Omens

So I'm not all that superstitious, only I am. Probably shouldn't be admitting to this on the world wide web but there it is.

I don't like crows. I know, they get a bad wrap but I still think they are a bad luck sign. Funny though, black cats are just cool, especially with white paws.

Biggest bad omen though is entering a new year with a messy/dirty house. That's my mission today. To enter on a good note. It's an old proverb I think. Something about enter on a bad note and that's how the rest of your year will be. It's been a crazy hectic successful year but messy. Very, very messy.

I've got one day to make amends. Wish me luck.

Gotta love Big Brother (oops, I meant to say Google)

So, I did a google search and then came to this blog to enter my musings of the morning only to find an ad for the company that I had just done a search for pop up on my blog ... creepy ...

No, really folks. Google is crossing the line. How about Google+ (no aliases allowed!) Even if you don't want to use Google, they'll find you and expose you.

My mind is reeling from the repercussions. Just imagine that poor woman trying to build a new life for herself and escape an abusive husband or a people in the eye witness protection program or political dissidents or ... you get the picture. But, some holier than though idealists in a padded office at Google central have decided that you cannot hide and you must be exposed.

Even those who try to escape an online presence will not be saved. Cross links are everywhere ...

We are all living in glass houses and it seems to me that the all-mighty Google is resting back and casting stones.

I say all this, typing it into Blogspot, a Google product.

Boxing Day 2011

I feel about as satisfied as can be today. The madness is over and now for a few weeks of rest. There are meetings in the not too distant future and crazy deadlines and all kinds of obligations but for now all I have to do is be here.

No place I'd rather be.

a fond farewell

After 41 years of marriage a woman suddenly gets diagnosed with cancer and dies 3 months later, leaving behind eight grand children, three children, and a very lonely husband. The hall was packed and tears were shed.

The pastor... don't know if it was just me... seemed somewhat bored with the proceedings but this was all taken in stride. Nobody was there for the pastor.

The most amazing thing is it was the women who were better able to holding together. The men cried like babies ... so did I, though not a guy.

Twitter is for twits

So, I'm a twit. I still don't get so much of it but I tweet. It is amazing how much closer you get to the strangest people. There is no way that somebody I watch on TV or whose books I grew up adulating would ever get anywhere close to hearing something I had to say if it were not for Twitter. With Twitter I am right there, right with them. Unbelievable. Cool. Scary.

The point, of course, is to reach out and connect through social media. It is the intent to spread your social circles and expand your ability to interface but does it ever feel like cyber stalking at times.

Well wishers

Got a call this morning from somebody who loves me. Seems that the past evening's conversation weighed heavily on his mind. He did not mean to discourage, only to shield.

It is the sort of rationalization that has kept me from producing all these years... the idea that my eye and hand are not trained. The point is that it could be. Why not? All it takes is the doing. It is not impossible. I just have to want to. I don't think I ever really fully realized that I just had to want to. It was never that I was not good enough.

With maturity, you do gain further understanding. I get it now and it isn't stopping me. Not anymore. Now, it doesn't matter if I will succeed at it because it is no longer the point to succeed at it. It is only to do. I am doing.

I am an artist

I had an epiphany a long time ago. Actually, it was an anti-epiphany. The sort that prompts artists more talented than me to burn their brushes and canvasses. I've never been so extreme though I do feel mediocre.

I'm not mediocre. A bit average but not mediocre. Potential is there but so are many, many nagging thoughts, mostly put there by those who wish me well.

So, the epiphany is this: if you listen to the people who mean you well instead of be brave enough to try anyway, you'll never get close to quenching that thirst.

Do I want to be a famous, established artist who makes a living at painting? Truth be told, I couldn't care less. I have never been motivated by money or the impressions of others. I have, however, always wanted to have an art studio, filled with large canvasses and paint, paint, glorious paint, everywhere. I have always seen myself in the midst of colour and life and in a dream am too afraid to fall asleep to even come close to dreaming, I see myself fearlessly attacking a canvass the size of a house, music blaring and hearing nothing but movement.

So, I've started. I'm on my third painting and I wouldn't say they are particularly good but I don't want to correct them or change them. Not because they can't be made better or because I'm in a rush to move on to the next one but because each one is like a dent on the road to a destination. In each mistake there was a motivating purpose. It's only paint.

