through suicide grief become numb. I was never numb. I didn’t shove the pain aside and busy myself with life. I’m incapable of doing that.

Bring on the fire, let me experience the pain and the burn. Let me live in the intensity so that I understand and truly appreciate the love I felt before and after it.

At times the sorrow has been unbearable and I’ve questioned my very existence. In fact, I’ve questioned every aspect of my life, many, many times.

I have no answers, only more questions but I’m stepping outside of that fire and pain. At least, for a little while… I may return. I may waltz right back in there so that I never ever forget just what I lost. I don’t want to forget. I want to remember everything in minute detail. This is how I learn.

But now, I’m on my boat, with the wind at my backside and it’s a fine wind, I feel the power racing me forwards into full on sunlight. I hear the roar of the sea, smell the air and taste the salt on my lips.

It’s time to start healing, time to carry forward in every moment, relish every breath, drink in the day and fly into the night.

It’s time to love life, again.

I’m running before…and with, the wind.

October 19th is not that far away.

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 1, 2015

Election Time in Canada

How they twist and turn,
Big slimy fish in a tiny puddle
their long tongues wagging side to side
lies, lies, lies-
like lilies they appear, virgins in white
Lubricated smiles with veneer promises

believe – trust – submit
hands grasp your arm with conviction
eyes lock onto yours
you can always tell by the shine
deception is brilliant

Secrets locked away
bright copper pennies that
are stuffed into fat piggy banks
they will draw them out
a plethora of decadent daydreams
smashing the plaster swine

One at a time
they are tossed into your lap,
trying to capture your support
feigning aplomb,
pretending you are
important

What you think matters,
for about five minutes
then it’s on to the next
morsel

We eat them up-
those tasty campaign promises
we serve them with butter, a
dash of salt for prosperity
swill it down with expensive
vintage
believing all will be well

Tomorrow Is

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 24, 2015

Another day to remember him; an opportunity to meet more souls that loved him.

Peeling back the layers of truth and unwinding all of the tightly coiled springs of instant grief is humbling. Every now and then I have a reality check; I remind myself that I was blessed to even know him for the short time that I did because I suspect there was a large possibility this was always going to happen.

I believe we make choices on what we want to experience in each lifetime before we get here. I guess he and I agreed to experience this, together, should he decide to use this exit strategy; clearly that’s what he did. He would have had to agree to experience this with every other soul in his life so…in essence and on a higher soul level, we already knew this was going to be a strong possibility.

So. What do we take from that? What have we learned?

I’m still processing that.

For those of us moving through this journey, we’ve coloured our paths with him differently, so each journey is unique. Thus, each of us is learning about this terrible pain and sorrow in our own way.

It’s like learning how to swim in and ultimately escape quicksand. It’s hellishly difficult but not impossible if you know what you’re doing. Evidently…slow and careful movements are called for.

We’ll get through this, all of us, but there will be scars.

People are confused, broken, cracked open and are having great difficulty really processing exactly just what the hell happened and why it did. Personally, for me, I’ve been thrown off of the life tracks I was on and I’m currently trying to pick myself up and find my footing while getting constantly caught up in-between the rails.

In truth, my heart thinks it’s been shredded. I’m running around trying to find all of the tiny pieces so that I can somehow shove it all back inside my chest. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men are having great difficulty putting Carrie back together, again.

It happened; it’s real. He’s gone and he ain’t comin’ back in the same form that he was in.

He left us in body but he’s still around for us, of this, I’m certain. Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Speak his name out loud and understand that the veil between earth and the afterlife is incredibly thin and close.

As for the why’s…we’ll never really know and understand that but we can and will find an explanation that we can live with. That’s all we can do as this was his path and pain, not ours to understand.

Some days it feels like I’m standing at the bottom of the ocean with the incredible pressure of the sea holding me hostage. Other days it’s as if the big picture reality of everything sinks in and I ‘get it’. I get that this is temporary and so very short in the big scheme of things. I get that we’ll all be together with our loved ones, soon. We’ll all leave this place – just when that is, is the unknown.

I asked the question of why we don’t know this; why aren’t we able to know the time of our impending bodily death? The answer I got was that our choices and experiences would not be as wonderful and enlightening if we did. Instead of living life, we’d be sitting around waiting for ‘that’ to happen so we could return home and probably not pursuing adventures that wouldn’t turn out so well. It defeats the purpose of why we chose to come here, in the first place!

We are here to experience this physical plane in the fullest, most wonderful and amazing way possible. This means every part of life – the good, the bad, the bliss and the pain.

That.

Is why…we are here.

Tomorrow is…another day. Another day to remember why I fell in love with him and be thankful for every single moment that we shared. I’ll be with him, again. When? That’s not for me to know and in the meantime, I need to remember that I have to go out there and love/live…life.

Today’s lesson is brought to you by the letter “R”.

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 15, 2015

I’m speaking of Religion.

Ohhhhhh, now I’ve instantly pissed off a bunch of people!

Funny, that. It’s even funnier that I really don’t care.

Let me quantify this with my expressed option (and it’s just that – MY opinion) as well as offer up a disclaimer.

Firstly, I am not religious. That means, I do not belong to any one organized belief system about God. My belief system is base more upon metaphysics. Now, let me define exactly what that means, because, I think a lot of folks don’t understand it.

met·a·phys·ics

ˌmedəˈfiziks/

noun

noun: metaphysics

the branch of philosophy that deals with the first principles of things, including abstract concepts such as being, knowing, substance, cause, identity, time, and space.

There, copied and pasted from the Internet.

Are you still with me?

I like to refer to myself as a cosmic girl. I have many beliefs and theories that resonate with me and there are some aspects of religions that gel with me, too. What I don’t practice – is one, specifically. I also spend an exorbitant amount of time researching and attempting to understand all aspects of life and after life. Seriously, I could send you about a dozen links to what I’m investigating.

Therefore, you could not call me a Christian. Nor could you call me an Atheist.

I do, however, believe in GOD – or the One Source. Or any other name you wish to call it. I also believe we, as souls, are all part of GOD. We are all connected. Each and every one of us, along with every other life form on this little blue-green planet.

We’re all in this together. We are all one – and yes, we’re individual, but all part of THE ONE.

At any rate…again, MY opinion.

I will point out that if your beliefs differ, that’s totally cool with me. I respect that and you. You can believe in whatever you like and if the Hindi faith rocks your boat, go for it! It’s your belief, your path, your heart and life. Not mine.

I don’t judge.

I do, however, resent those that do.

Oh! She’s got a point to all of this…!

Yes, yes, I do.

Something really terrible happened to me (and many others that shared his brief life) just over two months ago. The man I loved and adored left the world in a terrible, terrible way. He chose to take his life.

While the complexity of this situation is steep and almost insurmountable at this stage, it’s a simple fact. He’s gone. He’s gone and those that love him are left here to deal with how we feel. Well, I think I can speak for all of us. It’s complete devastation x about a billion. Scratch that – x about a billion to the 10^th power.

Yes, it’s really, REALLY… THAT bad.

Moving on…

Those that know me and those that I’ve decided to let into my life during the past 49 years (there aren’t very many, I’m choosy) know how I feel about religion. To start preaching to me, YOUR views, especially at a time like this, is seriously disrespectful. It will make me mad.

So, now I’m mad.

I’ve decided it’s not in my best and highest good to have these people in my life. Now, more than ever, I’m standing up for what people believe in and the right to do so. And, oddly enough, this would include YOU!

I’m talking about a lot of things: sexual orientation, personal rights and personal belief structures – I could go on. If there is one thing my mother taught me, well, it’s to: live and let live.

“Each to his own!” she’s always saying.

I like that. It works for me.

As long as you’re not harming anyone else, do whatever the fuck you want.

I don’t judge.

You shouldn’t either.

It’s not up to you. It doesn’t matter if Brian was an Atheist or a Communist. He was neither, by the way, but raised Catholic. It doesn’t matter what YOU believe in. What matters…is that those that loved him are in a shitload of PAIN so intense that if you’ve never experienced it, you should get down on your knees right this moment and pray to whatever God you worship that you never, ever, ever have to go through it.

We don’t need to be told where to find the Lord/Lady. We already know where SHE/HE is and she’s/he’s NOT lost. We don’t need religious Hymns sent to us and to have you jump onto your soap box and start preaching the WORD.

WE – are not interested in YOUR beliefs.

We do, however respect them so – please respect ours.

If you don’t, you will find yourself not included in our lives from this point on. You will find we won’t communicate with you further and you will find that you no longer have us as your friend.

Yes, I’m breaking up with you. Deal with it.

Flying Dragons

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 14, 2015

Wait…I may have that mixed up.

I love dragonflies. Not because they have the word ‘dragon’ in their name. Although I adore dragons (or, I would if they were real). Not because they kinda look like faeries; but in keeping with the theme of make-believe, I LOVE faeries. And, not because they eat mosquitoes; this is definitely a bonus, though, wouldn’t you say?

I love them because they’re all of those things and seem to possess an inquisitive nature.

On my walk around Burnaby Lake, yesterday evening, I encountered one at rest. He (or she…) was happy to let me delicately slip a finger underneath them and have them rest a bit on my hand. It was super cool and I was kicking myself for not bringing my camera.

It seems to be dragonfly season as they’re everywhere. Fine by me, those pesky, blood-sucking mosquitoes are everywhere, too. Even with the dry weather, if I don’t lather myself with ample ‘OFF’, I’m eaten alive.

I had several of these lovely creatures hover around me, on my walk at different times, as if in a questioning manner. I’d stop and stare. It would do the same, wings beating at the speed of light (or too fast for my eyes to see, at any rate). Then flitting inches from me, scooting off into the unknown; only to return a moment later.

It was enchanting. And, damn! They’re fast!

I could hear the high-pitched and musical hum of luminous, transparent flying appendages and I’m almost certain at one point, there was eye-contact. A quick and meaningful moment of exchange passing between two strangers and species, completely at peace with one another.

Don’t laugh; it could happen.

I was circled, inspected and sized up for better or worse before the beautiful critter went off to do other more interesting things… like eat mosquitoes.

It was a good walk.

It’s the little things that make me smile, stifle my deep grief (if only for a moment or two) and let me remember to be grateful for all of the things in this world.

Like dragonflies. Or flying dragons… *grin*

Another Monday

Posted by fragmentedpoet on June 29, 2015

7 weeks.

I really wish I’d stop counting.

Yet, here I am, doing it again.

I have a one-way written dialogue going with you and it seems to have spilled over onto my blog. My shrink told me that some people count because they have a specific date in mind, a goal, to which their grief will end and everything will return to normal.

Only, it never does, does it?

We change, we vacillate between being ‘okay’ and totally NOT being okay.

You never met my younger sister. She thinks I should be better by now. She doesn’t get it. She can’t understand how the mere mention of your name constricts my throat and sends a 10′ wall of saline to come flooding out of my eyes like some swollen spring river. She doesn’t understand that I can’t talk about you, unless ‘I’ bring it up and I’m ready to discuss things without falling to pieces.

She means well. She only wants to help take the sorrow away. This is like wanting to cure cancer with a thought. Good luck with that, baby sis.

I’m sleeping like shit but I think I dream of you. Only…I can’t be sure…they’re foggy and filled with undertones of shifting colour and surreal conversations.

It’s been damn hot, here. You’d have needed a fan in your little apartment. Although…it was evident by your camping slippers you shuffled around in, early mornings, and the bathrobe + jammies you’d slip on after sleeping in the nude…that you enjoyed being warm. 🙂

I found that cute, those massive slippers with your pajama pants pooling around the high topped fabric and draw string (because we wouldn’t want any heat to escape…) like a little boy wearing his big brother’s clothes.

“I like to have my feet warm,” you’d state matter-of-fact.

Then, you’d smile your smile, a combination of subtle shyness and a challenging: ‘Go ahead; I dare you to make fun of them’ – look. I’m not sure just how you accomplished such a thing.

You were always sporting opposites like it was normal to do so. Like, being this athletic cycling-dude whilst completely being addicted to Coca-Cola and candy. You actually ‘shopped’ for candy; as in…you had specific places where they sold just the right kind. I thought this both a little odd…and extremely funny. I think you were always a little boy, at heart.

I wonder when I’ll stop ticking off Mondays as: ‘that day when that really bad and horrible thing happened’ ?

Maybe, next week?

I doubt it. I suspect this will carry on for quite some time.

Thinking (far too much) of you, cute boy…. xo

Shhhh

Posted by fragmentedpoet on June 10, 2015

It’s quiet in my life.

I am reminded of the predawn hours when time seems to stop, just before the birds wake up and my side of the planet is motionless in its slumber. It’s almost soothing at times, and others, tormenting.

I miss the constant flow of emails and texts; an open and ongoing dialogue we had between us. Most of it was wonderful, parts of it were very sad. But I miss them, all the same. It seems like months instead of four weeks since ‘my world as I knew it’ ceased to exist. There is a new one now, a new path I’m walking on. I kinda like it but there is a sadness follows me like a little lost kitten.

I turn back, often, pick it up and comfort it the best I can. I tell it that I love it and that it’s ‘okay’ to be what it is and it can stay with me for as long as it needs to. You need to own your grief; that way it works with you to heal. If you ignore it, it will find you, anyway, and by that time, it will be pissed and you’ll be in serious emotional trouble.

I miss countless things but others I do not. I don’t miss the constant anxiety we dealt with (us, being myself and the woman who was his best friend) and the fear. I miss the fear, the least. It would consume me throughout the day and into the night and early morning. Was he okay? Should I check in? What do I do if he doesn’t?

Our worst fears were realized all too quickly and although my soul wants to place the blame solely on myself, (because I’m good at doing that) I know there was nothing anyone could do. It was his choice. I guess it always was. That’s what life and sometimes death are…choices.

We, who are left behind, live with it and we move forward. It’s not pretty, but we carry on and someday, we’ll remember only the good things and the gifts he gave us. These gifts are precious and I find new ones, daily, to be grateful for. I wonder if I’d have recognized them if he were still here?

I’ll share one. I once asked him what to invest my $$ in. As he was a trader, (and plumber!) I figured he’d have a lot to teach me in that area. As it turns out, not so much…because he felt that wasn’t the best thing for me at this point.

The advice he gave me was:

“Rather than look to what investments you can invest your money into, I would actually suggest you invest it in…yourself. Seriously. At least some of it anyway. Your real earning potential is in fact, You. So why not invest in it? Can you REALLY think of a better use your own money? You commented in the mall that just think of how good a photographer you’d be if you had serious instruction. Well, that’s the sort of thing I’m talking about. I am NOT suggesting you take random courses in quirky things without a plan. That’s stupid. What I am suggesting is that you have a look at your current skills, and what you enjoy doing and want to spend more time on, and what can be financially rewarding, and spend the money to make that happen. It might very well be that something involving your musical talents is your ticket – so maybe you need piano lessons, or even a piano. Or maybe it’s recording time, or equipment. (I’m just throwing out examples, nothing more), so that’s investing in yourself. And maybe it’s not even a big financial commitment, but more of a time commitment – maybe it’s a night class, or two.”

That was what he wrote. It was some of the best advice he ever gave me. So, that’s what I’m starting to do. Thank you for that, Brian. It may be, quiet, here in this world, without you…but you are still teaching me and I can still hear your voice in my head, coaching me to do the best thing, possible, for myself.

I love you for that. xox

It’s Been A Day

Posted by fragmentedpoet on May 24, 2015

It’s been a better day than I’d thought…

I helped Tara and her lovely friends pack up much of Bri’s stuff. We each took a few things (memories, you know…) and it wasn’t near as bad as I’d thought. I was quite worried I’d have another panic attack, or worse, break down in sobs – as this was where I last saw him.

But I didn’t. For the most part, I kept my cool and enjoyed the company of good people.

Because at the end of the day – it’s the people who rally around you in love and support that really matter. We’re the ones left behind to pick up all the pieces, and we’re the ones who need to support each other through this pain filled time. It’s people who matter. It’s people who loved him and people who love him, still. And it’s us people who will carry on to live our lives, get on with things; love again and learn from this.

If there is anything that I’ve learned…it is the amount of love that is all around me. If we pay attention and ‘see’ – we’ll find that it was always, always…there. Right in front of us. Thank you for showing me this, Brian. xox

He Was…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on May 19, 2015

He was someone who would take out your garbage. Not because it bothered him for it to be there but because he felt it was something he should do. He was a gentleman like that and he was all too happy to do it.

He’d hover over me when I made dinner/breakfast because he couldn’t stand not helping out (even though cooking wasn’t really his thing). When he saw that whatever I was making was pretty much done, he’d rush over, grab cutlery from the drawer, pour the wine, paper towels, everything and then he’d set the table. From the first meal to the last one I made for him, this is what he did. I never, ever asked him to help or showed him where stuff was.

