Just Wondering

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Do you tend to have a different personality when you comment on blogs? I do.

There are some blogs that I really admire, and feel that my response should be somewhat intelligent. Though I have always thought I was fairly bright, sometimes there is a chink in my armour and I discover (somewhat nonplussed) that I have vast reservoirs of things I should know, but don’t.

Then there are the funny blogs, where I feel not quite up to the challenge, but I try anyway—sometimes successfully, but sometimes I probably come across a bit lame. I have a gentle sense of humour, sometimes clever (I think) but never of the slapstick genre which could make me look a bit like a stick in the mud.

I am awed by many of the poetry blogs—their way with words is amazing and sometimes (if truth be told) I am not positive about what they are alluding to—so I read the other comments first to see if I am on the right track. But I so admire those who can describe things beatifically.

Most photography blogs are pretty straightforward and I can appreciate the talent that goes into the photos (I can appreciate but not duplicate). These blogs open up a whole wonderful world—but I can only comment on how the photos make me feel, and not their technical expertise.

I love food blogs—I cannot add much but my admiration though. But I enjoy reading about food—always have, always will. (And of course, eating it!)

There are some blogs where I just click with the author—anything I say is accepted with a laugh or a smile and I am free to express myself as myself, with no fear of being misunderstood. These blogs represent the good friends I have made in this cyber world.

I have had a few rare comments that seem set on trying to get an uncomfortable conversation going—where I am affronted by an opinion rather than presented with one. I try never to do this as I am not sure how to respond and do not want to put others in that position. I have learned not to comment when I am tired, or in a bad mood, or upset. At the beginning of my blog career I may have left a comment or two I was not proud of—and they haunted me. So I try very hard to be, what is that elusive word?—nice, which does irritate some as they want what they call real feedback that shows backbone. I have a backbone, but prefer to keep it out of my comments.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde poster.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I always strive to be myself, but have come to the conclusion that I have several selves.

Bliss is the realization that we have alternate personalities. So—do you have a different personality depending on the blog you comment on?

Too Normal

William Blake’s “The Tyger,” published in his Songs of Innocence and of Experience is a work of Romanticism (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Just because you haven’t seen something—doesn’t mean it’s not there.” ~ Narrator from movie “Epic”

One would think I would not go near the genre of poetry after last month’s demand of one a day, but this “poem” is one I wrote a few years ago and it reflects the fact that I want to live a more fanciful and magical life.

 I am a believer, I have faith, and I have hope, but none of these things come easily—hence the poem. I think by now you recognize me as a prose poet rather than one who follows rules, or writes pretty verse (though I would like to make that rise).

Here is the preamble I wrote to the poem “Too Normal”. Note to readers: you will not recognize this type of poetry. It is from the school of fractured thoughts, lack of discipline, metreless cadence, and incandescent whimsy:

 

Too Normal

My feet

are planted solidly on the ground

mired in the mud of

my own disbelief

 

My brain

will not accept

what it cannot explain ~

and it cannot explain a lot

 

I say I am open to the

spirits, the muses

the fairies

and the hobgoblins

 

But I am only of this physical world

Aware of what I can see,

feel, smell, hear

or taste.

 

Blind to anything I cannot see

Oblivious to everything but the obvious

I still have hope

that something will sway me

Move me

Make me believe

beyond a shadow of a doubt.

 

I want to believe

there is something

More.

 

I do.

 

Bliss is being sure of what you believe—I have not achieved this totally yet—have you?

Unbroken Sabbatical

While I am on a sabbatical from my blog, I still have to write my weekly column for the newspaper, so thought I would share it with you. I am not going to edit it into a post–this is how it will appear in the Kingsville Reporter this week (with a fifteen year old picture of me anchoring page 5.)

ON THE HOMEFRONT

Happy..Happy.. Mother’s Day (Photo credit: Thai Jasmine)

 Happy Mom’s Day

  “I got to grow up with a mother who taught me to believe in me.” ~ Antonio Villaraigosa

My hope is that my children will be able to say that they got to grow up with a mother who taught them to believe in themselves. That is one of the greatest gifts I can think of, and it is a gift my mother bestowed on me. I have been a mother for over twenty-seven years. I lost my mom when I was thirty-nine, but in those thirty-nine years she taught me a lot. And one of the things she taught me was how to be a mom.  I am still working on it  ~  it takes a lot of practice.

