Life in progress

Category Archives: Life


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Am I Right? – Stream of Consciousness Saturday (Write/Right)

There’s nothing quite like pizza for breakfast. Straight out of the box in the fridge and into my mouth. And don’t tell me it’s not the right way to eat a pizza.

But… I’m a hypocrite. Although I can’t stand having someone tell me what is the right or wrong way to enjoy my food, I often tell my best friend, John, just that. I mean seriously, just because it’s not the right way for me (or most of the other people on the planet) to eat peanut butter… on a sandwich with a slice of processed cheese… should I be telling him it’s not right?

Damnit, yes! It’s wrong, plain and simple. It’s like putting ketchup in your chicken noodle soup, or eating baked beans smothered with maple syrup. (I’ll get some flack from the Quebecois on that one, particularly this time of year.)

We all have our oddities when it comes to food. What are yours?

 

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See this week’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday, and join in! Click the link here: https://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/03/28/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-2914/


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How Did you Pronounce That?

At the mall this morning I walked into a shop, where the clerk behind the counter was speaking on the phone. Her name, according to her name tag, is Theresa Thomas.  I stood before her and she held up her hand to indicate that she was almost finished with her call, so I did what anyone would do. I eavesdropped.

As it turns out, Ms. Thomas was talking to someone who wanted her name. This is how her half of the conversation went:

Her: Yes, that’s right.

pause

Her: It’s Thomas. Right. T H O M A S.

pause while I thought to myself, Couldn’t they have figured that out? She pronounced the ‘th’ like one would say the word ‘throw.’

Her: Thanks. Bye.

Her: (to me) Can I help you? (or at least that’s what I think she said.  I was distracted by the ingenuity of this woman’s parents and the fantasy of  how she might pronounce her first name.)

Her: Can I help you?

Me: OH, yes…

And so it went.

Thufferin’ thuccotash, some people, eh?

This brought to mind a place I worked as a secretary/receptionist, long, long ago in the time before children. The company’s salesman, Mike Daoust, insisted on making sure everyone knew how his name was properly pronounced.

“‘Doe,'” he told people. “Just like a deer.”

So one day I was sitting at my desk, shuffling papers and trying to act like I was working, when a man walked in the door looking for Mike.

“Can I tell him who’s here to see him?” I asked the broad, red-faced man who streamed with sweat across from me at the desk.

My finger poised over the intercom, I couldn’t believe my luck.

I smiled and pressed the button, “Mike, there’s someone here to see you.”

“Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s Ray, a drop of golden sun.”

I was tired of that job anyway.


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At a Loss for Words

Where’s your communication book? I’ll ask your teacher to tell you.

It’s the most common phrase that is signed in my household, aside from, I love you, and Go to sleep already.

The problem is, of course, that my son Alex doesn’t ‘speak’ the same language as I do, and sometimes I’m the one at a huge disadvantage. I, whose life consists of putting words together to make meanings clear, am unable to communicate with my own offspring. What kind of sick force in the universe came up with this irony?

Tonight I had to try to explain to Alex why he wasn’t able to eat from my plate. It’s something that I allow him to do on occasion–not something I allowed my other two sons to do–since he doesn’t eat much more than one piece of anything, being that he’s tube fed. But now, since I’m not sure I’m completely over this bug, it’s a no-no. Germs are not something I often talk about, and so once again I’m faced with my lack of knowledge, and my incompetence in being fluent in American Sign Language.

Can you fathom the frustration at not being able to say the simplest of things? With a hearing child, the conversation would be over in four or five sentences. “I’m sick, and if you eat from my plate you might get sick. Why? Because there are these things called germs – tiny things like bugs crawling around in my food. You still want some? I thought not.”

Instead? It’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m grateful that I have the resource of the Deaf school to back me up when I need it, and especially that they are teaching my son to communicate with his peers. What scares me are the stories I was told by a few different Deaf people of their hearing families – that they grew apart. The Deaf have their own community. In fact “Deaf” is capitalized when the word is used to describe a person in the same way American is – because it denotes that very community.  It’s only by virtue of the fact that Alex has a global intellectual delay that I might have to care for him well into adulthood.

