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. 😀
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.
I went with my mother and Alex to a small diner down the street today for lunch. The place was pretty busy, but nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed by the way they were dressed that most of the crowd had come from church.
So we sat there, minding our own business–my mom and I both had a toasted western each and Alex ate five noodles out of his dish of mac and cheese. We finished our lunch and the waitress came over to ask if there was anything else. I said no, just the bill please. You can imagine my shock when she said, “It’s okay, it’s taken care of.”
“Wwwhy?” I asked, totally stunned.
“The lady at the next table,” she pointed to the recently vacated table behind us, “paid half your bill and I took care of the other half.”
My mom and both said thank you, to which she replied, “No problem,” and walked away.
I left a five dollar tip.
What the hell? I have no idea who the lady was who sat at the other table. She didn’t even smile at me when she left, and I looked right at her. But the waitress too?
I don’t know whether to feel grateful or pathetic because I haven’t washed my hair in two days and wasn’t wearing my Sunday best.
It happened again yesterday. I was sitting in a Tim Horton’s with my mother and Alex (my youngest son who is Deaf and doesn’t eat much by mouth – he’s g-tube fed), and my mother and I were eating and drinking coffee. Alex, in his usual sociable way was looking around and smiling and waving at the other customers. Beside us were a pair of elderly ladies. They were enamoured of Alex, which is par for the course.
One of them observed Alex as he took his Timbit (a doughnut hole, for those of you who haven’t been in a Tim Horton’s in the last 20 years) and put it back in the bag. He wasn’t really interested in eating it as I knew he wouldn’t be. He just likes me to buy him something so he doesn’t feel left out… and at 20cents, I can’t complain.
The ensuing conversation went something like this:
Lady#1: Isn’t he going to eat that?
Me: No, he’s not hungry.
Lady#2: He’s very cute.
Me: And he knows it.
Lady#1: Maybe he’d like something else. A sundae maybe?
Me: (thinking ‘I’m glad he can’t hear you.’) No, he’s okay.
Lady#1: (to Alex) Aren’t you hungry?
Me: (signing to Alex) Are you hungry? (note: I could have signed ‘Are you a chicken?’ to ensure he’d say no, but his laugh would have given me away)
Alex: (shakes his head, no.)
Me: (to Lady#1) Nope, he’s not hungry.
Lady#2: How old is he, six?
Me: No, he’s 13.
Lady#1: Does he know sign language?
Me: (thinking ‘No, we just flail at one another and hope for the best’) Yes, he does.
Lady#1: Isn’t that nice. (She then proceeds to perform the sign for ‘please’.) “Love,” she says to Alex.
Lady#1: (to Lady #2) That means ‘love.’ (she signs ‘please’ again.)
Alex: (smiles and nods even though he’s totally confused)
Having strangers tell you to feed your child, in front of your child, makes me see red on the best of occasions. But I’ve gotta say, this one was amusing enough that I only saw pink.
1. Your post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing, (typos can be fixed) and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.
2. Your post can be as long or as short as you want it to be. One sentence – one thousand words. Fact, fiction, poetry – it doesn’t matter. Just let the words carry you along until you’re ready to stop.
3. There will be a prompt every week. I will post the prompt here on my blog on Friday, along with a reminder for you to join in. The prompt will be one random thing, but it will not be a subject. For instance, I will not say “Write about dogs”; the prompt will be more like, “Make your first sentence a question,” or “Begin with the word ‘The’.”
4. Ping back! It’s important, so that I and other people will come and read your post! The way to ping back, is to just copy and paste the URL of my post somewhere on your post. Then your URL will show up in my comments, for everyone to see. For example, in your post you can copy and past the following: “This post is part of SoCS: (https://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/03/01/socs-stream-of-consiousness-saturday-the-rules/)” Also, you can come here and link your post in the comments. The most recent comments will be found at the top.