 Not too long after I lost my mother, I met Ida Conklin (a well known lady in Kingsville) at the bank. She expressed her sympathy at my loss. She was a bit older than my mother but she told me that one never really gets over losing their mother. And she was so right. Even as I write this today, I have a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. As Mother’s Day approaches, I would prefer that she were still here and that I not just have memories of her. But, the memories are many and they are precious.  I always have a hard time writing my Mother’s Day column because there is such a flood of memories—and I still cannot seem to put them in words. But, if you still have your mom, honour her. If your mom has gone to what I like to think of as a “better place” honour her memory. That is all I have to say…..for now, except Happy Mother’s Day to all moms, and goodnight.

 Another topic:

            As you know if you read this column on a somewhat regular basis, I have become a blogger—which is just another name for someone who has a presence in the ethereal regions of the internet. One of my favourite bloggers is Heidi@lightlycrunchy.wordpress.com. She has a very down home but sophisticated take on life that I really enjoy. She is not into existentialism, crazy metaphysical hokum, or super analyzing her pain and angst (at least not in her blog—but don’t get me wrong—I enjoy a little metaphysical hokum at times). She is ~ dare I say it, sensible, with a deft sense of humour. Here, just in time for spring is her post on what she intends to plant in her huge garden which she tends with the help of her family. She works outside the home and inside the home. Here is a little example of her life:

“Today we cleaned up, the kids did a complete clean out of the barn and there was even a chance for a nap. I sorted through the seed order and am going to use this space to write them down. Last year I neglected to record anything and lost the packing slip, so I am leaving myself a list here where I can find it again when ordering time comes around next year. I am pretty good at keeping records, but lousy at remembering where I put them.

We’ll still have to purchase our seed potatoes, green pepper and hot pepper plants, tomatoes in several varieties and some onion sets, but this will be a good start. Next weekend we’ll start planting some seed.

dill (Photo credit: sweet lil’ bunny)

Here is her order:

 2013 William Dam Seed Order: Basil – Italian Large Leaf Organic/Sweet Basil; Beans (bush) – Provider; Brussels Sprouts – Jade Cross Hybrid; Carrots – Nelson Hybrid/Baltimore Hybrid; Cucumber – Eureka Hybrid & Sweet Success Hybrid; Dill – Bouquet; Lettuce – Great Lakes 659/Buttercrunch/Bon Vivant Salad Mix/ Pinares; Melons – Diplomat Hybrid/Halona Hybrid; Onions – Ramrod/Camelot Hybrid; Parsley – Green Pearl Organic; Peas – Lincoln; Pumpkins-Dill’s Atlantic Giant/Mustang Hybrid/ Spooktacular Hybrid; Radish – Raxe; Rosemary; Sage; Spinach – Space Hybrid; Sunflower (Helianthus) – Mammoth Russian; Watermelon – Jade Star Hybrid, Full Lucky Hybrid; Zucchini – Spineless Beauty Hybrid; Leek – Jolant.”

            I know this list has some of you salivating—and your fingers are just itching to get into the soil, and I know enough to realize that you have probably already done a little planting.  Others (me included) are a little confused, yet impressed with all the seeds that Heidi has gathered, particularly the Spooktacular pumpkins and space spinach.

            Left to my own devices I would probably get a tomato plant or two—but my eldest son is raring to go on this year’s garden—so,… so be it. If you only want to garden in your mind, check out Heidi’s blog—she will keep you updated on her progress as well as show you the fruits of her labour – she cans and freezes and makes spaghetti sauce—and has a husband who cooks! (I love my husband, but I think I could love him just that bit more if he cooked.)

A Day in the Life ~ Or My Last Birthday Post Until Next Year–I Promise!

 

Casino  (Photo credit: geek7)

  I do not have a gambling problem. But I have got to say I just love playing the slots. In the past ten years I have been to the casino three times (big spender, I know).  And I have joyously bet my $20, five dollars at a time—first on the penny slots, then the nickel, the quarter, and yesterday I went all out—I tried the dollar slots.

            I could be wrong, but is there any rhyme or reason to the slots? I just sit there and hit the buttons—but I have noticed that if you hit the higher buttons you tend to win more. Now, let us be clear here, you are not going to win a lot with $5 bets but the dollar slot machine actually had one of those arms you could pull—seriously, I had me some fun. Yesterday, I ended up winning back all my $5 bets.

