Hubby and I are at that delicate age when people start asking you about babies. When are you going to have them? Is it soon? And I want to say yes. I want to say I can't wait. But I'm scared of this world I might be bringing them into. There are tragedies everyday. Big tragic awful things. People hurting people on purpose, for profit, against all laws both natural and criminal. That's nuts. And it breaks my heart. But seriously, as Marvin Gaye said: What's going on?
After voicing these concerns people respond that one little baby could be the person who changes things. The one voice who finally gets through to the rest of the world. This tiny unmade baby might be the answer to all these big and tragic problems...To that I say, anybody could be that baby. To my Momma and Papa I am that baby. But I'm having a tough time changing this big messy world we've become. I don't like this world I live in. I don't like the fact that people hurt children, I don't like the fact that I can't help every child be safe. There is so much that needs to change. Though no matter how much I change, it's still not enough. Why can't I just help everyone, and fix everyone, and hold everyone, so that we all feel better? I mean I don't litter, I recycle, I pick up my dog's poop, I do the little things while fighting the good fight. I try to make everything brighter.
The trouble here? Is that nothing I do makes those big differences. How do put in my order for those? Can we start soon? It would be better for all of us, trust me. And deep down, and in some of us really deep down we all know what's right. When will the little guy be the winner? And I don't mean, poor me, I'm not a winner. I'm not being a Sad sack. I work hard to win the races I run. But why doesn't the big guy share? I mean how much can one person really absorb in their lives. Corner offices, fifteen minutes of fame, square footage, ocean frontage, reality television, a regalia of yachts, making a million dollars a minute. When is more enough? And at what point does more just equal more. If I had that much money; you would have to call me Brewster, cuz the money would go out so fast. But even now, being a middle class canadian artist couple, I wouldn't mind giving up a little piece of my world if that meant that others are going to be safe and healthy.
The sad part is that all of these Super intentions come at a difficult time. A time that may be the worst in history and we all hope things will never surpass this monument, but as long as there is darkness in the world, and parties fighting for evil. Our world will never get ugly enough for them. As for where we are now, there is always someone hurting in this big wide world. It may not be me getting hurt, but that doesn't mean I am unaffected. If I can't change it when I am grown up, how can I ever expect one tiny baby to change it. Or Oh wait, I am supposed to wait until my baby is my age now, and by then because of how I raised them they will be able to make a difference? That isn't a likely outcome. If things are this bad now, in 30+ years where will we be? Things should be fixed before he gets here, so life can be what it's supposed to be for everyone. A world I would be happy to bring a baby into. Kind and bright, safe and sound. If I don't feel safe myself, why would I want to give this mad world to anyone. The rule is- don't do to someone else what you don't want done to you- or something like that. And I don't want this to be a world where they could be shot at school, or the movies, or the mall. How could I do that to them?
The Starving Artist will appear tomorrow.
A little bit of bad luck goes a long way. Cell phones are a modern appendage. They are the gateway to the universe, the twitterverse, the blogsphere, and intergalactic entertainment time travel. And these tiny little upwards-of-expensive devices live by 2 rules. I mean, they aren't even as complicated as Gremlins. The rules are simple- Do not drop it, and do not drop it in water. As you well know I am not one to follow rules. So, I dropped it- in the toilet. And not just any toilet, a public toilet, at a wing joint. Argh, sigh, job well done, truly a stellar moment in my technological history. Take that rules!
The moment it happened without a thought I thrust my hand into the bowl to retrieve it. Popular opinion is split, those who reach in and retrieve and those who cut their losses. I am a retriever. It was a clean bowl, and that phone is my link to the outside world. It would also cost way too much to replace. And I am not due for a hardware upgrade until the 36th of Septnever. Holding that drippy white digital box, my brow forcefully furrowed, squealing "Oh my Rod, I dropped my phone in the toilet, I can't believe I dropped my phone in the toilet! What do I do? What can I do? Help!" Swaddling my wee wet white technological sponge in paper towels and caressing the now black screen. Rushing my patient upstairs, searching for an urban legend rice repair, awaiting lackadaisical first responders. The only option for providing such grainy apple care was to hit the road, trudging to far off destinations. Finally sliding my swaddled baby into a ziploc full of hope. Needless to say it was a quick end to an otherwise pleasant night. I have been worried ever since. What should I do? How long should I wait? Is an iPhone comfortable in rice because it was made in China? How many hours, days, weeks before this tiny apple would be unsaucy and ready for fun? Would our relationship ever be the same?