5. Read at least one other person’s blog who has linked back their post. If you’re the first person to link back, you can check back later, or go to the previous week, by following my category, “Stream of Consciousness Saturday,” which you’ll find right below the “Like” button on my post.
6. Copy and paste the rules (if you’d like to) in your post. The more people who join in, the more new bloggers you’ll meet and the bigger your community will get!
I often wish that I could teach people not to sweat the small stuff. I can’t stand watching people walk around with their minds so focused on trivial matters, that they’re unable to see the big picture.
So what if that guy just stole your parking spot? At least you didn’t have to take the bus with all your children, your strollers, and bags of groceries once you’re finished shopping. What’s the problem with getting the blue ipod when you wanted the black one? At least you have one. How does it matter that you listened to someone at the next table complain about their food? Did you enjoy yours? Then stop eavesdropping!
Don’t get me wrong – it’s not really the complaining that bothers me. If that was the problem, I would be just as bad as they are. It’s the fact that small things stress a lot of people out. Getting one’s blood pressure up, in my opinion, had better come with a whole lot of real problems. Yes, all the little ones can add up. We all have days like that. But even then, don’t dwell! It’ll put you into an early grave… and who wants to die over a chipped fingernail?
I think we all have something that we’ve learned from experience, that we wish we could give the benefit of to others so that they don’t have to learn the way we did: the hard way.
So tell me in the comments: of all your personal life lessons, what would you teach the people around you, if you could?
I need organisation. First, I must state that this post was inspired by our lovely Belinda at Idiot Writing. (You can find the post here: http://idiotwriting.wordpress.com/2014/03/14/organisation/ .) In it, she tells how much more organised she is than I.
When I do finally get a moment to myself to sit and write, I invariably get comfortable with my laptop and, before I begin, I look around the room. It’s a mess. I think to myself, “I need to be more organised,” but do I do anything about it? Of course not! I just got comfortable.
So I write, but in the back of my mind there is the mess I should be cleaning up. I’m unable to fully relax and enjoy myself. Why don’t I just clean it up? Because it will take hours–hours that I could be spending writing. And what’s the use when my darling children will just mess it up again anyway? Doing a little bit at a time is useless. I’ll just end up doing the same little bit again the next day.
It’s a vicious circle of discomfort for me.
I did, actually find something that worked for me once. When I was selling my house back in Gatineau, Quebec, I had to clean up the place to show it to perspective buyers. So I took a picture of the mess, one room at a time. I then worked my ass off, non-stop, until I was ready to take an “after” picture. I was truly amazed at the progress I was able to make, and I had a reward at the end to boot–a picture of my immaculate room.
Before
After
I swore I would do that again when I moved. I made a New Year’s resolution, four years ago, to make and keep this place clean. I did it again three years ago, two, one, and this year as well. HA! The difference? First, I’m not selling, and second, back then I wasn’t writing.
One of these days…
How do you deal with organisation? Or do you? I’d love some suggestions.
I sometimes wonder why I push myself so hard. My determination to write a post every day here on WordPress; my aspiration to finish my novel; my involvement in The Community Storyboard, HarsH ReaLiTy, and A Good Blog is Hard to Find; my ambition to read more, and write book reviews; my wish to help out friends by critiquing their unpublished works… the list itself is overwhelming. Most days I barely notice the work piling up. I love being busy with writing and the pursuits that involve it.
But, Spring Break. Yes, it’s that time of year again. While I’ve had much of today to do the things I needed to get done, I know it’s only a matter of time before Alex gets bored keeping himself busy. And just because the kids are home doesn’t mean the shopping doesn’t still need to be done – a task which requires me to leave my Autistic son by himself – and my paper route, and then there’s my mother’s appointments because I’m the only one who can take her… again, overwhelming.
I think everyone gets to this point occasionally. It’s the stage where we just have to start saying no, and not give in. While it’s exciting, and best of all not boring, there’s a limit at which one shuts down and curls up in a little ball with a straw and a bottle of one’s favourite Merlot.
