One thing I can say for Canada is it never gets boring.
This picture was taken May 28th, 2013:
and this one, of the exact same spot was taken this morning February 6th, 2014:
If you look closely, you’ll see the railings on my next door neighbour’s front steps, on the left of both pictures.
I can’t stress enough how much I’m looking forward to May.
In light of recent events, most of which include having my mother live with me for more than a week while she waits for her room in the retirement home to be ready, I’ve been thinking about the saying: “Be nice to your kids – they may be looking after you one day.” And the conclusion I’ve come to is, depending on your nature, chances are it’s not going to matter whether or not they were nice to you. You’ll probably do it anyway.
I moved out of my mother’s home at the tender age of sixteen because I couldn’t stand living with her anymore. We’ve never been what you could call friends – she’s of the old school way of thinking that she’s not my friend, she’s my mother. She said so many times when I was a kid. In more recent times, when she has come to stay with me and the kids it’s been hell – she can’t communicate with Alex and he takes advantage of the fact that she can’t effectively explain to him why he shouldn’t do the annoying things he does: he laughs at her when she’s angry. I, usually, end up breaking up the fight as I might between two siblings.
And yet despite all this, I find myself calm now. I have more patience than I’ve ever had. She’s going through a transition in her life that is probably irreversible – going from living alone for the past 30 years, on and off, to going into a place that is scary in that it’s an unknown entity.
It’s funny the things I’ve found myself being able to handle when put to the test. Whether or not my mother and I have ever been able to get along, let alone live together, is put aside – it’s become irrelevant. The more difficult and challenging things get, the more I’m able to cope with. I just take it one step at a time.
I would wish what I’m going through right now on anyone – and yet I wouldn’t. Yes, it’s hard. But it’s teaching me something – that whatever I may have to deal with, my nature will allow me to deal.
Still, it doesn’t hurt to be nice to your kids. And while you’re at it, help them to discover their true nature.
Most of us have jobs. Some of us have careers. We all have bad days. You know bad days, right? The sort where you stub your toes on anything available that doesn’t move; your hair won’t do what you want it to; you put your shirt on inside out and don’t realize it until you hear the guy in the next cubicle who you hate with a passion, sniggering… One of those days.
I was cruising around Facebook, wondering what in the world I could write about today, and I came across a picture which has no relevance to this post other than that it inspired me to think: would I want to go to the dentist when he’s having a bad day? The answer, still in my head, was a resounding NO. If you’re wondering, yes, it did resound, and yes, just imagining the idea of a sadistic dentist hurt me in ways that my imagination should not be allowed to hurt me.
Then I pondered other professionals with whom I would not want to deal on their baddest days: a mechanic, a chef, a radiologist whose job was to perform a breast x-ray, a journalist doing an interview… the list goes on.
All this led me to wonder if there’s a good job to be doing on a bad day. I suppose if the job is solitary, there’s only oneself to harm. But even as a writer – a job that can’t get any more solitary – I abuse the hell out of my characters.
So, what do you think? Is there a professional you would feel safe with if they’re having a bad day? Can you think of anyone worse than a dentist?
Comment away, lovely people!
Go submit your awesome writings to the Community Storyboard without delay!
Davey Jones: (with an Indian accent so thick, I could barely understand him) Is this Ms. Hill?
Me: (with my usual response) No I’m sorry, she’s not here right now. Can I take a message?
DJ: Are you a family member?
Me: Yes.
DJ: My name is Davey Jones and I’m calling from Windows operating system about your computer.
Me: I don’t have a computer.
DJ: Oh… well maybe you have a laptop?
Me: (looking at two laptops on the table) I don’t have a laptop either.
DJ: Oh… well maybe you have a PC?
Me: I don’t have a computer at all.
DJ: How old are you?
Me: That’s none of your business.
DJ: Are you a virgin?
Me: (hangs up, laughs out loud)
The phone number he called from is 607-723-1168. If you see this number on your call display, and you’re speaking to Davey Jones, please please please! tell him to fuck off on my behalf.
Thank you.
Using my mad paint skills, I drew a badge for everyone who joined me in blogging for Just Jot It January this year! Here, again, is the list of participants:
Margaret (Myas) at A Tragic Lady But No TB.
Willow at Willowdot21
Miss Lou at Miss Lou Aquiring Lore
Bill at The Frisco Kid of Texas
Pamela at Poetry by Pamela.
Cindy at Dreamsinalaska.
Belinda at Idiot Writing.
KG at Books, Music, Photography & Movies
Deborah at Container Chronicles
Susan at Putting in a good word
Randee at A String of Pearls
Congratulations to all! Here’s your badge – let your blog wear it proudly! Just copy it and paste it, like an award, to your page. 🙂
Someone, not that long ago, asked me what the difference is between blogging and journaling. I had to think about it. I love blogging because it allows me to put in black and white my thoughts, my feelings. I can show you (my followers) what I see, both by description and in pictures. I can share as much or as little of my life as I wish.
It’s like having a box – a full box – that only I can peek into. I can release the contents of my box or I can keep them hidden. There are things in my box which I will never tell – that’s one of the drawbacks of using my real name. But if I was to go undercover of a pseudonym, would I share then? Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes I think about saying a certain thing and I’ll even sometimes type it. But then I’ll see it in the preview and I’ll cringe, or I’ll just shake my head and go back to remove it.
I think that’s the difference between blogging and journaling. If I was writing a journal I might leave it all in. All the dirt, the stuff that makes me red in the face and the things that I don’t want my friends and family to read. Whether it’s personal to me or personal to them, I don’t want them to know everything I’m thinking. Who would?
I also love my audience. Not necessarily because I want to be read, but because I enjoy the interaction. I don’t blog for likes (I know I’ve mentioned this before, but this is stream of consciousness – shoot me), I blog for our shared experience. I write to know I’m not alone and to let others know they’re not alone in our experiences of life.
We’ve all felt cold, we’ve all known pain, whether it be physical or emotional – we all know what water tastes like. Can we explain it all? No. But if enough words go out there, maybe, just maybe, a sentence or two will connect with us, and so we can say to one another: Yes! That’s exactly it!
That’s the best feeling of all.
I’m glad I blog. I have a journal as well on LiveJournal, which only about three people read. It’s also fun. It’s more personal – but I don’t have to worry about anyone I know coming across it.
I love my followers here. I wouldn’t give them up – not even for a journal.
P.S. I’m not online today, but I’ll answer all your comments when I come back tomorrow night.
P.P.S. Don’t forget to read my fiction blog posts daily, at http://lindaghillfiction.wordpress.com/ . Thanks!
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