Another Post About the “L” Word…


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…


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.

Chasing the Elusive and Impossible


Dear Men,

What gives? You like me, you don’t like me…you seem to be interested but then you’re really not so much? You want to be intimate but not exclusive? You flirt/compliment/chase but still keep searching for that elusive, impossibly perfect girl.

I’d sure like to know what qualities she has in your imaginative mind; it’s killing me not to know what I’m really up against. I think I know what the problem is; online dating gives you far too much to choose from. You’re like a five-year old let loose in a Walmart packed floor to ceiling with easy-to-reach candy.

Boxes


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”.

It’s the 21st Century, Boys…


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


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


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.

 

The Seduction of Hope


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.

The Long Road


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??

The Intricacy and Intensity of Vulnerability


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….

 

Inspiration


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.

Let Me Take Your Picture


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.

That First Phase of a Potential Relationship


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…


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…


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.

For D.


...because even now, sometimes I really miss you and England.  I’m glad you found someone and I’m really glad you’re finally happy.

Strefford

I dreamed you and I
stood once more
across from Jack’s house.

We became the ghosts
that are known to haunt these lanes.

No one could see
how coming back,
how coming home-
had made you weep.

Tears were cleansed
then lost in summer rain
we stood invisible.

You taking pictures
with your eyes,
me hearing the shutter
every time you blinked.

Trying to say your name
my voice became the wind
a gentle hush, a sigh
rushing through the leaves.

Tried to tell you
it was time to go
Time to let
go…

You’ve faded before me
like ghosts will do
I find myself alone, now
rooks flying in from the fields.

My memory walks the Shropshire hills
standing unseen among the sheep
I wonder, when you return, if you will remember

The Kiss


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.

Embrace Me


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.

A Rare Moment


It’s not often I post pictures of my family (ok…never) but seeing as there are very few who actually look at this blog and no one actually comments, I thought, what the hell….

This was taken in 1978 or ’77 on July 4th. It’s my dad, my younger sister and myself. I remember that day – we were camping at Waterton Park and I was grumpy. I hated having my picture taken; I still do. My dad, on the other hand, loved it.

Happy Father’s Day Dad. I miss you.

A Letter


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.