My hairdresser must cringe when she sees me coming. You ladies all know what I’m talking about. Everyone one of us, at some point, has walked into the hairdressers with a picture in our hands, held it lovingly next to our face and said, “I want my hair to look like that.” What we are really saying is, “I want my life to look like that, please Fairy Godmother, please!” Right now you guys are saying, “It’s just hair!” Oh no, you’re wrong, it’s never ‘just hair’, it’s the stuff of dreams.
Exhibit A:
Every movie involving a female’s major transformation begins with her hair having serious problems. It is usually in tangles, long enough to be in her eyes and flying all over the place. All is finally made right when she emerges, announced by some servant at the top of the stairs, with her hair well groomed and up in an elaborate ‘do’. The fantasy: everything works out with a simple trip to the right hairdresser.
This is clearly a ploy by the hairdresser mafia, a small, but powerful group that has been secretly ruling the world since ancient times: Revealing book to follow.
I have yet to meet a woman who likes her hair. We might have days that we think it looks alright, or moments, when it looks pretty, but it has so much hairspray a tornado could take it right off our heads and on to a cow 100 meters away, without a hair falling out of place.
What we all want, moment by moment, is gorgeous free flowing tresses. We want to rise from our beds in the morning, our hair already in place, our admirers waiting in the hallway with bated breath.
“You should see mom’s hair when she walks, it’s amazing” one slipper toed drooler would say to the other.
“Do you think we should draw on the wall?” asks the one handing out crayons.
The oldest, would shake her head, horrified and say, “No way, mom’s hair is perfect.”
If only it could be. Until then I had better make an appointment to get my hair done. This time I think I’ll just bring a picture of a neat and tidy room and four, squeaky clean, well behaved children and see how far I get.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Wednesday Story: An Architect's Tower Part 2
Antoni shuffled quickly down the hall to the front foyer, doing up the buttons to his best suit as he went. He paused for a moment at a vase of flowers one of his admirers had brought the day before. He scowled at the flowers. The whole thing looked as unnatural as possible. Each flower was perfection and that made it look like a garish copy of life. He yanked out a single flower for his lapel, crushing another between his hands to catch its soft scent. Joan would be upset that the arrangement was now entirely off kilter. Antoni smiled at the thought, that man was entirely too uptight.
His cowlick waved to him in the mirror above the vase. Antoni grunted. “Humph! Ridiculous hair.” He wiggled his fingers into the vase swishing the water into his palm, smoothing out his cowlick. It remained at much the same angle as the fussy flower arrangement. One little flower had been missed at the back. She was inconsistent shades of red to pink and leaned off to one side. “That,” he thought, “is the one Beatriz would love most of all.” He would make sure she took it home.
A small woman sat on the wooden chair by the door. She wore a black dress, neat and clean but worn. Her black hair had threads of silver woven through and was braided, simply, into a bun. She was watching out the window, her hands in her lap stretching in the dappled sunlight. She turned to meet him, her eyes soft and shy, her little nose, whose freckles had begun to blend together; all these things were just as he remembered. The strange sway to her back seemed more in line with her age now and not so out of place.
“Mr. Gaudi. Thank you for seeing me. I do not know if you remember me, but perhaps you would recall my family name …”
Gaudi laughed a long deep rumble that squeaked from disuse. “Beatriz! How could I forget?” He came forward and took her hand gently helping her from her chair. “It has been too long. And as for family names it is I that should be recalling mine, Beatriz, to you I am Antoni. Just Antoni.” He handed her the flower.
“Antoni! You picked the most beautiful.” Beatriz smiled, light dancing in her shy eyes. “I had hoped you would remember me, Antoni. You’ll have to excuse my condition. My nephew brought me in on his cart. The boy hits all the holes. I am afraid I can’t sit for long.”
“Ah, well, that suits me perfectly. I am just going on my prescription now. Do you have time? Would it suit you to join me?”
“That would be wonderful, Antoni. My nephew will not be done market until this afternoon, and until then I am free.”
Antoni slipped his arm under hers, she walked, stilted, leaning heavily into him, his cane supporting them both as they walked into the street.
As they came into the sunshine and the awakening bustle of the streets, Beatriz laughed again. “I never would have thought we would go on one of our walks in Barcelona! The streets are our ocean Antoni!”
“Yes,” he smiled, “at our age we dare not get our feet wet! Nasty undertow here. You’d get buried under the wheels and never get up!” They both laughed together again. It felt nice to laugh. He had forgotten how long it had been, since Guell died probably.
“Do you remember our walks in the sand?”
