Surfacing

I've never taken this kind of a break from blogland before and I do hope to catch up with all of you soon.

I've been writing and submitting and re-editing and editing again and then feeling like a schlump some days for even thinking I can do it and then other days feeling on top of it all. Sharing with other writers, I understand that this is entirely normal. We waiver madly between thinking what a wonderful piece and in the next hour thinking this is absolutely appalling dreck. 

Needless to mention I have missed you all, I've been blogging and reading fellow bloggers for yonks now and it was hard to pull away but knowing myself, I can't go down the deep dark worm-holes of the web if I am committed to other projects. I am a screen sucker. There, I've admitted it again.

I've also been piecing together an anthology volume two for my writers' group. We sold out two editions of the last one and are hoping for similar success this time. I have a bunch of enthusiastic and committed writers and they inspire me in so many ways. We are a very tight group now and that is lovely.

My family has been planning a major event for me for my upcoming significant birthday but more on that later.

Organ Recital

My health continues to improve and my gratitude knows no bounds. I honestly was at death's door only a year ago. And to come to this re-installation of my life Version 4 or 5 (I've lost track) overwhelms me. I'm on a new kidney drug and it's doing wonders. I'm actually building up stamina in my walking. This from a person who couldn't even cross her own living room without needing massive gulps of air and a lie-down this time last year.

We've had a lot, a whole lot of snow. This is a photo I took just down the road from my home with the frozen lake.

One of the best books I've read this year (there have been a few)

And one of my favourite films (and again, there have been many more) for  the multiple layers of story telling in it and the brilliant acting.

And yes, I saw most of the Oscar nominated films but did not, by a long shot, agree with the best film award.

And I was positively thrilled to go to a real live theatre for the first time in three whole years. Though I am still cautious and play it safe (masking, sanitizer) as Covid is not leaving us anytime soon and our cases out here on The Edge are dismaying and the deaths so far this year from it are appalling.

I try not to think of the state of our sad and sorry planet that seems to shed a little more hope off herself every single day. Climate change alone not to mention the wars and the starvation of countless millions. It's all kind of hopeless isn't it?

I guess we should all be more like the late unlamented Barbara Bush who tossed all concern about her son's unwarranted and brutal invasion of Iraq out of the window with:

"Why should we hear about body bags and deaths? It's not relevant. So why should I waste my beautiful mind on something like that?"

And no, Barbara you did not have a beautiful mind. Your cesspool of a mind begat another cesspool with no conscience or ethics or morals.

And the truths are now pouring out about that twenty years ago invasion now. And it's all pretty appalling and sickening.

Twenty Years Later.

Going Underground

I've been working far too little on a memoir I am writing about a certain time in Toronto way back in the mists of time. I didn't want to do anything with it until a whole bunch of time had passed and key people in it would have passed on.

It's been a long project with scattered notes and old notebooks and many chapters written on line and thoughts in coffee shops committed to little notepads. Some chapters I printed and workshopped with a group who were very excited about the premise and the secret life I led. (There's a teaser right there!)

I think I am ready now to pull all the bits and pieces together. And send it off. But I need to pull away from everything else for a while and sit and nurse this whole thing together by the end of February. 

Daughter has been super encouraging, though she's not aware of the content. I would love to get away from all distractions to get this finished but that's not in the realm of possibility at the moment. I will try and disconnect where I live and relive and breathe all these memories that have never left me and still linger with a miasma of sadness at the choices that had to be made then.

So adieu for now. I will back on March 1st. 

Hopefully, not too battle worn.

(Not me!)

Abandoned Words

I hereby list many words used in my lifetime which are now lost in the archives of memory.

Corsets 

Were a huge thing in my mother's time. Whalebones (or equivalent) holding in the tummy, hampering breathing, unhooked and peeled off with barely suppressed sobs at the end of the day.

Roll-ons

In my time in the late fifties and early sixties they graduated to what were called "roll-ons" elasticated rubbery encasements, with dangling suspenders. Usually flesh coloured (at a price premium) or off-white. Often fetishized today. Or now known as "spanx" another female self inflicted torture device.

Galoshes 

These were worn by both men and women to protect the shoes from the rain. The women's had accommodations for high heels. I barely missed that era. I remember how shabby and droopy they looked on the hall mats when my parents had a crowd over. They probably lasted a lifetime of wear.

