Hospital Music

Driving home yesterday from my godson's fifth birthday party, I passed the local hospital.  There, right in front of the building was a woman who could not - would not - be missed.

Her physical characteristics themselves were fairly unremarkable: medium brown hair, average build, probably forty-something.  Her clothing didn't call out "Look at me!", either.  Just shorts and a t-shirt.

The thing that has caused her image to become lodged in my memory was the pure and utter panic that she wore, transforming plain features into a mask of crazed fear.  Her eyes bulged slightly, from the pressure of the story she carried behind them, no doubt.  She stood with one foot on the sidewalk, the other one right over the curb and into the road, causing cars to swerve around her.  Her right arm was held out stiff from her side, thumb jutting up toward the sky in the classic hitch-hiker's pose, and as each vehicle slowed to pass her, she would lean out further into the road, waving her other arm in a wild plea for help, for a ride.  For acknowledgement.

My mind threw out a number of scenarios, reasons for her desperate assault on the unsuspecting drivers passing by.  Perhaps she was running away from someone.  Perhaps her child was in trouble.  Or maybe she was just on a crazy-bad drug trip.  I'm not likely to ever know.

My small car was crammed with me, my two kids, and our belongings.  This plus the fact that I was heading in the opposite direction from where she was obviously aiming to go seemed to grant me permission to pass on by.  I could not help.  My heart ached for her, but I did not stop.

Today, I am still haunted by this image.  Perhaps because it could so easily be me, in trouble and alone, needing so desperately to be elsewhere. 

Today, I ask myself: had I been heading in the other direction with room enough to spare, would I have stopped?

Memories

Air as thick and sweet as ice cream pins me, sweating, to the sheets.  The curtains hang limply from the rod, no hint of a breeze to make the flowered material dance in the twilight.

My hair smells of chlorine and sunshine, my hands are sticky with the remains of an after-dinner popsicle, and my sandy feet muss up Sunday's clean sheets.  I've never even heard of air conditioning, and after a day spent in the pool, talking my way out of a bath was easier than I dared to hope.

Twitchy in the heat, and unwilling to let go of the day, I listen to the sounds that come to me through my open window: the swish-swish of Mr. Brennan's push mower, bird chatter, barking dogs, and mothers calling their children in for baths and bed.  Most tantalizing of all is the muted talk and laughter of my parents, aunts, uncles, and other assorted relations.  Ice tinkles in a glass.  I smell cigarettes and fresh cut grass.  But I am not there.

Everything and everyone seems so very far away, carrying on with their business even though I am not there to participate, or even to witness it.

It is summer, I am maybe five years old.  And I begin to realize, for the first time, the small part that I play in the world.  It is sort of scary, yes.  But more than that, it leaves me with a strange sense of longing.

More than thirty years later, I have come no closer to understanding.  But I feel it still...

Awake

Will is not very much like his older brother.  I keep coming to this realization, over and over again.  One of these days, perhaps it will stop surprising me.

After a rocky six months or so filled with around-the-clock nursing and constant colic, Nathan all of a sudden turned into a great sleeper.  Bed times were always pleasant: stories and songs, hugs and kisses...and then not a peep until morning.  Ever.  Perhaps once per year, there might be an illness to throw a monkey wrench into the works.  But certainly, the exceptions were few and far between.

Will, on the other hand, was fairly easy as a baby.  Sure he got up to nurse in the night, but he was on a schedule and it worked.  He was calm, not fussy.  These things made all the difference.  Silly me, back when he was four months old and I could put him down at 7pm and generally expect to have a full twelve hours to myself, I congratulated myself on a job well done.

Ha.

Ha.  Ha.

A fat lot of nothing, is about all that I knew back then.  Unlike Nathan, the older Will gets, the worse his sleeping habits become.

For starters, the child is what you could safely call an early bird.  The odd time he might sleep until 6:30 or so, but that is the rare day.  Most mornings see us up between 5:30 and 6.  Yes, I know.  Wrong, isn't it?

But at least, I have always consoled myself, I have my evenings to myself.  For Will was still going to bed between 7 and 7:30 each night.  This made the early mornings tolerable, in my books.

Bit by bit, this seems to be coming to an end.  Bedtimes are dragging out longer and longer.  He requires additional tuck-ins, bear rearrangement, help finding lost blankies in the dark, a drink, a pee, a hug, a kiss, one more "Twinkle Twinkle"...you name it, he needs it.

