Growing up in a small town, there's lots of time for reflection. Time to sit by the river and wait for your enemies to roll by or read the Art of War. It's up to you. There is always more time and it's never to late to write your wrongs. My Grandma Far was a fan of two nuggets of truth. 1. What's for you doesn't go by you. Which means, if you're destined to have something or you've earned it, you'll get it. And 2. The whole world can't be wrong. Meaning, if you're the only one to see things your way, you're probably wrong. And I am. I have been wrong a lot lately. Which is not to say I haven't been trying, I've just been trying the wrong things the right way and ignoring the right things the wrong way
The strangest part about being wrong is that you don't realize it until it's too late. Sad, but true. If l had stopped to listen to the oh so very many voices of reason while on this tunnel vision express train, I probably wouldn't have F*ed things up...quite so badly. There were warning signs- I ignored. There were beacons of information- I ignored. How about the pony express telegrams I received, but instead of reading, I did what, oh that's right- I ignored them. Hubby says that people need to go through a selfish faze, especially when their goals are as lofty as mine. Here is the problem though. I am double crossing myself. Hedging my bets. By putting in the effort for the things I need to be good at to achieve my goals, I risk losing the things I am already great at. And I don't like that, it feels wrong.
When it feels like the world hates my guts, there is special person I turn to. The man behind the curtain. My Papa B; renowned grump and philosopher. Plus sometimes I just need to talk to my Daddy. As I wept onto my smart phone, my Papa B apologized for giving me his guarded and easily aggravated genes. He is convinced that he is responsible for the not-so-social quirks my Bro and I share. Which are many and widely varied. This might explain why the only person the 3 of us really trust is my Momma. I know he's wrong about giving me all my quirks cuz I got a few from my Momma as well. But where things really go wrong is when the two gene pools collide. My Papa B's shrouded mystery with my Momma's need to shout it from the rooftops. My Papa B's grumpiness with my Momma's need to please. Papa B took an hour on a windy almost winter day to talk me down from a lonely breezy, freezing ledge and what I needed to hear most was the last thing he said: "No matter how wrong you are. If you apologize and mean it, there will always be time to right what you've wronged, if that's what you want." And I want to. Living life right is about maintenance, it takes work. You're never wrong for wanting to better yourself. But there is a right way to do it. As for their genes, they may never fit me and look flattering. But my Mom's genes will sure look good with my New Balance *insert coy wink for my funny little play on words*
Heading into the busy holiday season I thought I would try to organize myself. I would love to be one of those "5 year plan-It's all going according to schedule" girls but these are words I have never uttered. Ever. There are things I am good at organizing; like other people's events-which can be very helpful this season. But there are organizational tools that elude me, for example choreographing a Puppy and Kitty Xmas Carolling Concert- I don't know how those animals on the radio do it. Oh and Social planning. It's not my forte. Please let me explain. I am great in social situations, it's all the other stuff that goes with them that I stink at.
Firstly, I am not a good planner. Not to mean I can't make plans and keep them. It's just that I like to fly by the seat of my pants which means I leave a lot up to destiny. I make general plans with multiple options for amusement. Letting myself go with the flow- a BFF trick extraordinaire. It's a lot more fun that way. Unless of course you're married to the Commish, who must account for every minute he's on the clock, otherwise the boys upstairs will start giving him heat; and he's too old for that.
Secondly, I tend to double, triple and in rare cases even quintuple book myself. The enthusiasm of just being invited somewhere clouds my judgment, going against all scientific theories of time and space. Which I hope by this time in the year 2014 (baring the Rapture) we'll have solved. And I will be able to attend all events simultaneously on a fractured timeline.
Thirdly, distraction. I am easily distracted. Oh! A squirrel!
Fourthly, short term memory loss. Did someone say something about squirrels? If I don't write it down it's gone.
Fifthly, I forget every year this coming month goes by so fast and then the parties are over. It's a busy blur of festive cheer. Leaving us in the Daylight savings dark with nothing to celebrate until Valentine's day.
So, I hope this year to take advantage of some much needed celebrating. Despite all my social foibles. There something relieving about FB holiday invites going out early and the pre-event planning I've been involved in. So, this year I look forward to wrapping myself up in an ugly Sandy Clause sweater and enjoying all the miracles and merriment of the season. At least that's my plan;)
There is a special bond that grows between a man and his dog. Or in my case the Stinker and this Gal. It is not something that can be easily explained. It's a delicate balance of love and angst. A Bermuda triangle of troubled waters and deceptively calm skies. Watching her claim and reclaim her 'rightful' place at my side is a comedy of errors.
I have always had animals. I grew up with Ralph- a charming and distinguished old man conveniently trapped in the body of a lazy Basset hound. He was the howling defender of our house. The couch sleeping snore machine that interrupted movies. And in his old age he would toot with the effort of climbing the stairs. A tuneless trumpet played for my childish delight. We had Ralph for more than 10 years. He was part of our family- he picked favourites, but still he was a part of it. He was my Papa B's puppa roo.
