mischief managed

I wish I had the energy to get up to mischief. I could stand a little more play, a little more tease and tempt. Some laughter just because. I miss the mystery of an impish grin. The secret knowing, feeling the light dance behind my eyes.

It’s not the quelling that’s the issue – it’s managing to have the mischief in the first place. The mad hatter has been MIA for too long. Maybe I should hire a mischief manager, someone to ensure that an adequate proportion of the day includes mischief and merriment. What an awesome job description that would be to write.

BB2 has always been a Mischief Manager

obsession

Obsession was the prompt, so as I went about my day today - a slow day just for me - I pondered ... and I've come to the conclusion that I don't have an obsession. I have things that matter to me. I have worn some grooves in old records. I have things that flash into my mind - sometimes more often, sometimes with a longer time away - and then move on. 

I don't obsess. But I do think. And today, on the anniversary of my birth, I thought about all I have to be grateful for. Each of you, whether I know you or not, are on that list. Thanks for sharing this day with me. 

puzzle

I bet there are a few people out there – the ones who are in on the joke – who thought I was going to write about the puzzle Shiney sent me for my birthday. And while it is quite a ... um ... what's the word ... ah,  special puzzle, there’s another puzzle that seems to be stuck in my brain. This puzzle is more along the lines of ‘why don’t I do the things I know I should and sometimes even want to do to have the life/body I long for?’

I know I’m not alone in this. At all. And, let me reiterate once again for those who forget – I’m deeply grateful for the amazing life I do have. But, that nagging question continues to echo. Where’s the passion? Where’s that unique piece that all the other pieces fit into and around? 

That’s the puzzle that needs solving. I’m too much a child of the 80’s to be interested in going off and ‘finding myself.’ I’m right here. I just wonder which couch cushion my missing piece is hiding under.

So ... this is the original image of the puzzle Shiney sent
me "Soul of the Unicorn." Thanks, Shine. And by 'Thanks'
I really mean "I'll get you back," XO 

envy

Envy, like most of life’s misery, comes from comparison. Tonight at my knitting circle, which is meant to be a fun way to get out, meet a few new women and strengthen relationships with others, and learn a new skill, envy crept in as emerald as my Peruvian wool. The PinUp is learning so much faster than I – she started a cable stitch tonight. I’ve yet to successfully purl. UberCoach is almost a skein ahead of me on our similar circular projects. I ripped mine out once there. Once more at home.

In truth, none of my misery has to do with what’s going on out there. It all has to do, as always, with that relentless voice in my head – why bother. You can’t do this. You are an ideas girl, not practical, no good with your hands ... and on ... and on ...

I’m having fun. I may never knit a cable knit sweater, or even anything I’m proud enough of to show to others. But I’m having fun, I’m spending time with great women. And, for at least a little time, I’m doing something new with my hands and my brain. I hope I can remember to have that be enough.

So far I'm best at the shopping part of knitting :) 

playing the melody

The piano sits to the side of our kitchen – the only room it would fit in when the weary movers saw our narrow ‘character house’ entrance. Mostly it is just there – the holder of space and memories. It has been important to me since I was 5, and yet, for the most part, it sits ignored.

I have the best of intentions to do more than just wrangle out a roll or two on odd occasions – Christmas, family visits, new friends who haven’t seen it before. I want to do more. To accompany my picked-out melody, a big-note easy ‘The Rose’ with harmonies, some bass, maybe even some fabulous deep rhythms.

snow

I almost hate to admit it, what with all my posts of year-round flowers and being an escaped northern girl, but I’ve really been missing the snow this year. I miss waking up to that particular quality of silence only a new blanket of snow provides. I miss snow days - and their pretence that you can’t go out, when really it’s just a great excuse to stay in. 

I miss catching snowflakes on my tongue, bringing snow creatures to life on the lawn, sledding and skiing and that that first tentative step that mars a pristine world. I miss lobbing a soggy ball at a loved one, and squealing in terror when they return the favour. And I miss warming up afterwards, with my toes curled under and my hands wrapped round a mug of cocoa.