And I don't know what to do. 

I have tried rationalizing with him.  I've tried ignoring him.  I've tried sending his dad in, when I know that he really wants me.  I've been patient, I've been impatient.  Sometimes one on the outside, covering up the other on the inside. 

Last night, Will was up until 10:30pm.  I was not impressed.  At all.

The only thing that helped me to keep it together was the certainty that at least the next morning would surely come later.  Surely.

So hearing "Mommy!  MOMMY!  I'm awaaaaaake!" at 5:55am was not exactly the way I had hoped to start my day.  Urgh.

A brand new night light was installed in his room today.  Here's hoping it helps...I'm desperate!

Home For A Rest

I love remembering how much I love being a mom.  Actually acknowledging it, rather than drifting through life with a vague idea of it is something that, shamefully, I'm often just too busy to do.  Recently, I've been working long hours, coming home just in time to bathe Will and tuck him in to bed, then to rush through homework and chores with Nathan...

Not exactly what you would call Quality Time, is it?

Sigh.

Ah, but not today, though.  Today, I cut out of work a bit early.  Excellent!

As a result of this decision, I had the chance to engage in a proper conversation with Nathan instead of a rushed catch-up, crammed in between all the other evening activities.  I heard about his upcoming track meet, we discussed the fantasy story he is currently writing (insert motherly pride here...), and hashed out some plans for his upcoming sleep-over party.

I snuggled with my Will, and read story after story.  I even read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, just because he asked.  He showed me all his "decorations" and "flowers" (blocks, toilet paper rolls, and empty coffee cups, mostly), and he made me pretend pancakes, complete with maple syrup!

We all had an early dinner of pizza and salad, then I sat on the deck and enjoyed a frosty beer, while watching my boys play together with water guns in the warm evening air.  Peals of laughter and shrieks of delight from both the big boy and the little boy put a great big smile on my face.

Yep.  I love being a mother.  I love my boys.  We've missed each other a bit this week.  Thank goodness it's the weekend, and I'm home.

Friday On My Mind

Dear Friday,

I see you there, just out of reach: teasing us with the almost possibility of you. I’m more than ready for you to arrive, and hold my arms out wide for you, my friend. Please don’t leave me waiting!

Thursday’s charms are sorely lacking when compared with yours, dear Friday.

Yours truly,
Me

***

Can you tell a story in exactly 55 words? This is my attempt for Friday Flash 55.. Go see g-man for more, and maybe add one of your own...

Hi Ho, Hi Ho...

In my travels through the big ole internet, I have come across this one more than once: it's known as the "Seven Dwarfs" meme.  Essentially, you just share a story or anecdote that relates to each dwarf's name.  I've been holding it back for a day when the well had run dry, and today, it seems, is just such a day. 

So...hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work I go:

DOC
My medical history, in brief:
1973 - birth
1974 - hospitalized with bronchitis
1977 - adenoids removed
Many years of disgustingly good health
2000 - birth of first child
2007 - birth of second child
2009 - emergency surgery to remove my gall bladder

My body treats me well.  I feed it (mostly) good things and keep it in (somewhat reasonable) shape.  We've got a pretty good thing going on.  I hope it continues!

GRUMPY
Yes, I am.  Often.  You wanna make somethin' of it?

HAPPY
Sometimes.  Not often enough.  But I try.

SLEEPY

Sleepy?  Me?  Ummm, yes.  Frequently, actually.  And it sort of pisses me off, to tell you the truth.  There are only so many hours in the day and it drives me crazy that my body requires sleep for so many of them.  In the evenings, after my kids are asleep and I've made the blogging rounds, I settle in to bed with a good book - finally to treat myself to the one thing that I've been craving all day.  Inevitably, I'm asleep within ten minutes.  I'll wake up, all stiff-necked and disoriented several hours later wondering What happened?  And Is it time to get up for work yet? And Why the heck can't I stay awake past ten?  What am I, eighty?

The great thing about my new eReader is that I don't lose my page when I doze off anymore.  That and the adjustable font size.  Because without a doubt, it's just a matter of time before I'll need to bust out the giant, old-lady sized font to go along with my inability to remain conscious when I stop moving.

BASHFUL

I am terribly shy and awkward in unfamiliar situations.  I have a tendency to make bad jokes and say silly things.  If you ever meet me in real life, and I start rambling in a slightly strange and incoherent fashion, please know that it just means that I like you and want you to like me, too.  Social skills sometimes elude me, what can I say?