I fretted and fidgeted about this little device all day. BFF says perhaps it's a sign. That being unplugged from online reality, might be a good thing. Thrust back to pen and paper. Writing my blog in my mind and on the back of my hand. Like a teenage girl in the early '90s. Counting on my watch to actually tell the time. Brass tacks baby, back to basics. But I don't want to be the stupid girl who forgot her phone was in her back pocket. And even though everyone knows someone who's done this, now I'm that girl. And she sucks. If everything comes out alright and my teeny apple dumpling flickers back to miLife I am going to buy one of those $80 waterproof unbreakable protectors I've been making fun of at Future's Best. The money is worth the peace of mind. Then I can continue on not following rules, and dropping that delicate little appendage any dang place I want to. Also I pledge never to take any hardware to the loo again, maybe I'll buy a couple of Betty and Veronica comics to keep myself occupied early '90's style.
The hottest trend for holiday events this season is "The Ugly Sweater Party". If you are not familiar with the concept it's pretty self explanatory, but here we go. Scour second hand racks for the ugliest Xmas sweater you can find, and I mean the ugliest! Bedazzled, adorned, appliquéd and flair-ed to the max. Hubby and I were invited to and attended an Ugly Pub Crawl, an Ugly Sweater Holiday House party and 2 late night burger runs which were accidental Ugly Sweater destinations. There are so many things I love about the ugly Sweater epidemic, so here we go.
- It levels the playing field. Being clad in an ugly sweater is similar to being in a school uniform. No matter who you are you look ugly. It's actually better if you look like a tacky shack, wrapped up in a bad idea, tied with a yuck bow.
- Santas, Snowmen, Angels, XmasTrees, Elves, Bells are the images we wrap ourselves up in. Forcing the Holiday spirit. And I mean forcing. Even a Scrooge looks holiday season happy.
- You are hot. I mean you are warmer than you think you could ever be. It also encourages consumption of beverages, including eggnog and spiced rum. At house parties there is the possibility of overheating and passing out...from heat.
- Matching sets of sweaters are the cutest ugly looking pair a couple can be. Unless of course you count the holey sweats those same couples wear at home.
- There are bonus points available for ugly sweater skirts,ugly knit tights and other ugly add-ons including but not limited to- elf shoes, reindeer antlers, light up brooches, red plaid tights, Xmas earrings and uber-long Rip van Winkle style hats.
- When everyone looks silly, stupid and sweater-ed, there's a sense of camaraderie. Fighting the good fight in the name of the Tryers! (Tryers: a social group that strive to participate at the cost of their own ego)
- It's just plain fun to see people look ugly and be able to make fun of them as such
This busy season, take the time to be ugly. It's a warm, warped and wonderful way to spend time with friends, both old and new. In the name of the Ugly Sweater, I wish you the very best these Hideous Holidays have to offer. Oh, and if you see me coming, ring your bells and light those brooches, cuz it's about to get ugly.
Please find attached 2 relatively related rants:
Rant the First
Hubby and I are chronic renters. We prefer small cozy city living. Snuggled up in tight quarters. Small spaces but with great windows that on a clear night can see all the way to Bloor St. But to make way for progress our panoramic view is quickly depleting. It is a sad day for open space loving small townies like us. I liked the view from here. It's a great location... Location, location. Real Estate has never been my forte. It sounds really interesting at first until I realize the stories I hear about these amazing gems with nob and tube aren't in my future. I don't want a fixer upper in the city that's been lived in by 15 different people and none of them cared. Bleached and barnacled and tired from city living. It's not my cup of T.o. There is a dream though, a teeny little quiet dream. The wish is to have a house that's been in someone's family for generations and, this is silly; it's been deemed historically significant. Our house would be a part of the history of something bigger. Our very very very fine house, would have 2 cats in the yard. A story to tell. A song to sing. Our house would have personality. The stairs would creak and the wind might whisper on occasion but it would hold the secrets of history. Of course, it would be a pain to maintain all the structural integrity in accordance with the local historical society bi-laws; a challenge Future Me willingly accepts. But for now we live in a city shoe box, without a story. And the wide screen we were watching life on is shrinking. I guess I'll really have to go outside.
