what's happened to songs?

i've been alive long enough to notice that songs are different than they used to be.
the tunes are different. the words are different. they feel different, not good different. I'm not stuck in a golden time warp where everything must be tra la la in the grassy, sunlit meadow. Life has shades, some are dark. Songs are great expressions. But something is going wrong. . has gone wrong. I had a mind to compare the flowery lyrics and treacley tunes of eras past -- and they were beautiful, romantic, idyllic -- then try to contrast these with the unvarnished, jaded even violent lyrics and aggressive melodies that have emerged. But i wondered where to start. A few decades ago? a century? further? I couldn't do it. I thought a sliver of a sample would be too little to back up my assertion and anything larger would be too tedious; like trying to capture a picture of something gargantuan with a cellphone camera.

I'm not sure its possible to separate song and music from the experience of human existence, language, being. No, I don't think it is.
Music and us, we're inseparable. Words and people, impossible to part them.
We evolve, songs do. We transcend, they climb with us. We degenerate, they deteriorate. I've noticed we're not transcending. I'm not even sure its possible for modern humans to do so any more. We think we know too much. We are advancing in enormous leaps and simultaneously falling backwards with shocking speed. Nothing seems to phase us. How difficult is it for us to be quiet long enough to breathe and think of more than playing, using and acquiring?
Can we appreciate, feel grateful?
Do we know how to own our smallness in the great vastness we have yet to acknowledge?We are too big for our britches.
seriously.

and because of all this, I think music has been suffering along with us.
I do think so.
We have lost something(s).
Innocence.
Awe.
Reverence.
Idealism.
lost.. .
going. .
gone?

music as barometer, mood ring, mirror. .
i think so, yes.
everything we experience, comes out in the songs. .

modern/postmodern tug of war
generational struggling
fears for the future
concerns for the present
spectres of the past
echoes of romance
love, all bruised and roughed up
anger,
disillusionment,
hope
and
dreams.

Most of the warriors

"Most of the warriors I know have settled down to gardening and reading the Times.

Most of the warriors I know have unsaddled their stallions and built fences in their backyard.

Most of the warriors I know have died before their times and are forgotten,

save in the memory of their sons and the dreams they seldom share;

finally content to stare at people without passion."



source unknown by me. .

*this speaks to me on a couple of levels. .
1. as a human on this earth - thinking of how easy it is to be selfish, not
truly caring about what happens beyond my small circles.
2. as a person has lost faith in 'church',in myself and i guess even in God?
I love him, but I seem to have lost my fire, my feeling that i can be a
'warrior'.

keepie uppie and other shenanigans

Family lunch today was hilarious.
The grandkiddies were over as usual. Their mom and baby sister were taking a break.
Mom had a headache.
Opa and great grandma got some Swiss Chalet chicken for take out and picked the kids up and brought them to our place.
Dinner was the usual pleasant chaos with the children.
Ants in the pants, not wanting to eat their food,
fidgeting and general sillness.
Maybe it was the full moon,
don't know. . they just seemed extra hyper today, especially Erica.
This always stresses Auntie KK. . Opa and Bala (great grandma) seemed pretty zen
and undisturbed.

After lunch James wanted to play Wii. . so everyone went downstairs.
Eri wanted 2 of her birthday balloons from yesterday's party to play 'keepie uppie'.
I love playing that, so her and I did this for quite a while.
Eventually I suggested we try to play this while kneeling. . made it more silly and
challenging.
Then I said, let's lay down and try to play it that way.
We crawled like worms along the floor. . it was too hard, so then Eri asked:
"Nana, let's get a balloon and you can blow it up and make it do the fart noise."
When it comes to blowing up balloons and letting them go, I'm like a giant child.
I LOVE that absurd noise they make and the crazy loops they do in the air.
I told her to go upstairs and get one.
She giggled all the way.
We were positioned behind James, Rob and mom, who sat in front of the TV, with their silly Wii British car racing going on. .

I blew up the balloon and made silly faces with each breath.
Erica could not stay composed. She was laughing like a nut case.
I looked at her and whispered: "Should i let it go now?"
She gave me the go ahead and i let go.

PLFFFFFTTTTTTTTTPPPPLLLLLTTTTTTTFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!
The balloon whizzed around like a flying whoopie cushion. . and landed with a sudden, slight plop near Jimmy's feet. If the sound alone wasn't hilarious, their reactions made it even funnier. .
I just about peed my pants laughing.
Mom let out this "Ohhhh!!" and James, who had no clue what we were up to,jumped in his seat and said "Heyyyyy!" Erica was screeching. .