He just did it.

He was someone who felt a little guilty about drinking your alcohol but would never let you bring a bottle of wine to his place. The first time he showed up with several bottles of wine, to re-stalk my vino collection, I was shocked. This was a first for me.

I did buy him one of the scotches he liked, rum, whiskey…whatever he used to drink at home…and pistachios (he LOVED those) – because I wanted him to feel comfortable at my place. He reciprocated by purchasing (no less than) 5 different loaves of bread, once, (I ate toast in the morning) and honey. He didn’t know what ‘type’ of bread I liked…but rather than ask, he just bought one of every kind. I still chuckle over that!

I wrote him a love poem. He didn’t know how to take it, it was too early in the relationship for him and he was a little taken aback. My poetry is filled with metaphors and similes. He admitted he really didn’t ‘get all of it’. But, he was the kind of man who would read it over and over again. He printed it out, framed it and hung it up on the wall beside the bed. I didn’t notice until he told me. When he did, I burst into tears with love, respect and guilt (that I didn’t see it).

He was like that.

He’d do things for you but not make a big deal out of it. He was a giver.

Brian was… possibly the sweetest/kindest man I’ve ever met.

Just Wanna Feel Numb…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on May 18, 2015

😦

All About Brian – Part II

Posted by fragmentedpoet on May 17, 2015

On our second date, I had him over for dinner. Or…that was the plan.

We’d gone somewhere for a walk; I think it was Burnaby Lake which is just down the road from where I live. When we got back the power was out in my building. In fact, it was out on the entire block, it seemed.

He teased and joked that I’d done this on purpose as I had to light candles everywhere when the sun went down (this was still February). We were forced to simply ‘be’ with each other, talk…no music or TV for distractions.

We ordered in Chinese food as I couldn’t cook the salmon I was intending to…power out, and all. He insisted on paying for it. This is what Brian did. Only once did he allow me to take ‘him’ out for dinner. It was last dinner out we’d have.

Anyway…

That second date started at 1 pm or so and went until about 1 am.

I’ll just say – longest makeout session, EVER.

I’ll cherish that memory for as long as there is a sun in the sky.

All About Brian

Posted by fragmentedpoet on May 16, 2015

Let me tell you about my first date with Brian, my darling who recently passed away. I was running late and as I’m dyslexic and rather directionally challenged, I drove into the wrong parking lot to where I was supposed to be – meeting him at a local restaurant.

I knew what his pictures looked like from the dating site but you just never know who you’re really going to meet. Let me just say, his pictures didn’t do him justice. Brian was gorgeous.

He didn’t wait inside the restaurant, like all the other men would have…no, he waited outside by the door, in the cold and rain (February in Vancouver) for me. He looked amazing, smiled at me with that angelic smile of his and we said our hello’s and quickly hugged.

I noticed he had a little package in his hand and after we were seated, he handed me a little box of Roger’s chocolates that he’d gifted me with. This was a first! I’d gotten the occasional rose (but not often) but never chocolates. It was incredibly sweet in a gentlemanly, old-fashioned way.

He ordered an Old Fashioned and I had a glass of wine. We talked for hours and connected immediately. He made me laugh; I made him laugh. 🙂 I didn’t want the evening to end, but of course…it eventually did.

He walked me to my car…hugged me again and as I drove home, I wondered what on earth he thought of me and if he’d ever want to see me again.

Turns out he did… 😉

He’d driven home to a complete sports commentary in his head about how badly he thought he did. Before he signed off and went to bed, he wrote me a lengthy email which was hilarious! Someday I may share it.

When I tried to read it on my iPhone with blurry eyes at 4:30 am, the next morning, at first I thought it was possibly the world’s longest rejection letter. It wasn’t. He liked me very much and really wanted to see me again…

That was about 3 months ago.

During our time together, due to circumstances – especially the last month, we grew as a couple, much faster, than would normally happen.

That being said, I do believe in love at first sight.

When I saw him standing there, box of chocolates in hand, at the door of the restaurant, I knew that I loved this boy.

I always will….

Bri napping on the couch with Zephyr. He’d shoot me for posting this but it’s the only pic I actually was able to take of him.

I think it’s adorable. xo

Angels Fall Like Rain

Posted by fragmentedpoet on May 15, 2015

Too sad now to post much. Too sad to write a lot about you…

You’ll live in my heart, forever.

Brian Caffelle – Dec. 23/1968 – May 11/2015

Getting Past It All

Posted by fragmentedpoet on April 20, 2015

Life…

It can be a brutal journey or a beautiful one. Usually it’s a colourful mixture of blood red with swirls of pastel mother of pearl, highlights. It’s such an individual thing, all of us have our own paintings of our life, memories, like canvases, hung up on the walls of our minds.

I know when I take trips down memory lane, I walk past all of those paintings, and take pause – here and there…to really look over the details. I see the scenes unfold from my internal paintbrush and I touch the brush strokes, noticing how bold or faded the colours have become.

Some of these pictures of my life, I don’t put up. I keep them locked up in a vault. When I dare to, I open it up and pull them out, one-by-one, to gaze at pain. I think I really don’t see what I think I see. I think my mind has skewed some of the reality that was. Perhaps it really wasn’t all that good, or it really wasn’t all that horribly bad. I don’t know as memories are funny things. They tend to re-write themselves along the way to suit us.

Sometimes you just have to step back and see things the way they really were. This can be difficult but not impossible. It’s incredibly heart wrenching if the memory is a painful one and it throws us into a bright red world of intense, unbearable, torture.

Memories are not just scenes in our minds; they are emotions, powerful ones…emotions that make or break us. And when they break us, it can seem like we are unrepairable. But, we are not. People are resilient. If we look to those who love us and need us along with others who have the skills to really help us, we will prevail.

We can, we WILL carry on and, ultimately, get past it all.

How Do You Mend a Broken Heart?

Posted by fragmentedpoet on April 16, 2015

Not mine… mine’s still in one piece. 😉

But, someone who means the world to me, who is suffering, feeling quite broken and even though they have all one would think they ‘need’ right there in front of them…along comes a reminder. A reminder that someone else took their heart, their trust and their love, snatched it like a baby bird from a nest and crushed it into dust.

Just. Like. That.

How do we get over that? How can we bear watching them skip along in life, untouched, unscathed – knowing they could care less about the carnage they left behind in their wake.

I think at some time or another, we all get familiar with that feeling. That we were used and completely taken for a fool. I’ve been there, lied to, taken advantage of by smiling eyes and ‘I love you’s’ that meant as much to them as monopoly money means to a bank.

How much is one’s trust worth? It’s priceless.

There are users in this big ‘ole world, and there are givers and everything in-between. I believe everything and every person has a purpose. Users come into our lives to teach us about giving, but more importantly…about receiving. Lots of people are good at giving but ask them to receive back what they’ve given to others? It’s sometimes very hard for them to do.

How do you mend a broken heart?

With love, of course…

Love, patience and kindness. Time…tenderness and helping that sweet, messy, adorable, heart, learn to receive back, all of that which was taken for granted, before. All that they deserved from another and didn’t get, offer it up to them but don’t think they’ll accept it willingly. Because they may not, at first. The wounds are still fresh and bleeding; you haven’t yet proven yourself.

But that’s okay. Bide your time, take a step back and wait for them to come to you.

Even if they never do, one day they’ll realize their own worth, just by remembering what was offered with no strings attached, from you. They’ll let go of that ‘string’ from that ‘other person’ and forgive. These are valuable lessons. We must forgive in order to move forward; we have to let go. This isn’t easy and some never do. Some carry the pain with them, always and they don’t need to.

Healing is a very personal thing. It can’t be rushed. But love? It’s a constant. So give it to them, let them know it’s unconditional (real love always is), be there for them. Don’t scold. Don’t allow your own insecurities to diminish what you offer. Be true. Be real.

Give them room to breathe, space and solitude if they need it but make sure they know you’re only a text, a phone call, a short drive, a kiss…away.

Worry

Posted by fragmentedpoet on April 4, 2015

My little guy (aka, Zephyrus the cat) was so sick, today. He threw up everywhere, cried in pain and hid under the covers. Currently he’s in his little house.

Cats do that when they are ill; they hide. It’s a leftover instinct from their feral days. Their instinct tells them that they are more vulnerable to predators so to protect themselves, they must not become a target.

It’s a helpless feeling to not be able to make your pet better. And when it gets too bad for them, you have to send them on their way…put them out of misery and end their existence.

It’s too early for that, given his disease and progress, but I worry nonetheless. How will I do this, alone? How will I manage to end his little life after 12 years of loving his fluffy little self, to bits. I moved him all the way from Calgary, AB to Vancouver, BC. It was the longest drive of my life…11 hours to be exact. He cried all the way. Most of it, anyway.

How will I go on without him? No one to greet me at the door, no one to snuggle with at night and no more games of hide and seek, tag and kill the string.

But we do. Our hearts ache and break with grief but we get on with it.

In the meantime, he’ll get whatever he wants, tons of mommy love and I’ll stop at nothing to ease any suffering.

Good pet owners do that. We know when to hold on and we know when it’s time to let go.

My achy breaky heart…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on April 2, 2015

Dear heart,

Every day it’s going to get a little better; it’s going to hurt a little less. Go easy on yourself – you’re a good heart, a deserving heart. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to grieve…but it’s okay to hope, too. Just be realistic and most importantly…be true to yourself.

You know your real value, your worth and what you’ve accomplished. You know who you are in the world, where you are going and where you’ve been.

There will be a day when you look back to this one and smile. You’ll be grateful for the experience and grateful that another soul trusted enough to let you into their life …it doesn’t matter for how long. Life is far too short and good people, I mean REALLY good people should be cherished. Always and forever.

Know that you’re going to be okay. You’ve survived a hell of a lot worse and you’ll live through this, too.

Never forget what you’ve learned and be ever so thankful that you were gifted this chance to learn from another. It’s a precious thing that should never be taken lightly.

Understand that you’re worthy. If all is lost, someday, when you least expect it, there will be another that sets, YOU, my heart, on fire, once again. You need only be patient and in the meantime….take some ‘me’ time.

Sweet heart… you WILL heal. It just takes a little R&R, a little TLC and a whole lot of time.

Be brave, be real and be true.

Peace,

~Me.

Which Muppet Would You Be?

Posted by fragmentedpoet on April 1, 2015

I’ve always adored the Muppets. In fact, I used to watch the show, (when it aired) religiously. I particularly love the Grumpy Old Men and the Swedish Chef. Beaker, was another fave.

Funny, because my first husband was a ‘real’ Swedish Chef. Well, okay, he was a cook with Swedish Heritage. His dad, however, was a true Swedish Chef and actually taught the Chef Training Course at the college I attended.

But I digress…

I’ve given this a lot of thought. Really! It’s a bit silly, but I need ‘fun and silly’ in my life, right now.

I truly believe I’m Kermit.

Lest you ask: “What is up with that?! Kermit is a DUDE!”

You’d be right. But…there is only really one true female character and I’m definitely NOT Miss Piggy.

So yeah…I’m Kermie. Kermie sans Miss Piggy. Or…just Kermit.

Here’s why:

Kermit struggles with himself. He’s said (and sung): “It’s not easy being green” I completely agree. I’m not green…but that can’t be easy. Also, it’s not easy being me. I don’t think any of us have an easy go at life, but I tend to torture myself (emotionally) just a little bit more than others. Also, he’s insecure about how he looks and what he can achieve. I’m not the only one who does this, but as a single girl, I tend to compare myself to younger, prettier, girls. I also have issues on what I’m really good at and just what I ‘can’ accomplish.

Kermit is a really nice dude. He means well and if he makes mistakes, it’s certainly not on purpose. I can relate to this. In fact, I’ve been accused of being TOO nice, on occasion. I also fuck up. A LOT. Recently, I had a major award-winning, all-time book-worthy… fuck-up; I really don’t want to go there, though. Kermit is kinda like that, too. He feels the need to explain himself, a lot. Also, he’s helpful, kind and empathetic. I’ve been told I am like this, as well. I do mean well. Kermit does, too.

Kermit sings. I sing! Kermit may actually be a bit better than me; certainly he’s more famous…but I do okay with the vocal cords.

Kermit is short. I’m a little short. Not too short…but in my stocking feet, I’m a whopping: 5’4”.

He’s got a pretty decent sense of humour – albeit, it’s subtle. I can be funny! Not hysterical-type funny…but amusing, for sure.

Now, we’re not twinsies or anything, but the point of this is to pick one Muppet character that you identify with. I identify with Kermit the Frog.

Which Muppet are you?

An Experiment in Sleep Deprivation

Posted by fragmentedpoet on March 31, 2015

So.

I’ve been awake since Monday morning. From 4:30 am, to be exact. The why isn’t important but what’s interesting is that I’ve been conscious for 37 or so, hours? My math skills are deplorable.

And…! I’m feeling great! I can stand, function, write (see? I’m writing coherently) and even entertain clients for dinner. Things got really fun when I came home to cat puke on my bedroom carpet and then, said kitty evidently had a runny tummy whilst I was slaving away at work.

This = cat shit all over his ass leading to being forced to wash him in the kitchen sink. (see pic, below). Normally I’d be pissed, but I’m totally fine with it!

Apparently not getting enough sleep (never mind being awake for going on 40 hours) is a bad thing. Funny…I kinda feel fantastic. Here is the reason:

Sleep deprivation, such as pulling an all-nighter, can lead to short-term euphoria, however, your brain’s rational, decision-making regions largely shut down when sleep deprived, which means you may be in a precarious mental state that encourages you to take risks you normally would not. Wait, I’m taking a risk? It’s a blog for heaven’s sake!
Sleep deprivation for as little as 29 hours has the same effect on your immune system as physical stress or disease. I totally get the stress bit.
Sleep deprivation is linked to psychiatric disorders such as anxiety and bipolar depression, while getting the right amount of sleep has been linked to positive personality characteristics such as optimism and greater self-esteem, as well as a greater ability to solve difficult problems. I’ve been not sleeping properly for a while -but I SWEAR I’ve been in a pretty good mood. Definitely not suffering from lack of self-esteem, etc. Okay, that’s a bold-faced lie. My mood is not good but lack of sleep isn’t the cause. And, the cause isn’t bipolar depression or anxiety. It’s more heart-related – not murmur but of the ‘relationship’ variety.

Now…I normally don’t do this (stay up for this long) but… circumstances and all that jazz. I fully plan to go to sleep, or at least attempt to, shortly. I have lots of alcohol available but this will make it worse. In fact, alcoholics often suffer from insomnia. Don’t worry, I’m not one.

I took all my sleeping aids (to no avail, I may add!) last night. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark because they did NOT work. In fact…here I am, 37 hours, later.

Still. Awake.

It’s been a long and hectic day, too. Somehow I managed three meetings (don’t forget entertaining clients for dinner), several lengthy phone calls, driving around town and …coming home to cat poop and puke.

I’ve got another client meeting, tomorrow, so if I don’t sleep tonight – things are going to get very interesting, indeed.

I’m off to bed…with a wet cat in tow.

Nighty night.

The Point of Culmination

Posted by fragmentedpoet on March 30, 2015

Zenith

What is it?
this struggle that
keeps me awake
pondering my existence

Asking all who would listen
the question of our
lacking human capacity
for listening with our hearts,
speaking with our Higher Soul

This day I breathe
(listening to the ebb and flow of my life’s blood)

This hour I restrain
(myself from losing grip on perception)

This moment I succumb
(and lose it anyway – finding a whole new way to see)

The answer was always
obvious and poignant

Without one
how can we know the other?

We will always choose

To select the highest stars
while sitting in the pits of our broken selves.

In the Moment

Posted by fragmentedpoet on March 29, 2015

I’ve written about living in the moment, before. Yet, we mustn’t forget those moments in our lives that take our breath away, leave us wishing the seconds would slow down and allow us to stay there, forever.

There are also a whole lot of moments we’d rather forget, times we’ve really fucked up or done something we’ll regret, forever. Times when others have caused pain and destruction and those times when we’ve lost those whom we love.

Our brains are really remarkable, able to turn back the clock and relive the good and bad, minute-by-minute, should we so choose. I think at times our memory tricks us and we remember things how we’d like to, not so much as they really happened.

Nevertheless, they are our memories, our ‘moments’ to do with as we wish. I’ve often caught myself wallowing in moments that are best left in the past. It’s never good, but sometimes we need to remember what we’ve learned. We need to remember the things we should never repeat.

Then there are the moments which should be put on repeat, and often, at that. These precious few minutes of time help me through the tough times, the lonely times and the times when my heart is breaking. They offer a nice comfy ride past all of my insecurities (I’ve got a lot) and put right what is really important about living.