Then along came Beba. Or Eta-be-ba-sane. Or the Big Lady. Or Beebs. Or any number of variations on Reba. An unimaginative breeder's reject. She is a ballerina trapped in a bohemouth's body. With the nerve to love everyone. Her chocolate brown eyes always goofily optimistic for just one more cookie. The prettiest tail wagging simpleton in all the land. She is a Basset of a different colour and perfect for our family. Her award winning smile sets her apart.
Having less space than my parents and knowing I could never fit a country Basset in a city unit, I chose a smaller hound pup. A reagle Beagle. The teeny diddy bean is the sweetest Tinker in the world. Songs have been sung of her beauty and grace. Her fans are scattered far and wide. Shy and quiet her big brown eyes blink at a stranger's approach. She's a stinker though. I am convinced she thinks I control the weather. Making it rain just to soak her tender toes. She has perfected the four foot stomp. A sure fire way of telling us she's hungry. And I could do without her stretching out in bed, pushing me into the upper quarter and defending it with her half moon claws. Plus the undercover over-heating. She's getting to be an old dog, but she's still pretty tricky.
Having a dog is a special responsibility. Even cat lovers know that. You must consider dogs. Their timelines, their behaviours, the seasons and their personality. Each dog I've loved was completely unique. All equally nuts, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Jilly Bean is the first dog that is my own. She's grown past the puppy faze. Through the grumpy teenage dog years and now she's beginning her mid-life crisis. The dog days may not be over but I will stay true to my furry best friend.
P.S. I know I'll get in trouble for not mentioning Bucy goose. The prettiest kitty with the cutest face. Her head is too small for her body, but she's got some spunk. She's a batter. Whipping Jilly into a frenzy then bopping her on the nose. She's a holy terror. But she's not a dog.
Baby steps, taking your time and half measures- I can't say I'm a fan. I have been told once or twice *insert throat clear* I mean a lot, that I put too much pressure on myself. Expecting to achieve life long dreams in dog years. C'mon Melicious get it together! Yesterday's appearance on a National morning show was exhilarating. Being invited to a movie premiere, picked up at the Breaking Dawn (Twilight reference) in a schmancy car and broadcasting my smile across the country was amazing. So, why, as soon as I finished did I feel like I was under-achieiving? Why couldn't I just allow myself one day of gratitude and celebration? Oh, that's right, because I put a lot of pressure on myself and never quite live up to my own insanely high standards.
There are so very many reasons that I should celebrate. I have a loving Hubby, a great group of friends-that I don't see often enough-wicked family, a steady job, a few great ideas and my health. Plus the Puppa tink and Bucy goose, which goes without saying. So, why is it I can't just be happy with what I've got? There is a theory floating around that it may be genetic. Allow me to elaborate: My Momma opened a retail store this past week, before finishing her current term as Councillor, while still working a full time job. My Papa B who builds bathrooms on the weekend, while digging up the front and side yard and runs a company with 5 fulltime staff. Of these lists I have also left off their volunteer habits, their assorted groups and clubs, oh yeah and sleeping/eating- a highly undervalued commodity in our household. I am not blaming them- it's better than being raised by some no-good-lay-abouts with a reputation for no-good! But watching them strive to better themselves has challenged me to do the same. Only worse, because I do it Artistically.
While attending performing arts school I learned to express myself. To climb every mountain and dream the impossible dream. Well, here's a surprise, artists don't get paid much, so to supplement my pro-bono art, I work really hard at other things. But this leaves me tired and uninspired...and a bit pouty. My big fat bottom lip hanging out just waiting for a bird to perch. Don't get me wrong. I am of course grateful for all I have, I just thought I would be further along on this journey. Closer to having a vacation. Closer to finishing my book. Closer to being thin. And just closer to not being so far away from my-sometimes unrealistic- goals. Here's the thing, I know that half the fun is getting there, I just wish the directions were a little more clear. Though, I guess I am to blame for that too, as I keep changing the destination...but that's a story for another time.
The Dawn is Breaking, the dream is over. I’m a “Twilight” super fan and now I’m going national, having been invited to share my enthusiasm with a country of screaming fans. Breaking Dawn pt2 marks the final installment the Twlight saga. A sad day. I’m also a card carrying member of Team Jacob, though not necessarily team Lautner, as he was very much a minor when this whole thing began (I have the same issue with Bieber, but that's another story). The ultimate question for Twi-hards: are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?
Vampires are often tortured souls who live eternal lives. There is something undeniably romantic about a 1000-year-old falling in love with you. You're the most beautiful person he's ever met. You’re the object he's been undying for. You’re his mate…and vampires mate for life! Those mates join Covens – together – for the entire afterlife. But the idea of having to consume blood to stay 'alive', well, that's a choice I'd rather not make. I’m even squeamish around Grey's Anatomy blood.