Rob lay on the recliner and opened one eye.
KK read the People magazine in the back corner.
They didn't get it.
Anyway, we did this several times, and each time we laughed like idiots.
Then Eri decided that we should launch the fart balloons from up on the stairs, directly over their heads.
I told her to get two more balloons and we'd let a few go at the same time.
I made my goofy balloon blowing faces,
she howled with laughter, which made it hard for me to blow them up for laughing, this made her laugh more. . we were out of control.

We had many more successful bombing 'attacks' which startled James and Bala every time!
Suckers!!

James then wanted to get in on the game, and as he put a balloon to his lips,
Erica warned him sharply: "Jimmy, that's got Nana's spit all over it!" and he dropped it fast. That pretty much put an end to that. .

He went back to his Wii. . Eri and I got out a puzzle.
We worked on that for a while. . lying on the floor.
I put my head down on my outstretched arm and said "I'm sleepy" and yawned.
Eri started singing:
"Rock-a-bye bay. . .big girl, on the tree tops. When the wind blows the cradle will rock. When you sit in the cradle it will break into a fousand pieces and you will come crashing down, pieces and all."

I laughed for 10 minutes, solid.

crazy food memories

i had the jar in my hands last night
and then I looked at the 'nutrition facts' label
and put it back on the shelf.
*E.D. Smith Lemon Spread*
Brings me back to memories of eating buttered toast spread with this tangy
lemon gloop.
I realize now that this is prepared lemon curd filling
At the time I cared not what it was called, i just liked it.
I have a special place in my tastebuds for anything lemony.

When i was a kid I used to practice eating lemon wedges
without pulling a face.
I thought this was an amazing feat which I
would demonstrate to my sisters and friends.
They were quite underwhelmed.
I went through this intense phase of lemon eating in grade 4.
I remember standing by our neighbour, Mrs. Clemente's backyard trellis/gate,
sucking on a ridiculous lemon,
inwardly cringing and trying to keep a straight face.
She looked at me and remarked:
"You know dear, eating those will stunt your growth"
I looked down at her and smiled.
She must have been 5' . . i had a good 5 or 6 inches on her at the time. . and grew to be 9 inches taller by grade 7.
Or perhaps she was right and if i hadn't gone through
my lemon phase, i would might have been 6 feet tall??
I guess i'll never know!

This whole thought train started me reminiscing on some of the strange foods we used to eat back then.

Fruit Float -- this strange and chunky tinned fruit slush got mixed with milk and formed a layered 'pudding' in which the 'fruit' rose to the top. we loved it. . not sure why?

Whip 'n Chill -- now this was amazing stuff. . little packet of dried powder you shake into milk and beat into an airy mousse. Chocolate and strawberry were the best. Vanilla tasted like preservatives.

Tang -- good enough for the astronauts, good enough for us? I have no clue what was in this powdered, freeze dried, koolaid on steroids, i'm sure loads and loads of sugar, but it sure was yummy. My granddaughter, Eri, is almost five. She already lectures the lot of us on eating 'helfy' sugars. They're teaching junior kindergarteners about fructose, glucose and such. Very cool. She'll be considerably 'helfier' than her Nana.

'Sharpie' cheese tubs -- our father was especially keen on this aged cheddar spread --- i don't recall liking this very much. . smelled like gym socks - i had no palate then.

speaking of our father. .
this man would make himself raw spanish onion and liverwurst sandwiches, then get us in a head lock and breathe on us. .

Kraft pizza in a box. . this little kit came with a packet of dry dough mix, a tin of pizza sauce and a sachet of powdered cheese. . very popular in the 60s and 70s. . why?? it made the yuckiest pizza IN THE WORLD!!!

Alphagetti - tinned alphabet pasta in tomato sauce. oh geez, what Canadian kid didn't grow up on this stuff?? toast and alphagetti was practically sacred.

"Wagon Wheels'. . disgusting biscuity circles with chewy marshmallow middles, enrobed in a waxy, tasteless chocolate coating. . lunch box staple of the early 70s -Truly despicable.

"Peter Pan" puffed wheat cereal in a bag. . .yeah, a feed bag!! This stuff, i thought, was only fit for horses. it had a strong, malty kick. *shudder* Our mother insisted on buying this because it was always on sale. Gee, I wonder why?? Perhaps because NOBODY FRIGGIN' LIKED THIS STUFF??!!! No amount of sugar in the world could help this taste good.

"Jiffy Pop" popcorn. Shake this foiled wonder over your stove burner and watch it puff up like a magic, silver turban. We seldom got this, because it was 'too dear', but we always begged for it.

speaking of popcorn, there was this stuff they sold that came in a plastic double pack. . the one side contained popcorn kernels, the other side contained this glob of flavoured coconut oily margarine that you squeezed into your pot, and popped the popcorn in. Oh my gosh. . i'm starting to think my entire childhood will land me in the heart clinic by the time I'm 60!!