About … life.

So today, with the song of rain pouring down onto the flat roof, with all of my uncertainties and humility bubbling up like black tar, with me thinking, once again, I may have gone too far and completely fucked it all up…I will remember.

I will remember the moment when I was 9 and it was high summer; how the broken cement sidewalk, baked by the morning sun, burned on my little bare feet , and it wasn’t even 11 am, yet.

I will remember the moment when I saw the ocean, for the very first time, in Victoria…just beyond Beacon Hill Park. I fell in love with the sea, that day.

I will remember the moment when we got our first cat, Tinkerbell, that tiny little furry black fluff-ball. Oh, how she could run! It took us 2 hours to catch her in the house we adopted her from. I was three.

I will remember grade 12 graduation. I’ll recall the moment when my father gave me my first (and last, I’ve never been gifted with this again) dozen, long-stemmed red roses. “One for each year,” he grinned at me. I was speechless and so taken with love and gratitude that I promptly burst into tears.

I’ll remember the moment when I woke up to my 10th or 11th birthday. My mom had laid out all my b-day gifts on the little bench in our room (I shared a room with my younger sister). There all the nicely wrapped presents sat, waiting for me… I think I was breathless with anticipation and then my whole family came into my dimly lit room and sang Happy Birthday, to me. That was the year my brother got me my first watch.

I’ll remember the moment when the light caught his eyes…turning them blue-in-green as they took on various shades of his clothing. I was captivated.

In the Moment

Crippled desires
a bridge of sorrow
please bring me peace
in the moment

Shatter the binds
strip away thoughts
leaving me soft in the moment

Offer me shelter
clothe my soul
teach me to love
in the moment

Kiss my heart
deliver me safe
let us both live,
in the moment.

Hey there, me…it’s me…miss me?

Posted by fragmentedpoet on March 12, 2015

My coworker talks nonstop to himself. And when I say ‘nonstop’ I’m not kidding. There’s a constant stream of dialogue going on inside his office and for the most part, it’s one-way.

Now, we ALL do this, from time-to-time. I am as guilty as the next person, but I DO try and limit my outer conversations to simple comments or, if I simply have to not use my ‘inside voice’, I make damn sure I’m ALONE. Because…people think you’re a freak if you’re jabbering away to no one in particular.

So. I had to look it up. Is talking to yourself an indication that your friends and family need to have an intervention that involve men in white coats? Or…is it simply normal to do this.

As it stands, the jury is (more or less) out. Some say that this is not only completely normal but good for you! Others disagree and I’m certainly not trying to make light of mental illnesses. There is even a wikiHow on: How to Stop Talking to Yourself.

It’s okay to chat away all by your lonesome if you are truly alone. So if you’re lonely or if you need to verbalize decisions, or if you just have to get something off your chest…and no one is around to ‘listen’ to you, I think it’s okay.

In an office environment where you are clearly NOT alone and DO talk to clients all day? I’m not so sure. When is it best to use our inside voice and when is it okay to let it all out (no matter who is listening to or watching you)?

We all have self dialogue or “Intrapersonal Communication”. Sometimes our thoughts leave our heads and go skipping, blissfully out of our mouths.

I’m not really sure what to think on the matter and for ‘that’ matter…does laughing out loud, count? If so, I’m extremely guilty on that account.

I DO talk to my cat. He does answer me, quite often, but I can’t count that as a conversation. Not. Really… I’ve read that everyone talks to their pets. As I live alone, this happens all the time. I think he understands me a little bit but pretends not to and generally, he just doesn’t care.

Or maybe he does and thinks I’m a nutcase:

“Lady, you’re talking to a CAT. Don’t you know? I’m a CAT, you stupid bi-ped. Now go and fill up the sink with water. That’s right…do my bidding and stop answering me in that ridiculous baby voice.”

In all fairness, HE usually starts it.

Just sayin’.

(Insert Colourful Explanative Here)

Posted by fragmentedpoet on March 11, 2015

You’ve probably heard the latest about the little town of, Taber, AB, and their new law against public swearing, spitting and yelling. Whilst I’m keen to ban spitting, (horking up a goober at any time, defies disgusting, I mean, c’mon, people! NOBODY wants to see that) yelling, has its place.

I don’t personally enjoy yelling, per se, but I understand there is a need from time-to-time. I mean, what if someone were to step out into traffic and they didn’t see the oncoming semi rushing towards them? What is one to do? Whisper?

“Hey! Watch out!” she gasped in a hushed tone, hoping no one in particular heard her… as the poor little old lady was squished beneath the giant wheels of crushing steel.

Swearing, on the other hand, is a MUST. At least, I think so.

Why?

It’s freedom of speech, for one thing. It’s also how many of us emotional beings deal with things like: stress, anger, pain, surprise, joy (think….bedroom), and general all ‘round bullshit.

Wait…what..? Did I just…swear…?

But, hang on for a sec… Fear not! I have a solution. I think we should create interesting acronyms. Now, I don’t use ALL of these words, mainly #2, 3 and 4. Next to never, #2. I do use # 5, a lot, though. Let’s start, shall we?

For unlawful carnal knowledge. I think this has been used before, but I’m stealing it, anyway. It’s a mouthful, I’ll admit, but hey – it works and it’s rather appropriate, don’t ya think?
Cunningly ugly notorious terrestrial. Too much?
Sudden, happenstance, interrupting time. I’m on the fence with this one but will take suggestions; look for the special “I don’t give a sudden happenstance interrupting time) what you think”, suggestion box.
Any self-serving, highly oppressive, lunatic ego. This one is growing on me.
Babe in total control, honey. Is this even a swearword??

I could go on, but you see my point; it would take far too long to express ourselves, properly! It’s madness, I say, madness!

Really, though, these are ‘just’ words; stick and stones, right?

My guess is that this was brought on by the Religions bunch.

Oh, YOU know who you are!! Don’t think we don’t know.

Southern Alberta boasts quite a Bible Belt of Holy Rollers. I should know, I used to live there. In fact, I’ve been to Taber many times.

Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far, away on a dark and stormy night…I sold crummy ads for a local crummy weekly newspaper run by a bunch of crummy people. The HQ was/probably still is – in Taber, AB. Yup. I used to have to go there, once a week, for proofing said crummy ads.

And then there’s Taber corn. Truly…it’s as delicious and delectable as they claim. I mean, mouth-watering, taste bud tantalizing, good! There is a serious ‘yummy’ factor with this corn.

And that, my friends, may actually be the culprit that has Taber Teens running off colourful expletives from their little baby-like mouths, in PUBLIC, no doubt!

Clearly they are all a bunch of hooligans and this is completely out of control. It has to stop…really. I mean…any cunningly ugly notorious terrestrial that has sudden, happenstance, interrupting time (for brains) can see that a teen doing this is either a babe in total control, honey ….or any self-serving, highly oppressive, lunatic ego. For unlawful carnal knowledge’s, sake, already!

Yup. When in doubt, blame religion. I think we can safely say it has a lot to answer for.

May the corn bless you and keep you.

The Significance of Toast

Posted by fragmentedpoet on March 8, 2015

I’ve always found it rather interesting how we sometimes associate a taste, smell, texture, etc., with an emotion or positive/negative memory. While it all makes sense and our memories a are vast cornucopia of events with a multitude of minute details (like food) attached to them, I still find it amusing that toast makes me happy.

I’d have to backup a bit (okay…a lot) into my past to explain the significance of toasted bread; perhaps you can come long with me in this journey and remember your own associations with food.

Before we skip along memory lane, there is something you should know. My childhood sucked. Well, most of it, anyway. It sucked A LOT – and it was so sucky that I had (and sometimes, but rarely still do have) terrible nightmares related to my father.

I won’t get into details, but the point is not ‘everything’ was terrible/horrible/awful. There were good memories, too. This is a good segue into the whole toast thing and why I love it. More specifically: cinnamon toast has a special place in my heart.

Long before my father changed, (and not for the better) he and I had a pretty good father/daughter relationship. I was about 4 and he was my hero. He was my hero for a number of reasons but particularly because he LOVED cartoons.

And I mean…

Seriously.

Loved.

Cartoons.

He didn’t have them, growing up as a child seeing as the cathode ray tube had yet to be invented, and like many men, he was really just a big kid at heart. He loved cartoons so much that when we were older and playing games outside with our friends, he’d open the front door and call us in to watch the Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Hour.

I’m NOT kidding.

There we were, being kids, playing outdoors, getting exercise in the sunshine and pretty much having a good time doing ‘kid stuff’…when he’d want us to come indoors and watch cartoons with him. Clearly my father didn’t like watching them, alone. My mother, although never understanding this, found it humorous.

“Let them play outside!” she’d yell at him.

“They want to watch it with me; they asked me to tell them when it’s on!” he’d yell back.

Part of that was true. When I was really little, I DID want dad to tell me when the cartoons were on. This was partially because I didn’t have a watch but mainly because even if I DID have a watch, I didn’t know how to tell time, yet. Plus…when I was that little, nothing mattered more than cartoons , except for maybe candy and toys. Those two joys were right up there on my small list of must haves.

So, back to the toast.

When I was ‘pre-school’, I used to wake up early, anyway, and as dad was getting my older brother off to Galbraith Elementary School and mom was looking after my little sister (she was still a baby)…he’d make me two things that I still LOVE, today.

Cinnamon toast and a teensy little bit of coffee.

Yup, coffee. I doubt my mother knew that he was feeding caffeine to a four-year old but I adored it, he only gave me a tiny little bit in my little girl cup, and he put tons of cream and sugar in it. I think he felt a little bit guilty about allowing this small luxury to his oldest daughter, but every morning I BEGGED him for it and loved him dearly for obliging me.

That, and the cinnamon toast were delectable, delicious and as I sat watching Rocket Robin Hood (after Batman and Robin) and then, Spiderman…life just didn’t get any better! My mornings with my dad were pure bliss.

He’d sit in his chair with feet propped up on footstool in front of him, before he got his deliveries ready for the day (at that time he was the Watkins Products Distributor for Southern Alberta) and I’d either be lying on the couch or sprawled out on the floor in front of the black and white TV.

If I choose to remember things about my father and I, it’s the smell of creamy coffee, the aroma of cinnamon toast and the two of us completely enraptured by an episode of Batman and Robin.

So, whether it’s cinnamon toast, banana bread or cookies that bring on the positive/happy memories, I say relish in them. Too often we focus on the bad stuff that happened in our past and forget the really cool fun stuff…

Like watching cartoons and Batman, on a little black and white TV at 6:30 am, when you’re four…with your dad.

STRESS

Posted by fragmentedpoet on March 4, 2015

noun: stress

A state of mental or emotional strain or tension resulting from adverse or very demanding circumstances.

I seem to have it. Or…at least some of it as my sleeping habits, suck; this has been going on for about 1.5 months. Not only that, I’m having to play relaxation music via YouTube just to cope at work. This helps, a lot, by the way.

So what the hell is wrong with me?! …you may ask… (I know I’m asking it.)

I’m tallying up a list in my head and it goes something like this:

Life in General

My health. Pretty good! – haven’t been sick in… I can’t remember when. Took on a new sport (indoor rock climbing) and that’s going well.
Romance. For the first time in about 2 years my love-life is actually on track, at least it seems to be heading in the desired direction. No complaints, there, and don’t wanna jinx it, either.
Work …Hmm…there are a few issues; the last two months have sucked shit and my commission will be laughable. BUT – I’m still sorta on track YTD. Sort of, because back in Jan. I was still over 100% (YTD). After the terrible month of Feb., not so much anymore. However, our year ends in July so I’ve still got time to catch up, right? I’m getting more things on the go all the time…but still, I WORRY my friggin’ head off about it. Not good.
The Cat. This is probably the most dismal area of my little life. He’s quite ill, no cure, only a matter of time, etc. etc. However, he’s not about to die on me, tomorrow. If I’m lucky, maybe another 6-months to a year? Hard to say.
Family. Well, THEY have themselves all sorted out – even if I’m still working on it. So, that’s good, don’t need to worry about them for the time being, anyway.
Accommodations. That’s okay, too. My landlady has stopped bothering the living shit outta me about her mail, so I’m happy about that. I haven’t managed to ruin anything…didn’t burn the place down (yet). That’s a good sign, yes? Looking to purchase, this year, may be having second thoughts but there’s no pressure; no one is ‘making’ me and I can stay where I am for as long as I want. (Unless they decide to sell.)
Finances – definitely got my crap together, there. No debt, nice little savings, I certainly won’t starve to death any time soon.

So, I ask myself: what’s my problem? Why am I feeling so anxious and, more importantly, what am I going to do about it?

I think from time-to-time we encounter these weird and unwelcome feelings into our lives and sometimes there doesn’t seem to be an obvious huge reason. Is it really work that I’m worried about? What’s the worst thing that could happen? I know there are a lot of reps that are doing far worse than I – so it’s not like my head is on the chopping block. And, I’m actually doing okay…

What gives, Carrie?!?

I honestly don’t know but I know what I’m going to start doing about it. I’m going to make a list. I’ve been a list maker since my awesome grandmother (Nana, to us kids) gave me my first pad of ‘list making’ at the tender age of about 9-years.

This is what it looked like, exactly. Except for the fancy booklet-holder-thingy, and Visitor Vallet.

I LOVED that list pad and used it all the time until it ran out. If I ever see any more, I’m buying a lifetime supply.

That ‘boy I really, really like’ gave me a little homework assignment the other day and asked me to put together a list of 10 things that I like about myself. Actually he started the list for me from his POV. I won’t share any of it but I will say that it made me melt into a little puddle of joy.

After much thought, I came up with 8 things I like about ‘me’, and felt I gave it a fair shot. Now it’s time to put together a list of the things in my life that are going WELL, as opposed to those which are not.

I believe it will be healing and perhaps put perspective on everything. Maybe it will even point me in the direction as to what is ‘really’ bothering me. I don’t think I’ll post them, here, but I will write them down (or type them).

It’s good to get a grip on your stuffs and come to terms with what bothers us, emotionally, before it takes hold and deprives us of our beauty sleep.

Namaste, my lovelies.

A Lesson In Communicating (Or Lack Thereof)

Posted by fragmentedpoet on March 3, 2015

Besides being the dominant form of human communication (be it written or oral) – words are power. As a blogger, poet and fiction writer, words have been my best friend (and when I’m really pissed, my ultimate weapon) since I could talk. By the way, I talked at 9 months so you can imagine I’ve had a lot of time to practice.

It’s interesting, though, that despite humans using their ‘words’ since they could figure out how to…people don’t often communicate very well. There are a lot of misunderstandings, misinterpretations and general clusterfucks of people not understanding what others are trying to say. Or, what seems quite cut and dried/to the point/obvious – is over analyzed to death by the other person and the ‘true meaning’ is completely lost out to sea.

In hindsight, there have been plenty of times where my communication skills have sucked. Sometimes no matter how hard you try, you simply can’t express yourself well. We’ve all been there.

How does one solve this? How do we ‘know’ that our message was received/deciphered/understood? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve S-P-E-L-L-E-D things out to the point where I didn’t think it would be possible to be more concise, but somehow my words were misconstrued.

A good example: Last weekend, I was spending some time with ‘that boy I really like’. Well, my sister texts me. Now… I’m busy with that ‘boy I really like’ but I’m polite and I don’t want to ignore her. I tell her – I’m busy (insert his name here) is over.

My wonderful sister immediately thinks I’m saying the budding relationship with ‘that boy’ is OVER and proceeds to threaten to HEX him if he’s hurt me. Well…this brings up another, and closely related, subject of punctuation… as in ‘Commas’…but you get the idea.

The boy and I are definitely NOT over. But he was…standing in my kitchen as he was ‘over’ at my place.

It’s an easy thing to do. Thankfully, I quickly corrected her and tried to send her on her way. Thus, the hexing was (although narrowly) avoided. This didn’t end, however, because I stepped out of my typical sister-communication box and called her: “hon”.

Setting off a whole new set of alarms for my darling little sis, she now is concerned that maybe ‘that boy’, or God knows who else, has borrowed my phone and she’s no longer texting her own flesh and blood, but a stranger.

Egads!

The next text was: This doesn’t sound like you… What’s my middle name?

Now ‘the boy I like’ and I (still standing in my kitchen) are laughing! He wants me to text her a middle name that isn’t hers. I didn’t – thinking I’d much rather pay attention to him than carry on all night with my sister.

So, I called her. It seemed the right thing to do considering my frustration at trying to tell my suspicious-hexing, baby sis, that I was BUSY.

We chuckled…there was an awkward moment when I asked ‘the boy I like’ to say hello and the call was quickly ended.

And all because I forgot a comma.

See? It’s easy to miss-communicate.

