At the tender age of 8 you don't realize how the hard work and effort you put in now will stick with you as you grow up. My parents were adamant about making me participate. I learned piano, French, took ballet, tap, was a member of 4H club, Explorers and was signed up for at least one season of every summer sport available to a young person in my small community. But my limited attention span caught up to me and I floated between lessons picking them up and putting them down, not really retaining all the details that make a person talented at those things. So, now instead of being great at a few things, I am kinda good at a lot of things.
There are times I wish my Momma had forced me to continue on with piano practice. Though really how can you force anyone to do anything- especially a tenacious 8 year who just wants to go outside and play? I wish I'd gone on a foreign exchange to France where I could practice my foreign tongue. I wish I'd trained my 4H calf to do tricks. Throughout my childhood my thoughts were always of what I was missing in the immediate moment, not what I would miss later. To an 8 year old; now is all there is.
Now, as a 30 year old I regret not sticking to my childhood skill sets. Being great at something during childhood is a wonderful way to start out as an adult. There are days when I long to speak French while sipping cafe au lait and eating a baguette. Or when I see a gleaming grand piano taunting me to tickle the ivories. Or identifying a type of cheese by the smell alone. Then there's the urge-however fleeting- to be more athletic and drop into a pickup game of something at my local playground. But my skills were never that well honed. And any residual muscle memory has long since atrophied.
The great thing about my childhood was the variation in the skill sets I learned and what I have retained. I can read music, which means I can easily go back and start playing piano again. Beginning with Baa baa black sheep, twinkle, twinkle & Hot cross buns of course. I can understand French when I listen to someone speak it; though I no longer think in French, I could polish off those rusty pipes pretty fast. I guess the great thing about the variation in my childhood experiences is that it taught me how to act. Or at least how to pretend to do almost everything, relatively well, which is the hardest part about acting:)
While attending my second industry TIFF party of all time I realized. There is a lot of really great hair in here. Great hair, great outfits and huge egos. The ego though I think is inflated by nerves and the constant fear of making an ass of yourself. People celebrating at these events are typically over-anxious about their art house film that took them 11 years and their entire line of credit to complete- not to mention their parent's money and a friend providing craft services just to keep it going. A labour of love will give you painful contractions.
Watching the potential success of others can be inspiring and disheartening at the same time. With the limited implied value of that little movie your making it's an emotional pregnancy. From conception to birth and even after; all through the awkward teen years until they go off to university. And even then your grown up little baby will always be your baby. The sad thing is that if it took 11 years just to birth it, that is a slow growth rate. The worst part is that my concept zygote is still awaiting fertilization- and by the time that bundle of joy arrives I will be 41! And I never wanted to be an older mother.
Little baby film idea, your Mommy and Daddy have been waiting so long, wishing for you, dreaming of your future and how you'll complete our lives. So TIFF I promise you, you don't know me now but within the next 11 years I will be ready for you to meet my baby. Baby Movie concept: You'll be smart, witty and full of surprises. You're already keeping me up all night and have spoiled my figure, so I have nothing left to loose. It would be great to have an amazing hairstyle though, but I guess I have 11 years to get it right.
It occurs to me that I don't write much about my Papa B. I think it's because we're both such private people. Don't get me wrong; we're not happy if someone else is the center of attention either. We're not great at second fiddle. We like things on our own terms. In an effort to be private, I have ensured that no one individual has enough incriminating evidence to become a problem. Strategically placing my hair-brained endeavours across a multi-platform support system. Weaving a spiderweb of planned events and past delineations. My Papa taught me that. A social strategy is important if your livelihood depends on your reputation. Though if I was honest I really think it's a power struggle. Not between good and evil, but just to feel powerful enough to bend destiny to my will. Okay that's a bit dramatic...but you get the idea.
Papa B and me also know everyone else's beeswax. Nicknames- which we've probably given, their relationship status, or if they have anything unusual protruding from their body. I guess we look interested. And really who doesn't like a gross medical story? But that may be more my Momma. People who have gossip, love sharing it with us, and even though I do love a good chin wag-I forget most of the secrets I'm told as soon as they're told to me. Cuz for the most part they aren't that juicy a secret to begin with. Except that thing oh, with the Ewww yeah- that was juicy.*insert dreamy eye roll.