            I did notice that a lot of the people at the casino were a lot more serious than I. They seemed to concentrate on what they were doing, and I am sure they have some method to their madness. My madness is my method when I play the slots. Now, you can laugh all you want, but when I won $20 on the quarter slots, I was happy as could be. But it really doesn’t take a lot to amuse me.

            To be honest, I understand how enticing gambling can be—but I am no high roller. I find I am not attracted to losing money. Nor do I have any talent when it comes to any kind of gambling other than pushing buttons, or in the case of the dollar slots—pulling the arm of the one-limbed bandit. The casino is colourful, noisy, gaudily classy, and a fun place to be if you come out ahead (or even).

            Yesterday was the end of my birthday celebrations—which were numerous and fun. So what do I do to celebrate my birthday? Well, I eat cake—and right now I think I am in cake withdrawal. You can never have too much cake. Well, actually you can—I am finding my jeans just that little bit harder to button up lately. What do I do on my birthday, besides spending (and winning back) $20 at the Casino? I go to bookstores. How boring is that? Actually for me, not boring at all—I have always loved books—and they are just about the best gift anyone can give me—so I always end up with either a gift card or a little gift money with the stipulation that I must spend it on me. So I do, and generally it is at the bookstore.

            So yesterday, I bought three books—a writing book, a book about prayer, and a book just to read—covering the gamut of what I am interested in. Now, this was a big birthday—one I was not looking forward to as I am a bit reluctant to admit that I am 29 now for the 31^st time. But hey, the cat is out of the bag. The eagle has landed. The cows are out of the barn. And you know~it is not that bad.

            I have finally started reading Zoomer magazine, and it is actually a great mag (it is geared to people 45 and up). The first article I read was written about people like me who do not feel or act their age (I have always been a late bloomer, and ever so slightly immature). I have now embraced my age—and as many have pointed out to me, the alternative is not all that attractive (well, it might be, but I am not ready to call it quits quite yet).

            I have not received a discount because of my age yet—but I remember a woman in a writers’ group I belonged to writing about her “first time” getting a discount. She was not ready for it yet, but when she started to see the dollars adding up—it became a “good thing” as Martha would say. So as I continue this journey called life, I am thinking that any discounts I get I can use for my next trip to the casino—where I intend to take life by the horns and play the dollar slots—this time with a ten dollar bet!

This was my newspaper column for this week–I promise not to talk about my birthday again until next year. Bliss is accepting your age at any age – what do you think?

My Street

Silence (Photo credit: requiemm)

Day

Dog barking

Motorcycle revving

Grass growing

Refrigerator humming

Phone ringing

Water running

Toilet flushing

Radio blaring

Night

TV off

Blinds drawn

Lights dimmed

Clock set

Book retired

Sleep calls

Blessed blissful silence…………………

Arf, arf, whoof, whoof ~

Stupid dog!

What breaks up your bliss?

Enough?

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Anxiety takes over

Will it be there?

Will there be enough

To sooth the soul?

Or will it be lacking

Missing, as it were, in action?

Will I come up empty

Will there be sorrow?

I open the door

Reach in

Feel its heft

And know……………

There is enough milk for my coffee.

Sometimes bliss is as simple as having enough milk for your coffee. What simple thing gives you bliss?

Mystery Recipe Saturday

Raspberries (Photo credit: hello pedestrian)

Today I am presenting to you a “found recipe”. As I was looking through a notebook which passes for a recipe book at my house, I found a piece of paper folded into four. Upon opening it, I found a recipe—thus my “found recipe”.

You did not think it would really be any more complicated than that did you—perhaps a mysterious recipe on parchment paper in another language that tells us the secret of the ages; or a recipe for what to drink out of that golden goblet that is the journey end of those trying to find ….

Anyway it is a recipe for a salad dressing. An untitled recipe for a salad dressing which makes it all the more mysterious. So I will name it myself. Drum roll please………….

Raspberry Enchantment

1 finely chopped garlic clove

2 tsp. of raspberry jam

1 ½ tsp. grainy mustard

1 ½ tsp. apple cider vinegar

3 tbsp. of olive oil

There were no instructions, so I assume you measure the ingredients into a container, mix and pour on salad greens (I would choose  mixed baby greens or baby spinach with red onions and slivered almonds and maybe some dried cranberries).