Rant the Second
The giant hole that is my backyard is a muddy disaster. Clay and gravel and slick squishy mud coat my pathway home. Covering my boots and imbedding itself in my tread. Stomping and dragging my feet the whole way. Trying to shake off the filth. When I do get inside the view is like an exposed root after the tooth has been ripped out. The bottom which is almost 4 stories down is dotted with tents to protect the men working in these conditions. Giant flood lights click on at sunset and push the crew to quitting time. The holes have been drilled, the rebar impacted. Cranes have been brought in to move the cranes in. The skeleton structures floating over head. Suspended and riveted. They are sleeping giants. Not quite ready for action. But I can hear them practicing their shriek, stretching for the long job ahead. I get why people want to live in the city. I mean obviously I do, it's just that how many more of us does there need to be? In such tight quarters and with all this mud and dog pooh, you can't ever wear nice shoes. Fancy city night living shoes. Shoes you hoped to look nice in, ensemble shoes. Been a long time since my feet were fancied up. Also down side, there is a lot of stomping in my building. Mud clots dot the hallway carpets. But winter is coming. The anticipation of frozen clay is killing me. Though, I don't think it will be a respite. By the time it gets cold enough to freeze everything's gross and soggy anyway. The once dirty route now becoming treacherous. It will be a slippery layer of icing on top of the so-hard-it-hurts-to-fall when you fall on it permafrost. (Notice I said when. I accept I will fall. It's slippery) At least while I am hibernating this winter, trying to pick the pooh out of my boot tread, I can watch the cranes spin and twill and finally grow up to be elevators. A dirty festering hole like that? The dentist would recommend a filling, at least 9 out of 10 of them would.
Okay, okay, that's a made up word. But it has an implied meaning; so even though you've never heard it before you understand it. Which is a strange way to think of language but it's a great way to think about communication. Aww, you know what I mean. How many times a day do you hear someone say that? And you do know what they mean, somehow your brain makes the call. Having collected all the crucial communication information. The speaker, the topic and the time. These factors clean up sloppy lines of communication. So, let the conversation satisfication begin.
While spending some much needed time kissing tha'Babe, I couldn't help but see how little talking was required for me to understand exactly what she meant. Most of the time it was just small talk, but I would think that's even harder for an 8 month old. As we grow up we forget how to communicate on the basic human level. Please don't take this to mean we should start crying, throwing things and screaming to get our points across-though for some of us it's too late. Instead consider that a wink and smile can go a long way in all languages.
With instant communication at our fingertips. We are infinitely connected and all within arms reach. These little devices being constantly forgotten, causing heart attacks and anxiety. Most of us suffering from a severe case of the where is it?Oh there it is. Phew-itis. It's hard to comprehend how we could loose track of how important and special those names, places and photos really are. I remember the social calls. The teenage hour long conversations. The ringing doorbell. The playdates. And the Sunday check-ins. In my pocket I have all the information I could ever want. Dates, times and events all collected in one tiny hand held horcrux; communicating has never been easier. Though the digital siren's call is a tough one to ignore. It is my goal to put down my fruity apendage and really stay connected. And even if I can't peel it off; I will never underestimate the power of a smile. Now, that's what I call satisfication. Oh, you know what I mean.
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;)
Dear Teenage Angst,
First and foremost I want you to know I love you. I may not always like you but I do love you. There are so many things I want you to know. Like once upon a time long, long ago, I was your age. Believe it or not, but I was. Things were different then. I made mix tapes and passed notes that would go on for days. I lived in a small town, where everyone knew my beeswax. We didn't have FB. I took keyboarding class on a typewriter for crying out loud. Things have chaged, and I know that, but the more things change the more they stay the same. There are always going to be people who are mean. There will always be people who are different.