SNEEZY

When I was planning my wedding, I suddenly realized that my mid-September nuptials were scheduled to occur right smack-dab in the middle of prime hay fever season: a time of year that sees me red-eyed and sneezing up a storm, box of tissue always at the ready.  Yikes!  In an effort to reduce my symptoms, I asked my GP to refer me to an allergist, with the hope of arranging some allergy shots. 

The referal was made and the appointment was under way.  My new doctor made a veiled reference to seeing me before.  I don't think so, I assured him.  I've never been to an allergist before. 

Ahh, but I was mistaken!  You see, when I was six, that same GP had referred me to this very same allergist for testing.  And I was such a lousy patient at that age, that when I discovered I'd have little needles dragged through my skin, I hid under the exam table and the doctor was unable to perform the test.  It actually said all of this in my file, which was still on hand twenty years later.  Embarrassing!

DOPEY

Yes, for seeing this silly old meme through, I think I qualify...

How about you?  Are you feeling a little dopey, too?  If so, consider yourself TAGGED and try your hand at the Seven Dwarfs meme.  Make sure you let me know if you do, I'll want to read your answers!

This Bed Is On Fire...

So I broke down and put on the air conditioner today.  Kind of crazy since I am sure that I had the heat on just a week or two ago.  Ah, the joys of Southern Ontario: Very, very cold; or very, very hot.  Not much in between!

For myself, I think I would have held off a bit longer.  I love the warm weather, truth be known.  I often joke about what a lousy Canadian I am, and how I was probably Jamaican in my last life.  So yes, I probably would have sucked it up and sweated through it.

Will, however, doesn't really get the whole concept of a heat wave.  Last summer was a lifetime ago in his limited perspective of the world.  And the child, while delightful, comes equipped with a number of neurotic tendencies (but of course, right?  He is my child).  One of the oddest is his need for everything to be the same at bedtime, every night.  Now I'm not talking bedtime routines, like first bath, then teeth, then story, etc.  Nope, not that kind of thing at all.  In fact, when it comes to that, he's sort of flexible, truth be known.  No, I'm talking to the bed set-up.  First, he requires a specific arrangement of bears, and they need to be lined up just so. 

He also has to wear socks to bed.  Every night.  It doesn't matter that I beg and plead with him to reconsider.  He has to wear socks.  I don't know why.

And he wants his two blankies piled on, too.  Once he falls asleep, he ends up kicking them off...but up until that moment, he must have his blankies.  Yikes, talk about sweat factory. 

So yes, the A/C is necessary.  Heaven forbid I try and set the little king straight...sigh.

Oh, What a Perfect Day...

The day dawned with the promise of blue skies and sunshine and hot, hot weather.  We sipped early morning coffees and made plans.  No work, no school: Happy Birthday, Queen Victoria!

Like the good Canadians that we are, the first stop was the garden centre.  The threat of frost finally past, it is the weekend that we truly get our hands dirty and rev up our gardens.  Spring bulbs have come and gone, hardy perrenials are making an appearance...but the flashy colour of heat-loving annuals makes us happy when we survey our small patch of dirt.

Back home with our purchases, I clipped and raked and dug to prepare.  As I lay down fresh dirt, I found myself wondering - as I always do at this time of year - why is it that I need to add more dirt every darn year?  Where does it go?  And where exactly does it come from?  You can't farm dirt, after all - can you?  Hmmm...I promised myself to research dirt farms, but will likely forget all about it until this time next year.  Well, that's all right.  Not important, is it?

New plants placed into the ground with a firm hand and firmer commands to grow and flower and behave, damn it.  I don't have a whole lot of luck with gardens, to be honest.  But each year, a fresh start and a fresh hope for something better than the year before.  Gardens are a wonderful expression of optimism.

A small helper with a small watering can followed his daddy with his big watering can, to give my new green friends a drink.  Water for me as well, but in the bath tub!  Layers of grime slipped away as I washed the dirt and sweat of my labour down the drain.

Fresh and clean, the boys and I braved the heat and headed to the park while their dad planted tomatoes.  A few half-hearted slides and some lacklustre clambouring over the playground indicated that my boys were perhaps wilting, so we headed for home and cold drinks.