“Ah, yes,” he smiled. “All the other children were off kicking balls …”
“Or playing in the hills, or swimming…”
“Yes, and you and I we were the only ones not able to play.”
“Hum,” she said. “I’m glad there was someone else. I spent many days on the porch weaving baskets and shelling snails by myself. Everyone was mean but you Antoni. I’ve always meant to thank you. You were kind to let me be your friend.”
“Beatriz, you think I was kind? You moved the same pace as me. You were my friend. My dear friend. I’m only sorry I was not a better one. I must apologize that I never came to visit…”
“No need,” She dismissed. She smiled and walked on, pointing ahead to a streetlight. “Is that one of yours Antoni?”
“Yes, the city commissioned it.”
“It’s beautiful, I could tell right away. The city must love you a lot.”
“Bah, they only want street lights. They ask others for buildings. It was only a bone thrown to an old dog.”
“Still,” she said, “I like it. One can always use a street light.” They came alongside a grand city building with tall Greek columns and severe marble façade. “How about this building?” She asked a playful glint in her eye.
Antoni growled. “Not me, it’s an architect named Mas, on top of Llobet and Bargues’s work, so prim and proper and thoroughly uncreative…” he caught the glint in her eye. “You tease! You knew full well it wasn’t mine!”
Beatriz smiled and didn’t change her pace.
“So, Beatriz, where do you like to visit in Barcelona? Do you have a favorite coffee shop? You choose. You’re the guest.”
“No, no Antoni. You had better choose. I would have no idea. This is my first time here.”
Antoni stopped in his tracks. “The first time in all these years? Why?”
“The trip was always much too hard. And besides I had shelling and work to do, then my nephews to take care of, I did not mind.”
“Then why, why did you come after all this time?”
Beatriz smiled up at Antoni and softly touched his cheek, “For you, Antoni.”
His cowlick waved to him in the mirror above the vase. Antoni grunted. “Humph! Ridiculous hair.” He wiggled his fingers into the vase swishing the water into his palm, smoothing out his cowlick. It remained at much the same angle as the fussy flower arrangement. One little flower had been missed at the back. She was inconsistent shades of red to pink and leaned off to one side. “That,” he thought, “is the one Beatriz would love most of all.” He would make sure she took it home.
A small woman sat on the wooden chair by the door. She wore a black dress, neat and clean but worn. Her black hair had threads of silver woven through and was braided, simply, into a bun. She was watching out the window, her hands in her lap stretching in the dappled sunlight. She turned to meet him, her eyes soft and shy, her little nose, whose freckles had begun to blend together; all these things were just as he remembered. The strange sway to her back seemed more in line with her age now and not so out of place.
“Mr. Gaudi. Thank you for seeing me. I do not know if you remember me, but perhaps you would recall my family name …”
Gaudi laughed a long deep rumble that squeaked from disuse. “Beatriz! How could I forget?” He came forward and took her hand gently helping her from her chair. “It has been too long. And as for family names it is I that should be recalling mine, Beatriz, to you I am Antoni. Just Antoni.” He handed her the flower.
“Antoni! You picked the most beautiful.” Beatriz smiled, light dancing in her shy eyes. “I had hoped you would remember me, Antoni. You’ll have to excuse my condition. My nephew brought me in on his cart. The boy hits all the holes. I am afraid I can’t sit for long.”
“Ah, well, that suits me perfectly. I am just going on my prescription now. Do you have time? Would it suit you to join me?”
“That would be wonderful, Antoni. My nephew will not be done market until this afternoon, and until then I am free.”
Antoni slipped his arm under hers, she walked, stilted, leaning heavily into him, his cane supporting them both as they walked into the street.
As they came into the sunshine and the awakening bustle of the streets, Beatriz laughed again. “I never would have thought we would go on one of our walks in Barcelona! The streets are our ocean Antoni!”
“Yes,” he smiled, “at our age we dare not get our feet wet! Nasty undertow here. You’d get buried under the wheels and never get up!” They both laughed together again. It felt nice to laugh. He had forgotten how long it had been, since Guell died probably.
“Do you remember our walks in the sand?”
“Ah, yes,” he smiled. “All the other children were off kicking balls …”
“Or playing in the hills, or swimming…”
“Yes, and you and I we were the only ones not able to play.”
“Hum,” she said. “I’m glad there was someone else. I spent many days on the porch weaving baskets and shelling snails by myself. Everyone was mean but you Antoni. I’ve always meant to thank you. You were kind to let me be your friend.”
“Beatriz, you think I was kind? You moved the same pace as me. You were my friend. My dear friend. I’m only sorry I was not a better one. I must apologize that I never came to visit…”
“No need,” She dismissed. She smiled and walked on, pointing ahead to a streetlight. “Is that one of yours Antoni?”