Words have power. They can hurt (and possibly hex) and heal. They can create and tear down. They can bring joy and pain. They can make us laugh…and cry.

We achieve nothing if we can’t communicate, properly, with each other.

~FIN~

A Life Is Like a Garden

Posted by fragmentedpoet on February 27, 2015

You’ve mostly likely heard that Leonard Nimoy passed away, this morning. He was one of my childhood heroes.

I started watching Star Trek (re-runs) at the tender age of three. Yup, Star Trek was right up there with Batman and my favourite character was/is the iconic – Mr. Spock. I am still a HUGE fan.

Although why I liked him then and why I like him now are for very different reasons; does a 3-year old know why she likes someone? Maybe I had a teensy-weensy little-girl crush.

It was his differences. Half Human and half Vulcan, always at war with his ‘emotions’, unobtainable …but enigmatically interesting! I mean, nobody could figure this guy out!

The character was a hit and continues to be. But that only scratches the surface of the real man and suburb actor behind the mask of make believe.

Leonard Nimoy was a gifted actor and director with such accreditations as: playing opposite Ingrid Bergman in a TV drama called “A Woman Called Golda” as Israeli leader Golda Meir’s husband. He also played Vincent van Gogh in Vincent, a one-man stage show on the life of the troubled painter.

He appeared in many classic films such as: The King and I, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and My Fair Lady.

He was a writer, a publisher…

and, well…there was this:

As much as I loved and adored ya, Len…after seeing this, I may need therapy.

I read that, initially, he didn’t like being constantly referenced to Spock as, truly, he was more than that. However, he candidly admitted that:

‘Of course the role changed my career – or rather, gave me one.’

Star Trek will live on, I should think, forever. But real people don’t. If we’re lucky, we get to grow old and then eventually we succumb to something – be it disease or simply old age. In the end, we leave this world and (I believe, anyway) move onto another.

I think you did live long and you did prosper, Leonard. I think you left an amazing legacy and inspired not one but several generations and more to come. Well done.

Mr. Nimoy’s last tweet was beautiful and poignant.

‘A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory.’

How very true…

Fade to black.

Saying Thank-You

Posted by fragmentedpoet on February 26, 2015

Being grateful or giving thanks…is something most of us were brought up, as children, to do. Whether it had any religious context to it or not, (mine certainly didn’t) it’s still extremely important to express gratitude for the things you have, people in your life whom you care about and even lessons that you’ve learned along the way. In essence, I’m sure you can think of thousands of things that you are thankful for.

Without getting into too many details, there’s this boy I like. I mean, I really, REALLY like him. He’s super-duper awesome and although we’re at the very early stages of getting to know one another, he’s been incredibly sweet and kind to me. More so, I would say, than anyone else in a very long time.

I thought I’d send this boy a ‘thank-you’ because I am truly thankful for the way he’s conducted himself, thus far. I can tell he is genuine and has a warm heart. He’s willing to put himself out there and ‘just be himself’ – risking rejection. It’s not an easy thing to do and for the most part, people tend to be guarded and reluctant to reveal ‘the man/woman behind the curtain’.

I thought it important that he know how I felt and that I appreciated all of his efforts. I wanted him to understand that all the little things he did, caused happiness; the time he’d put in wasn’t wasted and his endeavors were wonderful and I will not forget them any time soon.

Whether or not the two of us work out in the long-term isn’t important with respect to this. What is, is that: He is recognized for doing something well and has been acknowledged.

So often we don’t thank people, even just to send out a simply ‘thx’ for whatever thoughtful thing they did for us. Try it. It works wonders and when someone knows their efforts are appreciated, they’ll continue to do good things for others.

See how fantastic this is!?

It’s really a win-win, here, boys and girls.

Also, it’s just good Karma (if you believe in that sort of thing). You’re sending out positive thoughts (which is energy). When I remember to, I think of 10 things every day that I’m ‘thankful’ for. I then say a little ‘thank-you’ in my head for whatever I can think of and send off those positive thoughts into the Universe.

Yeah, okay, I’m a cosmic kinda gal but it works for me so I’m sticking with it.

So, what are YOU thankful for, today?

I challenge you to think of at least 10 things you’re grateful for. Go, ahead…I dare you

PS Thx again, B. You’re a great guy and you need to know it.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Posted by fragmentedpoet on February 24, 2015

*Cue Neil Sedaka*

Yes, I know I’m dating myself.

This past weekend, a dear friend of mine broke up with his girlfriend. He’s completely devastated by it and although I’m sure she feels a hell of a lot worse, we often forget the emotional perils that the person doing the ‘breaking up’ feels. Of course, it’s not always the case (and I can attest to this from experience) some people just don’t give a shit if they rip out your heart, stomp all over it, light it on fire and then kick it to the curb, all the while pointing and laughing at you.

Do I sound a little bitter?

No, I’m over all of that and came to a decision a few years ago that the best course of action was to accept what was and then wish that person well. I mean, if they’re not the one for you, someone else out there is, right?

Go in love and peace, my friend…Namaste!

(Eat shit and die you fucking asshole!!)

Heh…just kidding…

Back to my point. Whenever I’ve had to “do the deed”, which hasn’t been very often in my case, I’ve nearly had a nervous breakdown figuring out how to ‘end it’ without causing too much emotional damage to the other person. Because there will be. Especially if they don’t see it coming; which I admit to, some have not.

I liken it to intentionally causing a serious car accident where you know you may nearly kill someone. No one actually dies (hopefully) but it sure seems like it. Unless the person whom you no longer want to be your sweet Honeybunch is a lying cheating jerk/bitch or abusive, you’re going to feel a lot of guilt and hurt, for yourself.

After all, ending a relationship is like a death, they say. If you can remain friends and it’s mutual, all the better! But how often does this happen?? I can count the number of times on one hand and have a few wonderful friends myself, to this day, who are past lovers. I also respect a man more if he has some as this proves maturity, graciousness and endurance. Some women feel jealous and possessive, personally it’s a bit of a turn on that a man is ‘MAN enough’ to realize that just because things didn’t work out – doesn’t mean that you can’t still value a person in your life and move past all the crap. The world evolves; people do, too.

You’ll question yourself: Am I doing the right thing? What if I’m horribly wrong; will they take me back?! Could I have done more? Did I try hard enough?

Most of those questions you won’t know the answer to. And take it from me, if you decide that the worst mistake you made is to let this person out of your life and you give it another go…9 x out of 10 it still won’t work out. There’s a reason you’re thinking of breaking up in the first place.

The key, of course, is communication. It always is and without it, everything will fail in time. We need to tell our better half what’s bothering us, what’s not working for us and suggest a solution(s) if there are any. That being said, we need to do this in a constructive and kind way as opposed to:

“YOU did this! YOU made me feel that! I don’t like it when YOU… YOU! YOU! YOU!

This is accusing, destructive, attacking and instantly puts the other person in defensive/must find an appropriate verbal weapon to protect myself with/angry, position. It’s a terrible way to communicate and will never resolve the issue but WILL create anger/resentment/depression and in some instances retaliation.

Instead, sit your sweetie down and let them know (in a gentle way) that you wish to speak to them about something that’s important. They’ll look at you all worried, wondering what the hell they did wrong and what the consequences may be– this is unavoidable. Smile at them, be reassuring and then say what you feel in a constructive manner.

Like this:

“Hey, Cindy, it’s not that big of a deal, but when brushing your teeth, often there are splatters of toothpaste all over the mirror; do you think you can wipe that off, after? It would help me out if you did and I’d really appreciate it. Would this be OK?”

Then smile at Cindy in a sweet and non-sarcastic way. She may get a bit miffed but in the end she’ll see reason and most likely oblige you. If she questions you further, tell her that it’s your OCD, you can’t help it but she could help alleviate some of your terrible urges to wash ever mirror in the house by simply giving that mirror a quick wipe.

Say what you need to say but keep it quick, simple and kindhearted.

Even better, if the issue you’re having is a bit weightier I use the three x rule: tell them what you’re going to tell them, tell them, then tell them what you told them.

Like thus:

“Hey Cindy, I want to talk to you about what you said to my mother the other day, do you have some time? I wanted to tell you that the information you gave her caused some issues between us and I was wondering if the next time you could maybe talk to me first beforehand? So, sweetheart, are you okay with what I suggested? It will make things a lot smoother and I know you understand my relationship with my mom needs some work!”

You get the idea.

Something else we often forget to do in relationships is: LISTEN. Yup, just stop talking, shut the fuck up and listen to what your darling has to tell you. Even if it’s boring you to tears or if it’s annoying. Tough, suck it up. LISTEN. It’s important for people to be heard. If you don’t listen to what they have to say, you can’t expect them to listen to anything you want to convey.

Think on that. And, listen.

Could my friend’s relationship be saved if they’d communicated better? I don’t think so and I know things were discussed but there were many underlying issues that will never change so it was best if they parted ways. Even if for the time being it hurts like hell for the both of them, it was for the long-term good.

Although not every relationship can be saved by communication alone, many will and every single one of them will flourish a lot more when two people DO talk to each other, discuss rather than fight, suggest rather than demand and stop doing all the talking and listen to what someone else has to say.

Nobody wants a break-up and no one wants to do the breaking up, either. It’s a terrible thing, a sorrowful thing that weighs heavy on our hearts (well, most of us) but sometimes…a necessary thing.

At the end of the day, life goes on, doesn’t it? If it didn’t work out, know that there WILL be someone out there for you who it will work with. Be grateful for what you’ve learned from that other person and DO wish them well. If you carry grudges or hate/anger, this will only impede on YOUR healing process, not theirs.

Be positive.

Listen.

And most importantly…approach your life with love.

That’s a wrap, folks.

Zephyrus

Posted by fragmentedpoet on February 22, 2015

I must say that I’m happy with life.

I’ve been lucky and I’m grateful for everything that’s come my way. I enjoy my career and I’m good at it. I live in a lovely home and I’m healthy. But sometimes things we take for granted come to light. I had a feeling about a year ago that the little grey and white cat that I’ve loved for the past 12 years wasn’t going to last as long as I’d hoped he would. I don’t know how I knew, but I did.

We all know that most pets won’t be with us an entire lifetime; they simply don’t live as long as we do. That doesn’t mean we don’t become attached but let’s face it; none of us are getting out of here alive.

That being said, we can talk practical and logical all we like but as emotional beings, we face the pain of losing that which we love. Pets are particularly important to those of us who are alone, single and childless. Many don’t understand and there are plenty who don’t like pets and would never have one. But for those of us who were fortunate to bond with a little furry friend and experience that true unconditional love, we can’t gush enough about it. It’s the most wondrous thing as they are the most beautiful of souls.

Let me tell you about Zephyrus – because he’s really all that and no matter how old I live to be, I will never be able to love as effortlessly and purely as he does. Our pets are like Angels if you believe in them, purest of heart with the innocence of a new babe.

Years ago, I volunteered at the MEOW Foundation. Every Saturday morning I’d go there and clean, feed the cats and, of course, visit the kittens if there were any. I was newly separated from my husband and well…let’s just say he kept the cat. I thought I should adopt another but in a place with over 100 cats, it’s a hard choice.

One fine morning, I saw him. He was lounging on one of the cat trees, napping. I think he was probably about 9-10 months old at the time. He was lovely and I’ve always adored long-haired cats. I didn’t know his temperament but knew how to find out. I went over, picked him up and flipped him on his back in my arms, cradling him like a baby. I wanted to find out if he’d attack, freak out or simply relax.

He did a few things, first he just stared at me and then he thought to play bite and make a game of it. When I didn’t put him down, he relaxed and started to purr – very loudly, I may add. He gazed up at me with those massive yellow-green eyes of his in adoration as I rubbed his belly and I knew he was mine.

The first night in his new home was quite interesting. He was naturally scared and spent several hours hiding in the guest room closet. I’d bought him various toys, a new cat tree, litter box…the lot. I silently prayed to all the cat Gods that he’d use the litter box and would be okay in his new home.

Sometime in the middle of the night, perhaps around 2:30-3:00am, I was woken up by something very odd. It seems something was in my bed and they were jumping about and causing quite a stir. I knew it was him but instantly worried he was having some sort of seizure or perhaps conniptions yet…he wasn’t making any noise; most peculiar!

Swiftly and gracefully I turned on the bed light.

Alright, that’s a lie. I was half asleep and stumbled around for what seemed an eternity, knocking over a book in the process.

What I saw was nothing short of adorable and quite funny. He’d carried up about 3-4 of his new toys, one by one, into my bed and was having a little party. I guess he wanted to play (being still a kitten and all) but didn’t want to be lonely and all by himself in the process.

So there he was, picking up catnip mice in his mouth and tossing them into the air where he’d pounce on them, knock them off the bed and then jump down to retrieve them and start the process all over again. He stopped when I took notice…but only for a moment. It seems, his toys and play time were far more important than his new mistress’s sleep.

Eventually he settled down against my feet …I put his toys next to him in the event playtime would present itself, once more.

He’s nearly 13, now and has kidney failure. I may have him for another year…or another month; it’s hard to say. In the meantime, I will cherish him, every day. He still sleeps on the bed, but has moved up in the world to claim the entire other half. On the occasions where I’ve had boyfriends, he’s been gracious and moved back to snuggle up on my side or resided down by our feet…but he still sleeps with me and always will.

Once, someone asked me, I believe it was my mother, how much I’d spent on vet bills and his keep over the years. I can guess and think it would be the following:

Food, toys and other paraphernalia: $4000
Vet bills for his periodontal disease: $2500
Other things I can’t remember and current vet bills: $2000

Total: $8500

It’s probably less but I’m being generous.

What Zephyr has done for me:

Greeting me at the door every time I’ve returned home for 12+ years
Approx. 250,000 loving head butts and cheek smooshes
Countless consoling hours for such things as a broken heart, lost jobs, general upset and just plain bad days
About a billion snuggles
Untold hours of playtime (mostly tag and hide-and-seek but he’s invented a few games of his own)
Coming when he’s called (well…mostly)
Never biting me, hissing or scratching me – EVER. Play wrestling doesn’t count
Posing for about 500+ pictures for a budding photographer
Making friends with dogs, cats, boyfriends and family and being really polite about it
Never caring one bit if I’m: looking like shit on a stick, sick, grumpy, depressed, pissy
Never complaining if I: don’t have time, am late feeding him, late coming home, leaving him by himself for work or pleasure
Always being there when I most need him and always happy to cuddle, purr and generally give me a whole lot of love

Total value: PRICELESS

‘Nuff said.

Evolution

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 11, 2013

I want to be part of something that is always ‘becoming’. I hate labels, boxes, specific cultures, etc. I am not defined by any one thing; I am unique and ever changing. We all are, really, but I find that people want to put people into categories, nice and neat pretty little boxes. You are the colour blue; not, you are the colour blue today but tomorrow you might be orange. It’s as if we can’t be all encompassing.

I can’t possibly adore technology, be a professional business person yet write poetry, science fiction and role-play online all at the same time. Yet, somehow I do. So what if I can talk for hours about the mining industry and then switch effortlessly to water drop photography, the paranormal and then on to what the Mar’s Rover is up to? Oh, and I’ll throw in current events, fashion and the weather while I’m at it.

People are multi-faceted and multi-dimensional. Most of us just don’t believe it or understand ourselves and how much we can do and be.

I am on a quest to be part of a company that lives in the now; a living breathing entity of always changing, always improving and always making sure to evaluate itself for further upgrades and features. I abhor the: we’ve being doing it this way for x-number of years and it’s working so we’re not about to change!

Really? Is it really working for ya? If it was, why do I keep seeing your company advertising for the same positions over and over again about every 6-8 months? How much is that costing you? I bet you don’t even know.

People evolve; people change. Companies are PEOPLE. Get into the groove, this century and most importantly, get into the moment. The moment is now and every moment after that. Keep up, listen up and let your team take you to the next level. Let your ‘people’ be people and give them the power to improve. If you don’t, they’ll improve anyway…just not under your roof. They’ll help some other lucky corporation make it to the top.

Your company isn’t a hive with worker bees that all think the same way and live for only the Queen Bee; it’s a massive web catching wonderful things in it. Every day, all the little spiders tear down the web and take those wonderful things away to do the best with them that they can. Then they re-build, re-model, re-design and improve the web to be even better and more intricate than it was the last time.

How will you build your web?

Kind of Blue

Posted by fragmentedpoet on April 21, 2013

It’s early evening and dappled mid-spring light finds its way through half-closed blinds and murky windows, dirtied from last winter. It was chilly here this afternoon but now the sky has cleared and the late sun is warm and inviting. I’ve got the window open just slightly; it smells of spring rain – earthy and fertile, mixed with cherry blossoms and tulip magnolias.