My question tonight was: if I display it for public view will I only be embarrassing myself? The answer: "no". My second question: does it smell of amateur? "yes", though put differently "it has the potential for great commercial success." Interpretation: I need practice. I need to work harder. That's fine. I need to study? Always.

But, back to "Broken Axle Spinning Blind", my poetry and my cover, ... no real education behind it. Only pure depth of feeling and lots of heart and I still love it.

So, maybe I'll hold off a bit before showcasing the stuff until I can show skill as well as talent.

Apathy

Haven't written in a while. In part because I've been busy. In part because I have been thinking of shutting down the blog. Today I'm glad I didn't. I have something to say and I hope you'll listen, take note, and spread the word.

There's been more and more talk lately about onlookers observing as an injustice takes place. More and more, rather than intervening on behalf of somebody being beaten to a pulp, video tape it and post it to YouTube. Sheep. That's what they all are.

I stepped in today and when I turned around found that the onlookers did not back me up. If the mob had turned on me, I would had been toast and nobody would have helped. I went home wondering if I had been out of line or overreacted. I hadn't but those around me certainly under-reacted.

We tell our children to not get involved because we don't want them to get hurt. We teach them to not stand up for what is right. Would I change this message for my children? NO! I don't want them to get shot, stabbed, beaten... but what if we don't stand up anymore?

Is it because we are scared or because we don't care or does it even matter?

What do we do now? Those who will perpetrate are invincible because nobody will stand against them and they have no reason to fear repercussion until after the fact. Are they shamed by the public airing of their deeds? Does the fact that they get arrested AFTER THE FACT serve as some sort of deterrent?

Come on people! What are we going to do about this? What is the answer?

adjusting your comfort level

So, today is my birthday. It's 11:24pm so I can still say that it currently is my birthday. The day was wonderful, for the most part. I told the hubby that I wanted to be able to use my TV as a computer monitor and lo and behold, here I am: Sitting on my couch and typing this blog from a brand spanking new wireless keyboard and maneuvering with a wireless mouse.

The cable he bought was exactly perfect, despite some initial concerns from somebody with a completely different computer.

Anyway, this is a bit of a diversion. The big project is almost put to bed and I plan on using this very same keyboard to finish it off with. It is a bit different in terms of feel but so far, so good.

Only thing is I keep looking for that blasted track pad that I thankfully don't have to use anymore. Go figure!

Random fishing expiditions for married women

As a person who spends quite a bit of time on the internet for both leisure and profit (though the scale is not tipped in favor of the latter at the moment), I like to keep track of how effectively I am spending my time. I also like to see if anything that affects me comes up. Google Alerts is not a perfect system but it does a fairly good job of keeping me informed.

Okay, so I have a Google Alert set for my neighbourhood and I get this email from a craigslist post. It is written by some guy and says that he, too, lives in my neighbourhood and finds 'me' alluring and sexually enticing and would like to know if if 'I' am interested and invites 'me' to contact him through email to see if we can gradually reveal 'ourselves' to each other. He says he knows 'I' am married and he is married, too. Remember, the reason I am seeing this is because it came through as a Google Alert from a craigslist post so I'm not at all clear why this lunatic thinks this chick is ever going to see it and why in the world she would respond to this. The average age of the neighbours isn't really cougar.

This is trolling for bush, in your bunny slippers, at the extreme end of laziness. He is casting a net through his bedroom window and hopes that it will land on something fuzzy.

All I'm saying is that the unfortunate sole must really be thinking that the potential fling's husband won't be reading craigslist.

I just don't get it but I'd love to know if it works for him.

Why do ex's look you up?

The other day I got an email invite to LinkedIn. Every once in a while I get these and for the most part I accept, even though I really don't get LinkedIn.

For one thing, I'm not looking for a job and for another I couldn't care less if anybody wants to make a professional connection with me. I have my reasons and if you knew what I did for a living you would probably understand.

Anyway, I got one of these invites and it came from ... wait for it ... an ex boyfriend. Am I guilty of having looked up ex's hoping to find out where they are these days and what they have been up to? Of course I am. I'll admit it. There are two in particular that a part of me will always have a soft spot for. One is a psycho and the other just wasn't all that into me, or at least he wasn't into me enough to agree to his mother's wish on her deathbed to never be with me.

But this guy, I broke it off with. It was one of those "you had to see it coming moments" where the guy turns around and says, no, no I didn't. But, he broke up with his ex to be with me and then after we broke up went right back to her and married her.