"Lolas". . triangular frozen 'popsicles'. Cut the top of the waxed cardboard container and push up from the bottom. I loved the purple ones. .

Swanson frozen TV dinners. . heat in the oven, peel back the foil and eat your salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, corn and fruit cobbler. These were a considerable step up from the frozen fish sticks and french fry suppers our father would 'make'.

'Pimento loaf'. . luncheon meat studded with little dots of pimento. . used to poke them out and look at all the holes. So fun.

"Premium" soda crackers are still around, but what makes me remember these was the way we ate them -- slathered in butter, then sandwiched together to watch the butter extrude through the cracker holes like little worms. Why in God's name would we butter these already loaded with shortening crackers?? This worries me. We were such ignos.

"Sarah Lee" frozen layer cakes. .oh my gosh I'm such a sucker for sweet things, esp. cake and icing. These were little rectangular cakes that you sliced and ate. There was a little liner of waxed paper on top of the icing. We'd fight over licking the icing off the paper. It wasn't pretty. Sometimes we ate these frozen if we were too impatient to let them thaw.

ah well, the only thing I sincerely hope is that our years of eating utter crap are somehow atoned for by the all the fibre, probiotic yogurt, organic flax eggs, quinoa, whole wheat bread, lean meat and truck loads of fresh fruit and veg I now consume. Don't be fooled. .I have a pumpkin cheescake sitting in the fridge right now. . there's a jar of Nutella in the cupboard and a bag of chocolate peanut butter bites beside it.
*My inner child is alive and well*

change is certain

its funny how i can be amazed by the constant changes in life
not sure why i find that amazing.
Isn't that what life is? change?
its also funny how i can also be put in a trance by 'same old, same old'
lulled into thinking things can be old
when every day they're new
maybe its a simple matter of being tuned in?
maybe its a simple matter of looking around?
looking up,
remembering how things have been
then observing how things now are.
looking forward to how things can be,
will be
or maybe dreading?
depends. . .

these are uncertain times
but haven't times always been so?
shifting
and moving
under us
around us
disrupting our illusions of stability
'was' is always evaporating
'is' is always evolving

what is uncertainty
but looking for the certain?
good certain..
not always finding
and fear skulking
and hope longing to spring
apathy desiring to smother
faith ready to leap

pursue change
or run from it
fear it
and crave it
handle it with fingertips
or embrace it
feel powerless
feel indomitable

how often do i go back and forth
between these?

this is how i'm feeling today
tomorrow is subject to change

everyone's talking about it. .

In January people start feeling remorseful
about how much food they ate
and ate
and ate
and drinks they drank
and how late they stayed up
and how little they exercised
(shopping doesn't count)

Its strange how celebrating makes us eat like pigs
and spend money like sailors on leave


So now many of us are 'smartening up'!!
Myself included.
Being good.
Eating regularly
and more nutritiously.

You know, I feel better already.
I'm eating well. .nice, healthy food.
I'm not buying endless bricks of butter for all
that baking
and there are no more cookies, squares, treats left around the house
thank God.

maybe i should pay more attention to all the cardiologist's reports we process at work and really THINK about making sure that I never end up needing their services.

Happy resolving to all of you resolutionists!!! I resolve to make being healthy a neverending pursuit - no more rollercoastering.
*i hate rollercoasters anyway!*

dreams

she was in my dreams the other night
after a very long hiatus
. . . my Nana


i sure miss her
she's been gone for, hmmm. . for . . .
over a dozen years now

I've had many dreams about her,
dreams too of my grandfather,
but mostly of Nana

Nana had a bad leg.
It couldn't bend and was shorter than her good leg.
It gave her quite a pronounced limp.
When she was 16, she was walking down the street,
a drunk driver jumped the curb and plowed her through a basement apartment window, leaving her hanging from that windowframe with a shattered limb.
The doctors did their best. . they put in pins and rods, which were attached to external fixation. This remained in place for I don't know how long.
They would turn these pins to lengthen the leg, to try to match the other.
but the doctors said she'd never walk again
never have children.
She would not listen
and she did and she did!
She was feisty and tenacious
someone i greatly admired
and sorely miss

When i dream of her, she's perfect.
No limp, no shortened leg
no rheumatoid arthritis crippling her hands
no dense stroke or inability to speak

In one of my early dreams after her death.
She was fresh and young
sitting cross legged on the floor,
telling me: "God wants us to be like little children, Kathie."
She was so 'light' and joyful. . not serious
I could not believe that she could do that. .
sit like that.
It made me so happy.
Her message to me was perfect at a time when things felt so complicated.