So now, you are prepared for life—a few Saturdays ago I gave you a blueberry dressing and now I have provided you with a raspberry dressing—you are now officially ready for spring!

Poetry Day Two for Me; Day Three for Those Who Started on Time ~ OR ~ Procrastination: My Friend

Don Marquis (Photo credit: hot4sunny)

Warning: This is not a work that has deep meaning—it treats its subject matter with barely a nod to metaphor, simile, or some of those other devices you are supposed to employ if you are a true poet.  And I am not sure why I made Procrastination male and not female—this “poem of sorts”  just chose its own gender.

Yes, I am an apologist for my work. I am a writer–if we did not apologize for our work then we would have to take criticism to heart. It is a defense mechanism and without it, most writers would be weaponless in a world without heart (not really–I just wanted to use a bunch of Ws). Without further ado, or apology (well there may be one more)–my poem du jour:

Procrastination: My Friend

I have fought with procrastination

All my life

I have fought him with every fibre of my being

I am tired of fighting

And have decided to make him my best friend.

At times he has been the bane of my existence

A nuisance, a blight, a curse, and a pest

Saying: “I do my best work at the last minute”

Or: “You cannot rush perfection”

And even: “We are not here for a long time; we are here for a good time”.

I have taken his advice on too many occasions

To my detriment for sure

But I am seeing that Procrastination is not all bad

He may taunt me, cause my hair to turn grey, and give me hives

But many times when I procrastinate

The problem goes away on its own

Or I come up with a better way to deal with it

And I am saved wasted time and effort.

I know that procrastination and I will always do battle

But I am at peace now, and our battles will be short

as he whispers in my ear: “We are not here for a long time; we are here for a good time.”

A timeless if seemingly frivolous message

That  makes traversing this “vale of tears”  a “walk in the park”.

Again apologies for the clichés—but they just seemed to work. And that is what a cliché is all about when you write a poem in less than half an hour.

Can procrastination be bliss, once you have come to terms with it.  Or is it always a blight?

Freakin’ Friday Bliss

Emmy graphic (Photo credit: Alan Light)

No, I have not been nominated for the ABC award (Awesome Blog Award) I assume because of the No Awards message on my blog. Although I still get nominations for other awards, I am just too lazy to accept them because I don’t want to fulfill the obligations (but I must say I am honoured when nominated). I want to celebrate my fellow bloggers as much as the next person, but I have to do it when I am inspired. If it becomes a chore, then it is not as much fun.

Having said all of that, I am going to pretend that I have been nominated because I like the concept of finding a word or phrase that means something to me alphabetically, and because I can think of nothing else to post about today. I just read another blogger’s list and found it quite interesting—but they said it was not as easy as it seems. So here goes:

Beautiful Red (Photo credit: Krug6)

A: Okay, I am stuck already so I will go with Apple or Awesome (a word I never use, but I do eat apples) Wait, wait—Adam—the name of my firstborn

B: Bliss (you know I had to work it in somewhere, and it is my word of the year)

C: Connie—my walking partner—she makes me walk and so that is why I am in as good a shape as I am (you have to take my word for it—no pictures) and Chocolate for my Looney friend and me.

D: Doppelganger—apparently we all have one—mine is a singer in Niagara Falls

E: Excellent – always liked seeing that on a report card; hated Satisfactory

F: Fungus – aren’t mushrooms fungus?

G: Gee, as in gee golly gosh

H: Happy

I: Indigo—such a nice word for blue

J: John—my husband; and my brother John (these are two different Johns–nothing funny here); and while we are at it, Jim, my other brother

K: “Kay”, as in okay

L: Lou (my nickname); and lace

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

M: Money (hey, I’m honest)

N: Nickelback (why do so many people make fun of them – I don’t know their music but their name popped into my mind for some reason—maybe because I like underdogs)

O: Okay—the long form of “kay”

English: Earrings with pearls (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

P: Peggy – my sister and one of my favourite people; and Pearls

Q: I love the letter Q—guess I will go for quirky which is what I think of the letter Q

R: Restaurant—a place where I do not have to cook

S: Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory – my son gave me a bobble head of Sheldon—he is sitting on the shelf just above my head