I’ve just finished baked Atlantic salmon and whole wheat pasta for dinner…still a little buzzed on the ice cold vodka that I’ve allowed myself – oh-so-graciously.

I’m sitting here, writing for all of you, with possibly the best Jazz album ever recorded playing in the background. Miles Davis, Kind of Blue. It whets my appetite for creativity just enough to linger here on this page and jot down a few thoughts.

I live in such a high density area right in the heart of the downtown core of Vancouver and all I can hear are robins, soft traffic swooshes and of course, Miles & Bill Evans with Coltrane and Cannonball Adderley soloing, as they make magic with Blue in Green .

Once upon a time when I was in college and in the Jazz program, I owned this LP. It was the first Jazz album I ever bought. Unfortunately it died a sad death in a flooded basement along with my youth.

If you’ve never heard Miles Davis, never listened to Kind of Blue in the dark with your eyes close…I highly recommend it.

It’s a little slice of heaven.

Life as I Know it.

Posted by fragmentedpoet on April 13, 2013

I wonder, sometimes, about the people that I once loved and cared for.

Everyone moves on. They find their love; make a home, then a family, a stable career and suddenly they are set for life. They seem happy, satisfied that they have achieved all of their goals – warm and cozy in their homes, raising children and planning family life.

Me? I flow with the current, a thing of the river and then on to the sea to be taken in and out with the tides.

They belong. To someone, somewhere and somehow they have taken root and flourished. All of them, gardens of colourful flowers and trees that reach to the sky so pristine and part of the earth. They are part of…

How have I missed this? Was I looking too hard for it that it passed by before my very eyes? How did it happen that I still lack a foundation? I build and I build but I am building sand castles. They wash away back into the waves and not a trace is left of me to find.

Maybe I am not meant to stay rooted in one spot but more like a petal that flies in the wind. There is always such constant change and the stability that I have always craved and wished for is never to be found. I am forever in flux, the cusp of a changing season but never the season, itself.

For me, life is not standing still; it’s the dance of rain in a storm. It’s the flight feathers of a bird. I don’t think I’ll ever be held in one spot for long. It is not my nature, and the more I want it the further away it is. I can see it but never grasp it.

I am water, even resting, I move up to the clouds to re-position myself elsewhere just when you may think I’m stagnant. I am air, a constant flow of moving particles. I am flame, spreading wild my cleanse; the path behind me still hot with ashes. I am sky, reaching out with all of me in every direction; part of everything at once.

Earth, I am not. Perhaps my love is my earth, my constant and my touchstone. I will wrap myself around him like the atmosphere while his gravity keeps me and binds me to him. This is where I lay my foundation as when the ocean claims it, he becomes the sand in which I re-build.

Food and Human Evolution

Posted by fragmentedpoet on April 6, 2013

Recently, I’ve been reading up on grains and if they are good for us or bad for us (to put it plainly). There are all sorts of arguments about eating a ‘paleo’ diet as our pre-historic ancestors did. There are several things wrong with this theory (in my opinion).

We’ve evolved quite a lot since then (although I’ve a few ex-boyfriends who may prove that point wrong).
There is evidence that humans have been gathering grains in some capacity for approx. 100,000 years. http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/174441.php.
Let’s apply simple logic there, boys and girls. Mentally, we were not evolved; it’s not like our cave ancestors had iPhones, were surfing the NET or had even invented the wheel. Simply put: they ate whatever the hell they could get their hands on and I suspect did a lot of experimenting. Mr. And Mrs. Caveman didn’t go to the local Cave Store and pick out what they wanted. Food was hard to come by – we had to go out and find it/dig it out of the ground/pick it from wild trees/hunt it/ kill it.

I’m not overweight or unhealthy. Neither do I live in a gym but I exercise as often as I can. I’m not a vegetarian or vegan. I eat everything in moderation including meat, grain, and alcohol. I don’t smoke. I’m 47 and look pretty young for my age. There is no magic diet out there and trying to eat like we did when we lived in caves is ridiculous. Firstly, all of our food is different. ALL OF IT. Nothing is without some sort of additive or has not been affected due to our pollutants we’ve added to our entire planet. Even organic this and that cannot truly be organic as our very soil – our air, is polluted in some way. Just walk down the street and smell the gas fumes or cigarettes – look up at the sky and see the con-trails by planes.

It’s everywhere.

That all being said, humans are the most adaptable creatures on this planet. We adapt to everything and we will always prevail in some capacity. The answer is to stop eating so much crap. Fast Food is the worst. Don’t drink yourself stupid, don’t smoke for God’s sake – you may as well be sucking up poison.

Moderation, moderation, moderation.

Valentine’s Day…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on February 14, 2013

Roses, movies, dinner, making love…

I can’t tell you how many Valentine’s Day evenings I’ve spent alone and the last time I was with that special someone? I would say a decade ago. It’s difficult these days, people live in different cities; it’s mid-week…etc., etc.

Does it matter anymore? I don’t know. Is this actually a special day or one induced by marketing? I’m on the fence. In the past I’ve gone to great lengths for my man on this day. Did it pay off? I don’t think so. Oh, I’m sure they appreciated it at the time to some degree but at the end of the day I doubt they cared much. These days I’m just not sure what to do.

What is the etiquette when you’re middle aged? I haven’t got a clue.

All I know is that it’s a Thursday, I’m alone sitting here typing and the only male around is napping on the bed. I love him dearly…even if he wakes me up at God-forsaken hours. He even has his own declaration of this human event.

Can you spot his heart? It’s the first thing I noticed about him when I picked him out, chose him…all those years ago while volunteering at the MEOW Foundation in Calgary, AB.

He is and always will be my funny little Valentine…

Old Wives Tales

Posted by fragmentedpoet on January 18, 2013

Personally I like the new-fangled title of Urban Legends. I keep seeing/hearing people blissfully going around making statements about common things that are absolutely not true. Why doesn’t anyone question the validity of random comments stated as fact?

The other day my aunt re-quoted what a friend had told her about margarine. It sounded ridiculous and I just had to look this up to see if any if it were true. None of it was. Ludicrous, bold affirmations peppered this email-chain like a professional document. You’d think the people that invented margarine were out to get us butter-loving enthusiasts and kills us off!

I was so incensed that I commented with the link to Wikipedia with the history behind the dubious butter wannabe. No one said a word back. I nearly choke on my own spit every time someone innocently says: well, dragonflies have meaning because they only live for one day…wake up, people!

In real life, they live for over 6 months and not because they die of old age, but because they became food for other little beasties. I can actually claim that I met a somewhat intelligent person who still believed that toads can give you warts.

In an age where information is literally at our fingertips within seconds, it saddens me to see such ignorant idiocy populate our minds and being passed on to other seemingly resourceful people who accept it as FACT.

Think, my friends. Don’t accept everything you read as truth; don’t spread crap around the internet when you haven’t done your homework to find out if it’s FACT or FICTION.

Rub a few brain cells together and do some research before you start preaching the word.

I’m reminded of silly rumours I used to hear when I was in grade 4. Stories that were passed around from child to child about something so insane that it made little girls & boys gasp with wonder, horror and curiosity.

We are not little kids anymore; stop polluting the world with untruths.

You’ve come a long way, baby…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on November 22, 2012

You know, I’ve been on the hunt for a truthful, meaningful relationship for the past four+ years. For the most part, it’s been painful. I’ve dated (and been engaged to) cheaters, compulsive liars, men who can’t commit and would rather keep you on the hook until they find something better. You’re nothing but a convenient bed partner for them and you’re ‘ok’…but they keep looking for the next best thing.

I’ve dated men who are (and always will be) players, those that have been (and still are) addicted to dating sites; it’s like a hobby they take up. Along the way, I’ve met crazy people who one minute claim that I’m the best thing since sliced bread and then the next they ditch me because they can’t handle it…then (and this was probably the best one, yet) three weeks later they MARRY a virtual stranger.

Yes, folks, I’ve seen it all. Men, who can’t take care of themselves, seem lost in life, flitting here and there. One minute they want to move in with you and build a life, the next they run off to Alberta, and then back to Montreal…they bring nothing but chaos into their own lives (and yours if you’re lucky enough to be attached to them).

Some think they can fool you into believing that they are committed yet still think it’s ‘ok’ to continue to date other women from dating sites claiming that ‘it’s just friends’.

Uh, huh…and I was born yesterday, boys.

I’ve had self-righteous ones who claim they’re enlightened and so very highly elevated to the point that you simply can’t comprehend them and because you’re so in the dark and beneath them, it’s impossible for the two of you to work out. (This one is runner up for second best).

I’ve been led on, lied to, fooled, hurt, disappointed, let down, abused and cheated on – several times.

Then…

Just as you think every male out there is just like the ones you’ve wasted your time with, someone comes along and completely knocks your socks off. He’s so damn perfect that at first you’re not sure you even want him because it’s impossible to believe he can be THAT right for you. So you write him off.

But because he IS that perfect for you and he damn well knows it, he doesn’t give up. Nope. He keeps knocking on your door, keeps in touch, keeps hoping and then when the light bulb finally goes on in a really big way (kind of like the sun full on in your eyes at mid-day in the middle of summer)…you can’t believe your luck.

Then he confesses that not only were you worth the wait but he would have waited one hell of a long time for you to come to your senses because….

…he knows you’re the one for him and he’s the one for you. He brings you into his life, his arms and his heart and keeps you safe in there. And as it turns out, all this time you’ve been looking for him, he’s been out there looking for you! Unbelievable.

When you look into his ice-blue eyes with your warm earthy hazel ones, there are no words that need to be exchanged. He’s yours, you’re his. Nothing more needs to be said or understood.

I’ve come a long way, baby, and I’ve kissed one hell of a lot of frogs along the way. It wasn’t a prince who turned up but a Knight and Champion, weather beaten, a little bruised but strong and full of love; he’s the one ready to stand guard, protect and be a loyal mate.

I can honestly say, it was well worth the torture and if I had to do it all over again, I would…just to be with him.

When We Were Wee

Posted by fragmentedpoet on November 20, 2012

Remember the good ole’ days? Specifically, I’m speaking to the 45+ crowd (or so…). We didn’t wear seat belts, there were no air bags; wearing a crash helmet whilst riding your banana bike would get you beat up…or at least laughed at.

Computers were the size of an entire building and our telephones used a little turn-thing called a rotary dial. If you were lucky, you had a ‘private’ line rather than a party one. The concept of smart phones, the internet, texting, Facebook, Twitter and LinkedIn were not even a twinkle in anyone’s eye.

Yet…

Social media? Was that some sort of Tupperware party for newspaper reporters? Our cars were big, our dreams were even bigger. Mine were humongous.

No one had a cow and thought you’d die of poisoning (possibly within seconds) if you drank from the garden hose. In fact, it kind of tasted good; it had an interesting bouquet with a hint of sunshine and July-rain notes and was warm and earthy on the palette. It tasted like summer holidays, hot afternoons, oh, and rubber.

I grew up on the Southern Alberta prairies. For fun there were no video games, iTunes, home theatre entertainment or any of that sort. We built forts in the dirt and weeds. The day consisted of being covered in mosquito bites and smelling like stink bugs. Oh, and we had a fine coat of dust from the clay dirt; it was very windy in my town.

In the winter we froze our little bums off – again building forts but this time in 10’ of snow. Fort building should have been a career choice for some of us. I hung out in alleys playing games of hide and seek with a group of 8 or so, friends. Our territory extended for about 3 blocks. We had a game of monopoly going for 6 weeks straight.

We had fun.

Life wasn’t glamorous but it wasn’t hectic, either. I liked life, back then. We got hurt, dirty, were bullied but we learned to fight back. In third grade, a boy stole my hat and smacked me in the dead of winter. When I caught up with him, not only did I get my hat back but I nailed him in the kisser (with my fist, not my lips). He never bothered me again. And if he did? I had a big brother who was 6 years my senior.

We dealt with things and life in an almost wholesome way. I didn’t swear for fear that somehow my mother, who had ears like a cat, would find out and I wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. We got spanked and then we learned to behave. I had the fear of authority in me and I respected it.

I didn’t grow up to become a killer or victim and I didn’t die from rubber poisoning from the garden hose; when I fell off my bike, I healed.

Despite not having Facebook, seat belts, electronic readers, smart phones and every other wonderful thing that we seemingly can’t live without when I was young – I’m actually thriving!

Go figure.

Pardon me, eh?

Posted by fragmentedpoet on November 15, 2012

Canadian’s are ridiculously polite…on the outside, that is. Inside we’re thinking something entirely different. Take for instance the fact that we line up for elevators. The building I work in quite possibly has the worst and longest wait for its elevators within the known Universe. Yet, while elevators 1, 2 and 3 are conveniently ‘parked’ on floors, 16, 5 and 12 – the 4^th elevator will eventually glide down (stopping on every single stop) to the lobby. You just know that only one person gets out.

However, there we are – cued up like good little boys and girls for the oncoming ride. All that is…except for those few individuals that march right past the cue and stand at the front of the line, pretending the nice, neat row of 12 or so people behind them just doesn’t exist.

And we say nothing.

No one speaks up.

We stand there placidly looking at the floor, or our watches or cautiously glance here and there almost nervously.

But you know what we’re thinking, don’t you?

How DARE she cut in front of the line, why that &!@#@#!!!, did she NOT see the rest of us?! She must not be Canadian! Pft! Next time she’d better at the very least say: Pardon me or excuse me or even sorry! Then, of course, she’s perfectly welcome to jump the cue and we won’t stand quietly staring at her in disbelief whilst showing no expression on our faces, whatsoever. No, we will acknowledge her apology and smile at her. We may even say:

Oh, that’s ok!

And that, my friends, is what really goes on in our Canadian heads.

True story.

…for those who gave their lives and lay not where we know…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on November 10, 2012

Potter’s Field

How will you know me?
Beneath winter’s first snowfall
I remain nameless
Tread lightly where I now sleep,
Leave prints so I know you’ve come.

Romance is Dead, she was killed off by dating sites.

Posted by fragmentedpoet on October 20, 2012

Long live the i-World.

The, i-want, i-get, i-reality shows, i-need, i-deserve. Me, Me, Me.. It’s all about ME!

i-match, i-fish – i-date… it’s insane.

It sickens me. People treat each other like little kids did with trading sports cards or marbles.

Got it, need it, want it, got it, trade it.

Our fast-paced lives have included fast-paced affairs, one after the other peppered into our lives like ticked off calendar days hanging on our walls.

Monday date with this person – ‘tick’…Wednesday date with that person – ‘tick’.

There is no love it seems and whenever I bring up the subject I get some fanciful, long-winded speech to which the end result is always the question: Do we really even know what love is??

Of course we do. We’ve just forgotten where are hearts are because we live in this ridiculously over stimulated environment and we are completely lost in it. We no longer ‘think’ for ourselves so why do I get so bewildered when we can no longer love for ourselves, either?

I just may be the last diehard romantic person on the planet who is still capable of falling in and being in…love.

Maybe they’ll ask me to do a reality show on it.

*kidding…*

And now for something completely different…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on October 8, 2012

All right, not that different. Often I’ll reach out to people I’ve met along the road of life and say: Hey…thinkin’ of ya, how’s it goin’? It’s a simple friendly hello without an agenda.

What does that say about me? It says that I think of others and that although someone’s life has touched me very briefly, that I care and wish to send along good thoughts and energy.

What does that say about you if you completely ignore me?

An interesting conversation, I’m sure.

Everybody’s Talkin’…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on October 1, 2012

I don’t hear a word they’re sayin’….

Seriously. I keep meeting these people who’ve got all sorts of ideas and theories on the meaning of humanity and it’s about to make my head melt. It’s either all about the ‘meaning of it all’ or…some other complex and wordy explanation of how we should perceive ourselves, react to things (or not react) and stop in the moment, reflect on how to interpret how we feel and then deliver the appropriate meaning and feeling back to ourselves.

Does this sound complicated?? Hell, yeah. The gist of it is: If you decided to behave badly towards me, it’s up to me to deal with my own feelings and it’s up to me to decide what I’m going to do with said feelings or perhaps not do anything at all.

People seem to be in all of this self-discovery/self-improvement mode at all times that they simply forget to just…

Be.

Maybe, just maybe…we’re not meant to figure it out. Maybe we’re meant to get angry when someone does something that affects us negatively. Perhaps when we do, the other person thinks twice about their actions. Maybe we’re meant to react the way we do and it’s not just ‘what we know’ or ‘what we’ve been taught to do’.

This whole: You can choose how your feel and how you react when something bad happens to you is starting to sound old to me. Yeah, I get it. But what about being accountable for your actions?

I want to know one thing: Is it now ok to behave badly if the person you’re behaving badly towards simply works through their emotions and doesn’t let it affect them?

