For most of us it begins with eye-bulging denial. “No way!” we exclaim, or “You’re kidding!” Then comes the numbness of confusion. “But how can s/he be dead? I grew up with her/him!” If we were a true fan, the tears might sting our eyes as they well up. And slowly, sometimes over the space of minutes, sometimes years, we accept it. That star we never really knew, we’ll never ever know, has passed outside the reaches of Earthly pursuits, and into the realm of legend.
We listen to their songs again, or watch their movies; gaze at their art or read their words, and we wish beyond all reason that it wasn’t so.
Lou Reed, and all of those who have gone before you, may you rest in peace.
I can’t believe I’ve been this wordy in the space of nine months. 🙂
So to celebrate my 200th blog post, I’m going to do a few random things.
First, a pretty picture. I took this about five years ago, in Gatineau, Quebec:
Second, I’m going to ask anyone who is participating in Nanowrimo this year to join me as my writing buddy. I’ve never had one in the ten years I’ve been doing Nano and I already have three this year. It seems a good idea to have as many as I can – I’ll need all the encouragement I can get with all I have going on. If you’d like to join me, look me up. My user name at Nano is “schvell”.
Third, I need some advice. I’m thinking about changing my theme, but I was wondering – does it throw you off when someone’s site looks drastically different all of a sudden? Will you still visit if you don’t recognize the decor?
That’s all I can think of at the moment. So, dear friends, and readers I haven’t met yet, enjoy the rest of your Sunday, and thanks for visiting!
It’s happening everywhere – the big box stores move in and Main Street shuts down. Woe to the little guy; the family who spent generations building up a business watches helplessly as it falls flat in the face of Wal-Mart. Even Zellers, a staple in the Canadian landscape of department stores, where things could be had for relative cheap has, quite literally died as a result of being a target – the stores that didn’t close up became Targets.
While we, as the consumer, are reminded that these ‘little guys’ are struggling, it’s difficult to resist the lure of the mall, or the big bright flyers of the giants. Christmas, the season that should be a boon when it comes to surviving the costs of running a shop, is no longer a source of greater income. After all, if we have the choice between walking around an enclosed space to find everything we need, rather than wading through slush and braving the cold to go from store to specialty store, the solution is rather a no-brainer, especially if we have kids in tow who would prefer to go to Toys ‘r’ Us.
In yesterday’s newspaper, there was an article about how my city is encouraging retailers to open up shop in the over-abundant real estate that sits vacant along our main drag. In the interest of keeping the 99% of us from going under, this may be only a small thing to consider… or is it?
I think more needs to be done about keeping the ‘little guy’ in business all over North America. Is your city doing anything? Are you? I’d be interested to hear.
I had a hard time coming up with anything inspirational in yesterday’s paper, until I decided to put my dubious organizational skills to use. A headline which reads, “Have you planned for illness?”, mashed together in my little brain with a picture I took the other day, gave me the following idea:
What do you do when part of a tree collides with your house?
Are you a natural born handyman/handywoman?
…handyspider?
Owning a home is great, but the number of things that can go wrong is spectacular. If you’re like me (single and totally inept when it comes to anything more complicated than taking out the garbage) then you have to pay someone to fix anything that goes wrong. And when the boiler starts to leak all over your basement floor? (Hint: the water is supposed to stay inside the system.) You spend the next six years paying for a new one, like I am.
Easy to squash or not, there’s something to be said for being a squatter, like my little eight-legged architect/do-it-yourselfer.
Okay. I’m going to describe what happened to me today as best I can. I drew a diagram to help out.
So yesterday – I have to start there – I was on my paper route, waiting for cars to pass so I could cross the street. (That’s me, the stick figure. In real life I wear clothes when I deliver the paper.) To my right (near the red box) the mailman, who I rarely see, was waiting as well, to go back to his van (the poorly drawn grey thing with yellow windows and black wheels.) He waved and I waved back. So I got across and came down the adjacent street and met one of my customers who was getting into his (orange) car. We spoke for a moment – weather’s getting colder, that sort of thing. Before I could cross the street again, I had to wait for the blue pickup truck to pull into the driveway (as shown. Yes, that is supposed to be a pickup truck. I never claimed to be an artist.) I then proceeded on my merry way.
Here’s where it gets freaky.
Today, I’m standing in the exact same place, waiting to cross the street when the mailman pulls up and gets out of his van. I wave, he waves back. We sign (he’s Deaf) about the coincidence of having met in the same place two days in a row. That was weird, I think to myself. So I go down the next street and there’s my customer is getting out of his car. We exchange pleasantries – it’s even colder today than yesterday, etc. etc. I cross the street and guess who is backing out of his driveway… the guy in the blue pickup. I go along my merry way, thinking, what the hell?
What is it, opposite day today? I’m sorta glad I didn’t win the lottery yesterday…
Ah, the innocent narcissism of a child. Not to be confused with the pathological sickness found in some adults, we are born with a strong sense of self-preservation, and it’s not until we grow that we realize our own needs aren’t all there are. I wonder where we cross over. Is it the first time we see our own mother cry? Somewhere, somehow, compassion becomes a part of our psyche, and that’s where the narcissism of childhood ends.