T: Tyler – my second born; also Thumb is at the forefront of my mind today—cause I have an awful infection in mine and am going to have to seek medical help—hopefully not amputation

U: Understanding (I need this from the people I know and love)

V: Victory

W: Woo Hoo; or we’re as in “we’re not here for a long time, we’re here for a good time”—the hue and outcry of my university days

X: X-men – something my youngest son likes—video game, super heroes, movie—I am not sure—could be one and all

Y: Yes—(self-explanatory)

Z: Zephyr—don’t know why—just like this word

So what does this tell you about me—I love my family; I am quirky; and you do not want to say “no” to me—it can either be “kay”, okay or yes. And I will be trying to get a doctor’s appointment today before my thumb falls off—which is freaking hard to do in my neck of the words—I can hear the receptionist now—”I can give you an appointment in the first week of July, or last day of September, or January 2, 2015.”

Bliss is getting in to see the doctor when you need to—will update you on whether I achieved bliss today. What one thing would give you bliss today?

Oh, and by the way, I agree with the blogger twindaddy who said it was not as easy as it seems. Check out his 26.

Related articles

• Future Bliss (onthehomefrontandbeyond.wordpress.com)

My Family Loves Our Cat

I am thinking about writing a book about the like/dislike relationship I have with the family cat. I got the idea from Richard, Meredith Viera’s husband who just wrote a book called  something like “I Want to Kill the Dog”.  (They were on Dr. Oz  and I did not take notes, thus I may not have the exact title). The dog loves Meredith. The dog does not like Richard. And Meredith admits that the dog has “barking issues”. Richard says the dog never stops barking. So I was inspired. The following offering was written quickly and just off the top of my head and digresses, but I am thinking that part of the  charm of the book will be its digressions. This is just to give you a laugh or two, and is not even in draft form yet.

Tell me–would you read a story about a cat, but really about my family? So here goes nothing:

My family loves our cat. I mean loooooooooves the cat. I do not. Sometimes I like the cat. Sometimes I do not. Like. Him. Much.

Not Kitty Bob but close (Photo credit: katsrcool (Kool Cats Photography)

This morning, for example, after everyone had left the house, the cat wanted to play. Or kill me. I am not sure which. He kept pouncing at my legs and lightly plunging his little sharp cat teeth into my calves. He is “cooling his jets” as it were, in the basement right now. I did not like the game, or the attack. I am still trying to decide which it was.

We named our cat Kitty Bob. Not because we are from the southern United States and like names like Bobby Jo, Jim Bob, or John Boy, though they do have a certain rhythm and lovely cadence. Quite simply, we thought the cat was a female so we named it Kitty (original, right?). Once it was exposed as a boy though we added Bob, so he would not get a complex (you know, the boy named Sue complex). It used to be embarrassing to call the cat from the front door. Now, I don’t care.

Naming things is not something I do particularly well. None of my dolls or stuffed animals that I owned or parented as a kid had names, because I could never decide on a name that was good enough or descriptive of their characteristics. I had a big blue bear and a pink and blue poodle—they were known as Bear and Poodle. I had a teenage doll (my mom never bought me a Barbie or it would have been easy to name)—I called her my “teenage doll”. The only doll I had that had a name was Betsy Wetsy because she came with a name and rather dubious habits of hygiene (she wet her diaper). My sister had a doll called “Tear Drops”—I think she cried (at least she didn’t wet herself—though as a kid I liked feeding my doll water and it leaking out of her.)

American television journalist and a former political advisor, George Stephanopoulos  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

English: George Clooney at the 2009 Venice Film Festival (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Both of my sons have the name George, the youngest as a first name, the eldest as a second name. I do not like the name George particularly (except for George Clooney, George Stephanopoulos, George of the Jungle,…okay so I do like the name George–just not when it is applied to my boys). I call the boys Adam and Tyler. (Both their grandfathers were named George, except my dad went by his second name because he did not like his first name, so it is his fault I do not want to call the boys George.) You would not believe how hard my husband bartered, begged, cajoled,  lobbied for the name George. And I was being just the tiniest bit stubborn. I thought we were going to go home with no name kids. Anyway, the crux of the matter is I have trouble naming things, people, and animals.

Okay, that is it — doesn’t sound like a barnburner best seller does it–oh well, sometimes bliss is going back to the drawing board…………