Fifteen years later he says my face materialized before his eyes and he just had to get in touch. This would be, by my count, the third who has looked me up via social media and attempted to start a conversation. Then there are the two guys that fall into that it-never-went-anywhere-because-they-never-had-the-guts-to- pursue-it-but-you-sure-knew-they-wanted-to-because-they-hung-around-like-puppy-dogs-and-basically -admitted-they-thought-that-I-would-break-their-heart so they didn't even want to go there. I'm not sure why they do this. Just fishing I guess.

Okay, well I'm not sure if that is what it is because I am gullible and want to believe in honest intentions.

Also, in the past week I have (at random) met three people who seriously believe in their abilities to communicate with the dead and all that sort of thing. Plus maybe a part of me just wants to believe it.

But I don't know. Maybe it's all innocent. Still, my life is complicated enough I think. I'm too busy for this stuff.

I'll tell you one thing. Those two guys that I looked up I'm sure glad that one of them isn't looking me up because it took too long to get over him in the first place and I'm glad the other isn't because he's a bad apple.

The scariest thing about LinkedIn is that it keeps trying to be useful so if somebody looked somebody else up, that person gets a suggestion "do you know this person?" and I'll tell you that I really don't think I want either one of those guys seeing that I was even curious.

I'm going to go stick my head in a hole now.

But why do they look you up? I have no answer for this.

Television is not funny

Censorship

For a while now I have started to realize that the big G is playing big brother. Web searches are not returning results the way they used to. Sitting in your pjs and fuzzy slippers behind a computer screen and doing an random search, you would think you would get results based on the search, not the location of your IP. But the big G has gotten smarter, in all its AI glory. It knows your habits and where you live and narrows down the search results to what it thinks you need to know, not what is out there. If you are lucky and resourceful enough you might accidentally stumble on something new but it will be an accident and good luck getting there on purpose.

Same goes for blogging. You may have something to say but watch that potty mouth. Spell out the word p or the name of its partner and all that will be left of your blog post is the title.

All you might have been trying to say is that the need to p is one of humanity's great commonalities; that the need to do it succeeds the need to kill, maim, engage in strife. But AI is a wonderful thing. It doesn't matter what you have to say, just watch your language.

A hot day with a Zookeeper

This is not going to be a long post because I got stuff to do right now but I did want to let you know that we went to see Zookeeper on Monday and although I would not call it Oscar worthy or anything, I laughed out loud a few times and the little people really got a kick out of it, as well. It's a funny, cute movie and Kevin James never disappoints.

Feel good, benign comedy where no animals got hurt but but one might have gotten a bit drunk.

To see a preview click here.