I always go there, to her house, in my dreams.
I miss it.
University students live there now.
They nuke popcorn in the kitchen where my sisters and i jumped on
all the black tiles,
then switched to the white ones. .
where the cuckoo clock delighted us,
with its chirpy occupant
and its interesting pine cone weights, hanging..
They sleep in my grandfather's study. .
where his books lined the back wall from floor to ceiling,
where we typed notes on his ancient black Remington-Rand manual typewriter
and sat at his desk, in his big chair
They neglect the backyard gardens that were my grandparents' pride and passion,
where memories of clematis vines climbed ghost trellises and white nicotinas and pale nasturtiums hugged the foundation walls.
They sit and watch DVDs in the front room we Christmased in. .
where the Christmas tree, complete with spun glass 'angel hair' stood.
the front room in which my grandpa would bounce us on his knee and give us
sandpapery 'whisker rubs' on our cheeks.
The room in which they kept a bowl of candies for us to eat. .
licorice babies, satin mix hard candies, humbugs.
They Macbook in the room i've hidden from my sisters in, while playing. .
in the room i threw up in on sleepovers
They store their beer in the place where i sat and watched Nana
shake Fells Naptha soap powder into the round tub of her turquoise wringer washer
and push the clothes through the ringer with the end of a wooden spoon
They store boxes in the area where the "Rogues gallery" picture wall displayed black and whites of our baby Uncle Vic with his rosy coloured in cheeks, our child mother walking downtown with our young grandfather, our Nana, dressed like a 'flapper', and various unsmiling 'strangers',greats and great greats. . old fashionedly dressed trunks of the family tree. .

I never have a dream where I am not in that house. .

Whenever we have occasion to drive to my birth city
The van will end up on their street
and I will sit and look at that house. .
and it will always be theirs
and I will always have crawled across its floors with chubby knees and learned to talk in it
and sat on my orange stool at the counter and watched Nana cook
and ate fine meals in it
and climbed its stout maple on the front lawn
and been a granddaughter in it
and been loved. .

Nana introduced me to my grandfather's father the other night
She told me to be mindful not to
disturb him.
I've never seen a photograph of him,
i don't know what he looks like
he drowned in the Grand River and left his wife and children alone
in a new country *they had come here from England*
He sat at my Nana's kitchen table
He was slim,
with dark, wavy hair
and a moustache
He was dressed in antiquated clothing
He didn't speak to me
but he looked at me
and i looked at him
and then they were gone
and i was back home
i looked over at my sleeping husband
and thought "Wow, what was that about?"

I have strange dreams
but often they are
so
significant to me.

groceries

the distance from my hip joint to my ankle = 90 cm
my grocery store receipt from today. . . 90 cm long
I'm 2 of today's grocery receipts tall (minus 5 cm)

a grocery receipt 90 cm long??
that's
35.5 inches

that's
.5 inches shy of 3 feet.


$273.24
yes,
i know. .
here come the reasons:
we were quite depleted
hadn't been for a full order in 2 weeks
not all of it was 'feast' shopping. .
there were a few stocking stuffers
a small gift *we shop in one of those lovely, palatial almost-everything-you-could-need stores*

there were 2 x 40 kg softener salt bags thrown in
there were staple items in the cart. . .
cereal
bread
pasta
vegetable oil
milk
veg
fruit

We could have purchased an organic, free range turkey. . for $55
Our bill would have come to
$300
we paid $29 for one instead.

it costs to put on a holiday meal
we all expect that
but it never fails to shock

fresh herbs
turkey
potatoes
veg
Christmas Day trifle ingredients
Christmas Eve pavlova ingredients
butter
clementines
egg bread for the stuffing
stock for the gravy *there's no time for home made*
pop - Canada Dry gingerale
We won't even itemize the baking ingredients I've bought in the past month and a half
I would estimate that cost to be . . .
ridiculous
despite economizing
without sacrificing
ingredient quality
everything costs so much lately
but we must
have
our
feast

"There'll be turkeys for basting and stuffing for tasting
and giblets and gravy will flow. . .
there'll be cookies that mom baked and leftover fruitcake
from a Christmas a long time ago. . ." (excerpted from "Its the Most Fattening Time of the Year" )

its wonderful
but its also kinda
wrong
is that the word?
Maybe. . or not.

I was trying so hard to stay
calm
but
buggies closing in behind me
holding up 'traffic' in front of me
clogged aisles
massive checkout lines
Christmas Muzak
people, people..
left me all nerve jangled
and irritable


Because of God's tender mercy, the light from Heaven is about to break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace. Luke 1:78/79

yes,
yes.
how easily i lose sight
of the beautiful truth.