I’m still rather dubious of the whole idea.

I’m goin’ where the sun keeps shining…in the pouring rain…

Do You Ever Dream?

Posted by fragmentedpoet on September 13, 2012

You know…I catch glimpses of my nighttime (and early morning) unconscious adventures. They are like pale shadows rushing by. It’s as if they are in a hurry to get somewhere. I have so many of the same dreams or ones that happen in the same made-up place. It’s familiar to me; like scents left over from childhood. All those fleeting colours wrapped up with a pretty bow. I can still taste the tastes of those faraway places.

I’d chase those shadows if I could, reach out and pull them into a tender embrace. The feeling is good when I’m there and so very like home, yet…not home. They catch me off-guard: in the shower, in-between chores and whenever I’m not specifically focused on anything.

It’s like an elusive butterfly sneaking into your peripheral vision. You turn quickly to see it in full, but it’s already gone.

Tonight I’ll return to that place, I’m sure… I do wonder what I’m doing there.

Something to Consider

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 29, 2012

Even though you really, really want to. Even if your best response ever is at the tip of your fingers and you’re dying to set it free and shoot from the hip. Even if you know you’re in the right 150%…

Sometimes, the best answer is: No answer at all.

Think on that.

It’s ok to say NO.

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 28, 2012

Really, it is. In fact, there will be times when your gut instinct pulls at your miles of intestine and says – Hey…DON’T DO IT! Just say no.

Ever have one of those times? I keep running into them like a little bulldozer in an appointment-only, China shop. You’d think by my age, I’d listen to my inner voice, but nope. I clearly don’t. At least, until I made a pact and promise to myself after this past weekend slapped me in the face with a nice car accident while trying to be kind and help someone.

I just had to say ‘no’. If I had, he’d have been fine with it and all would be well. It’s my pleaser-self that seems to force me to do what I really don’t want to do even if the Universe screams at me not to. This isn’t the first time, either.

Now…finally…after doing this over and over and wondering why the hell bad things happen to me when I’m trying to be nice – I’ve learned my lesson. Oh, I’ll still be nice but when the warning bells go off like those midnight car alarms, I’m going to listen and say – NO.

Funny…that was my very first word as a baby. Does anyone see the irony, here?

Remember: N O .

Another Post About the “L” Word…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 19, 2012

Ah…those complexities of the heart, you know the ones, the logic-defying emotions that well up quite unexpectedly like tears do when you’re blue. Those epiphanic moments when someone realizes that they really do care that much and perhaps they did, all along.

What drives us to deny feelings for someone? Fear? I suspect so. Fear of failure, fear of loss, regret and fear of the unknown. Nothing lasts forever. We are all fleeting visions, these little envelops of light that burn so very brightly during our short time on earth.

Deny yourself nothing; love exists even if it’s not meant to last in ‘your’ forever ever after. Know that it’s still there long after the embers have been doused and the smoke has cleared. Love doesn’t start as it’s never, ever stopped. It’s eternal and has always been.

So love with your whole being. Love with all the strength, the wonder… and the intensity that you can conjure. Long after you’ve left, that love will still linger on and be a positive little glow that adds to the eternal light in this gorgeous little blue and green world.

Seni seviyorum…

Where For Art Thou, he asks…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 3, 2012

Where for art, I?

I’ve taken solace, deep within. I’ve backed away into the silvery mist where all you see is my wispy outline. The little poet (not yours, not theirs or anyone’s in particular) is flying away from the crowd of onlookers; floating free in the world of singledom, oh so tired of the games, the apathy and indifference.

I am ambivalence.

I am content in my cozy little shell.

Here I will reign as Queen over my colourful, free and creative world.

Checkmate. Fade to black – aaaaand,

Cut. That’s a wrap, folks.

Boxes

Posted by fragmentedpoet on June 17, 2012

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy…. You’re very missed.

Danced with grief
and you

Healing chose to neglect me-
same day they lowered you in your
little box
‘neath cold Alberta clay

Numb with guilt
I remember you small
still alive
hallucinating on morphine

You thought you’d won a watch
frustrated – we couldn’t understand
your rambling,
hard to speak with only half a tongue

I am angry
at you

Your ghost lingers – don’t think
I haven’t noticed
sneaking into my dreams still ashen – bent and aged
no words pass between accusing stares

I’ve buried my pain
and you

All that I could
locked away in secrecy
and sanctity
all the little gems I’ve put in my own box

Secured forever in my mind
in a thousand vaults with a million locks
not the drink, curses and violence
but laughter, cherry tobacco and of course, love

I’ve labelled this box

of you

Brush away dust and cobwebs – you’ll see,
Simplistic – a girl’s scribble
“Dad”.

I’m Really Not Having a Good Day…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on June 12, 2012

Brace yourself, I’m an a whiny/venting mood.

The evening started and ended well until about 3 am. Then it just went downhill from there. I watched Inception (for about the 5^th time) on my teeny little 25” monitor (still waiting to purchase a new flat screen)…then much to my pleasant surprise, a boy I rather like (alright, he’s a man) leaves me a cute and flirty email (thank you for that, T). So off I went to bed feeling all warm and fuzzy.

Then I wake up (3 am), and when I wake up the cat thinks it’s his job to keep me awake thus proceeding to become a major pain in the ass. Just before my alarm goes off (many hours, later) I’m throwing various items at him in my sleepy stupor and promising that terrible things will soon bestow him (as if he understands or cares…) so he’ll stop pawing at the ^%!*%!!# blinds. I miss, completely, of course and this does not deter him.

Fine. My new boss floats in later in the morning, also not having much luck in the sleep department, and I think it would be very nice of me to buy her a coffee…or a latte… As it turns out, she wants milk for the office, as well. This turns out to be my downfall as I only have two hands and to carry two coffees, a nibbly for myself AND the milk, I need at least three, possibly more.

You’re guessing what happened, aren’t you? Indeed, latte all over me and half of the elevator. Uh huh… yup. And because I’m such a good little citizen, I even went back, waited for about 3 to come and go and cleaned up – latte-covered elevator.

I now stink like a somewhat off, latte mixed with undertones of Marc Jacobs, Daisy. I’m also extremely thankful that I wore black, although I look splotchy. I want to go home and soak in the tub.

It’s the 21st Century, Boys…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on April 19, 2012

Catching and keeping a good woman isn’t as easy as everyone is telling you, especially with us mature women who’ve been around the block. What I mean by that is: Many of us have wised up; we’ve been married (once or even twice) – some of us are raising kids…some of us are fancy free. We’re not going to be all those things that those so-called professional ‘how to catch a man and keep him’ advice-givers/knowitalls (that charge us girls hundreds and sometimes thousands of $$) say we are.

Not ALL of us are insecure; not all of us NEED a man. That being said, it’s a nice to have and I am truly an advocate of healthy and loving relationships.

Nothing worthwhile comes easy. One has to work on it and in the process ‘work on you’.

So. What’s my point? I think it’s time that men realise that there are Renaissance Women out there – plenty of us and we’re tired of the crap. We’re tired of being lumped into this needy, whiny, bitchy category that claims we’re all pathetically insecure and that WE do all the wrong things – thus screwing up the relationship.

Gentlemen, women are emotional – it’s a fact. Get over it. We’re getting over YOU not being so sensitive to us and we’re sucking it up. It’s time us non-princesses stood up for ourselves and proclaimed:

I can pay my own bills, but if you want to buy dinner, I’m certainly not going to complain and I’ll be grateful. In fact, I’ll return the favour – possibly in other ways…
I can open the door for myself – but I’m a lady and if you wish to do that, I’ll be flattered! And…also thankful.
I have my own hobbies; I don’t need to be with you 24-7. If you have plans, want to hang with the gang or need some alone time…go for it!
Just because I have a cat doesn’t mean I’m a crazy cat-lady. It just means I’m busy and don’t have the time for a dog. Dogs need to be walked (daily) and it’s not fair to leave it alone for lengths of time. A cat is independent, and hey…wouldn’t it be nice to be able to get away for a weekend without needing to take along my puppy? Yes, it would. Plus… my cat doesn’t smell. And he’s super cute and cuddly.

That’s just a snap-shot. More to come.

All This Advice on Attracting and Keeping a Man

Posted by fragmentedpoet on April 17, 2012

Have you ever noticed how there are scads of advice for women on:

* How to get a man.

*How to keep a man.

*How to deal with a man when you’re mad at him.

*How to get your man back.

*What to do and not to do on a date.

The list is endless. Now. I’m getting a little miffed at the responsibility always been place on OUR (that being us girls’) shoulders. I’d LOVE to see some advice for men for a change and I think it’s time the focus shifted. I may just start a list of things that men should be aware of in attracting and keeping a good woman.

Life is a two-way street, after all.

All the Little Nuances of New Love

Posted by fragmentedpoet on April 2, 2012

So you’ve won a heart. Or…at least you’re pretty sure that you have. All the signs are there, you tentatively say the quick “I love you’s” in emails, softly after a potent glass of wine in a bar whilst looking into each other’s eyes – sometimes even in several languages just to be cute/romantic/sweet.

Je t’aime…seni seviyorum….I love you.

It’s all the same: My heart is yours, please be careful with it and if you’re so inclined as to hand over yours, I’ll promise to do likewise.

It’s a sweet yet tumultuous time. You can’t wait to look into his eyes; he can’t kiss you quick enough when he sees you again. You’re planning a future and you don’t even know each other, yet. BUT. That will come. After all, you’re seasoned adults, not 16-year olds.

Right?

Right.

You will trip over your words, accidentally embarrass the hell out of him in front of your friends/colleagues but you didn’t mean to. He’ll hurt your way-too-sensitive feelings but he doesn’t mean to. You’re learning each other’s rhythms, idiosyncrasies, loves, hates, needs, wants/desires, negotiables and non-negotiables. And all in a very short span of time.

You worry non-stop that you’ve screwed up and BAM! That’s it – it’s over before it even had the chance to begin. You do everything in your power to let him/her know they are important to you – you’re a team player and you’re willing to put in the time and effort to make it work.

It’s nerve wracking! However, this is what we do. This is what we do to settle ourselves into ‘coupledom’. It’s how we make sure we don’t die alone, have a companion, a best friend and a lover.

This is what we do as humans; it’s called love. We make it, break it, nearly kill ourselves over it, covet it, hate it but can’t ever do without it.

When Management Shies away from Decision Making and Plays the Blame Game

Posted by fragmentedpoet on March 20, 2012

You know – I did this when I was in my twenties and a store manager. It was always much easier to avoid any decisions…ask my staff to make them and then when things didn’t work out – point the finger squarely at them. It’s a hell of a thing to step up to the plate and accept responsibility.

But that is what ‘management’ is supposed to do. It’s called ‘we pay you the big bucks’, ‘accountability’ and just plain…dude – YOU ARE THE REGIONAL MANAGER.. not us.

As I mentioned, I was in my twenties. I got paid shit and I was immature. I’ve learned a lot since then and twenty years later I see that CORPORATE management is still pulling the same crap. The thing is…they’re in their forties, they DO get paid the big bucks and it’s just plain cowardice and playing the ‘blame game’ because they are not qualified, not able to and not responsible enough to make any executive decisions on their own.

Then they ‘cc’ the COO in on the scathing email sent to all staff. Nice. This makes one look pathetic, unqualified to do their job and just plain idiotic. It also further demoralises the team. Ah…such unprofessionalism and lack of forward thinking.

I’m amazed. I shouldn’t be, but I am.

When Corporations Aim to Gain at the Cost of Employee Payout and Motivation

Posted by fragmentedpoet on March 13, 2012

What is the real cost of replacing an employee? It’s a significant investment which many companies don’t take into consideration. They figure well…if you don’t like it, there’s the door. My ex-husband loved to use the expression on me. Guess what? I left; he was devastated. What a shocker.

When a company will do everything to squeeze every dollar out of you but not pay you what you’re worth…or what it says in your contract they’re supposed to – it creates not only animosity but it breeds discontent. It prompts one to bad mouth the corporation due to disgruntlement and this can cause a considerable amount of damage.

It’s far better to work things out in a fair manner rather than: Do what I say or else…there’s the door. We know where the door is, in fact we’ve been cracking a few windows, too to let in some fresh air – looking for opportunities in other pastures. When we leave, we take our knowledge with us – even if it’s not to a competitor. We take the thousands of dollars you paid to have us trained, flying us around the world to trade shows, etc. We take the relationship we’ve painstakingly built with YOUR clients and now you have to start at square one, again with the new person.

If you fire us, that’s our problem…if we resign – it’s yours. Either way – in the long run it will cost you a hell of a lot more to replace us than it would have to meet us in the middle with a win/win agreement.

The Seduction of Hope

Posted by fragmentedpoet on March 5, 2012

There is nothing more intoxicating than ‘hope’, that sweet surrender of possibilities and wonderful things that may come. Without hope there is emptiness and a dark path down a black well. It’s easy to expect the worst when so often it has appeared.

When that silver lining does finally reveal itself in all its beauty and splendor, make damn sure you’ve got that welcome mat out.

I’m even holding open the door; I’m hopeful.

They Say…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on February 28, 2012

They say when you’re not looking, you’ll find it. Well, I wasn’t specifically looking and my goodness, I think I just might have stumbled across it.

Today’s Lesson Was Brought To You By The Letter “W”

Posted by fragmentedpoet on February 23, 2012

“W”…for weird. There are so many crazy, odd peeps out there in this big ‘ole world that it just makes me want to hide under the bed.

My Cat Thinks He’s a Dog…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on January 6, 2012

This morning I caught Zephyr drinking out of the toilet…he’s got a HUGE bowl of FRESH water beside his food. But no…toilet water apparently tastes better.

The Long Road

Posted by fragmentedpoet on January 3, 2012

Happy New Year peeps. Oh…is that word no longer used? It’s hard to keep up with the newest, latest, hip lingo.

Well, it’s here. 2012. It’s supposed to be a huge year for positive changes, the reaping of rewards; you’ve planted those seeds, you’ve nurtured them and loved them – now it’s time to sow, baby.

I’m ripe for a whole lot of personal growth for myself. I’ve been cultivating it for years so it’s now or never. It’s been a very long road and I’m still on it. I can see the end, though, there is a light and it looks damn fine.

Here is to new beginnings (way past old endings), here is to sticking to the plan, landing that awesome job, meeting the ‘one’ and…(lest I forget) moving to a new, cool and funky place closer to my work (think downtown core). That’s a tall order, but I’m up for it. I’ve been a manifesting machine and it’s high time I had a really, really INCREDIBLE year.

Bring it on.

I really resonate with this song. I know I’m not spiritually there yet, but one day…I’ll let go of everything from my past; I’ll watch it sail away into the sky like a pretty coloured balloon and all I will need:

Is the air I breathe and a place to rest my head…

Do you know where your heart is??

Fortunate

Posted by fragmentedpoet on December 15, 2011

I’ve had the good fortune to meet some inspiring and incredible men as of late. Although none of them are able to see me in the pretty light of love…I am, nevertheless, grateful for their insight, wisdom and patience with me.

Thank you.

…and the quest continues.

I can’t do it…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on December 3, 2011

I’m just NOT a quitter! So…wherever you are, whenever it happens. I’m ready, baby. Clearly, I haven’t met you, yet.

The Intricacy and Intensity of Vulnerability

Posted by fragmentedpoet on November 16, 2011

I hesitate to pen this as I’m currently in the throes of said vulnerable state. However, if you want to find what you’re looking for or achieve your goal, you must take a calculated risk. Specifically I speak of the vulnerable state of one’s heart.

You know, that fleshy, red beating thing in your chest that flutters, does backflips and sinks down low into your gut when all you want it to do is just sit there and behave itself. If you’re going to get anywhere with your calculated risk, you need to take that heart, put it up on display and hope that it doesn’t embarrass the hell out of you.

Love is an indescribable, elusive and precious commodity that we all have within us to give but finding ‘it’ – that which is: finding another whom wishes to partake in the giving/receiving of said ‘love’, is quite another matter. Many of us struggle with this for years. You think you’ve found, embraced it and now can relax with it, but then it suddenly peters out into nothing like that dribble of rain after a brief but torrent cloud burst. You think it’s cropped up again (and oh, what a joyous surprise!) – but, as it turns out, it’s only lust (love for you, lust for them).

So. I took out my pretty scarlet lump (hypothetically speaking) and had a really good look at it. I gently caressed my fingertips along the soft curves noting the chips and cracks across the circumference. I poked and prodded, seeing that they were well worn but fairly stable. See here, those fissures that run from the centre and spiral outward? Those are hurts, wounds and battle scars.

I’ve acknowledged them, kissed them and rained tears upon them from time to time and over the course of my life – they’ve slowly healed. I’m rather attached to them, actually, as they make me…’me’. Those are my lessons, my references and my strength.