So if I up and disappear at some point this week you’ll know why. And if I do manage to keep it all together AND keep my blog going without consuming a bottle of wine per day, well, give me a cape and call me supermom.
Just don’t push me off the side of a building to see if I’ll fly. I push myself too hard already.
Kicking and screaming is how they’re going to have to pry my cell phone out of my cold dead hand.
Okay, not really. But seriously, I’m not sure I could live without my cell phone. But it’s not only me, either.
Consider this: When I was young (a teenager) I used to go out with my friends. (Of course.) I’d have a curfew and my mother would be sitting in the kitchen waiting for me to come home. She made sure I had a dime in case I needed to call. I’m sure she must have sat by the phone as well.
Now (these days), when my son went out (he’s moved out now) I’d not have to sit by the phone – it would be in my pocket. He didn’t need a dime – he had a cell. I knew that at any given moment he could call me without needing to look for a payphone.
How did our parents survive back then? I’d be worried poo-less!
I can’t imagine having to go through all that waiting, and wondering, and worrying about my kids. I don’t worry as much about my own safety now either.
I suppose it prepared my mother for when I went to Japan by myself – I didn’t have a cell phone then. But in Japan I felt very safe.
Anyway, I’m starting to ramble. That’s what SoCS is all about though.
What do you think? Could you live without a cell phone? Would you let your kids out of the house at night without one?
My day is winding down; I have just enough wine in me that I’m not sleepy. Contentedness folds over me like a warm blanket.
The sound is down on Mickey Mouse, because my son is Deaf–gone are the days of having to listen to a certain purple dinosaur, for whom I feel absolutely no love, and who I suspect doesn’t love me either. There are walls and windows between myself and my family, and the frigid winter air. My tummy is full of a simple dinner of pasta and canned tomatoes, with mozzerella cheese melted on top… What more could I ask for?
I love nights like this. It’s like comfort food for an exhausted soul.
Tell me, what is your perfect evening with family?
No, that’s not right. But I don’t know the actual name of the toy. Was it a “Laughing Bob”? The label is long worn off.
For sale: One Giggling Bob ball. Good for ages 1-4.
That’ll do. Sure, I feel bad selling it off to someone else. But I don’t know how else to get rid of it.
When I first bought it for the kids – I’m sure it worked fine in the store – I got it home and I couldn’t get it to work. According to the instructions, all you had to do was bang it and it was supposed to giggle. The kids loved the crazy high pitched laugh. I figured it would drive me nuts, but what the hell. Anything for the kids, right?
I tried changing the batteries. Nothing. Banged the hell out of it… no laughing (or giggling) Bob.
The first time I heard it go off, about a week later, it was 3:14 am. I got up to see if the kids had wandered out of bed, but they were fast asleep. And there was this stupid ball, laying in the middle of the living room floor. I just shook my head and went back to bed.
Next morning I kicked it. It didn’t make a sound. Maybe I dreamed it, I thought. Ha!
About a month after that, we were packing to move. One of the kids threw the ball into a box. I said we should just toss it in the garbage, but the kids liked it. They’d been using it to play catch, even though it wouldn’t make a sound. I said fine.
3:14 the next morning… Yeah. Giggling Bob was at it again. This time I got up and threw it in a garbage bag.
Garbage day was four days later.
Have you ever taken the trash to the curb and had it laugh at you? I’d have tossed it with no problem, except the kids (who I was taking to the bus stop at the time) caught me red-handed. Since the toy was in a trash bag with a pile of carpeting, and not with anything disgusting, back Giggling Bob went into the house.
Well, moving day came and went. Giggling Bob made it into a random box that, four years later remains unpacked. And I swear to God, if I am woken up at 3:14 again…
One Giggling Bob ball. Good for ages 1-4. Free to a good home.
That’s better.
Note: This story is semi-fictional, only in that I haven’t tried to sell the possessed ball yet. Yet.
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