My Papa and I are simpatico. Same strange tan lines and deadly baby blues. He gets my jokes- the first time- no explanation. And it helps me to have a strong voice on my side especially since some of the voices in my head put up such a fight. I know he's proud of me. I've almost bankrupted him because he thinks I am talented and wants to support me -literally- in all my endeavours. Which reminds me Papa B, can I borrow $500 bucks?*wink- half kidding. But Papa B, the very best thing about you is that you gave me the creative flu. Symptoms include verbal diarrhea and a sensitive gag reflex with nil filter. I hope it's contagious- cuz Hubby and I would be lucky to have a mini Papa B someday-well, mostly lucky.
Ladies and Gentlemen, this story is a 3 part grade 5 nightmare. As you know I am a dramatic individual. I always have been. I probably always will be...Though I may mellow out in my old age, but genetically speaking I don't see that happening.
Part the First: Toilet Snakes
I grew up in a small town. Where most of the houses aren't built on sewer systems but utilize septic tanks. So, one day when I read in our local weekly free press filled with local events that a snake had found it's way into a septic tank and in it's search for air swam through the plumbing and coiled itself in the toilet bowl; waiting for an unsuspecting victim to answer the call of nature. Now at this time in my life urban legend and undisputed rumours we're as good as truth; especially if they were printed in the local gossip rag. It was years until I could go to the bathroom with the lights off. I mean, literally until Hubby sat me down and explained that a snake couldn't get into our condo building through the pipes and sewer system. And though I believe him, it seems extremely possible- especially since the sewers are open concept.
Part the second: Over-Reaction time
In grade 5 gym class our school didn't have dedicated change rooms, lockers or cubbies; so we changed in the washroom. Leaving our clothes there; unprotected from the grade 6 bullies, susceptible to all types of shenanigans. After one particularly grueling session of king's court, I was the 3rd girl to arrive in the washroom. Walking in the onesie stall I had stowed my clothes in, my eyes beheld to -my terror- a dark, coiled shape in the toilet! Reacting on impulse I flushed it immediately. Saving my classmates from the wrath of the dreaded toilet snake! I realize as the bowl boa was halfway down, it's no snake; it's a purple sock. Letting out a peel of 5th grade laughter, I spill out of the stall and regale my female classmates with the exaggerated interpretation of the moments before. Giving the sock venomous fangs and a thirst for blood. They didn't laugh.
Part the Third: Ramifications
After my nightmare had almost come true I quickly blocked out the traumatic experience. Skipping down the hallway, I didn't even give the incident a second thought. Until...walking into my silent classroom. One of the dreaded Jennifers was whisper-sobbing to my 5'1 burly bearded teacher. Mrs Popuvichu; not actually her name. I never could spell it. Heretofore known as Poppi. Poppi's dark brown eyes narrowed in my direction: "Would you step into the hallway please?" Shocked that I could possibly be in trouble for something. Running through all my outstanding offenses...coming up blank. Hanging my head and dragging my feet out into the hallway to a toe tapping Poppi.
"It has come to my attention that you put Jennifer's sock in the toilet and flushed it." Poppi accused me.
"I didn't put it in the toilet, I thought it was a snake so I flushed it." I defended myself. Poppi, disregarded my story and continued.
"Do you realize now that she only has one sock, how would you feel if you only had one sock?" I shrugged. "Perhaps you should only have one sock. Give your left sock to Jennifer. You must learn to take responsibility for your actions." Starring at Poppi I couldn't help but think how hairy her chin was, but also why would she punish me for trying to protect the girls in my class from a toilet snake? I bent down and removed my indoor shoe to take off my sock. Wearing one solo sock for the rest of the day. Sitting through our afternoon math and clock modules starring at Jennifer's mis-matched socks, I couldn't help but think; is this what I get for being a hero? On my walk home, I tried to figure out a way of explaining this to my Momma, I was dismayed. Upon walking through my front door, she was there to greet me, the diligent Poppi had already informed her for me. After a lengthy conversation about respecting other people's property, it was finally my turn to explain. I had done it for the greater good, to protect the girls of 5C from untold horrors- including snake bites to the bum and if all I lost in doing so was a sock it was a risk I would take again. I think it took some convincing but my Momma understood that my intentions were good, even if the outcome was not. And how mad could she be, really? It was just a sock.