When STG and I visited Shiny this summer, we did it with an eye to seeing if life over the mountains was a life we could live together. I remember living there and the feeling of isolation in the winter – of being nearly cut off from the world be treacherous mountain passes. 

But now, in my bone-wearniness, that isolation has its own appeal. Especially when we’d be in such comforting company.

advertisement

It started with an advertisement. Or two advertisements, to be precise: 

Pick me – I’m awesome. I love bikes, and stuff and ... some other awesome things, but mostly bikes. When I’m not awesome, I stop and remember to be awesome again. 

Pick me – I’m bright and bubbly and smart and sassy. I love music, and words, and general awesomeness. 

And we did. I picked him, and he picked me, and here we are two years later. I’m a sucker for great marketing – a well designed wine label, a catchy advertising jingle, an inspired window display. In another life I’d be a marketing guru. Or maybe in a previous life I was Peggy Olson, but with better morals.

I’m a sucker for great marketing ... and I'm oh so good with that. 

to dream

It seems a little bit upside down that being with the man of my dreams has meant, in specific realms, leaving some dreams behind. When I was a single woman, and deeply entrenched in what I believed about being a single woman, I had the dreams only a single woman can have – kinda like that whole ‘when I was a child, I spoke as a child’ thing.

Yes, I believed I would have a relationship, but a limited relationship, one in which we both lived our own separate lives and pursued our separate dreams, coming together at mutually agreeable moments – like orbiting bodies whose paths regularly (not to mention passionately and supportively) crossed. One like the one I'd already had for so long, always wishing it was more. 

It’s a bit of a ... conundrum. I definitely still have a lot of the dreams I did two years ago, and there’s no reason they have to die. But there are also some empty spaces, or maybe, more accurately, some blank slates – places where I didn’t dare to dream, and dreams for 2 that I never explored, yet ones that I hope now I get the chance not just to dream, but to fulfill.

Dream a little dream of we

do not disturb

It’s an important thing to remember, in this year of having more life, to now and then unplug. Last weekend was a great reminder of that – girl time, spa time, reading late at night time, sleeping in time, hanging out in pyjamas time. I literally put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the hotel room door – just because I could.

Sometimes, I also have to remember to set up an energetic ‘do not disturb’ sign. It’s too easy to meander down the rabbit hole and deplete myself of time and energy on blog a, blog b, pinterest, facebook, twitter, and whatever the next thing is (knitting sites, it would seem). Once this blog commitment is complete, I will be unplugging one day a week – tv too, just to find out – what happens in life when I take a moment to sit back and unfurl.

tropical

I gotta say that as pleasant as our winter has been sitting here in the cozy cradle of Canada's left coast, I am craving the hot sun, cool water, warm breezes, fruity drinks, and sandy toes of a real holiday. One that requires my passport and a whole lot of sunscreen.  

Fueling this hunger is my mom’s blog, complete with pictures of their current two month residence in Mexico - with a lap pool, and a deck overlooking the Pacific. My parents are adventurers; they love to immerse themselves in the countries they visit. They take unusual, off-the-tourist-track holidays. And they taught their daughters to do the same.

All the imported coconut, pineapple, and mango, all the spa visits, all the submerging myself in escapist fiction can’t make up for the feel of sun on my face. Soon. We will meet again soon, sunshine.

magic

This was a day of dead batteries, and dropping the ball, and appointments in the middle of nowhere that provide no new information. And, oh, another dead battery. And cancelled girl time. 

However, this was also a day for an impromptu dinner picnic for two in my office. A day of perfect tulips waiting patiently when I eventually arrived home. It was a day to learn a new skill and to complete my first knitting project, and to let go. It was a day to be taken care of, to accept a ride, to be grateful life wasn’t worse. To smile, and be surprised to find yourself smiling. 

