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.

 

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


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


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.Image

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??

Fortunate


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.

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….

 

Summer Prairie Rain


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


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


 

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


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


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.

Life’s Lessons


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


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


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.

Being Human


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.

Rest In Peace


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


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


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.

Fragmented


Existing or functioning as though broken into separate parts; disorganized; disunified.

Without being part of – one can feel broken and separate, like a shard of glass from a window. Eventually the window gets replaced….and the shard? Well, it’s thrown away, isn’t it?

In the Morning


…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

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

Ah…the Shades of Summer ~


…and endless possibilities.

Shimmer

Show me your colours,
I’d like to taste them
sweet yellow and crisp
orange ,upon my
open thirsty lips

Break past all resistance –
that built up tension
let it flow and drip
through all senses oh…
I count your many hues

They dance in streams
naked light of slow
careful movements
Blue. An iris I picked,
just for you

I see you now,
in light filled glory
drops of electric sun on
water. I wish,
I would drown in you

I wish you could teach me

brilliance.

Men and Women


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


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…


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


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


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


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.

The Ride Home – A true Story


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


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


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


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


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


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 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.