As I mentioned dramatics have always been a part of my personality. And even though I have yet to encounter another toilet snake or purple sock I know I would do the right thing. And just in case being a hero goes awry, I'll try to be prepared with an extra pair of socks:) so no one has to bare the shame of a one sock walk again.
When I was about 17 I took a job babysitting three kids before and after school. Now, all three of these kids were kooky. The oldest a girl: was bossy and loud and was always right. The second a boy: was clumsy and forgetful and needed help with math. The youngest boy was hilarious, even with his lisp and his constantly running nose he was my favourite. But then it's always easy to love the baby, and being "this many*insert all five fingers* ywars ode", who wouldn't? Their Momma would drop them off at my house at 7:30 and I would take them to school, walking of course, except the eldest girl who took a bus from the corner to her french immersion school. And when she was gone the boys and I would walk/play all the way to school, which she thought was immature. She was a very mature grade 5. Throughout the school year, I gave the youngest nightmares by watching Kindergarten Cop. The middle boy lost his pants and the Girl would just tattle on me all the live long day. I remember one day when I picked them up from school; the youngest was wearing different clothes than the ones I had dropped him off in. Upon asking him what happened, he informed me they were lost and found clothes. While waiting for the answer to why he was wearing a stranger's outfit, he told me he had "fawen into a pudduo up to he-yor"*insert a hand a foot above his head. Despite not being the ideal role model and having a pretty sketchy track record when summer came I was upgraded to their fulltime babysitter. Summer is great for kiddies but their Momma still had to work...So... Let's put the pieces together... I started babysitting them at 7:30 am at their house and stayed until 4:30 a demanding job, for a 17 year old.
Our routine would go as follows. I would drag myself out of bed at ten minutes to 7 and race around getting dressed. Jumping into my Chevy Lumina I sped the back roads all the way and managed to make it just in time...barely. Then their Momma would tell me what to make for lunch and she would leave. Kids being kids and it being summer they wouldn't wake up until 8:30, and in the time between I would sleep on the sofa. On more than one occasion I woke to find them all sitting on the sofa beside me watching Phantom Menace, the house fav at the time. Then it was time for toast and jam, mandatory 1 hour outside time and maybe a movie or craft depending on my enthusiasm level and the Girl's demeanour. She loved crafts and sometimes I didn't want her to have fun; there I said it, I was a petty teenager. We quickly feel into a rhythm. A lazy summer beat.
One morning that changed. Having fallen asleep in the typical way I once again awoke to the pod race screaming through their surround sound. While rousing from my slumber, I heard another noise. A shuffling, a scratching, a what was that...was that a squeaking? type sound. Pausing the movie- a VHS by the way- we all listened together. Suddenly, as if on cue a bat flew out of the chimney and began circling the room. In a normal household this would have raised screams of "it's in my hair!" but not here. The weekend earlier their family had gone to Science North a wonderful place with an extensive bat exhibit. These 3 youngsters remained calm, knowing that a bat uses sonar to locate objects and that this tiny little herbivore was trapped inside and only wanted out, so he could go to bed. I myself have never had a problem with bats, so I calmly walked to the screen door and held it open to our flying friend. All with the stillness and dignity of 4 smart kids respecting nature. Cue the three legged tabby; a cat that only moved to follow a sun spot across the floor... With the sudden focus of a jungle cat, this tabby leapt from 3 legs to snatch the bat mid air. Only to have the problem of, now that I've got it pinned beneath my one front leg, how do I get this twitchingly delicious morsel in my mouth? Back to the stunned audience...screams arise from 4 mouthes in shocking harmony. Which sends the tabby into a frenzy, who then grabs the flapping bat in it's teeth and makes for the bedrooms upstairs. Three screaming children!! The bat, oh no, Tabby got the bat!!! And now it's eating it in your Momma's bedroom. Ordering all 3 outside I race up the stairs in hopes that the bat if not still alive is at least not a bloody mess on the sheets. Which of course it is. Storming out past 3 still crying kids, asking if Batty is alright I get a shovel, prepare a burial and strip the bed. I am in tears at this point, the babysitting course did not prepare me for this. With the sheets in the laundry, I arrive in the kitchen just as their Momma calls for the mid-morning check in. Consoling me and cajoling me, she says the best way to fix this situation is to go outside and have popsicles. Yeah, right, but you know it's just crazy enough to work.