'christmas'

help my heart
find
yours.
Christmas keeps
getting
in the way.

i see?

my sight is pretty good
but sometimes i just don't see very well.
faces, objects, locations, my eyes view them and my brain processes the images
there is seeing
and then there's vision


i pray that the eyes of your heart will be opened, in order that you may know the hope to which He has called you Eph 1:18

i don't ever just want to look
or see
eyesight is great
but i want heartsight
and this comes
not without cost

kilograms and pounds

Tonight I went to the "you're not allowed to leave until you spend at least $150" store.

I bought several gigantic things. See?!

Yes, that's 2 kilograms of chocolate chips
and the same amount of coconut

What will I do with 8.8 pounds of chocolate and coconut?
I will singlehandedly make it all disappear!
shocking but true.
cookies
squares
tarts
truffles

yeah. . its that time,
Christmas baking time!!!

help me. .

Rob and I went to see "Great Big Sea" last night. What an amazing show they put on. We're pretty partial to their unique sound. They straddle the time-honoured shanty, ballad, sea song world of their beloved Newfoundland and the right now world, with honest, straight up lyrics and engaging, catchy tunes. They pretty much hosted a huge 'kitchen party', with fiddles, concertinas, dobros, tin whistles, guitars, drums and a jumping, stomping, full to the doors crowd.

Usually when there's a big event at concert halls, arenas, etc. you'll see the homeless or the desperate for money.
Last night was no exception.
The crowd was streaming outdoors. . we were in it, doing the 'shuffle', you know that one we all do when in a big pack of people trying to funnel out too few exits?
We finally got out the door and turned right to go towards the underground parking.
That's when I saw him.
Sitting on the freezing cold, snowy sidewalk.
Dirty and thin.
Grimy khaki ballcap on his head.
Dressed in not warm enough layers.
Looking down,
cardboard sign in his lap:
"Cold, hungry. . please help me. God Bless."
People passed him, laughing and talking, buzzing from the concert.
He sat invisibly on the sidewalk
nobody noticed him,
he looked at no one.
My heart felt a stab, but i walked past with the crowd.
My head started with the rationalization - 'he's just working the situation'
'he's probably gonna spend any money he gets on something he shouldn't'
'you don't have any cash on you'.
Heart prevailed, foolish maybe, there are always maybes that come to mind. . but i pushed them away.
Rob gave me a few bucks, cuz I had no money.
I walked up to him. He looked up at me with dark eyes and said hello.
He looked tired.
I handed him the money and said that I hope it helps a little bit.
I asked him where he was living.
He told me "Under the bridge".
hard, frozen ground and snow.
Why?
I don't even know.

I asked him if there was any place he could go to get out of the weather.
He shook his head no. . and looked up at me and said: "Last night was hard. . it was so cold."
He held up his palm with the money in it and said "God bless you, thank you. "
I could only blurt out "God bless you too. .I hope you can find some shelter."
My words seemed all stupid and useless.
That piddling token will disappear with one trip to the coffee shop.
I know he's out under that bridge right now in this -5 degree night.


". . .is anybody listening...?
love is kneeling - above the broken body the ever-upturned face
love is missing - all the words are broken, help me, i cannot find my way,
no i can't
love is streaming - streaming with the tears that we cannot seem to shed
love is frozen - frozen in the figure they just pulled from the subway grate
love is burning - burning with the anger that we all feel, against which we
kneel,
our faces pressed into the lap of loneliness, come on love
will you sail 'cross the water and lay your wisdom down?"

Jane Sibbery -- "Sail Across the Water"

weakness is strength??

weakness.
we're born weak and usually die the same way.
We begin with weakness, utter dependence, we build and build our strength, independence. We grow. We may experience many dips and climb back up out of them somewhere in the middle there. . but finally we taper off once more, declining,waning,losing all that we had worked had to gain,
making it all seem like an illusion
which in a big way it is.

I remember back, feeling so proud to be a 'big girl'... riding a two wheeler, swimming and skating on my own, crossing the street without an adult. I was so impatient to grow up, be older and stronger, be taken seriously. I have this memory of flexing my bicep to my dad, saying "Look how strong I am, Daddy!". He poked the muscle and jokingly said: "That's just a sparrow's kneecap, kiddo." I remember being mightily offended. I thought I was so strong. He knew otherwise. As life progressed i went on to bigger and better things like having my own library card, taking the bus, using the stove by myself *and setting the oven mitts on fire*!getting my first babysitting job, my first Royal Bank of Canada, "Leo the Lion" account, learning to drive, choosing courses at school. .