In the meantime, I’ll keep trying to learn his language. Because once he’s twenty-one and has to leave school, I won’t have a communication book to write in. And I’ll be at a complete loss for words.


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Down For the Count

29. Count ’em. I slept for 29 hours yesterday and into this morning. It seems I caught the dreaded stomach flu bug that’s been going around hereabouts for the last couple of weeks. I just hope I don’t give it to the kids. Luckily, they weren’t here yesterday. Who knows what I’ve left it on though.

I’m feeling better today. Coffee is my gauge – if I’m able to drink it, I’m good. And I did. So yippee for me.

Thanks to everyone who commented on my blog. I’ll get back to you once I’ve done everything I should have been doing yesterday. The worst part is, I had a weekend off and didn’t even look at my manuscript. Damn it.


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The Healing Power of Music

Music has a place in the hearts of many—one might even say the majority of people; it’s what we listen to in our cars when we’re driving as fast as we can (legally of course 😉 ); it’s what we employ to escape the doldrums of life; it’s our background noise; it’s the panacea that allows our souls to heal.

But what of the artists who create it? We treat them these days as though the owe us. We steal from them, and the internet allows us to without reserve. Think about that…

That’s not what this post is about, however. I want to talk about the quality of the recordings we hear in this age of digital everything. Have you ever heard anything on vinyl? Do you remember why it is preferable, even though you want to preserve the cover, to take off the plastic wrap from the outer sleeve of a 33 and a third record?

I am so happy I kept all my records. I have here, in my house, the very first rock album I ever received–Christmas of 1977–“Frampton Comes Alive.” I have many of the CD versions of the old albums I still possess–“Equinox” by Styx, “A Night at the Opera” by Queen” (which I most gratefully received for Christmas last year as a limited edition vinyl copy)

Night

and I’m able to do a direct A to B comparison. Believe me when I say that if listening to a CD is great, experiencing the same on vinyl, is like being in the same room as the band as they record it.  Where digital is a flat wall of sound, vinyl surrounds you like you’re standing inside the music. It penetrates. It removes all other thoughts. It allows you to be fully in the moment, where no cares can invade. It is healing.

If you ever have the opportunity to listen to vinyl, do. If you ever have the chance to buy a turntable, do. Vinyl is coming back. Embrace it.

Slash


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What’s My Line? – Stream of Consciousness Saturday (Line)

I was sitting in front of the bank manager’s desk yesterday, with the bright March sun shining right in my eyes when she asked me, “Are you still a ‘homemaker’?”

“Yes,” I replied. But that’s not really what I was thinking. What I wanted to say was, “no, I’m a writer.”

But then, I figured she’d ask me who I was working for, and I didn’t, of course, want to tell her I didn’t work for anyone but myself.

It’s questions like this that make a thousand thoughts run through your head at once. All the ‘what ifs’ and ‘why don’t I just come out and say it?’ and ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ It’s funny how fast the brain can work in these moments. The decisions that we make in a split second, some of which can change our lives forever. And what’s scary is, how many times in, say, a year, these split-second decisions come across our desk, our plates or our lives. I can’t remember how many times I’ve said to myself, if only I’d said this, or that. Whether it was something that would have altered my life to a degree that I might not have recognized myself in ten years, or whether it was merely something witty, those moments pass us by like so many lost opportunities and baseballs we know we should have been able to catch if only we weren’t afraid of the pain of impact.

One day I’ll be able to change that decision. I’m going to say, “I’m a writer,” and I’m going to smile broadly AND I’m going to say I work for myself. One day.

Part of ‘Stream of Consciousness Saturday’ (SoCS) – this week’s prompt here: https://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/03/21/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-2214/

Please join in! It’s open to everyone!


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Oh So Randomly Random

If you’re over the age of 40 and you have the opportunity to buy your teenager the same model of cell phone as you, do it. Within a week, he or she will know more about its quirks and abilities than you’ll ever want to look up on your own. Just don’t get them one that’s the same colour as yours… you’ll not want to know what they’re talking to their friends about by text any more than you’ll want them seeing the pictures you take, if you know what I mean. 😉

Since my fiction blog is coming up to a year old, I’ve decided to completely revamp it – new theme, new colours, new name even. When I do, I’ll take it offline, so if you can’t find it this weekend, you’ll know why. And if you can’t find it ever, it’s because I’ve changed the name. (Makes note to self to schedule a grand re-opening.)