Walking outside to see 3 glum faces suddenly light up with the thought of mid-morning popsicles. Problem solved right? As the 4 of us are licking our drippy frozen juice, the middle boy starts asking to play Squeeze, a local game, like baseball but with only 3 players, to which the youngest boys whines that he will be left out again, my response is, I'll pitch so they can all play, as long as they set it up. So, they agree and go to the shed, unpacking the bases, the gloves, the bats and the ball. Sitting behind home plate, finishing my popsicle, I start to think, today might actually turn out okay. Before I've finished the thought, another bat swoops down across the deck and towards me, the middle kid who's setting up with bat in hand shrieks like he's having flashbacks of wartime. Swings the bat with all his gusto and knocks one out of the park...Hitting me square in the nose with a Louisville. Crumpling like a paper doll, I sink to the deck, 3 sets of children's shoes huddled around me. "I phink she's dead." the youngest says. "She's not dead, she's faking." the girl snarked in her typical snotty voice. Frozen andWrapped a cocoon of pain, both emotional and physical, the blood streaming from my nose. So I did what any rational 17 year old does. I called my Momma. Bombing down the back roads, she pulls into the driveway and has everything humming along smoothly in minutes. All calm, cool and collected, the way the best Mommas are. Turns out that sometimes even though the cats are snatching and bats are swinging, you really just need a designated hitter to clean up. As for the kids, we lasted the summer, just barely, and after that I hung up my babysitting belt without batting an eye.
I remember holding my grade 3, bestest friend's hand, walking down the hall of a brand new school, saying: We can't be separated, they wouldn't do that to us. Clutching to each other in a new and scary place, begging not to be spilt up. But they did. They split us up- there were only 2 french immersion classes and we were split up. Being down the street and around the corner made us fast friends. Riding the same bus and waiting at the same stop helped for sure...but the great divide, it tore us apart.
My class was made up of some kids I knew, some I didn't. We were all french immersion, but they had always been 2a or Kindergarten even days, we never mixed- not even in the school yard. We played soccer and freeze tag, while they played wall-ball and 4 square. We were birds and and they were fish. Never to living together...But now we were at a new school, where nobody knew the rules of the game. Entering James Mc in grade 3, we mixed and I lost my Bestest friend in the whole wide world. I lost her to one of the dreaded Jennifers of which we had 4. That first day on the bus ride home, she and I sat together for the very last time. She told me how exciting her class was, I told her how I didn't pay attention to Monsieur Gagne all day, and how I missed her. She said she really liked her new class, I said I didn't really like the 2 guys sitting at my desk cluster, and we were seated alphabetically. She was happy. I missed my best friend.
And then the day of reckoning came: she didn't sit with me on the bus in the morning. I couldn't find her at morning recess. She wasn't playing outside at lunch, she was eating in her classroom, a place I wasn't allowed. On the bus she sat alone, I took my spot next to her, eager to talk her ear off about my day and winning a spelling contest. She ignored me, starring out the window. I thought it was weird, but my 3rd grade brain went with it, what could be wrong? We're best-friends-forever. When we got to our bus stop, she pushed past me and down the bus stairs. Then; she ran. She ran hard and fast. She ran away from me. I still don't understand...
This continued, everyday for what felt like forever to 3rd grade me. Somedays I would yell after her- screaming her name- yelling that I didn't care if she ran away from me. "I don't care!!!", but really I did care. It was the worst part of my day. I knew she would run, and she always did. Somedays I would run after her. Somedays I would just cry. I never understood what the running was about. I now think it had to do with all this talking...I can see why somebody would run away. Our friendship ended, though not without me trying to turn her back into my Bestie with gifts, and phone calls (she would hang up on me) and I would stroll by her house casually...a lot. Waiting for her to remember all the fun we had sledding and getting into trouble for switching our clothes and trips together during summer vacation.