We all feel that same hurry to grow up, be older, be independent, live on our own. Proper thing too. The alternative is unnatural. To stay dependent is not right. Independence is our much desired goal. . and well along on the way to meeting that goal, most of us easily fall prey to the notion that we have accumulated lots of knowledge. This exposes us to the danger of unteachability. We set up like cement. We've arrived. We're strong. We have a stockpile of mantras and dictums and we believe most of them... make it happen, believe and achieve, good better best, never let it rest, upwardly mobile, only the strong survive, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger. .these help us to climb. . but just when you think we've arrived, there's a sudden encounter with weakness.

Whomp!

You're very sick.

You've had surgery.

You've received terrible news.

Your health is under attack.

You've lost your job.

Your marriage is on the ropes.

Your best friend is dying.

All your strength. Where is it?
You feel as weak as a kitten.
You are weak.
But you're supposed to be strong. This wasn't in the plan.
This is too much.
Can't do it. .
faced with weakness,
the illusion of control is gone
your strength had convinced you that you strength was all
but weakness is here to teach you that your strength is not all.
Not even close.
When weakness comes to you, it is very often your maker telling you:
"My gracious favour is all you need. My power works best in your weakness."
I think the only times he can get our attention is when we are helpless,
like babies.
We've all been conditioned in order to survive. . get strength, be strong, keep strength.
Like a child who tells their grown up: "No! I want to do it myself!"
Like we tell each other "Thank you, but no, I can manage."
Like we tell him, "I've got this."
When we really don't and we can't.

This is why weakness comes, to punch holes in our resolve and stoicism.
and let us feel vulnerable.
and let us rely on someone.
our cleverness is a trap
our bravado is a cloak full of holes
and friends may pull away,
then we are privileged to know
that there is but one to rely on,
who helps us gain knowledge,
reverse knowledge,
paradoxical knowledge of the purest kind.
that our strength is an illusion
that punched full of enough holes, and empty of our reserve,
we are finally able to receive the pure light of his strength.
It exceeds our capacity to contain it.
Here, in abject weakness, full of holes,
we shine.
the paradox is revealed
and we understand just a little bit
that living on his borrowed strength
is how we are healed

a little music and introspection never hurt anyone

I'm enjoying some music listening tonight. . starting off with "My Last Amen" by downhere. ". . . I could swear I have two hearts, one to stay, one to depart the sad, tragic kingdom. and it burns me down to the core because I know there's so much more, its just a pale reflection. And it keeps me wanting that mysterious thing,like an outcast waiting to be loved." This genius song haunts and lifts me. "Somewhere in the grand design its good to be unsatisfied. It keeps the faith and hope a little more alive. . ." and i find this song to be such a great fit with my thoughts at this moment. . I'm happy and alone.

I'm sitting in the front room on the couch, lights out - ipod screen glowing.
I'm looking out the picture window. . .and i'm seeing a falling star! its flaring all silver, streaking downwards, making me feel more alive as it dies. . . i feel like a kid! Its like God is saying "Look!". I know the scientific explanation for this phenomenon, but i prefer to see it with awe. Awe is so undervalued, underexperienced.

Each day this week i have wanted so much to escape the confines of hallways, fluorescent lighting and offices.
Weather has been glorious and warm for November, such a beautiful aberration.
Remaining inside and at the desk felt almost impossible. . . the river was calling to be canoed and my bike spoke to me from the shed at home, i heard it say it was lonely.
My fading tan was whispering: "Sun, i need it, i'm dying."
The ringing phone, the crowded task bar on my computer and all things tediously urgent and pressing held me fast and nearly against my will.
I've been so restless.

In the hospital halls where for a quarter century i have walked and worked and tried to keep the balance as a community member, an employee, a some time patient, a co-worker, being taught, teaching, feeling inadequate,capable, hassled, humbled. I have met and gotten to know and said goodbye to so many people - but i feel the imprint of them all within myself and this presses and holds me equally fast and in total willingness to stay, to do more than just ricochet off of each other. . to see each other. Restless to go past the surface.

I've realized that much of living is about feeling restless in some way or another. .

Restless for change. . (but afraid of how it might look or feel)

Restless for honesty - but if everyone was honest, could i handle that?

More often for me I feel restless in my spirit. . i don't mean my soul. . my emotions and will, they're so contrary, I can't go by them.
Deeper.
Sometimes I think i had a little flash of insight, i see that there's more, I know that I'm not made to be shallow. . and I long for the depths,
i can almost hear him say to me: "You're so close, don't be satisfied with less. . come on!"
but just as quickly, like a little child looking at something else that catches her fancy, i turn and break the connection, never completely because I'm drawn, always.