This was an ordinary day, full of ordinary magic - some white, and some black. May tomorrow be its better.

fairy tales

Once upon a time. We spin tales, tall and small, to make our lives more interesting, less humdrum. We recycle old stories and make them more palatable to our tender sensitivities; we draw archetypes, and force ourselves to fit into them – Cinderella, Prince Charming, Evil Stepmother, magical foundling. Our stories add pixie dust, golden moments, drama.

But, do we really need them? In trying to enliven our lives, do we miss the miracle of the every day? Does a tender moment kiss need to cast a spell? Is there something more perfect than a mundane thank-you? Once upon a time – it might be right this moment.

rejection

So I'm sitting in a hotel room drinking champagne cocktails, wearing my pj's, watching Sex and the City 2, and wanting to do anything other than blog. I have to blog - only because I said I would, and because I have for more than 60 days, and, you know, because I said I would. 

But some days, days when the day was perfect and gentle and lovely in itself, and I don't want to analyze it or look ahead but simply to be grateful for the day that was, I don't want to blog. The prompt doesn't fit. The timing is off. 

And so you get this - my not blogging post - instead of whatever lame insight into rejection I might or might not have written. 

Goodnight. XO 

waiting

Today I went early to an appointment at my favourite spa. I was just killing time anyway, so why not wait where there’s herbal tea, soothing music, fresh fruit, and an atmosphere designed entirely to make one feel at ease.

As I sat sipping my tea, I got really clear about why I was there. It wasn’t just a frivolous way to kill some time and spend some cash – I’ve spent a lot of time, energy and joy this past while being mean to my body. I thought about my hair that I neglect because I do not have a body that deserves a crowning glory. I thought about the clothes I haven't bought because I don't want them in this size. And I thought about what a great job my body does, despite my negligence. Today was an opportunity to be loving to it instead.

I don’t need to hate myself for what my body is and isn’t. I don’t need to deprive and punish it into being some other body. This year, it’s time for a little kindness and gentleness, and that started today, after a pause that refreshed and a chance to clear my head.

tower

The name of the Lord is a strong tower. The righteous run in to it, and they are safe.
Proverbs 18:10

It’s a song, and a Bible verse, and what comes to mind when I read the ‘prompt’ tower. But writing about my faith is always problematic for me – mostly because my faith is one of the most personal and therefore the most protected areas of my life.

I have another experience with strong towers – that of sealing myself inside one, metaphorically. It’s one of those things that I did for a long time without recognizing that I did it, and without being aware how little it really serves me.

This year, it’s time to come down from that latter tower, and maybe spend a little more time in the first one.

secret

Polished, cherished, warm and bursting fresh and green again my lips. I covet and hoard them – I savour their teasing tangy sweet taste on my tongue, feeling them click against my closed teeth, stopping their escape.

There are few greater feelings than being trusted with another’s precious secret, with a knowing of them that others don’t have. And even fewer bitter feelings than having your secrets so devalued that they’re flung about.

The problem with secrets is that once they are spent they cannot be gotten back. Once the trust of them us shattered, it cannot be repaired. The taste and pleasure of them is all in the keeping.

sacrifice

When is a sacrifice not a sacrifice? It seems like we have such a culture of whining martyrs who are always having others take from them and have no say in their own lives. I've been accused of that myself, or worse - doing something to help others only because it looks good. But being a martyr and sacrifice really have little connection in our 'want it all right now no consequences' world.

So, I've been thinking. What if a sacrifice wasn't a sacrifice? What if giving up the Cheezies in my desk, and the after work snack, and the morning coffee gave me so much healthy and svelte vitality that it never felt like 'giving up?' Well that's just interesting enough to look into.

Cheezies ... they can hide, but I will find them. 

danger

The tail of the dead rat wrapped back past its head, right paws frozen in the air, black eye open and unblinking. It seemed an omen. I wanted to take a picture, but stopped for fear of who would see and mock me.

Later that day BB1 came over, buried it carefully, expressed his sympathy for its loss. I still saw it as an omen. Without it’s tail, would it be less worrisome? Without stories of historic plagues, and fairy tales, and urban legends, would it seem friendlier?