Costumes

In my mother's time, and nudging into mine there were what women called "costumes" which were the matching skirt and jacket, very formal, very proper. A woman usually could afford one or two costumes if she was lucky, as they were tailor made and quite expensive. Miniskirts, of course, blew all that away though I do remember wearing "costumes" with a mini-skirt and a matching jacket much to my granny's shocked expression when she first saw me thus "gallivanting" in such an outfit but she adored me so she kept her mouth shut tightly.

There are many more of course but I'm keeping this short today.

And, of course, I am aware that this was in Ireland in the fifties, early sixties and other countries many have had different words for such items.

Bowing and Scraping

Lately I've been taking a critical look at all the genuflecting, bowing and kneeling to other humans going on in the world. Still. In 2023. All over the place.

Every petty despot or tyrant, inherited wealth, inherited "positions" either through birth or election or anointment in some way commanding or demanding the respect of the tip of the hat or a curtsey or a bow or a kissing of rings or other such artifacts.

It begs the questions as to why we still do this. Remnants of slavery? Acknowledgement of our "betters"? Like what the almighty hell? At this stage of "progress" we all know that many of these so called icons of grandeur have been guilty of more transgressions than we can count.

Freshly ordinated Catholic priests in front of bishops carry it to a further extreme, as do many other religions.

In this age of supposed equality of all, it's just about laughable that so many attach such groveling servitude to others deemed their superiors when the truth has long been exposed about past slavery and appalling abuses of such privilege including genocides.

And sidebar big question: have they ever done anything to earn this outrageous reverence? 

Gratitude

 I listened as a friend told me how she recently learned how to quell anxiety (and we all have it, the plague's not over, many are sick, new variants, wars, climate change - I'm so very sick of even trying to list).

So it goes like this: she has an old rosary beads of her granny's that she treasures. Hanging up somewhere as we do with things that are precious but have no use for.

She took down the rosary bead and off it went to bed with her. And she thought of her granny and fingered one bead in thanks and then she thought of other wonderful beings in her life and she assigned one bead to each of them and on it went. And she slept better than she had in years and woke refreshed with the beads still in her hands and resolved to do this every night when lying down.

I threw out all the old beads, sinful me, but I need to find me some and do much the same thing. I have so very much to be grateful for including those wonderful beings who have no idea they help me so much as I navigate each day and I daresay I might even run out of beads.

I met my new internist yesterday, very impressed, and and afterwards went up glorious Signal Hill here in St. John's and took a few shots as the gloaming of the day settled into my bones. I took a shot behind me and a shot in front of me - the ocean and the moon and the gorgeously lit harbour with all the boats and ships and peaceful waters.

Gratitude.

What are you grateful for?

Little Things Can Mean a Lot

I did a yarn stash cleanout yesterday. Yarn? You wanna talk yarn? I had yarn from oh, forty years ago. For someday. When. You never know when I might need this colour, this texture. So I dragged it around with me through various moves. My storage has been crammed with the stuff. 

And it's always one thing that triggers a release of some kind. So the one thing that had me moving in the direction of releasing stuff was the gift of this jumbo screen from my beloveds.

The whole room shifted and changed as my old one had been on a portable wooden trolley thingie which had to be moved close to my eyes to watch (I am just about blind in one eye) and then shoved back against the wall. So the wooden trolley was then moved to a corner which became my knitting corner and the little projects I'm working on were displayed prettily.

And as lightbulbs flew off I thought of all this yarn taking up most of my locker space that I will, oh heartbreakingly for a second there, never ever use.

So I piled a lot of it into 4 bags (there's still more but I will deal with it.)

And I threw a notice on my facebook page that I had this for sale for $5/bag and proceeds would go to charity.

I sold the lot of it immediately. And get this: the buyer texted me she was so happy as she knitted exclusively for The Gathering Place a form of shelter for the homeless and lonely not far from me where they are fed and clothed.

And the stash was picked up this morning and the $20 handed over which immediately flew out of my hands and into the Vancouver Rape Relief And Women's Shelter.

So one small thing is like the wings of a butterfly: tiny ripples touching so many other lives.

Do you have any little things stories?