". . .And it burns me down to the core because I know there's so much more, its just a pale reflection. And it keeps me wanting that mysterious thing,like an outcast waiting to be loved." Thanx, downhere, your words always strike a chord. . no pun intended.

The Holy Spirit

May the Spirit
Bless you with discomfort at easy answers,
half truths and superficial relationships
so that you will live deep in your heart

May the Spirit
Bless you with anger
at injustice and oppression,
and exploitation of people and the earth
so that you will work for justice, equality and peace.

May the Spirit
Bless you with tears to shed
for those who suffer
so that you will
reach out your hand
to comfort them.

And may the Spirit
Bless you with the foolishness
to think you can make a difference
in the world,
so you will do the things
which others say cannot be done.

-- source unknown --
(wherever this came from, its magic)

Passchendaele and a trip to the book store

A few months ago we saw the trailer for the movie "Passchendaele" and we both put it on our must see at the theatre list. Some movies are just meant for the big screen.

Rob mentioned the other day about going, I was definitely down with that.
When we got home from work yesterday, Rob went to the computer to check the movie listings. . . "Its playing at the Galaxy at 6:20". . .i thought that sounded great. "Oh, wait, its also playing at Empire at 6:50". This second bit of news perked me up. . I said, "How about we go to Empire, then i can make a quick trip to Chapters before the movie!!"

Rob indulges me every time I suggest going there. Its not his favourite place, but he knows i love it and I love him for that and a million other reasons. I had to reign myself in once we got there. . we didn't have too long to wait. I stayed just long enough to use my 'loyal member' extra discount coupon, which i got to use on top of my normal 10% member discount.. so sweet.

I bought a couple of books: "The White Rose, Munich 1942-1943" by Inge Scholl. . This one is a true story of two university students, a brother and sister, who were decapitated by court order for their involvement in the White Rose movement. This movement produced anti-Nazi propaganda and provided material assistance to victims of national socialism. It sounds intense. I suppose i will cry with this one, or feel a 60 years on rage, which i won't know what to do with.

I also bought "Seeing" by Nobel prize winning author Jose Saramago. . I've never heard of him, but the jacket praised him out of the stratosphere, so I thought i'd take a chance. Besides. . it was a hard cover for $7!!! I started into this one first. . and I'm going to have to stick it out -- maybe. He's got a really bizarre style, all run on and on sentences, over description to the point where I'm impatient for him to just cut the crap. get rid of the too numerous adjectives, clunky phrases and thoughts stretched into thoughtlessness and just get to the bloody point! He's strangely sparing with his punctuation. Everything runs together in a 'stream of consciousness' way. I'm not averse to that kind of storytelling, but this is almost dizzying, reading on and on, without anything stopping my eye or my brain. It feels almost appropriate to take a small breather after each megasentence.

The story sounded timely and interesting. . voting day in a democractic 'capital'. . voters aren't coming out because of severe weather - then turn out en mass when it clears. 70% of the ballots cast were blank. The citizens rebel, state of emergency is declared as a revolution erupts. When i read the liner note I'm told, "What begins as a satire on governments and the sometimes dubious efficacy of the democratic system turns into something far more sinister." So far reading this book has almost maddened me and set my teeth on edge. I don't want to 'see' the effort in a book. I don't want to be aware of flaws and be unable to get past them when i read a story. I want it to feel natural and seamless. I want to be transported, not derailed. "Another invaluable gift from a matchless writer." ? That's what Kirkus reviews had to say about this book. Geesh. Nobel Prize award? glowing reviews from every American newspaper? I'm wondering now if i kept my receipt. Do you think they refund on marked down items?

Passchendaele could almost be another post. . perhaps soon with remembrance day upon us. The movie was so good, if that's the right word to use for anything about war? We eat up war movies, which seems odd for peace loving Canadians. I think its just our age. We were raised by families whose lives were refined in the crucible of war. . and this affected us too. Every war movie we watch may be our attempt to identify with and try to understand our loved ones. I've seen a documentary entirely about the battle of Passchendale and was so wrenched by it and so proud of our Canadian soldiers. What a bloody mess it all was. What torture, what loss and what 'victory' (however temporary). Aggression, killing, fighting. . its just hard to stomach. I find it odd to think that in 'peace' time people are punished for killing, fighting and in 'war' time they are given medals and promotions. I know it doesn't boil down just like that. Courage, patriotism, bravery, unity of purpose all mix in with the horror and chaos. Freedom of the millions weighs on the tired shoulders of men. What a paradox is war.

Why is it that we never value anything unless we're in danger of losing it?

Why does it take danger, suffering and grief to birth gratitude in us?

And why does that gratitude so quickly dissipate into a sickly, anemic sense of entitlement?