A brief rest in the shade of the yard, where I imagined I could just about feel this year's crop of freckles materializing on pink shoulders...

T-bone steak on the barbecue, a cold beer to wash it down...

Ah, the day was just about perfect.

So of course Will capped it off by puking all over the deck after dinner.  Nice.

Some of you are possibly familiar with my vomit phobia, I've written of it before.  So you probably won't be surprised to hear that instead of luxuriating in the afterglow of a day well-lived, I'm on edge: awaiting a possible subsequent round of barf.

Ah well...

Happy Victoria Day, everyone!

Unison Falling Into Harmony

Perhaps it’s time
to stop playing games
with other people’s rules
and get down to the
business at hand:
Now if only
I knew
what that was.
Eyes open,
heart ready
& I wait.

***

Can you tell a story using only 160 characters? Head on over to Monkey Man's site to read some more, and maybe add one of your own...

Bad to the Bone

For the first time in a very long while, I didn't post a single thing here yesterday.  I didn't even fall back on one of my tried and true, I-don't-feel-like-posting-today tricks like putting up a music video, or writing about how I just didn't feel like writing.

Nope, I didn't.  Instead:  Nothing.  Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.

Yesterday, I didn't even bother to pretend that I was going to post.  I knew it wouldn't happen.  And let me tell you something: it felt kind of good to let the day go by without pulling up the old Blogger box and tossing some words around.  It felt good because it felt bad.  And that was kind of the theme for yesterday, feeling bad.

You see, I had a wee bit of a night on the town with a couple of my BFFs last night.  A small celebration, actually.  Yes, friends.  Little old me had a birthday yesterday, and the girls decided a party was in order.  So I had a deliciously sinful dinner and dessert, more beer than I really had any right to drink spread out across three different bars, a few games of pool, and a bit harmless flirting with some very handsome young men who found our cougarish and slightly drunken selves rather amusing, and very kindly humoured us by flirting back.  Way to make an old gal's night, boys!

All in all, my thirty-seventh birthday was one to remember: a fine celebration where I got to be about as bad as a responsible woman of my age can get away with. 

And speaking of feeling bad, I'm actually not feeling all that hot today.  A wee bit hungover, to be honest.

Bad.

Doesn't Mean Anything

Conspiracy sought,
random clues are rounded up
to prove a theory.

Imaginary
evidence is collected,
compiled and studied.

Is that a split lip,
tender flesh marked by passion,
or only dry skin?

Working late again
(it’s the second time this week)
with unanswered phones...

It’s not guaranteed
to be infidelity.
Did you not know that?

***
 

Can you tell a story in exactly 55 words? This is my attempt for Friday Flash 55 (Just to make things more complicated, it's a Haiku as well...so forgive the rough edges, okay?  I had a lot going on here!)

 
For other (and undoubtedly better!) 55's, check out g-man's site.  Maybe even add one of your own...
 
Happy Friday!

Pets

Lives lost,
poorly spent coins
in some politician's
gumball machine.
"Mismanagement,"
they said.
Fingers pointed,
here and here.
So what?
Too little,
too late.
99 gone,
"Humanely euthanized,"
they said.
A black day
for the OSPCA.

***

This post was written in response to the prompt Pets at Theme Thursday.  Head on over and see what other people came up with this week. 

If you're interested in the news story behind my post, click here for a quick overview, but feel free to Google for more info, because there is more than one way of looking at this sad situation.

Mad World

I started several different blog posts in my mind on the way home from work today.  Each one held promise, but I'm just too tired to go into great detail on any one point in particular.  So instead of a proper post, I'll offer up some random and unrelated notes instead...

1.  Statcounter tells me that my blog continues to be the focus of many, many people trying to solve the mystery of the spam attack they received.  Sadly, if you Google the website promoted in said spam message, my blog is listed as both number one and number two on the results page.  Does anyone know how to convince Google to stop pointing to pages that no longer exist?

2. My younger son, Will, is obsessed with mannequins.  It has become quite impossible to take him to the mall.  At each and every shop window, he forces us to halt while he carefully studies the display.  Due to the nature of most mannequins, he usually ends up commenting "That guy has no head, mommy," in a tone that suggests that he's not quite sure whether or not to find this fact bothersome.  When you stop and think about it, the kid's got a point.  That is kind of weird.