A rat lay by my car - dead and harmless - an omen of nothing worse than my own careless thoughts.

deep in thought

Most deep thoughts have been thunk. Even 3,000 years ago poor Solomon, he of the mighty wisdom we should all aspire to, lamented there was nothing new under the sun. And after 50+ days of daily blogging, as well as multiple posts written for other projects, I must admit ... deep thoughts are feeling sadly far away today.

And so, in place of deep thoughts, I offer you the softness of a clematis blossom gone to seed. I don’t know how, with the seaside winds that they are subjected to, these beauties have managed to hang together all fall and halfway through winter, but here they are in all their frosted glory.

Enjoy.

sport

If you asked 20 different people for a word to describe me, 'sporty' wouldn't be among the list of adjectives you'd end up with. To be honest, it’s also not what comes to mind for myself. 

And yet, I like being sporty. It always seems like a bad idea before hand, and ends up being a whole lot of fun. I’ve enjoyed team sports, I’ve done well at team sports, and I’ve gotten a lot out of participating – at various sports way back in the day, basketball in my university days, dragon boating more recently.

Mostly though, I tend more toward solitary activities – riding, kayaking, swimming, yoga – not wanting anyone but myself to be let down when I fail. Despite a history of doing well, it seldom occurs to me that I might not fail. I guess that's something to work on this year ... more confidence, more sport, more fun.  

childhood

When I was 12 (I might have been 14) and started getting migraines, the kooky ‘best you can get in the North’ doctor my Mom took me to diagnosed me with trying too hard (good grades, community service, etc) and having lost the spirit of whimsy and joy that a child should have. He prescribed something akin to ‘lighten up.’ 

While I still think the man was a quack, I can kind of see his point. There are certain activities and items that, when I see or play with them now, invoke instant childhood: the colourful explosion of a DoodleArt poster, a rousing game of Scrabble, making snow angels in powder dry snow.

Maybe the kooky doctor was right. Maybe I do need a prescription for the kind of imagination that turn a hike into a quest and a blanket and cushions into a fort. Here’s to more play this year, and the freedom to feel the wind in my face. 

creation

The fun thing about creation is that every single one of us get to play with it every single day. We get to make a plan and then make it happen. We get to say what’s so, and experience the world that way.

Sometimes, every now and then, we might forget that we get to do that. Sometimes it seems like the way the world is, the way life goes, is the function of some external force. Sometimes malevolent, and sometimes beneficent, but always outside.

But the truth is, every day, every moment, we get to play at creation. Right now, I’m smiling and creating this wee post, to share a little peace of my mind with you. Because I can.

4:29 pm

Some days the prompts just don’t prompt. I can see what they are going for, maybe, with the 4:29 pm prompt, but it just doesn’t relate for me. Yes, technically my job is 8:30 – 4:30 and for many people that 4:29 pm prompt is the dawn of freedom. But, there are few enough days when I actually start at 8:30 and end at 4:30. And, my job is not some horrible life sentence I’ve imposed upon myself.

So. There’s little meat for me in this prompt. Yes, I suppose that someday I have a dream of not having a job, but of having streams of income that come from being out and about in the world spreading the grammatically-correct word. But, for now, here we are at 125 words, the blog commitment fulfilled, regardless of the lack of inspiration in the prompt.

YES!

photo

I try. I really do. But time and time again, what I see when I look through the camera is not at all what comes out when I download the pictures. It was better when I used my film camera – each precious frame had to be a winner, since each frame was bought and paid for, and would cost even more to develop. I choose carefully, and still discarded too many precious moments. 

I see so much beauty in the world. I wish I had a visual way to translate that. I keep trying. But mostly, I know that my talent is in painting with words. Perhaps it’s time to accept that. Perhaps, even, to celebrate that.

[NO PHOTO ... 