Friendship can often be a tricky and unstable slope- awaiting a holler to trigger an avalanche of emotions. Being a grown-up and dealing with actual problems, I wish I could run back to my worst Grade 3 day and just enjoy it. But no matter how fast you run, you can't outrun your past and the decisions you make can greatly effect the people you've decided on. Even the worst days I had as a child aren't so bad in hindsight but I'm definitely glad my friends don't run away from me any more. Well, most of them.
This past little while I have been inundated with kids. Most of whom are babies, and as offensive as they can get; they are forgiven for all their misbehaving cuz 'they're just a baby'. But Roddamn it I met an unforgivably rude and crude kid who drove me up the wall! I consider myself a semi-patient person. But my semi-long fuse was lit by this cousin of my cousin's cousin. Causing me to snap and display a bit of my crazy... Well too much crazy for grownup dignity's sake.
Problem the first: this child was parentless on our vacation weekend. That's not to say that she's an orphan or unsupervised. But there are different levels of tolerance from one adult to the next. Parents typically prefer to be more stringent than a casual sitter. So this child (I keep calling her child-she's probably 13) ran rampant all weekend. Screaming, interrupting, name calling, just raising general hell, you know how kids get when there's a supply teacher- ya, like that. And I say boo-urns! That's no way for a young Lady to behave.
Problem the second: I was on vacation and wanted to be quiet. I wanted to have a few laughs. Play a few lawn games. Have a few drinks and spend some time floating down stream. It's my vacation! I just wanted things my way. I wanted to be around people I love. Not have a strange kid vying for my attention by being loud and selfish and judgmental. Clawing at me while I'm swimming. Yelling at me while I'm focused on a game target. Clambering for my attention as well as everyone else's. Humiliating some to impress others- throwing my cousin under the bus more than once. I realize she's on vacation too, but she gets 2 months- I had 3 days- I mean c'mon!
Problem the third: she's a bossy kid. With a theory that the loudest person has the right opinion. There is no room for conversation and I can't stand being 'corrected' by a 13 year old girl who truly believes she knows everything. Which is not true, because she clearly doesn't know how to make friends and influence people, which was a book I read at 13. She is not the boss of me. And I didn't like it.
She pushed my buttons, then she stuck gum in the button box, then she lit that poor button box on fire. So when I finally did loose my temper; telling her to be nicer and that she should worry about her own beeswax for one dang minute, I was the bad guy. Aww man, I hate that. I don't want to get in trouble for saying what everyone else is thinking. Though with 20/20 hindsight I guess there was a reason nobody was saying anything. Apparently it's wrong to chastise your cousin's cousin's cousin, who's not related to you even though the kid is ruining everything*insert grumpy pout. I am not a mean person; It's just hard ignore the antics of someone else's badly behaved kid. That being said there's probably a reason her parents weren't there: Everyone deserves a vacation. I just don't want Miss Bossy MacLoud-Mouth-No-Relation trying to ruin mine. It would've somehow been an easier pill if she was my cousin- at least I would understand those genetics;) But the worst part about this whole thing...I think I was just like her.
While riding up north in the backseat of yet another rammed car, I was beaned by a flying chess set in a metal box. While recovering from the shock; I started this list. And it must've been some bonk to the noggin. Cuz here's all the mental floss. So what I thought about this long weekend.
1. It's called a long weekend because that's how it feels- long.
2. That cottages are far from the city andr by the time you get there you've missed half a day.
3. Jilly is allergic to Puppy cupcakes. They transform her into a poltergeist shooting from both ends.
4. Air mattresses have a central vortex that acts like a black hole.
5. I forget how to write a blog.
6. Almost everyone on my side of the family writes.
7. A year is a long time to feel sorry about not saying you're sorry.
8. Going 8 games undefeated inflates an ego, priming it for popping. Even while playing lawn games.
9. Drunk people don't make much sense, if you're sober.
10. Bro finds immeasurable pleasure in saying the Eff-word in front of my religious relatives.
11. Turning 80 means never having to say thank you.
12. Jilly and her cousin Reese get along and share toys quite well. Except the teeny tennis balls that Jilly cracks like a walnut- splitting yellow fuzz and plastic everywhere.