However, on days like today nothing matters to my son, Alex, except Alex. My baby turns thirteen years old today and he’s extremely proud of himself. It’s delightful to me to see him bask in his own glow. It was beyond my wildest dreams when he was born that he’d ever reach this milestone, and so I’m happy to make his every wish come true.
Alex ‘n’ Me
Four foot two, and sixty pounds, he’s a dynamo of enthusiasm and love for everyone around him. In his mind he is as small as his frail physique; as much as his physical age is telling him he needs independence, he still comes to mom for cuddles when something hurts. He retains that childish innocence – that me me me mindset, and yet he’ll pat me lovingly on the cheek if I say I have a headache.
I have no idea how long his childishness will last… I have no idea what to expect of tomorrow, but I do know one thing: Today, nothing matters but my baby.
On October 21st, 1879, Thomas Edison tested the first incandescent light bulb. Also in yesterday’s news, the government of Canada will finish with its phase-out of these very same sources of soft, comforting light that we’ve come to count on for generations, in January.
According to an article in yesterday’s newspaper, the government of Ontario’s health ministry will be taking the warning labels on food products a step further. They are proposing legislation that will require major fast food chains to advertise, right on their menus, the calorie count and other pertinent information (fat content?) of the food they are serving. It will be right up there with the price, so we can see exactly what we’re doing to our bodies – at least those of us who understand the ramifications of ingesting 1,000+ calories in one sitting. For those who don’t, I suppose it’s not going to make a difference.
Is this information for the benefit of those who haven’t seen the movie “Supersize Me“? Or for those who didn’t realize when they watched it how, much like “Titanic,” predictable the ending would be?
I’m not saying I’m above anyone who ignores the obvious health risk of eating at fast food restaurants – I enjoy a Big Mac as much as the next guy. What gets me is that the government feels the need to plaster the fact in our faces each time we visit one of these chains. How much faith must they have in us to think we’re too stupid to realize what we’re doing to ourselves? The reason they’re planning this is to be proactive, and reduce the need for health care because as a society, we tend to be overweight… in essence they’re trying to save us from ourselves and in the same breath, admit that they are failing to educate us in the first place.
Part of me leans toward what it says in the picture, and the other part of me wishes the government would be even more proactive in the first place. By finding a better way to teach our kids to care about themselves and their future families while they’re still in school, maybe our society can learn what moderation means.
What do you think?
The posts in the category “Yesterday’s News” reflect inspiration found in the previous day’s edition of my local newspaper. They are not a retelling of the news. This is a challenge to post a blog entry once a day, every day until Hallowe’en, and possibly beyond.
Hallowe’en is coming and houses are being decorated in preparation for the big night. Parents will usher their kiddies up and down the street, teens will dress up one last time in hopes of scoring a vomit-worthy stash. Our little ghouls and goblins who are out to trick and receive treats are anticipating not only the sweets, but also the scares. The frightening begins and ends with monsters, ghosts, jack-o-lanterns and creatures of the night. Or does it?
Personally, I find the worst – the most chilling of the lot, are the yearly list of warnings:
Check the candy before you eat it!
Don’t accept anything not prepackaged!
Of course the safety list goes on. But what the hell with the poisoned, razor-blade-ladened food? Do we distrust our neighbours this much? Is anyone actually stupid enough to still attempt to get away with such abominations? After all, it’s been what… 40 years since all this paranoia began? I suppose we’ve become so accustomed to being told that there are real threats everywhere that we accept this the way we do anything else.
So kiddies, watch out, because it’s not the vampire hovering at your window, or the mummy banging at the lid of its coffin you have to worry about. It’s the nice little old lady down the street who spent weeks making candy apples that you need to fear the most.
freedigitalphotos.net
Edit: The statistics of poisoning in Hallowe’en candy – here.
In the pursuit of changing it up once in a while, we are encouraged as writers to search for different words to say the same thing. Using the same ones over and over can distract the reader from the point we are trying to make. But at the same time, if we do a bad job of it, the wrong turn of phrase can be even worse than the repetitive one.
Take the article I found in yesterday’s paper for instance. The piece is well written; it concerns the annual recognition of immigrants, refugees and international students learning English as a Second Language. There is no credit given to the writer of the article – credit is given to the paper’s “Staff,” and I have to wonder if this is the reason why:
I don’t know about anyone else, but for me this phrase conjures up all kinds of horror.
Is it possible to take the whole “find another way to say it” process too far? Absolutely. You have to appreciate it when someone has the guts to publish it in a font four times the size of the rest of the text… but then again, whoever did, lacked the balls to put his/her name on it. I know I wouldn’t.
“Yesterday’s News” is a challenge I have set for myself to post a blog entry once a day, every day until Hallowe’en, and possibly beyond.
lindaghill.com 