Blurt 2

 Bits and pieces as I manage, or try to,  the sporadia of my life.

Tax season, though much, much reduced from days gone by in its volume, is upon me. But so far managed well. There now I've jinxed it.

I have my season of writing workshops starting on Saturday for which I am completely unprepared.

I semi-reluctantly signed up (under pressure from the board et al) for the Tenants' Committee here and now find I had the most votes even though I don't get involved, AT ALL, in the frenzy of activities here such as Bingo Night, Soup Day, Darts Night and Koffee Klatch Wednesdays and Garden Beds (which are glorious as we have magnificent gardens). So now what do I do? 

A few pics.

I really like this photo of my bathroom mirror capturing some of the art on my bathroom wall.

Loved my latest read, the pacing, the tension and the complex characters.

I can't praise this series enough. Most of it I lived through but the fresh perspective on everything (Bay of Pigs being one example) is enlightening. I highly recommend.

Melange a Trois

 (1) Thought I'd show you my Wall. Note caps. This was a blank wall facing a bookcase in my hall. I send cards, I get cards. Some of them arty or old or meaningful and I like them to hang around for a while. I had a roundy thing with slots which would hold about 20, all cramped together. It teetered. I had a few lovely framed corkboards in my office/bedroom and pinned some up. Then I thought wee pegs and a kind of double clothesline. And this seems to be working. I get to walk by them all, and can change them at whim.

(2)I had tea shipped in from Tipperary at Solstice as a gift for Niece to share over the festivities. With a teapot and inbuilt strainer. To me, tea should never, ever be in teabags. It needs to be loose-leaf and full of aroma and taste. This was a huge hit so I sourced more of this magnificent tea in Canada at half the price and got bags for Niece, Daughter and myself. This is the tea I was reared on. Blended by a Master Blender in Cork by the name of Dennis Daley.

(3) I'm preparing for a CBC radio interview tomorrow on how seniors have been managing themselves in the Time of the Plague. I believe that schoolchildren and seniors are suffering the most throughout this time. And there will be a ripple effect for generations to come once we move beyond (?) it. Let's face it, we are not too far off from death in the normal state of affairs, but it is much, much, harder missing physical contact with family and friends. Along with other challenges, far too many to get into here.

I realize I am luckier than most in that there is never enough hours in my day to satisfy me. I get up early and even if I sleep in for an hour I feel ripped off.

 Daughter visited me yesterday and brought me a grid notebook (genuine antique with leaves of carbon paper at the back!) and 24 brand new colouring pencils. I felt like 6 years old again, can't wait to experiment with these babies.

Pardon Me

I'm not writing about much today. I've had two days of savage pain which neither the CBD oil nor the Tylenol extra strength alleviate.

I'm getting used to days like these. I know they pass. And who knows why they pass? Some wooey magic? The body going phooey, let's give her a break?

I felt miserable.

And I considered the hidden life of Facecloth (my personal petname for you know what). I posted jokes and comments and updated some of my web pages and thought: No one could ever tell from these posts that I was distracting myself from my rebelling body. And posted a picture of the sun washing the dark windows of houses as it slid below the horizon sitting by the lake with its dog park and missed my Ansa. I can make more room on the pity-pot if you wish.

And apologies for the swimming in the sea of me post.

But there you have it.

The US is what it is, a cesspool of fascism and racism and all the other isms of nearly 50% of its population. A terrifying thought. And their Mussolini at the top of the heap screaming and yelling like a toddler, condemning his own country's voting security with every blast and no one from his party marching out there and seizing him by the neck and throwing him into one of his own cages. Why are they complicit in his treason?

Be that as it may on this rambling Saturday, where the pain is not showing its face so much.

I hung this picture which I got on the Great Northern Peninsula. I absolutely love it.

And optimistically picked up my Book Club's selections from the library where I was greeted by name by the librarian.

I'm telling you, we need to cling to the small things like never before.

The Art in the Ordinary

I am often struck by how everyday objects, blink and you miss them, can stop me in my track sometimes. How colours and shapes can pop and take on new meaning.

The whale on my shower curtain (gift from Daughter) holding the boat, the bright purple shower cap, the ceramic viking ship (another gift), the towel, the shampoo and facecloth can all blend in a watery harmony.

An artist I have long admired, Mary Pratt, did this so extraordinarily well. Coincidentally, she lived not too far from me when I had my house in rural Newfoundland.

Go have a look at her extraordinary work and celebrate the ordinary.