13. Gin and club soda with lime is a great and classically thirst quenching beverage. Especially in a giant Coleman thermos.
14. When someone owes you $100 they make sure you give them the $5 they just lent you.
15. People pay attention to couples using their silent language.
16. Banana boat sunscreen smells like summertime.
17. I clean to show people I love them.
18. Jilly likes ice cubes and cauliflower.
19. You can lead a man to the shower but you can't be sure he'll come out clean.
20. Bluegrass is the best driving music, but Graceland is a very close second.
21. People like repeating stories. Especially if they got a laugh the first time.
22. Pontoon boats were invented for long weekends and dancing to Bryan Adams.
23. A weekend without a watch on is required every so often.
24. Bathing suits aren't designed to last for 6 years.
25. Packing light means leaving stuff behind. Even though you might need them later.
26. Even when BFF isn't there I feel the influence she's had on my life enjoyment level.
27. I need to Shining myself in a northern cottage for 2 months and write.
28. Swimming in a lake and making a joke about snapping turtles causes them to suddenly appear. Sending a gaggle of girls screaming and an Uncle yelling at us to be quiet.
29. Stargazing apps are wicked sticks.
30. A hot July is way better than a wet one. Mosquitos like to bite my bum.
31. I really like my new sister in law.
32. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day if your coffee has Bailey's.
33. A pavilion is a fancy way of saying concrete floor with roof.
34. Coolers should be see-through for efficiency sake.
35. If there's anything lovelier than queen Anne's lace I haven't found it.
36. Diving into a lake is nature's netti pot.
37. Traffic is terrible when you're between radio stations.
38. Bacon and eggers from A&W are worth every penny.
39. When a stat falls on a Sunday everything is closed and they take Monday too.
40. People want to show off their garden, even if their thumb is more brown than green.
41. Sunscreen makes clean hair look greasy.
42. Soy beans are a very popular crop for Ontario farmers this year.
43. If you're in a town with an asylum, expect to see crazy people.
44. Girls ask questions about boobs and laugh at farts.
45. One big zit provides fodder for a whole weekend worth of jokes.
46. KFC is the perfect picnic saver. Mayonnaise is essential for every summer salad.
47. 80 year olds love playing the piano without their hearing aids.
48. Orange hibiscus are beautiful in the overheated Camp grounds.
49. Most conversations with an 80 year start with; did you hear about -blank- they died.
50. A country Mommy will not tolerate 60 in an 80
51. Sometimes your journey takes you back to where you've started, and gives you a chance to start again.
52. You can make ice cubes out of anything- including oil, broth and milk
53. A dog tumor feels weird to accidentally run your hand over it.
54. Actors don't get vacation pay.
55. The winter wheat is ready for harvest.
56. You'll always get complimented on your old 'I only wear them at the cottage shoes'. My calluses get worse the more I wear these shoes.
57. Wearing dress with a strange neckline generates a strange tan line.
58. Puppa will strangle herself to escape the danger of fireworks.59. Being jammed into a full car is more fun than being alone in an empty one.
60. There is no place as comfy as your own bed. Except a five star hotel.
As always it is nice to be back, and starting up my routine of going to be at 10pm again. It's always amazing how I need a vacation after my vacation. I think I might be trying to pack in too much fun, but who complains about having too much fun? Oh wait. that's me:)
Dear Life,
I feel like you're passing me by. I was so looking forward to my first summer married to my Hubby. No planning, no parties just us. Going to the beach and sitting on patios and living it up and now I am stuck with this full time job. Don't get me wrong it's a great opportunity; at least I thought it was. But now I think that it was Opportunity's evil twin; Greed. I was offered a full-time job and instead of realizing that I don't do my Joe job because I love it, because I don't. I do my Joe job to pay the rent and give me the flexibility to do the work I love. Right now, I have 5 labours of love waiting in various stages that I don't have time to work on because of this schedule. I went from having 3 days off a week to having 1.5 days off... My creative brain is shriveling, and it makes me sad.