3. I've read The Lord of the Rings about eight or nine times since I first discovered it, back in the seventh grade, but I haven't read it at all since the movies came out.  After recently introducing my older son, Nathan, to Middle Earth through the eyes of Peter Jackson, I'm proud to note that he's moved on to the novels.  It's inspired me to pick them up again myself.  If you're interested in tracking my progress, follow me on Twitter or check out my tweets right on this page.

4.  I can't believe I just suggested that people should "check out my tweets".  Did hell just freeze over?

5. I had a very, very, very looooooong day today and didn't really feel like posting.  But I did.  Aren't you proud?

Won't Get Fooled Again

Dear Reader,

Some of you have visited my little corner of the internet before.  I will take this moment to welcome you back, and ask you to bear with me for a moment here while I address those unfamiliar with me and my little blog.

You see, there seems to be some complete arse who has infiltrated emails everywhere.  This particular arse has some how wormed his or her way into the email systems of many, many, people and SPAMMED EVERY DARN CONTACT they have on file with poorly worded messages suggesting that the recipient check out some super cool website selling electronics.

I used to laugh at people who fell for such scams, opening emails they had no business opening.  Well, okay...I didn't laugh.  But I certainly thought I was above such things.

This is, apparently, not the case.  I have been infiltrated.  Twice.  And oh, how it shames me to admit that sad fact.

The reason I bring this up here, dear Reader, is that I had my blog set so that I could auto-post through sending an email to Blogger.  Ahhh....now you understand, right?  This silly email ended up posting stupid crap on my blog.  And now, everybody in the whole wide world who is getting spammed by this irritating message and does a search on it ends up Googling themselves right here to my blog, undoubtedly thinking that I'm the asshat who started this whole thing and plotting my virtual demise.

The first time I ended up spamming myself, you would think I might  have made the intellectual leap and decided it would be a wise idea to take preventative steps.  But no!  I was naive, foolishly assuming it was a one-time issue.  This folly ended up biting me firmly upon the backside because I was hammered again today.  True, my blog has never received so much traffic.  But I am not sure it's exactly the sort of attention that I was looking for.  Despite what some folk say, I think there actually can be bad publicity...

Rest assured, dear Reader, that I have now turned the auto-post via email function OFF, and do hope to have put an end to random posts about buying your friend a motorcycle, or whatever the spam-of-the-day happens to be.

To those that stumble across me on the hunt for the doofus responsible for this whole mess, I apologize for the Google link that leads you astray and brings you here.  The post was deleted very quickly after it appeared but search engines seem to be a bit slow at grasping this fact.

To those of you that have simply popped by to see what I've been rambling about today because you are in the habit of doing so (regularly or otherwise), thanks for sticking with me this far...and I apologize if this post doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

And to all of you, I offer this little tidbit of wisdom...one that inspired me in my decision to change my blog settings after this second incident of self-spam.  Enjoy!

Yours truly,

Me

Fantasy

I never felt much affinity
for fairy tale princesses
when I was small.
I wanted to be
a Hobbit,
to sit
with Gandalf
under the stars.
Can I tell you a secret?
I still do.

***

 
Can you tell a story using only 160 characters? Head on over to Monkey Man's site to read some more, and maybe add one of your own...

Gone Man

I am always amazed by the secrets people are capable of carrying within themselves.  I don't know why, because I am certainly capable of keeping my own.  Perhaps it's because mine are not so dark and dangerous, not likely to shock or alarm, but that can't be said for everyone in this world, can it?

Last night, I discovered that a man I know through my association with our local Scouting group had a secret.  A great big, nasty secret.  And my heart is breaking to learn of it. 

The man, I'll call him Bob, has been involved as a volunteer with Scouting for a number of years.  His oldest son is in his last year of Scouts, his youngest son is a Beaver, and Bob has volunteered as a leader through all levels from one end of that spectrum to the other.  So yes, two amazing children that he was incredibly involved with.  A beautiful wife.  A job, a house, a fine reputation within the Scouting community as a tireless volunteer...

Bob, I would have said, had a near-perfect life.  But as I noted to a friend this evening, people see what they expect to see, what they want to see...and it's hard to look beyond the stories we put people in, subconsciously or otherwise. 

Perhaps there were signs but nobody took the time to really look.  I just don't know.  All I do know is that at some point, without anyone noticing, his ever-present smile lost any meaning beyond the superficial.  Nothing more than an accessory, part of the uniform of a person pretending to be himself. 

