Why can’t it be bedtime all day?
Trying not to be noticed
It’s the only time he plays quietly by himself…
Bedtime
Category Archives: Life
Adventures on my Paper Route – Spring is … bent
Well, the good news is my laptop didn’t get stolen. Right, I should probably start at the beginning.
Upon stepping out my front door this morning with my papers I was pleasantly surprised. Not only has it warmed up a few degrees, the sun was coming out and … YAY! so are the flowers at the front of my house. I went back inside to get my sunglasses and my camera and, newspaper bag over my shoulder, set my glasses down absentmindedly to take a few shots of the new spring blossoms.
Lovely, yes?
So, both satisfied and happy with myself I stood up and reached into my pocket to find my sunglasses. Not there. Feeling a little sick I looked around my feet. Noth…. what’s that under my foot? Oh look!
Bent sunglasses!
So, cussing along my way, I finished off my paper route, but not without stopping by one of my customers – a dry cleaning business where the TV is always on – to find out that we’re to expect 15cm of snow Thursday and another 10cm on Friday. That’s a total accumulation of 10″ for my friends who haven’t caught up to the rest of the planet. You know who you are 😉
And then, to top it all off, I arrived home, put the key in the keyhole and…. locked the door. In my giddy glee I forgot to lock the house up.
The good news is… yeah. I have something to blog with.
Adventures on my Paper Route – The adventure just isn’t
This is more of a rant than anything else. My paper route is becoming an adventure in monotony. Why, you ask?
Take a look at this elm at the front of my house:
what do you see?
Bare branches, right? No leaves. What the hell? It’s April 3rd and I’m still waiting for one day when I’m at least tempted not to put on mukluks, a parka, a hat, my hood, gloves and underneath all that my fur-lined liberty bodice!
So what’s the deal here? And who do I complain to?
Inspiration
Why is it that the harder you look for inspiration the less likely it is you’ll find it? I think that’s what separates the wanna be writers from the actual writers. ‘Wanna’ just doesn’t cut it.
Today I want to write. Okay yes, I was inspired to write this, but could I come up with an idea for a story? Not a chance.
Distractions don’t help. Which is why I get antsy when I know I have to entertain people – even my kids. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids more than anything. But writing isn’t just a past-time for me, it’s a need. Particularly when I do get inspired by something. But today it’s the worst of both worlds.
I want to wanna…
A sad state
It astounds me sometimes how holidays have changed for me. As I child I looked upon them with such anticipation – with the same degree of excitement as I see in my youngest son now. He is filled with glee at the thought of hunting for chocolate eggs, even though he won’t eat them. So what has changed? Why am I not able to see life as I did, through the eyes of a child?
I think it’s only because I choose not to. The changes that occur within myself I have the choice to modify. Ah, the disillusionment of adulthood. A sad state of affairs indeed.
I need a glass of wine.
Published on VenusBlogs.com
I had an article I wrote published today on VenusBlogs.com.
Flying the Coop
I remember the day he was born – or rather the week he was born. He was my first. My water broke slowly over the period of that week and I slept so little that I was able to read a 1700 page novel in three days. When it was time to push (sans epidural – they didn’t offer them in the province of Quebec at the time) I did so for hours before they told me a physical defect in the base of my spine would make it impossible to deliver naturally.
You can find the entire article here.
House of dreams
In my recurring dream there is a house. It can’t always be found. Sometimes it’s in the city, hidden like the one in Harry Potter, squeezed between two others, sometimes I can only find it from the back. Sometimes it’s a barn and sometimes it’s just a vacant old thing with beer bottles scattered everywhere. Sometimes it’s in the country, looking out over acres and acres of landscape through large picture windows on the upper floor. But always, it’s hard to find.
I’ve dreamed of it falling to ruin with years of neglect and transient beings and cats. I’ve dreamed of living in it and oh how grand it was, with huge sunlit rooms. Many times the rooms are hidden too. Or they will be one after another so that I have to go through one to get to the next. No privacy – never any privacy in this house. And it never quite belongs to me, but always I used to live there. And I want it back.
The house of my dreams is always sinister.
Last night I dreamed it burned. Not all the way to the ground, but there were holes in it and the damage to the upstairs was extensive. The people who owned it, with whom I was visiting, wanted to keep it but it was no longer safe. It made my throat hurt. It hurt my heart.
I want it back.
Adventures on my Paper Route: Why did the hen cross the road?
Chicken’s eye view
So there I was, standing on the curb, waiting as I do every day to cross one of my town’s main thoroughfares. It’s not a particularly wide road, nor is the speed limit fast, but it’s busy enough that I have to wait most days. Today there was only one car coming, or so I thought. I was poised. I made the decision to cross.
Now, you know when your body is ready to move and suddenly you realise that maybe you shouldn’t let it? I didn’t see the other car. It wasn’t that close behind the one I did see, but it was close enough to make me hesitate. What it did was make me twitch. I had to make a split second choice. Stay or go. But my body was already in motion — so I ran!
Obviously I made it across the road — I’m here to talk about it. Had I been younger it would have been a little thrill. Since, however I’m at my age it was an adrenaline rush I’m still recovering from.
So why did the hen cross the road?
To feel like a spring chicken 🙂
Adventures of my Paper Route
The squirrels have been busy
It happens while we sleep. The squirrels — the most talented of them at least — sculpt likenesses of themselves around the neighbourhood. Here are two kissing. They will be the skinny ones that have no time for nut gathering, just in case you’re wondering which ones to look out for.
Private Thoughts, Private World – Part 2
Incomplete Thoughts
Is there such a thing as a complete thought? When, as writers, do we know our meaning has been entirely understood by our reader? Is it possible to have entire understanding between two people? After all, there are only so many human experiences, just as there are a limited number of stories, written over and over again from different perspectives. But still, I think not.
It occurred to me that writing a thought is like taking a step. No matter how many times you think you’ve taken your last step, come to the end of your journey, there will always be another step to take until you die. Then all there is left is for someone else to attempt to interpret your life, your steps, your thoughts.