Also let's talk Earhair, a topic we haven't explored for a while. A few months ago I got into some hot water over the casual plucking of an acquaintance. Needless to say it did not go over well. And since then I have been a little bit pluck shy. But now I am starting to think that the universe is punishing me for ignoring my true calling: Heir to the Plucker dynasty. Rogue hairs have been cropping up all around me. On and in co-workers ears. Women with wild blonde and black chin hairs. Coarse hair poking out of neck moles. Long hooked eyebrow hairs refusing to lie down. And all I can do is stare. It's sooo hard. Like being a werewolf but having a dog allergy. It might be driving me closer to the harried edge, if you get my drift.
As for the rest of it, Life; I miss my Puppa-roo and the tip-toe Sushi. I am worried about being left by my BFF. I am getting pressure from girlfriends to premeditate baby plans. As soon as I started enjoying the heat, it slapped my face by dropping 10 degrees. I want to put up my shelves, unpack my books and get the Roddamn boxes out of my hallway. Life, I just feel like your racing past me and no matter how hard I try you won't just pull over for a rest stop, just to stretch my legs. Pretty please Life, I would like to feel like I am driving just for a while. I'd even accept you being a backseat driver or a co-pilot who complains about my driving skills.
Anyhoo, I just felt like it had been a while since we really caught up.
I miss you,
Melicious
P.S. Tell my BFF there are no F's in Arizona, only B's
Judges, Teachers and fellow students: today I would like to talk to you about speeches. There was a time not so long ago when everyone your age participated in public speaking. An oral presentation of information to a classroom of your peers. With a great topic, strong talking points and your fingers crossed; you might move forward to represent your class. Present to the school and then represent your school at regionals. As anyone who watches Glee knows, regionals are pretty much what you work for each season. I didn't dare imagine a level above regionals, could there be nationals? Internationals? Publicly broadcast like the National Spelling Bee...what a dream come true. For a talker like me anyway it's still a dream. In my memory there were 3 major speaking moments.
First grade 5 when my topic was Unicorns. A topic close to my heart and one that filled my imagination. My childhood bedroom covered in the beautiful white beasts. Dreams of mystical proportion always included me riding off into the rainbow lit evening, champion of the day. At this point in my speech writing life I was unsure of what was allowed to be talked about. So instead of filling my 2.5 mins of cue cards with all this passion I felt, it was jammed with facts and history. Things that I didn't relate to. Things that I didn't know how to inspire others with. The speech I was so excited about transformed into cold mythology. My first lesson in speech writing: be passionate about your topic if you want others to be inspired.
The second was grade 8, when my topic was my family. My family's quirks, quips and catastrophes. I knew this topic forwards-backwards and thoroughly. My speech creating imagery of a quiet family life displayed in strange vignettes. Talk of soup cans and multiple sneezes making my classmates laugh. When it came time for my class to vote on who would represent them in the school finals; my teacher read off our names and the topics of our speeches. Having a last name in the middle of the alphabet, I waited for my name to be called. The thunderous applause- which is how popularity was measured- ensured that I would represent the class. And I did almost my best, but I was nervous and got off track, losing myself. It's a good thing I knew so much about my topic and could Hansel and Gretel myself back to the breadcrumb path. Knowledge truly is power.
Thirdly I remember the monologue I choose as my audition piece for theatre school. A comedic rant about not being in love with a man who loved me. At the time Hubby was still far off and my idea of love mirrored that of the heroine. But this was not a speech I wrote, it was not in my rhythm, it wasn't even in my own dialect...she was southern and I don't drawl. Drool perhaps but not drawl. For me to make this speech believable I needed to believe it myself. Build a backstory; be that southern lady, love the words and figure out their meaning. A playwright doesn't just use words. The play is carefully crafted and designed to pull certain heartstrings or hit certain funny bones. It's important to use their words as they wrote them. Speaking in their pattern and striking those same notes. A play is like a song, but instead of notes it's language.
With all my experience in speaking and writing and spinning yarns. There are simple rules: Know your subject, know yourself & believe in what you're saying. I wish that I could have learned that my voice was a strong one earlier in my childhood, I would've loved to go to the National Speak off. Would they accept a mature student like me? Probably not, if there's anything I learned from Glee it's that after 6 years in high school people start to wonder why you're still there.
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