Werewolves on the other hand are monsters. But they are also warm and fuzzy. Once a month they get furry and ferocious. The Twilight werewolf pack, however, are really more shape-shifters than werewolves, in the typical sense. They have rage issues and can be dangerous to those they love and those who love them. But their love is everlasting- ah hello- imprinted! As pack animals, you're stuck with your pack. And being part of that pack isn’t chosen, it's genetic, which is tough cuz you have to take into account that any pups in your litter could be werewolves too.
It's tough to pick a side.
In the ever-hopeful event that any of these mystical things actually happen, I choose werewolf -to be diplomatic. It's only fair that I give Edward to my girlfriend. I mean, she did invite me to the tiny town of Forks. However, we do have an agreement that should Edward truly love me, she would gracefully resign her affections. As any good friend would for eternal love. Fingers crossed, I'll be able to pick a few more members of that coven. There are people I wouldn't want to be undead without:)
If you got a problem yo I'll solve it. If you have a gap I can fill it. I am your go to gal for all things great and small. Writer's cramp? I will massage it. Strained emotion? I will decompress it. If you need something it's quite likely I can do it, or at the very least I know someone who can get it for you. I am a great Sidekick, a keen Girl Friday, a worthy friend and a diabolical adversary. I am that girl.
All my life I have been an avid learner. I've always wanted to figure out the world around me. My interest in teaching myself knick-knack-knowledge makes me an invaluable font of information- both useful or useless. I know so many useless facts, formulas and theories that I've been accused of memorizing MindTrap- a card game designed to encourage lateral thinking. I am good with puzzles, especially word games. If you like trivia, I am your gal. If you want to beat someone at trivia- I am even more your girl. But what I am the best at is getting things done.
I am not your typical enforcer. I am a suggestion based outcome manipulator. I have perfected the communication of ideas to the point where others actually believe these ideas were their own. Which can be good and grotesque in equal parts. Lucky folks get to experience things the way I have predicted to be best, but it also means I am held responsible when things go off track. Having people believe that my suggestion are their own idea, has my clients taking all the credit. And as good as I am at most things- sharing is not on that list. Who in the Frak is Sharon?!? With that in mind, have you got a problem to be dealt with? Perhaps you've got a mystery in need of solving. I am a excellent fixer. Though I charge by the hour plus expenses- including disguises :)
Everybody I know is looking for a little Me time. You'd think that with all the blah blah about timesaving this and yak yak about efficiency that, we'd actually have some time left over. When I started working in this industry I sent and received faxes. Snail mail was how I was paid my commissions. Now we have email transfers and texts. Even just typing those words saves time. So, where does all that extra time go?
I can choose a digital playlist. Send evites and order decorations online for a party; that no one has time to come to. I can search recipes and movie reviews for food I don't have time to cook and movies I don't have time to watch. Research a new fitness regime? Start a collection? Stalk a superstar cyberly? Yup I can do all those things online, but I can't actually find time to do anything in my real life. Zoinks! Then it hit me. I am spending all my Me time online planning for Me time. Oh what a Melicious cycle.
Join me in celebrating the realization that my Me time can be uploaded to real life. Suddenly I have found 2 free hours. When hubby is at work. When the house is quiet and Jilly is excited to snug. A Me time quiet enough to read, but awake enough that I won't fall asleep after 2 pages. A Me time with a rejuvenating face mask and newly painted little piggies. Me time with a chitchat and chinwag with my Besties. But by the sounds of it my Me time is quickly filling up. If you're interested in finding some You time; Please submit your application for Me time. I look forward to considering your nomination and seeing a happier You, with bright new digits:)
Being a good person and being a good friend are two very different things. In my friendship circle, I have inner, mid-level, outer and occasional friends. Rings like a bullseye. I have subconsciously divided up my free time between each ring. I have also realized certain friends are better for certain things. Like my doggie park friend. My musical theatre friend. My chick flick buddy. Or the gossip girl. I have a special connection with each member of every ring. But I didn't realize, I have a ring outside of that: The I wish we could be friends ring.
That is a strange feeling. I consider myself a sweet and caring gal. A good friend, a nice neighbour, a loving wife. There are people who are so nice! So wicked! People who are super great, but for whatever reason, we can't be friends. The reasons vary from conflicting schedules, allergies, distance and sometimes, though it's hard for me to admit- disinterest. There are people that no matter how nice, sweet and similar we are, we're just not friends. This revelation comes as a stiff tonic. I thought I could be everybody's Bestie.