Being in highschool stinks. All those hormones flying around. Teenagers unable to express themselves in a clear and direct manner. Which often means they will lash out and hurt each other because they don't know any other way. Somedays it will feel like you're doing everything wrong. But here's what you should remember. You're so lucky to be loved. Lucky to be alive and lucky to live here. Things may seem hard, and somedays they will be, but trust me when I tell you. The adult you want to become is inside of you. Waiting for their chance to grow up. This is not an order for you to stop being a kid. Heck, I am still a kid. This is the suggestion to step back, and really look at the world around you. The people you've got. The way you live your life. Are you the person you hope to be? The person you want the world to see? Perhaps instead of complaining about the things that are wrong with the world; you suggest ways to change it. Be the change you want to see in the world. Maybe you could spend some time helping others, like your mother, your father, your neighbour or dare I say it your little brother.
There is a whole wide world out there. And soon you will be sent out into it to fend for yourself. Trusted with the information you've gathered to make your own way. I know you can do it, people less brave than you have, and they seem, well, alright. Angst, we know that under all those wacky teenage emotions, the sweet child we all want to take care of is still there. But you make it tough for people to love you. And really, that's all we've ever wanted to do.
Yours Meliciously,
The Adults in your Life
P.S. I have a few tricks for dealing with tough people, when you finally admit you don't know everything.
After long consideration on whether or not I would blog today. I gave into my own sense of responsibility. So, it's short but not so sweet. The way that language evolves sick can mean different things. For example sick can be a good thing. As in: that tattoo is sick. But for today we will be using the word in the traditional sense. I am sick. I have spent the last day rolling around, wrapped in blankets. Sweating and shivering. Getting up only to go to the loo, for a plethora of reasons...I will leave to your imagination.
In recent history I have called into work sick, when I was actually hungover. I have ducked out of events early claiming illness. But the worst I have had is a bothersome nagging cough and cold drippy nose. Oh how things change. This is the first year I didn't get the flu shot. I thought with my track record of having been flu free for 7 years, I would be safe. Never thinking the reason for my health was the one thing I didn't do. If I were a bit stronger I would kick myself.
In The Devil Wears Prada, the extremely thin receptionist says: ' I am just one stomach flu away from being my ideal weight.'. I on the other hand would rather exercise and eat veggies- to achieve that goal. The flu fast is not my wheelhouse. Neither is fasting in general. The gurgle of emptiness paired with the shriek of burning acid. Of all things pain related I suffer most with stomach pain. I can muddle through a headache. The bruises I get constantly are tolerable. It's the sick and dizzies that I can't stand. So, if you can hear my Pepto fairy- bring me some relief. Please don't make me Gravol.
Growing thoughts in the garden of your mind. There's a feeling when an idea is just a tickle. Hiding untold secrets like pollen or maple keys. Ticking time lapse photography as the idea starts to germinate. Splitting open like the seeds of fortune. Sprouting stems and growing into the flowers of imagination. Before you know it, you're tending to row on row; heavy with the fruits of your labour.
Have you been thinking about something? Something important. Something that just won't uproot itself from your mind. Maybe you've lost something or you're formulating a complex theory about *insert science methodology here. Maybe it's a never ending to do list. If you're lucky it's a beautiful concept yet to be planted. But what if it's a weed? Strangling all your smaller thoughts and blocking out the sun? When you're working on a problem, it can be hard to hoe another row. But sometimes the only thing that ever really removes a stubborn stone is to stop thinking so much. Think about something else. That's the way brains work. Your mind is a delicately balanced eco-system. Sun, rain and love will help your thoughts to grow up strong and healthy.
I don't have a green thumb by any means, but I live for spring flowers and summer fruits. Every spring ideas burst forth in radiant colour. But beware. Winter is coming. Now is the time to plant your thought bulbs. Let them take root. Awaking as the winter earth thaws. Your idea will poke it's delicate green stem through the softening ground. Waiting patiently for that spring sunshine to warm the earth. For me spring is further away than I can stand. Perhaps I should invest in a greenhouse to cultivate my ideas all year round.
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