A Day Out With Thomas

I'm going to share something personal now. I've been so busy with work that family has taken a bit of a backseat for the past year and a half.
Well, things have finally started to settle down and I decided to plan an excursion. The little guy deserves it and so does everybody else. It's been a tough year for us, trying to make it all work.
So, we re-arranged everything and managed to be there for a day I can't imagine not having been there for and then had a bit of a late start but trucked off to St. Thomas for a ride on Thomas the Tank Engine. What fun. Yet another fantastic effort by yet another service club.
There were many little surprises and great memories formed and all of a sudden I resolved that it is time to play mommy again, the way it's meant to be done. So, a birthday (a little belated) was celebrated at a great Chinese buffet (King's Buffet). Hey, if you are ever looking for a great meal around St. Thomas, go there.
The little guy had no idea we'd be singing happy birthday and the look of surprise and watching him clap along with everybody else as the entire place rejoiced in his efforts to blow out the little candle was worth a sixteen hour drive, let alone a two hour one.
We took the scenic route back that drove right past a home with the Ghost Busters station wagon in the drive way. I promise I did the exact right thing and honest to goodness tried to ring the doorbell before taking pictures but nobody was home and surely the thing is in the driveway for that very reason.
Earlier on in the day we took a ride on Thomas, himself. Well, on Thomas' caboose but it was hooked up right to the cheeky little blue engine. The lady who was working that section of the train came complete with a spray bottle to cool off passengers. The heat of the day was enough to fry eggs on the backs of the revelers.
Her name is Shela. I couldn't resist but to ask because the last name was a lot more generic.
Turns out that when her mother had given birth the nurse was either illiterate or had an attitude worthy of the CN Tower and so did Shela's mother. The nurse wanted to know what to put on the birth certificate and Marleen said: "Sheila". The nurse said: "How do you spell that?" and the poor lady, who was too sick to deal with it because she had just given birth (and Shela is not a small lady so she likely wasn't a small baby), says: "She... La!". The belligerent nurse continued to ask "and the mother's name?" to which Marlene answered: "Mar... Leen!"... and that's what she got on the birth certificate.
So now, post 9-11, poor Shela can't travel because her name looks ethnic even though she looks very small town Canadian, and all because the nurse couldn't care less and her mother never bothered checking the paper, just assuming that any person in their right mind would know how to spell 'Sheila.'
Now here is a part of the story that I really couldn't get, at all. To help mitigate some of the damage, our friend Shela went to her lawyer, who spent a ton of time and money drafting a letter that she now has to carry on her person any time she needs to sign an important travel document, etc., saying that she is the same person as Sheila_M so that the diligent and dedicated security staff at the airport will let her get on the plane. However, she still won't travel because she can't be sure if they'll let her back into the country, even with her legally authorized piece of paper.
My poor little head started to spin a bit because I couldn't understand why she couldn't just go and get her name legally changed. In Canada you don't even have to get paperwork done if you don't absolutely want to.
Nice lady, though.
Nice town, too. The train rides through St. Thomas and past an assortment of community centres, parks, and the fronts or backs of seniors residences (there's a whole bunch of them in St. Thomas), and everybody drops what they are doing and waves to all the kids as the train goes by and make sure to not stop waving until every little kid on the train got to feel like a V.I.P. Such fun!
They have a little hay stack maze, magicians, entertainers, Sir Topham Hat, a balloon making clown, and a petting zoo complete with a zebu, a donkey and a yak (also the sheet, goats, geese, etc.). They also have a bubble area where you can dip ropes into soapy buckets for huge bubble fun. All this to make it worth the drive and to keep the kiddies busy while they wait for their turn on a train all decked out to look like Thomas. It's awesome!
So, that's what we did on Sunday. What did you do?

Caterpillar poo

Walking with a 3-year old makes you do strange things. Things you would never imagine doing.

Me? Pick up bugs? With my own bare hands? Are you kidding?

Me? Scooping up dead fish that some kids had scaled and whose eyes they popped out and then put back in the lake to rot and gingerly disposing of it in a nearby garbage? Unthinkable!

But, a little boy is enough to make you swallow any sense of utter disgust just for the sake of a squeal of youthful joy. So, I bravely put my hand on the ground. Willing and ready for the fuzzy little thing to crawl aboard. I was game and ready.

Only problem is that it wasn't! It sniffed and decided that mine was not the hand to travel upon. It dared disobey and started to turn it's head. Now I was determined. I delicately lifted it and placed it on my hand. I was ever so proud and the little guy was delighted.

The caterpillar was not delighted. It curled up into a ball that got ever tighter when the miniature man in the stroller reached to feel the little orange hairs standing on edge with alarm. Then it pooed.

My virgin hand now held much more than a relative of Arabella Miller's favorite pet. A little trail of green slime from the petrified creature that I had disturbed on its way to the other side of the street. I wonder if I tried to pick up a chicken if I would end up with an egg for the same reason.

I probably traumatized the poor thing for the rest of its life. Fly little future butterfly. Fly. I'm sorry to have troubled you...

... well, no. Not really. You're a caterpillar and though you might have been terrified we meant you no harm and made a little person's eyes light up with wonder and joy for a few seconds. So, thanks and have a nice life.

I'm just glad people were watering their lawn not too far away and didn't mind my asking to rinse of my hand.

What to do about a dripping tap in the middle of the night

So, the other day I had a cup of coffee. Okay, I had one yesterday, as well. Can't sleep. Doesn't make it better that sounds of snores and water drips resound throughout the night.

Can't sleep, so I look around. It's dark. Can't see much but instinctively reach for the laptop. It's a make work project. Better than doing something actually useful and feeling proud to have finally accomplished it.

Three hours have passed and the sun is up. Now I can see and still on the laptop but a bit blurry eyed.

Fine. Turning off the laptop and going to do something useful.

Morning, everybody.