When I choose to become completely open, when I agree to take that risk and hang my vulnerable heart in the window of my soul, it means I’m ready. It means I offer nothing by purity; I give only unconditionally and my expectations are zero. There is no reservation when I hang this baby in front of someone. I hold absolutely nothing back and if you want, you can take that little beaten up heart in your own hands and have a good look at it for yourself. I promise it doesn’t bite.

If I start having expectations that someone just might reciprocate, I open myself up to disappointment and to be frank, it’s not exactly fair to the other party. You don’t know what ‘they’ are going through. You don’t know what it takes for ‘them’ to find that giddy, excited (I can’t stop thinking/dreaming/fantasizing about you) feeling. They may never get there…that’s the ‘risk’ I mentioned. It’s a big one. There are consequences.

However, if said other recipient whom you’re just dying to hand over your darling, beating love-lump to just isn’t going to walk down the same path, you need to be prepared to take that rejection and do something with it.

Oh yeah, and I don’t mean just sit on it and stew about it. Take it, love it, kiss it and send it out and away into the universe so that you can once again heal. Send it with love – love from that heart of yours. Let it go where it needs to go because it’s nothing personal and you don’t need to own it, hang on to it and put in on continuous play just to torture yourself.

Don’t be a masochist! You know your worth. You know that each and every one of us is really: all that and a bag of chips. Eventually someone will walk right up to that heart you’ve got hanging in the window of your soul and point to his own beating, glowing receptacle of love and say:

Here, this is for you, I believe yours is for me….

Summer Prairie Rain

Posted by fragmentedpoet on November 13, 2011

I remember the cold sting of it when I was a child, that chill and cool breeze just before the sharp crack of thunder. I can still see the heavy drops that seemed the size of Roman coins dancing on the heat of the sidewalk. I wish I could have taken a picture of it – indigo sky as dark as night shadows over my little prairie town with an ominous silence that always precedes the coming of a summer storm.

You could almost taste the lightning as ozone filled your nose with that pungent aroma. We gathered, us girls – all 6 of us…long time friends, at the nearest house and peered out someone’s bedroom window, just waiting for the flash of violent light, all the while counting out loud softly. Waiting for that boom directly sent from God himself to determine just how many miles away that storm was.

I miss that. I miss many things; people, places and sweet memories that drift across and dust my mind with light like the slow beating wings of an exotic butterfly.

The rain is gentle here in British Columbia; it’s warm and soft. I rarely see the flash of a vengeful God or hear the crash of Thor’s hammer from the sky. The seasons blend nicely and there is stillness here, almost a warm and protective arm from the surrounding mountains and then there is the border to the Pacific. There is really nothing like being close to the sea.

It calls to you, this salty soup of life, just as the snowy peaks shield us. Today I’ll feel the rain. I’ll let it melt into my skin, drink it up into my cells and let it drip like honey off my lips. But in the back if my mind, I’ll be waiting on the hot cement sidewalk under a big prairie sky…waiting for that first tingle of electricity that lingers in the air to lift the tiny hairs on my little girl arms and make me want to sprint for cover – yet stand defiant in the face of possible annihilation at that very moment.

Inspiration

Posted by fragmentedpoet on October 20, 2011

Once in a while, someone amazing comes into my life to lift my spirit, set fire to my creative neurons and send my imagination into overdrive.

Thank you, M. E. This one is all about you.

Inspired

You make it effortless.

dreams that dig deep into every heart of

endless possibilities, potentials of

every achievement and –

every time you speak…

I want to listen.

You make it happen.

synergies tripping across sympatico with optimal

performance that translates

into multiple epiphanies

multiplying positive outcomes…

You breathe serendipity.

You make a difference.

collecting the very best of every soul

weaving through energy, translating ideas –

a captivating collage that

captures true spirit and produces results,

You inspire me…

to be better.

The Sky Is the Limit

Posted by fragmentedpoet on October 18, 2011

I’m at a pinnacle point, standing on the edge of an event horizon and trying desperately not to get sucked into oblivion. Does this sound dramatic? Well, if you’ve ever been ‘served notice’ at work…it can be terribly dramatic.

Stressful, even.

Actually, stress doesn’t even scratch the surface and most of us have been there. Losing your job is horrid but one has to ask: Is this a sign that I should be doing something else? Perhaps something that I actually enjoy doing? It’s a risk; it’s scary as hell but I’m starting to think that there is never a good time to do something so ridiculous. Therefore, there is really never a better time than when your ass is being shoved out the door.

I say forget the sky, aim for the stars, baby. In fact, the universe is yours; go for it and never look back.

Getting Inside My Head

Posted by fragmentedpoet on October 6, 2011

Tonight I feel inspired. As I tenderly place small fingers upon my keyboard, I want to pour out my soul like a thick cream on ripe strawberries. Words are powerful and I want to draw you in with my phrases, captivate you with poetic images, a myriad of glowing letters falling from the World Wide Web. Go ahead and pick the ones you like; you can have as many as you wish.

Let me take you on a journey. I’d like you to see the world through my kaleidoscope as I gaze up at you, big-eyed and full of impending wonder. It’s a little weird inside my head but I’ll make a nice cozy corner for you. Get comfortable and hold on tight as it’s going to be a wild ride.

I sweep through the nooks and corners daily so you won’t find any cobwebs but what you will discover is a lot of hidden doors, small and secret passageways the lead to other worlds, outer space and through time. There are ghosts and angels masquerading as demons, aliens that fall in love with us and places in-between the in-betweens.

There are lost dreams, half-written adventures and hundreds of stories in the process of being imagined. You’ll meet Jack the troll (very misunderstood), Shell – my alien and hero, Habara my demon and a thousand other characters pressing up against those doors just waiting to meet you.

You’ll trip across a labyrinth of plots, outlines of entire worlds, paths that lead to nowhere and roads that lead in a circle right back to you. There are dreams that repeat and have done so since I was a child; I just know there is meaning in some of them. You’ll see the things I’m most afraid of (it’s never what you’d think), the fragments of my life that make me weep and sometimes, you’ll catch a glimpse of the really dark things.

Those that I keep buried and hidden down a very deep well. I don’t go there anymore, I don’t suggest you do either. It’s much too ugly. However, feel free to walk or run as fast as you can. Explore as long as you like.

Don’t get lost, now. I may never find you. Let me know when you want me to let you out.

Let Me Take Your Picture

Posted by fragmentedpoet on October 4, 2011

Let me paint you with pixels, draw you with flowing light. Show me every shadowed crevice and contour so that I may capture you through your soul at any given moment. Let shade and darkness move features into silhouette, let sun and moon kiss alive your shapes and burn them into electronic memory.

Let me take your picture and arrest you in stillness, in your moment and in fluidity; you are a work of art, a celebration of colour, monochrome and every vivid imaginable detail to be portrayed for all of time.

A Bad Dream

Posted by fragmentedpoet on October 1, 2011

Yesterday -
Was just one of those...
Days.

Life’s Lessons

Posted by fragmentedpoet on September 30, 2011

I’m often left wondering why events repeat themselves in our lives. What is the message? What did I not learn the last time? Perhaps my approach is too pedantic. It’s the big picture I need to encompass rather than all the little things that clog up my worrisome mind.

I could round-up several thousand questions on the why’s and justification of what ‘ is’…but it would be pointless. One needs to sit calmly and reason things out. Panic is not an option although damn, it’s tempting when your ass is on the line!

It’s time to focus, time to take action and time to listen to my heart but act with my head. It’s time to take a big breath…ok, several really big breaths – and figure out all possible alternatives. It’s not a time to stress yourself out with fret and anxiety. This, makes it all the worse.

So. We must be kind to ourselves, forgiving – even. Be understanding of life’s lessons and be grateful they come our way as, how else would we learn?

How else would we grow?

When They’re Gunning for You

Posted by fragmentedpoet on September 27, 2011

Have you ever had one of those situations where someone at your work (usually your boss…or your boss’s boss or a friend of your boss’s boss, etc.) who’s decided that for some unknowable reason that they have a major hate-on for you?

Maybe you’re a little too outspoken; perhaps you stuck up for yourself when they picked on you – even though it’s normal to defend yourself in an outright attack. If you’re in this boat, I can empathise as I’ve been there too and this is what I’ve learned about it.

The person who is all over you like white on rice for every little nit-picky thing on the planet is usually in the line of fire, themselves. As we all know, shit rolls downhill and if you happen to be standing in the way of said rolling shit – you’ll get the whole pile right on top of you.

What it usually boils down to is this: this person has royally fucked up. In order to deflect the shit being thrown at them…they’re looking down that hill and low and behold…there you are! Of course you’ve got your back turned as you’re being a good little worker bee and can’t see what’s coming.

This person, we’ll call them ‘your boss’…is in big trouble and needs to get out of it quick! One way to do this is point the finger at someone else, get yourself out of that hot seat and let someone else (some unsuspecting person) sit in it, instead. Yup, that would be you, sucker!

Sometimes it’s all at once, the shit that falls on you, and sometimes it’s a little at a time to wind you up until you explode. Of course, once you’ve blown up and there’s pieces of you everywhere, that’s when the fun really begins. Because then, my friend, you’ve exposed yourself and you’ve given them a reason. It may be a small insignificant reason but it’s a reason nonetheless to point that finger YOUR way.

So now what do you do? They’re sitting back (not in the hot seat, that’s where you are) all smug and smirking while your ass is on the line. You can do one of two things. You can fight it and most likely lose the battle and your job, or – you can take charge, get your little butt out of that situation altogether and win the war by ending it before it ever began.

It’s always easier to find a job when you’ve already got one. Yes, it is. It’s time to get on that train and get moving; no one is going save you, help you or take that shit for you. You’re on your own, baby, the whistle has blown and it’s time to board or get off the tracks.

That First Phase of a Potential Relationship

Posted by fragmentedpoet on September 14, 2011

You know that time…the one where you’re just starting to get to know someone but you don’t really know them at all. Your imagination fills in the blanks; it populates your thoughts with pretty possibilities. One might lay out several maps to which there are many interesting journeys that you might take with this person.

Down those roads you go, careful to note all that is along the way. Perhaps you’re hand in hand down a soft country path under a spring mid-day sky. Corn flowers dot the side of the dirt road where last year’s wheat fields have yet to be sown. This is just one romantic silly fantasy that is woven with a great many others.

This person seems familiar to you, and that is because you’re inventing them before you get to understand what they are truly really all about. It’s that in-between place that allows you to fill in missing information to your own satisfaction. It’s a dangerous place but we all do it.

You wonder if he really likes you as much as you like him. Is he thinking of you and if so – what might that be? Perhaps he’s thinking of several and you are merely one among many. You’ll never know – nor, should you. At this point, it’s not your place.

It’s magical, this time. Anything could happen and your mind wants to envision all of it. Just know that your real person of interest will never live up to your fantasy of them. They are, after all, human…just like you. For now, covet your day dreams and be ready to learn about the real deal; be ready to accept all likelihoods or none at all. This is the beauty of the newness of blossoming potentials.

That First Kiss…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on September 10, 2011

She flutters her lashes, tiny bird wings
eyes tilting up
a slow frame-by-frame movie
plays in his mind – he reaches

Yet not far enough, a space
of in-between, of… not quite sure

A pause so sweet, the air is damp with
breath
drops of honey on quivering lips
a meeting of silky wet, curious mouths

fragility, that every second
captures in the small tremble of

quickly beating hearts, her hand
caught-up
in a lock of his hair
she likes the taste of him

He likes the feel of her fingers on his face
tentative tongues explore

A tango of warm passion
a teasing
lick across full open lips
sampling flavoured gloss

He likes the scent of her glistening skin
she is arrested by his hurried, gentle touch

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 30, 2011

Lately, I’m viewing my singledom as a turning point in my life and once again have launched into the world of the dreaded…online dating sites. Although I’m making a valiant effort to not fall into old and annoying habits, it’s not working. It’s pissing me off and I don’t like it one bit. Clearly it’s time to give myself a stern talking to. Ok. Here goes. I hope I pay attention.

Self,

Stop being such a putz. Stop checking your email every 5 seconds to see if anyone has left you a message. They haven’t, they won’t and it’s for the best. Get over it. Stop worrying what your picture looks like. If they don’t like it, that’s their problem. It’s cute – so …get over it.

These are the things you should be doing. Do, work on your writing. Do, believe in yourself. Do, focus on your career. Do… remember that what’s meant to be is meant to be.

Get over it and move on with your life. It’s time to turn over a new leaf.

Being Human

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 27, 2011

I think it would be nice to tuck our emotions neatly away, a folded up cue card in our pocket labeled: anger, love, empathy and fear. We could take it out when we need it, quickly scan over the important parts and sum things up quickly and intelligently before retreating back into a serene world.

For the most part, it’s almost impossible, at least when you’re a fiery little thing with the absolute need to be heard and understood.

People react and overreact; it’s our nature. There are a few who hold everything back, take the deep breath and rise above it all. I really haven’t met too many of those people. When you’re not directly involved, it’s so easy to judge and prosecute, after the fact.

One should have done this and one should have said or not said that. If only life in the moment were that simple and executable. That’s the real crux of the matter…living and breathing it – in the moment.

I wonder if it is really possibly to walk in another’s shoes. Because, if we could and did, I somehow think there would be a whole different level of understanding.

Zenith

What is it?
this struggle that
keeps me awake
pondering my existence

Asking all who would listen
the question of our
lacking human capacity
for listening with our hearts,
speaking with our Higher Soul

This day I breathe
listening to the ebb and flow of my life’s blood

This hour I restrain
myself from losing grip on perception

This moment I succumb
and lose it anyway – finding a whole new way to see

The answer was always
obvious and poignant

Without one,
how can we know the other?

We will always choose
To select the highest stars
while sitting in the pits of Hell.

Dissension in the Ranks

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 25, 2011

Advice for those in ‘charge’.

If you’re going to demand respect, you’d bloody well better be prepared to offer some back.

If you don’t support your team members; don’t expect them to support you.

Rest In Peace

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 19, 2011

I hope your travel to the other side was a beautiful one, John. I hope that you’re with God, free of pain and have found joy.

On the Edge of Dream

I’ve come back to tell you –

death took me home the other day

it wasn’t how I imagined

death did not come…

Shrouded in Black shadows – face an endless pit of pain

death had no scythe, or weapon to hurt

She,

child born of Faeries

moonlight reflecting pale skin

petals of newborn spring adorned strawberry curls

her eyes,

the very stars….

Taking her hand,

I touched gossamer wings

air shimmered, made of purest light

“I’ve come to lead you home love”

Her voice a whisper; crystal bells

“Yet I think you already know the way”

I did

I had – only to fly on the edge of dream,

balance on the tip of all thought, and I was there

I’ve come back to tell you

death took me home the other day

it was the most beautiful journey

the most un-imaginable joy

Completing the Cycle

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 16, 2011

We aren’t born pretty and we certainly don’t die pretty – at least, for the most part. We enter a squalling wrinkled thing, covered in our own birth fluids and as fragile and unique as a snowflake. When we leave, many of us fight. We hang on to life with an iron grip, gasping at the air as if there could never be enough of it. We shake in pain, clutch at our humanity, stare upwards looking for a sign of relief and release, yet we can’t find it.

No, don’t close my eyes, they may never open again. Let me see the sky – is it still that perfect blue? Where is the sky? I need to see the world for a little while longer.

I wonder, often, why God or any other higher force that one may believe in and might exist – simply doesn’t take pity on us and bring us on home….instead of watching some of us suffer so.

Then something occurred to me. Maybe they try and we fight it. Perhaps our will can be so strong that even though the door is open to us…we resist. When it’s our time, I truly believe it will happen no matter what, yet some will choose to cling to our earthly body, not matter how worn out and sick it is.

I believe we do it because it’s all we know and we are afraid. We are afraid to let go. I think that when we do, when we let go our grip of an old or sick or broken body, when we finally see that there is something else, only then, are we ready to go home. Our real home.

Friends

Posted by fragmentedpoet on August 2, 2011

I don’t have very many of them, in fact, I can count them all on one hand. However, my loyalty is unwavering and my heart is true.

(I kind of feel a little Spock’ish on the last part) 😉

Friendship

I will:
listen to you,
really hear you
when you are
most needing to be heard.

I will:
empathize with your pain
not pity you – as
pity is for the weak
empathy is for understanding.

I will:
not judge
that is not my purpose or place
in the end-
we will judge ourselves
much more harshly than any
soul or God will do.

I will:
not offer advice,
but encourage you
to listen to your own
heart.

You already have all the answers.