Mexico, Quintana Roo - Yucatan peninsula

books

Been doing some reading.

"11" by Leonard Sweet (11 indispensible relationships you can't be without)

Almost done this one. Here is an excerpt taken from the jacket:

"We all need some friends for the journey. . friends like Barnabas, Nathan, Rhoda, Zacchaeus just to name a few. Eleven of them to be exact. Without these people in your life, you'll miss out on the person you could have been. And without you in their lives, they'll miss out as well."

This book takes people from the Bible and puts them forth as embodied examples of positive character traits. E.g., Jethro was a motivator, Jonathan a true friend, Timothy an heir, Deborah was someone who had your back, etc.

I have eaten this book up. Its really causing me to think about just what kind of friend i am/have been to others. . and conversely, what kind of friends i have. Of course I sadly see deficiencies on both sides. Len Sweet was one of the keynote speakers at a conference I had the privilege to attend last weekend. I like how he thinks, outside of the box, unconventional yet gracious and godly. I really recommend this one.

Another one i have begun:
"A New Earth - Awakening to Your Life's Purpose" by Eckhart Tolle

A friend loaned this to me. She wanted to see what i thought of it. We've been talking about 'purpose', etc. I'm not too sure about this guy. . he's a "spiritual teacher" who dips into various pools of 'spirituality'. hinduism, buddhism, Christianity, zen, etc. The result is a kind of quasispiritual smorgasboard. A little bit of this and a little taste of that.For me, it can never satisfy. I'm in the 'ego' chapters now and they're actually quite interesting. The author talks about the arising new consciousness, meditation, enlightenment and so on, none of which seems particularly 'new'. . but rather ancient.

I follow Jesus himself. He's very much alive. This distinction puts him in his own category, light years from all other contenders. Other 'teachings' are words left behind, dried up on parchment,stone, manuscript. They can be 'good' but they can never be God. Having THE spiritual master to live with and be in relationship with, I'm not particularly interested in any kind of inferior counsel, but I am interested in dialogue with my friends, so I keep reading. Mr. Tolle does extensively quote and reference Christ. I'm not sure if he does so to have higher sales or because he respects Christ. Regardless, I'll finish it and hopefully my friend and i can have some good discussion at the end. She's been teasing me, saying "I want a book report!"

laxity

i think Facebook has stolen my blogging time.
yep, that must be it.
After working on computers all day long at the hospital, checking email and Facebook when i come home . . . i'm pretty much tired of sitting, staring at a terminal and/or keyboarding.
poor excuses allfor not blogging,
yet legitimate.

i'm fighting off a cold and have been plagued with all of its yucky, attendant symptoms.
who doesn't hate catching a cold??
blah.

I fell right off the good nutrition wagon today.
it was ridiculous
and i had been doing so well.

i mean i was in such a mood after supper, i could have just kept shoving in all kinds of junk. I had 3 sqares of chocolate but that did nothing to stop me. I had pretzel sticks, (did i mention 2 cupcakes? i didn't? um, yeah i ate those too - they were small, but covered in twice their weight in ahem, buttercream) I didn't eat much at breakfast or lunch. . which i'm sure is what triggered this crazed feeling of binge-iness this evening. I even ate POTATO CHIPS and i NEVER eat those things!
I blame Rob for the chips.
He bought the stupid bag of "reduced fat" Cape Cods.
I think that was the first bag of those things we've had in this house in YEARS.
geesh. . . i ate some sour jujubes at work this afternoon because they were there. . pathetic.

i go to 'endless buffet land' in Mexico and LOSE weight, thank you, traveler's "indigestion" and now that i'm getting over that finally, i act like i've never seen food before. what is that about??

Deep breath. . .

Its done, and tomorrow's a new day, right?
the jujubes are gone
the cupcakes too
the chips? I'll leave the rest for Rob
the chocolate? maybe padlock the cupboard??
ask mom to stop buying us chocolate. . .

when i was a teenager i looked like a stick version of myself and ate Wunderbars, Harvey's burgers and fries at midnight, McDonald's hot apple pies, Laura Secord mint chocolate bars, banana splits - come to think of it though, i walked everywhere, rollerskated, swam and rode my bike. .

grrrr. . . i'm mad at myself. . I need to evaluate some things. .

i find these amusing. . .

i was thinking today about words and how funny some of them sound.. .

here's a list of some of my favourites:

hootenany

frigate

oxymoron

behoove

effluvium

jujube

itchy

serpiginous

lollygag

buttocks

ninny

tipsy

spastic

woofer (must include tweeter)

dawdle

jalopy

hijinks

numbskull

pansy

wizened

muumuu

brouhaha

goo