We had spring for about 10 minutes this morning! It’s snowing now.

Do you ever get a comment on an old post and have to go back to read it to see what you said? Does that mean your memory is bad, or that you post too much? Just wondering.

OH oh oh! I found the CD I lost! It was in a pile of papers in my kitchen. I found it when I was looking for something else. 😀 To celebrate, everyone who told me I’d find it, gets one of the oatmeal cookies I found in the same pile.

So I have the weekend off. The kids are going with their dad tomorrow night and coming back Sunday after dinner. I have a freebie at the cinema… and I have Netflix. Any suggestions as to what movie I should watch? Anyone want to come with? Popcorn’s on me. 😀

 

 


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My Child

There is a seriousness in your bones, deep below your happy exterior. Your laughter flakes off you like dried rose petals; it falls all around, coating everyone with your outermost joy.

Does it matter? No. Not to those who you meet in the street, or those you entertain. They feel blessed to be within your circumference of notice.

But to me you are an enigma. So fragile, and yet so strong.

And unlike those who are lucky enough to feel the warmth radiating from your presence for but a moment, I would die a thousand deaths without you.


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Communication is Fragile

I had a dream last night in which I traveled back in time, to the ’70s I believe, to speak to high school girls about what it would be like, in the future, to be able to communicate from anywhere. You’d think I’d have had a cell phone in my hand. But that’s not what I had.

In my dream I was carrying a piece of paper. It was like a receipt and it had words and numbers written on it. Strangely enough I remember having to go to a payphone to use it… but what purpose the paper served is beyond me. It was a dream.

When I woke up, however, it left me wondering about the fragility of communication. The paper was nothing but symbolic. What if I lost it? (The piece of paper or the ability to communicate – you decide.) What if I suddenly couldn’t read it because it got damaged? How much did it cost to obtain it? It was a receipt, after all.

Then I started thinking, what if I had five minutes to tell everyone I loved everything I needed to tell them? Could I be succinct? I think that’s the one positive thing the language of texting has provided us with… a shorthand. And it’s such a personal thing as well. Only if I’m in a hurry will I spell ‘you,’ ‘u,’ and everyone close to me knows this, and so I am communicating two things at once.

But what if we could all speak the way the great authors write? To be able to communicate a feeling – ‘All the world’s a stage…’ What if stuff like that just rolled off our tongues as easily as we wrote it? What if we could put real body language and facial expressions into our emails? Speaking from the perspective of someone who actually CAN communicate in two languages simultaneously (spoken English and American Sign Language), it would be wonderful indeed.

And yet do I feel as though, if I had five minutes left in this world to say everything I wanted to, I’m afraid I’d be at a loss for words.


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The Big Bang Theory

Okay, so I was sitting on my bed this morning at 6:17 (I know this because I was changing the clock on my old cell phone that I use just for its alarm, only it didn’t go off because I forgot to change it after we went to Daylight Savings) and I was already mumbling miserably to myself because I got up late, when there came a big bang from above.

Now one thing you have to know is that my house started off as a bungalow, once upon a time, but someone decided a two bedroom house wasn’t big enough, so they opened up the attic and put three more bedrooms and a half bath up there. I sleep in one of those three bedrooms. So the bang I heard was pretty close to where my ears were located at 6:17 this morning.

Since there are no windows upstairs on the front of the house to look out of, I came downstairs to look outside, half expecting to see a massive tree branch sitting on my front lawn. And yet nothing has disturbed the pristine condition of the snow. Failing that, and not wanting to put my boots on and trudge outside in my pjs, I texted my friend John, who was on his way over for breakfast to ask if he could look up and see if there was anything still sitting on the roof.

He came in and the conversation went something like this:

Me: Did you see anything?

John: Nope. There’s nothing up there.

Me: I wonder what made that noise then…

John: Could it have been an animal do you think?

Me: Well if it was a squirrel, someone must have flung it pretty hard.

John: And I guess you’d expect to see roadkill out there…

So there you have it. Our best guess at the big bang theory. Unless, of course, leprechauns have reindeer…