I will:
help you to understand them,
help you to heal
showing you an incredible value –

Yourself.
Never doubt You

And,

if you fall,
I will help you up,
dust you off and make sure
your footing is on more solid ground

for the next time.

I am and will continue to be:
your friend.

In the Morning

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 29, 2011

…to all those that I’ve had the odd tiff with…

In the morning –

our disagreements will look like paper clouds

we can fold them up,

make little areoplanes and fly them out into the wind

I’ll label mine: Impatience,

and I’ll use red ink

yours can be: Stubborn

blue as the azure sky above

We’ll joke over crumpets and thick

black coffee from Costa Rica – rich and sweet

you’ll tell me how you’d like to go

I’ll tell you how it was when I went

In the morning –

our disagreements will look like dust

I will blow them away

and send them to fly free into the impending day

Men and Women

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 21, 2011

I was chatting with a colleague today about relationships…why some fail and some succeed. He’s quite a bit younger than me and it’s interesting to get his perspective on how he thinks women all behave. To put things into a better scope, he’s only had three girlfriends (the last just became his wife) in his life. So… some of what he’s saying, I gather, is what others have told him and things he’s read, etc.

I had to laugh a little as it was very stereotypical and after, I won’t say how many years, I’ve discovered that only a very small percentage of people adhere to the stereotypes we’ve all heard about. I corrected him on a few things such as: it’s not a bossy thing for a woman to let her man know what pleases her in the bedroom.

Yes….we had quite the chat!

He didn’t really get it, insisting that all men needed to lead when it came to sex. I, for one, have met many men who like it the other way around. I believe if either partner wants to be successfully satisfied, communication is essential and there’s nothing wrong with letting him or her know what’s good and what’s not in a loving, fun and sexy way.

It certainly doesn’t need to be bossy.

He also thought that all women want to change up the house to ‘their’ liking the second they move in. Personally, I’ve never been this way; I suspect it’s because I was always ‘told’ that the layout wasn’t going to change, no matter what….or I’d ask if it was ok to do this or that. It’s called respect and compromise.

I think the older I get the more I’m coming to realise that it’s really a wondrous thing that we do have all of these differences, it’s magical and we should celebrate it. I love being a ‘girl’ and I want my man to be a MAN. Equality in job pay is one thing…becoming an androgynous race is another.

Call me old-fashioned but – let girls be girls….and boys be boys. We’re perfect just the way we are.

Remembering the Days of Innocence

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 18, 2011

When I was quite young, often my family and I would venture out to Waterton Park on a Saturday. This was during the 1970’s – long before we knew it just wasn’t a good idea to feed the wildlife. We were in the car, a light blue Oldsmobile. My father was happily stopping every chance he could, when we would see deer wandering down the narrow road (which was quite often), opening up the window and offering said deer potato chips.

Today, we’d never do that (or maybe you would, but it’s not good for the poor deer) but back then it was perfectly acceptable. I was known for blurting out odd things here and there but typically, I was a quiet and sullen child.

I think I was about seven or eight, well, maybe a bit younger, at the time and on this occasion I decided that it would be a good idea to express my knowledge on the sex of this deer that was quite content accepting and devouring delicious, salty chips.

“Mom, “I said very astutely. “That’s a girl deer.”

“Oh really??” Suddenly she was unusually interested in what her middle child had to say. “How can you tell?” She eyed me somewhat suspiciously and with great interest. I found myself thrown into the centre of attention…which was odd for me.

I was extremely puzzled that she didn’t know and giving her an I’m amazed you haven’t figured this out on your own look…I said very proudly.

“Because, mom, she has long and curly eyelashes!”

With much relief, my parents burst out laughing.

It would be several years before I figured out why…

Oh, hello Insomnia…

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 17, 2011

Welcome back, bitch – I see you’ve missed me.

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock the clock is dead,
he died along with my sanity about an hour ago
I hid under blankets in the end
wearing them as skin
I was a whale-

immersed in a sea of sleeplessness
coming up for air only when needed

Watched each other for a while
me with my insistent tick above my right eye
he with his second hand trapped between the increments
of three a.m. and four

Was me that killed him
I admit it
ripped sad old double AA’s
out of his torn open back
couldn’t stand to see him suffer
see him fade

Laid to rest
beside bed-lamp and book
covered his face with tissue
the least I could do.

Poor Tick-Tock
poor me

Interview Question

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 13, 2011

Someone that I watch on another site posed this interview question and asked how one would answer it. Now, I’ve been on and given more interviews than you can shake a stick at. I’ve answered and asked this question many times and it’s a stupid irrelevant question because no one is going to answer it honestly.

Here it is. Get ready to cringe:

What is your most obvious weakness?

Next time I’m asked this I’m going to:

Lean in….look frightened and nervously around before whispering:

“I see dead people.”

The alternative would be to sit up straight, looking the questioner right in the eye whilst maintaining a stoic pose and say very seriously:

“Kryptonite.”

Unintentional Smut

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 13, 2011

Ha. Made ya look.

I always think this is the best and most humorous kind. I sell software. Our license key sits on a USB. This USB is called a ‘dongle’. You can start snickering now. Most of my clients are male……

Now….would you be able to keep a straight face when asked:

My dongle doesn’t work, what should I do with it?

I’ve lost my dongle; I’ve no idea where I put it!

Which port do I stick my dongle into?

I have a networked dongle, many people can use it at the same time, right?

I think I broke my dongle.

Why do I always have to take my dongle with me?

It just goes on and on…..I’ve had to bite my lip often; there has been blood.

The Kiss

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 10, 2011

A kiss is what starts it all. A kiss needs to be treated with respect. A kiss is a song, a sonnet – an Aria. It starts out slow and soft like a lilting melody. It has many notes and colours along the way and breaks into a chorus, throwing in passion but abates once again into another verse. A kiss is a story with a beginning, middle and end. It isn’t some rushed thing that goes bumbling along, out of control.

When a kiss crescendos into the finale, it doesn’t end on a high note. No, it fades out like stars do when dawn awakens the day and it ends in the glory of a sunrise, silent and slow but over powering every other sense. Once it’s done, you are left in a golden glow, quite unable to catch your breath.

This… is a kiss.

Communication

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 8, 2011

Isn’t it interesting how by saying absolutely nothing…we say so much? How the lack of words or acknowledgment sometimes speaks volumes.

The Ride Home – A true Story

Posted by fragmentedpoet on July 4, 2011

As I squeezed past a sea of bodies, ever so tenderly, onto the evening train, I braced my heeled feet firmly on the platform, ready to counter the jostling start of the familiar jerking motion. I clung to the bit of bar rail that I claimed as mine, for dear life as we lurched forward and homeward. Much to my pleasant surprise, a few stops later, a seat presented itself. How could I possibly say no to such an invitation?

So I sat squished and pinned between two fellow travelers and resigned myself to faraway daydreams and my iPod. It wasn’t long before said daydreams were scattered like a universe of dandelion seeds in a cosmic windstorm and all hope of oblivious thought yanked itself from under me. She strolled on like she owned the joint and couldn’t have been more than 25 all said and done. In tow, right behind her, were her two little girls, decked out in shocking pink running shoes with a matching dress and a vibrant summer number complete with a faux black leather jacket ensemble.

I was instantly hooked, transfixed and hypnotized.

The young woman’s eyes were lined with tar black make-up that circled ‘round as if protecting them from some unseen force; a gateway to another world lurked there…I just know it. Glitter adorned her cheeks, striped blue leg warmers – much more like ankle warmers from where they sat, kissed her ballet black flats and a sparkling rhinestone tiara sat royally atop her small head. The girls, no more than perhaps four and six years of age, snuggled in beside her and amused themselves while to my astonishment, the ‘bedroom eyes’ were not near complete; in fact they were only just beginning to take shape.

I watched in stunned silence as the train shook and rumbled along, stop after stop as she pulled out coal-coloured mascara and proceeded to gingerly add several thick layers onto her long lashes. When I thought surely the finished presentation of those eyes were ready for the world she further shocked me by rooting through her large magic bag of beauty aids and pulled out a box of luscious fake eyelashes.

Completely fascinated, I watched her tenderly paint them with the tar-like substance she must have used for outlining her eyes and attach them to her upper lid, just so. I waited. Was this it? Were those flashy vampire lookers ready for their debut? No, they were not! Out came the little jar of tar once again to overlay yet another layer of the blackest black to further extend the illusion. I’d never seen anything like it.

Finally ready for her evening glamour show, it was time to deal with the little ones who were busy fussing over a pink hat and incessantly cleaning a pair of eyeglasses with ample spit and a large deposit of thumb grease. From deep down inside the magic sack came a massive hairbrush which the woman angrily plowed through curly tangles of matted bleached hair that had been wind-whipped, snarled and possibly used to store bubble gum several hours earlier. The six-year old sat rigid and stoic as if this ritual were repeated several times a day. It probably was. The brush disappeared and from the bottomless void she produced a large bottle of hairspray to make damn sure there would be no misunderstandings of where each hair needed to be.

Now it was time for the littlest princess. The evil brush reappeared as if from thin air and she braced herself for the thrashing; clearly she was used to such torture but complete defeat was yet a few years away along with accepting that resistance was absolutely futile. Screwing up her face she complained and when the bottle of hair glue found its way out of the sack once more, she promptly shut her eyes tight and pinched her little nose with chubby fingers that ended in dirty cherub fingernails. But the wicked woman wasn’t near finished. Out came yet another bottle of substance called “Frizz Be Gone!” and the poor soul was showered yet again with wet stickiness. I desperately wanted to hand her my umbrella.

She was then crowned with a black ribbon headband and finally – they were all complete. And just in time for their stop, too. A cold electronic voice announced the next stop as ‘Braid’ and as the dynamic trio made their way off to whatever fantasy they were destined for, I froze.

Braid? BRAID?? I don’t remember a stop called ‘BRAID’!!

Not only had I missed getting off where I should have – so mesmerized by this fabulous show – but I’d completely gotten on the wrong train.

Now think what I would have missed had I stepped onto the right one.

Sailing

Posted by fragmentedpoet on June 30, 2011

Now before you launch into your best Christopher Cross impression, that’s not quite what I mean. However, after a little thought, perhaps it could be considered less literal and more symbolic. When I was little, I had this handkerchief. It had a little sailboat on it with a patched up sail. If memory serves me, it also had a duck in the boat – much like Donald Duck…but not quite.

Now I had it folded up neatly in my drawer amongst my girl things for years and years. I never once used it to blow my nose; I liked it too much. I thought a lot about that little boat nestled in among the reeds at a softly drawn shoreline. I wondered what it would be like to take that boat out past those reeds and beyond the handkerchief. I imagined all sorts of things and in a way, it represented freedom for me as I had a difficult childhood and one of the ways I escaped was into my imagination.

I still do that, by the way, I day-dream constantly.

Anyway, that scene on that little piece of square cotton always had me wondering what it would be like elsewhere and I often wished I could simply pick up and wander off into an adventure. Now that I’m no longer 9 years old, I realize that I can do that. I have the means and the ability – I just lack the confidence to make the choices that I need to.

I’ll make those choices soon and although there is no wind in my sail, I can see the windline from where I sit, the genoa is luffing and the sheets are loose. I am minding the boom. My rudder is pointed east; all I have to do is hoist up the anchor and get past those reeds.

Soon. Very soon I will set sail – head to wind.

Philosophising

Posted by fragmentedpoet on June 27, 2011

I believe in fate but I also believe I am able to write my own. There is this strange winding staircase that I am on in my mind and up, up I go. I’ve been here before but I’ve always stopped to glance back and ponder. Not now. I turn my gaze towards the next step and I don’t care what is behind me. I never should have in the first place; I wonder if it has been what’s always held me back – that penchant to re-examine my past.

What ‘was’, is no longer viable and important. It’s the stair that I am on and the next one I tenderly place my size 6 upon that holds me captive. I want to know what’s at the top yet even as I think on what it could be…I am writing out the script.

I’ve got many possible storylines and they pile around me and fall backwards down the stairs and into the past if I decide they just won’t do. I keep on writing and imagining until it feels right. Scenes take form and shape; I colour them with vibrant shades of love, hope and positive outcomes with a few struggles thrown in along the way to make it interesting. People enter into the story and I frantically implore dialogue. Chapter after chapter is scribbled out and before I know it, it’s happening around me.

It’s a live movie; there are takes and re-takes, re-writes and I play them over and over until I’m satisfied it may just work. I am conducting my future on imaginary paper while taking it step-by-step to where I need to be. When I finally get to the top, my path will be written and published.

Only then will I be able to actually begin it.

Embrace Me

Posted by fragmentedpoet on June 24, 2011

Embrace me; let my words flow over you like warm summer rain. Let us fly into the unknown and let imagination lead us to new enchantments. Be my sail and I’ll be your anchor when you need one – see where stanzas and paragraphs take us. Let me splash morning sun on your skin and slowly awaken your senses. Together we can light up the day with a kaleidoscope of poetry.

Tell me about everything that is anything to you and I will spread your meandering words like honey on a petal – soft and perfect for devouring. I will spin them back at you so that tangled up; they will become something more than either of us.

Embrace me; dream with your eyes open and make this your sojourn when it’s a little cold and lonely out there in this big world of glowing letters and cold fiber optics.

The Little Wish

Posted by fragmentedpoet on June 22, 2011

I found a wish in a bitter sea bleeding for lost days and forgotten things
I set it free, placed it on a morning cloud and off it went taking with it
the deep dark sky, a little wish, sailing past stars and hope,
past joy and pain and under the moon it shone, then moved on…

It’s drifting in the wind, that wish, I’ve seen it once or twice
before and after and yesterday, tomorrow too
I smile and let it be, it’s not my wish – but I send along my heart
to find it, guide it, lead it away to whom it belongs

It cried, this wish and it rained for months, filling the sea with acid tears
sorrow claimed it when I tried to save it, tumbling into boiling waves
It sunk too low for me to find and once again it knows it’s time
I’ll try again to fish for the wish set out to find it with all my heart

That little wish, I’ll give it wings – show it the sky. It needs to fly.

House Cleaning

Posted by fragmentedpoet on June 21, 2011

I’m in a mood, one that allows me to trip over and lose myself in countless possibilities. I’m aiming high these days, I’ve mounted a set of stairs and they stop in the clouds. I don’t want to climb down. My head lives there, my heart….I think she went on a vacation to Fantasy Island, but that’s ok. She’ll come back to earth soon enough.

There’s no harm done , make-believe can be a Godsend when the alternative is mass confusion. It’s only my little world of the life I’d really like to live. I’ll get there. I’ll climb those stairs to the top, oh yes I will. I’ll just stay in my little head for a while until the dust settles enough so that I can sweep up the mess and finally clean house.

It’s long over due.

A Letter

Posted by fragmentedpoet on June 3, 2011

Grief is a tormenting thing, sneaking up on you out of nowhere and demanding your attention when you really don’t want to give it. It’s a possessive, bossy emotion. There is no hiding from it when that hand reaches inside your chest and squeezes your heart like a vice-grip will a grapefruit.

It really does hurt physically. You can’t breathe properly, words get choked into squeaks and blurts inside your throat and that excruciating pain in your chest gives new meaning to: a broken heart.

Grief is ugly, too. People don’t cry pretty crystalline tears that ever so gently roll one by one down their cheeks to pool at their chin before disappearing into the next scene. Oh no. There are gushing sobs; one’s face becomes a battle field of twisted anguish while a flood of saline turns any hope of seeing straight into a pathetic underwater blur of hazy reality. A red and snotty nose causes further breathing problems so that taking great gulps of air in-between any attempt at gaining self-composure becomes absolutely necessary for survival.

If you wear make-up, you’ll wish you’d forgotten that extra layer of mascara as now, you don’t even look human. You’ve transformed into some monster covered in a layer of runny foundation with a lovely coat of black trailing crooked stripes down your once serene face.

It isn’t always this way but sometimes it is.

He wrote me a letter once, close to 30 years ago when I was but a girl. It is full of spelling mistakes, sentences that aren’t real sentences and difficult to read scribbles but I knew what he meant. He missed me. He missed his little girl and he wanted me to know that he was ok and that I should take care of myself because as I was in college, I needed to eat properly. I think he thought that I wasn’t. I guess I was rather skinny back then.

In broken English, his concern was disarming, sweet and heart-felt. When I happen upon it and read those scrawled words, I forget. I forget about the drunken rages, the threats and the resentment towards us. I forget about all the horrible things he did and just see a man, worried about his young daughter living by herself…for the first time.

I see love.

He signed it: Dadd…. Just like that. I smile now at things like this but there was a time when I couldn’t read it without that grief overwhelming me with lost possibilities and opportunities. He died painfully twenty-two years ago this August. I have pictures of him in my spare room.

I say hello to him almost every day.

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