How to overcome gay parenting stereotypes

Please forgive this author for attempting to write about this topic despite being neither gay nor professing to own even an inclining as to what a gay parenting stereotype might be. This is why she is perhaps ideally suited to offer advice on the matter. There is only one way to parent a child and that is with love and to bestow on them the best that you have to offer.
A parenting style is unique to each couple. It is the amalgamation of what each has brought in to the relationship. In cases where there is only one parent, it is still the combination of who you were before the child entered your life and the impact of your current relationships, of both the romantic and non-romantic kind.
A person's sexual orientation is just that. Whom you opt to sleep with or be attracted to is a complex formula that has really nothing to do with your child since we are not sexually involved with the child. Nor are we in sexual competition with those that our child may later grow to be attracted to.
So, as Krishanmurti had said, you cannot control what goes on around you, as that is dictated by others. You can only die to them. This is not a physical death. It is a separation between both the good and bad that comes of your interaction with them. You just stop being guided and impacted by judgement. When they can no longer exert an influence on you, you can no longer react to what they say.
This is something like the idea of cyber-bullying. Turn off the computer and you can no longer read the hateful, intimidating messages. All of a sudden there is a healthy ignorance between what they expect you to do and what you feel needs to be done.
What strikes me as most compelling in all of this is that regardless of gay or straight, man or woman, there are so many different types of personalities. A straight couple where the woman is more dominant of the two is just as typical as an over-bearing, perhaps even emotionally abusive male spouse to his demure and long-suffering wife. It is no different from any other collection of individuals who happen to have formed a union.
All of these people, who by hook or crook have managed to become parents must now deal with an additional living soul, perhaps more, in their own right. People are people. The child is a person. Sexual orientation is not what defines a person. It should only define the part of a person that accounts for their carnal lust.

2011 Caledon Butterfly Gala for Wellspring Chinguacousy Cancer Support Centre

The most recent issue of SouthFields Village Voice has a really great article written by the editor and, with their permission. They are really hoping that this event will bring awareness for Wellspring so if you are looking for a good time on a Saturday night (i.e. cirque-tacular performance and duel pianos, an open bar and fabulous buffet by Village Bistro, one of Caledon's finest dining establishments), then I'd say $140 bucks is a really good deal for all that. Plus, money raised goes to support Wellspring and the great work they are doing with people going through cancer and their families.

Check out page 3 of the latest issue of SouthFields Village Voice (www.southfieldsvillagevoice.com) for details.

Hypocrisy

Sometimes, I have to admit, I wonder about my own sanity. Everybody does at one point or another. I no more understand the reasons behind some of the things that exit my mouth than the poor people around me. My only excuse is an extreme, self-imposed, lack of sleep. There are reasons behind this but worthy of a different blog entry.

Still, I try to remain true to my word and make every effort to live with integrity. This cannot be said of some of my acquaintances. Even if for self-serving reasons, how self-serving is it to be caught in a blatant lie? Do you really think nobody listens?

Anyway, it is 4:38 in the morning and I am only ranting. More power to ya and it is all fairly harmless at that. I still think you mean well.

In the mean time, I am starting to panic about time, money, health, reputation, self-defeatism, unknown forces and unexpected calamities. As I said in the last post: God give me strength.

God give me strength

Life is awfully short. This is a fact even when you are waiting for what may seem like forever. Before you blink it was yesterday and then even decades ago.

Today, my arm feels numb. An aftershock from my heart tensing up just from the hint of an impending conversation that I did not want to have. A couple of days ago I looked at a photograph taken while I was talking and couldn't believe how old and tired I looked.

The past year has been rough. I know why and at the same time have to wonder if it is worth it. I'm committed now though. So, I have to follow through and all the while have to wonder if I'll last. The undertaking seems to be taking its toll.

Still, I have to keep doing it. This is one of those defining moments. I could stop but I'd be passing up what really is a chance of a lifetime. These are the opportunities you either take or don't and things you'll never likely regret.

I'm starting to worry about money though. Even dreams take financing. That and, as a friend likes to say, bandwidth. I'm low on bandwidth. I need help. I know this. The trick is to find the right help for the right price. Free costs too much and paid is something that is coming ... hopefully.

Anybody got a buck to spare for a dream? That way I can hire some elves.

Full moon

Don't talk to me about the moon's effect being nonsense. Thursday was all about it. Car accidents, soar, throats, strange conversations, everything getting off the rails.

Religion has it all wrong. We should not be praying at the alter of the sun. It may be responsible for our ability to survive but the moon dictates what happens while we do.