For how long?  Gosh, but I don't know...and that scares me and makes me sad, in equal measure.

Two weeks ago, Bob got in the car and set off for work.  He never arrived, he never called, and he hasn't been heard from since. 

Not by anyone.

What must his wife have wondered, as days and nights past with no word?  What did she tell her children when they asked where their daddy was, and when he might be coming home?

Five days after he first disappeared, she awoke to find his car, suddenly parked once again, in their driveway.  Her heart, already cracked and broken, must have just completely shattered when she found it empty of everything but his wedding ring, carefully placed upon the seat, a more potent message than any phone call, note or letter.

The story has been reported in the local media, a Missing Person alert has been issued by the police.  And a woman and her two boys are left with a whole lot of questions that have no easy answers.

How do you walk away, without a word, from your family?  From your life? 

I am afraid to find out how this story ends...

Breathe Me

Strong black lines
Upon a canvas, soft and pale:
Little pieces of my puzzle,
Caught and defined.

Like silent promises
Pulled out through tender flesh,
Dreams become tangible
and imprint upon
the skin along my spine.

A detailed map,
for your fingers to follow -
If only I owned
The courage required
To invite you.

***

Can you tell a story in exactly 55 words? This is my attempt for Friday Flash 55.  The word count restriction resulted in this one heading off in a completely different direction than I expected!

Go see g-man for more, and maybe add one of your own.

Magical Mystery Tour

Daily, I drive right on by
despite the siren song.

Subtle but sure,
those secret ways
to wherever do call to me,
always.

But:

Forever on my way
from here to somewhere else
and never free to explore
the powerful mystery
of unknown avenues,
My heart travels only as far
as my sorry eyes allow.

My road,
a direct route
to responsibility
and regret...
That is the one
that should bear the sign:
No Exit.

***

This post was written in response to the prompt Mystery for Theme Thursday. Head on over and see what other people came up with this week.

Shiny Happy People

I am not a doctor.  Of anything.  I should probably tell you this right up front.  If you are feeling down, depressed, sad, melancholy, or whatever, I don't know how to make you feel better.  And I can't tell you what to do to set your feet on the path to sunshine, rainbows and lollipops.  Just saying. 

But what I do know is what I can do to help myself.  There is a point of no return, of course.  A point where the dark gets too big and scary, and I just can't wish it away.  But I'm pretty good at heading it off at the pass, so to speak.  And if I catch it quick, I can pretty much always send it packing.

So, you might ask, what do you do to chase the shadows from the corners of your soul? 

Or you might not.  Whatever, you're here...so I'll tell you anyway.

Here's my secret.  It's beautifully simplistic, really.  I just pretend. 

The pretending usually takes the form of doing the exact opposite of anything that I actually feel like doing when I'm down in the dumps.  It's like this: when I'm depressed, my natural inclination is to curl up in bed, all by myself.  In the dark.  With sad songs playing softly in the background.

But to do all of this, despite the fact that it feels so natural and right, is the WORST thing I can do.  To give in to the dark, to let it in like this is just waving a big old white flag.  And I refuse to surrender.

So no, none of those things.  Instead, I pretend.  I make myself do what I imagine the Happy People do.  I exercise, even though it's the last thing I feel like doing.  I give my kids an extra hug, an extra smile, and read an extra story at bedtime to ensure that they don't pay the price for my sadness.  I make coffee dates with girlfriends, and share in harmless gossip sessions that have nothing to do with my problems.  And I put on loud and silly music and force myself to sing along.

It might take a few days, but do you know what?  Eventually I realize that I'm not pretending anymore. 

So to everyone who was kind enough to leave an encouraging word for me yesterday, thank you.  I'm not quite there yet, but I'm on my way.  Thank you.

The Cave

So I wrote a post, then deleted a post. 

And then wrote and deleted again.

My heart is sore, my head is aching.  For no good reason, you understand.  It's Just Me: the dark is always close behind...and some days, I look back over my shoulder and notice that it seems to be gaining on me.

But I have a few tricks up my sleeve, don't you worry.

Driving home, dwelling on all the things that I have done wrong as of late, I made a conscious decision to STOP.  I pulled over, figuratively and literally.

I sat there at the side of the road, cars whizzing by me on the way to wherever-they-were-going, but I was at rest.  I gave myself to the moment, and the moment gave itself back to me.