With FB and social media connecting us so tightly we can often be confused as to whom our real friends are. Clicking a button and participating in a relative stranger's life. Being busy adults we must take responsibility for the choices we've made. The fact that you know the daily trials of your grade 5 classmate's baby- doesn't necessarily mean you should invest daily in that relationship. Perhaps we should unplug ourselves for a few hours and focus on our realtime relationships. But don't unplug from this blog, cuz I am your realtime friend:) and that's a circle I can get into.
It's been a few months since I wrote an ode to earhairs. It's sad but I long for the mysterious intrigue of earhairs. A tickly, thickly curling wisp that flutters in the wind. It's hooked and I can't stop starring! Of course, there have been a few memorable chin hairs and a mole hair or two, but nothing worth a dedicated blog to my outspoken affection for such furry occurrences. I have been trying to rise above the physical foibles of those around me. But what is it they say about the best laid plans?
Upon returning to my regular cop shop gig I have seen a few wily whiskers, but have taken the high road- for the most part. Ignoring a hair collar sticking out above shirt necklines, and avoiding eye contact with caterpillar brows. Honest I was trying to be good. Until yesterday, I discovered a giant ear hair...you will never guess where. In MY own EAR. I couldn't believe it. It was awful. Possessed by a tickle I felt in my ear canal. A creepy crawling, fluttering feeling that I couldn't shake. Literally I couldn't shake it off. Heading to the loo, I thought I would discreetly pull all the hairs from both ears, you know, all those tiny fine hairs that cover a human. The fuzz that reminds us we're not too far from being the animals we were. And trust me if I'd had a razor I would've shaved myself from the eyebrows down! Getting to the washroom I studied, inspected, looked and leered at my ears- seeing nothing, but I knew it was there. I started plucking blindly. Oh did I mention that I carry tweezers with me? Cuz, yeah I do. Everywhere I go, just in case. That's when it happened. The tweezers clamped down on something. And like deep sea fishing, it was a struggle to reel that hair in- or out as the case may be. When I finally triumphed over my well rooted foe, I was .5lbs lighter and my hearing had amplified 4 fold. How long could it have been growing there? As far as I am concerned- any length of time is too long. Now, I must turn my obsession inward, I have become my own earhair-enemy.
But it could have been worse, I guess. The group I associate with at work are a mature crowd. Their eyesight isn't like use-ta-be and most have earhairs of their own, earhairs they can be proud of. So, I figure as long as I can still see, feel and pluck my own unruly rogue hairs I am ahead of the social grooming curve. But maybe we could all use a little help from our friends. One of my colleagues has asked for a lady's agreement. Using my 20/20 vision I am to alert him to any strays I may spy...though to prevent hurt feelings I have been collecting a few hairs to alert him of all at once, instead of a daily hair check-in. It's better for us both that way. I get to marvel at those wiry wonders for a few more days, and he gets to think his super power is growing multiple magnanimous hairs in an afternoon. So my fair earhairs- it's been a while since we wrote, but you are a familiar friend. Honestly though, I could do without you whispering in my ear. Literally.
Do people ask you favours? Do they want your advice? And thank you for your outlook? Do peers admire you? Does every other problem come before your own? Has something felt off? Are you behaving in a way that you're proud of? Is your karmic scale in balance? These are important questions and even more important- are your answers. In recent social interaction I have noticed people straying from the person they tell others they are. This is so brutal. It is your responsibility to try and be your best. Being an optimist gal, I want to see the best in every person I meet. Even the ones who've hurt me. I want people to want to be their best selves. It has gotten to the point people, where material goods aren't good enough. I want the fabric of our lives to be the woven of strong moral fiber.
Being less than your best can make you feel guilty. And there are so many kinds of guilt. Guilt for doing something wrong, or the guilt of wanting to do something wrong, without actually doing it. But then there's that feeling. You know one? That something is not quite right. Something is off and the universe is taking it out on you. I call that Karmic Guilt. When you feel guilty about something that isn't your fault. Or you think that things beyond your control are out of whack. It's full-moon-mania even though it's waxed and waned. This karmic imbalance is the worst. Nothing you did -directly- created it, but you're suffering with it none the less.
What posible control can you have over the whims of Karma? Well, Hubby is a fan of saying that intention is the most important part of doing anything. If you're intending something evil, karmically you will receive something evil. Conversely if you intend something fabulous, it should manifest equally so... But this is never my luck. I am an even-Stephen. So instead of one big fabu cosmic gift, I receive thousands of teeny weeny fabus. But I can't complain...because karma is listening. What can we do to rejig the karmic balance, if right now it's not in our favor? Do you give the waitress a big tip? Tell someone you love them? Compliment a stranger? I can only hope that by trying to be good, karma will see how hard I'm working at it and recognize that sometimes I fail, but I still deserve to get some points for effort. So, Karma, if you're listening; I hope to tip the scales in my favour and reach my ideal Karmic weight:) but I'm willing to put in the workout.
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