FOR OBVIOUS REASONS]

two roads

Some days are tougher than others – whether it’s the monkey on my back, or the alien on my face, some days it’s just tougher to see my way clear. There may be two roads. There are likely many more. But today, I see no roads. I only see ruts. The same mistakes. The same track grinding away under the same worn out, broken-down tires. The same slipping traction, sliding backwards, hoping against hope for some bump that gets things moving in the right direction again. And hoping like hell that that direction includes the fog lifting, the view clearing, and two roads. Or more. Or even just one.

night

Oh, what a night. A night of dancing, of friendship, of great food and revelry. A night of sharing ourselves, learning about others, and crashing at long last into a fluffy white bed with a view of the city. It was a night like many others, though too few of late.

Last night was the annual staff party for my employer. STG went and had an unqualified great time, but as I drifted off into exhausted sleep last night, I recognized that these were feelings I’d had after many good nights before – nights that I intend to have much more often this year. It's a part of the 'be more' program - to be more & have more FUN!

hope

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Hebrews 11:1

It’s not hope that’s been lacking – to stop hoping would be as unnatural as to stop breathing or jumping to conclusions or get hurt feelings over every little nothing. But when you have no faith, hope doesn’t bring joy, it just brings more emptiness.

Without the faith that ‘things hoped for’ can actually happen, hope is a nasty self-abusive taunt. So, this year I’m going to try having a little more faith. Maybe things can get better. I keep telling the BBs that. Maybe it’s time I start believing it to. Not just to dream, but to take the actions consistent with those dreams coming true.

illusion

It’s a little known un-secret that back in grad school I enjoyed critical theory – and the broad strokes of philosophy – nearly as much as I did the literature it helped illuminate. 

Today I couldn’t tell you any more than a meme’s worth of info about the differences between Foucault and Derrida, or whether French existentialism is or is not more understandable than British idealism. I dabbled, I did not swim in the deep waters.

But what I do remember, what sticks with me and helps me make sense of a world that so frequently appears inscrutable, is that sometimes what we think is really isn’t. Life is full of illusion – subject to whims and fancies and butterflies fluttering wings on the other side of the world. 

Cause and effect. Interpretation. Reality. They only exist when we say they do, and even then only in fun house mirrors.

what if

... love is enough
... forgiveness was offered before it was requested
... silence wasn’t mistaken for acquiescence
... actions – and interactions – were motivated by love rather than righteousness
... we asked more often than we assumed
... everything that is is perfect the way it is
... chocolate really did make things better
... we stopped judging each other’s character by our pant size
... people were truly responsible for their actions and their inactions
... people said what the meant and did what they said
... I could get paid to sit at home in my jammies and read novels
... we talked to rather than about each other

standing still

There’s a difference between standing still and standing my ground. I’ve been doing the first for too long – cemented in place by fear that any step I took would only make things worse. But, this year I’ll be moving forward and letting go. Culling the dead weight of the past, of friendships that aren’t, and dreams that withered on the vine. And I’ll be creating new dreams. Learning new skills. Taking old gifts to new heights. And cherishing the many great friends that are.

Standing my ground might challenge me a little. I might have to set some boundaries that have been missing. I’ve got my fingers crossed that learning to set, and then respect, boundaries will open up something brand new for me. Here’s hoping.

solitude

New Year's Day. Time to start looking forward after 40 posts looking back. Last year held its share of solitude, even in the midst of friends and family. When I’m depressed, I often get to a place where I feel the need to un-people for a while, partly for my own good and partly for theirs.

But it’s a new year now. A year to rebuild. A year to shake off the darkness. It’s time for more, and less. A time for more of what nourishes me – foods, activities, people – and less of what drains me.

It’s time to relax. Time to enjoy. Time to focus on the oh-so-much-good that I don’t ever experience a lack. Time to move, and make music, and savour. And, every now and then, still a little time for solitude, of the less isolating kind. Soft. Gentle. Happy. Healthy. 

2013

Be soft.
Do not let the world make you hard. 
Do not let the pain make you hate. 
Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. 
Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, 
you still believe it to be a beautiful place. 
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

I have not read a lot of Kurt Vonnegut Jr's writing, and so I have to take it on faith that the people of the Internet are correct that he wrote this. Whoever the author, this is my only resolution for 2013.

Happy New Year.