My iPod shuffled through, and this song came on.  Coincidence?  Probably.  But I'll take it as a message.  As much as I want to withdraw, to hide in my cave and wrap myself in my sadness, I must not. I will not.

Mother

It is Mother’s Day,
and I couldn’t ask
for more than this:
that they are mine.
Little pieces of my heart
sent out into the world
to love, learn and grow
while I watch.

***

Can you tell a story using only 160 characters? Head on over to Monkey Man's site to read some more, and maybe add one of your own...

I'm Tired of Waking Up Tired...

Six Word Saturday...

Toddler: bad ears.  Hubby: bad back.

On Nights Like Tonight

The stars and the moon
chase the clouds across the sky
and the wind whispers wishes to the trees.
The blood in my veins
sings a strange and secret song
and my heart breaks apart by small degrees.

On nights like tonight
things undone, things unsaid
are louder, brighter, more
than everything I did instead.

***

Can you tell a story in exactly 55 words? This is my attempt for Friday Flash 55.. Go see g-man for more, and maybe add one of your own...

Pink Moon

Did you that know every full moon has a name? 

You've heard of the Harvest Moon before, I'm sure; that great big orange one that comes around each September.  The one that seems to sit on the edge of the sky so much closer than all the other moons;  the one that, if you only stretched just a little bit further, well surely you could just about grab it up in your hands and bring it home.  That one's hard to miss, isn't it?  Plus, Neil Young did kind of immortalize it in a song....

The names of the other Moons, however, are nowhere near as well-known.  Perhaps it's not so surprising, when you think about it.  How could they possibly compare to such a high profile moon as that?  No one in modern music, so far as I know, has been tempted to write a song to commemorate either the Worm Moon (March) or the Sturgeon Moon (August), for example.  The cool factor just isn't there, you know?  And don't even get me started on the Full Beaver Moon (November).  That sounds both awkward and a little dirty, if you ask me (hey, my mind works that way, what can I tell you?).

My favourite Moon of all is the one that most recently lit the sky: The Pink Moon, the April moon. 

Nick Drake knew about the power of the Pink Moon.  Ahhh, but did he ever.  And while I like Neil Young as much as the next Canadian, given a choice, I'll take the Pink Moon over the Harvest Moon any day.

This post was written in response to the prompt Pink for Theme Thursdays.  Head on over and see what other people came up with this week.

Trapped In The New Scene

I've diligently posted every day for quite some time now.  And I haven't even done a wimpy I have nothing to say but here I am anyway sort of post in absolutely ages now.  So I think I've earned a pass today, don't you?

You see, I just got a new toy.  And I really want to go play with it.  I'm sure that the interweb will not fall apart in my absence...

So: sing loud, play hard, love well, et cetera, et cetera...

As for me, I sense a late-night reading session in my immediate future...see you tomorrow!!

The Kids Don't Stand A Chance

When I was a little girl, cartoons were something that we watched on Saturday morning, and the options were very limited.  Sometimes that meant that you ended up watching Rocket Robin Hood or Hercules, even if you didn't really go for that kind of thing.  It was that, or do without...it couldn't be Bugs Bunny all the time, you know!

Kids today don't even get how good they've got it.  Not only are there several dedicated channels just for kids, pretty much everyone also has a pretty healthy DVD collection, as well as Youtube and endless other goodies available on-line at the drop of a hat.

But more doesn't necessarily translate as good.   Case in point, the video embedded below.  It's only two and a half minutes...Go on, have a look. 

 

If you have kids, you might have seen this before...and can back me up.  Because if you don't have kids, and you've never actually sat through an episode of this ridiculous show, you might be tempted to think that this is a parody of some sort.  I assure you, it is not.  In fact, not only is this a real show, it's a very popular show.  Celebrities like Jack Black and Elijah Wood have actually guest starred.

Now, my two-year-old thinks this show is just awesome. But frankly, I'm a little frightened, if you want to know the truth.  And suddenly, Rocket Robin Hood doesn't look so bad anymore...

Good grief!

Fever Dream

He swims, unsettled,
through his blankets
and his dreams.
In and out of
wakefulness
he glows hot
like an ember
in the dark.
I croon
love & nonsense
in red and tender
ears.

***

Can you tell a story using only 160 characters? Head on over to Monkey Man's site to read some more, and maybe add one of your own...

I'm Tired...

SIX WORD SATURDAY:

A sick toddler has drained me.