“Yes, the city commissioned it.”
“It’s beautiful, I could tell right away. The city must love you a lot.”
“Bah, they only want street lights. They ask others for buildings. It was only a bone thrown to an old dog.”
“Still,” she said, “I like it. One can always use a street light.” They came alongside a grand city building with tall Greek columns and severe marble façade. “How about this building?” She asked a playful glint in her eye.
Antoni growled. “Not me, it’s an architect named Mas, on top of Llobet and Bargues’s work, so prim and proper and thoroughly uncreative…” he caught the glint in her eye. “You tease! You knew full well it wasn’t mine!”
Beatriz smiled and didn’t change her pace.
“So, Beatriz, where do you like to visit in Barcelona? Do you have a favorite coffee shop? You choose. You’re the guest.”
“No, no Antoni. You had better choose. I would have no idea. This is my first time here.”
Antoni stopped in his tracks. “The first time in all these years? Why?”
“The trip was always much too hard. And besides I had shelling and work to do, then my nephews to take care of, I did not mind.”
“Then why, why did you come after all this time?”
Beatriz smiled up at Antoni and softly touched his cheek, “For you, Antoni.”
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Sunday Intellectual Question: Nature vs. Nurture?
What really makes us who we are? Pop-psych talks about Nature vs. Nurture, but shouldn’t there be another category?
Current discussions of genetics are the ultimate example of “Nature”: Are we destined to do certain things? Do our parents and their parents, by their simple existence, make up the sum of who we are? The truth is, while we can identify some of the genetic code, we are still at a loss as to exactly what it means. There is even some question as to whether or not genetic code has the ability to change as a person grows.
To find a good example of Nurture you don’t have to look farther than the many parenting books on the market. A lot of the books require you to do the right things, in the right order, at the right time or else your children will be doomed.
While it is true that you should definitely take good care of your children, and we have to deal with some things in our lives that we can’t change, are we not, on another level, ultimately responsible for our own actions?
I think there should be another category called “Life Choices” or “Self-Induced Torture”. I really think that in spite of everything we are responsible for our own actions, even bad choices. Let me know what you think.
Current discussions of genetics are the ultimate example of “Nature”: Are we destined to do certain things? Do our parents and their parents, by their simple existence, make up the sum of who we are? The truth is, while we can identify some of the genetic code, we are still at a loss as to exactly what it means. There is even some question as to whether or not genetic code has the ability to change as a person grows.
To find a good example of Nurture you don’t have to look farther than the many parenting books on the market. A lot of the books require you to do the right things, in the right order, at the right time or else your children will be doomed.
While it is true that you should definitely take good care of your children, and we have to deal with some things in our lives that we can’t change, are we not, on another level, ultimately responsible for our own actions?
I think there should be another category called “Life Choices” or “Self-Induced Torture”. I really think that in spite of everything we are responsible for our own actions, even bad choices. Let me know what you think.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Here's $1,000,000!
Just kidding! However, here’s what I would do with my million.
Go to an expensive furniture store with my brother. Sit on all the sofas and:
Get an ice cream truck for my house. A real ice cream and gelato truck. I don’t want to gain a ton of weight though, so here’s my plan.
Hire someone to do some of the household things I hate to do.
Time share a jet plane so I could fly the whole family to such exotic locations as:
A tiny, clean house out back that is very, very quiet for writing. And well-insulated. What can I say, with a million dollars I shouldn’t have to feel the cold.
So, as you can see, I would probably not make a great millionaire. However, I would have a lot of fun! Let me know what you would do!
Go to an expensive furniture store with my brother. Sit on all the sofas and:
- Pretend that we are watching a sports channel. Complete with shouting,cheering and ‘channel changing’.
- Rearrange the coffee tables so that our pretend drinks are within reach.
- Make comments like: “Lay down on it, ‘Bob’. Stretch right out and see if it’s long enough for a good nap.”
- Convince the salesman to take off his shoes and sit with us on a three seater sofa. Discuss the fine points of "Does it really seat three people?"
- Purchase the most beautiful, wonderful sofa and say, "Ship it!"
Get an ice cream truck for my house. A real ice cream and gelato truck. I don’t want to gain a ton of weight though, so here’s my plan.
- The driver of the ice cream truck would drive around the block.
- My family and I would chase it.
- When the truck has completed a full curcuit we can all have an ice cream.
Hire someone to do some of the household things I hate to do.
- One person would follow my children around and say things like. “Pick that up. Don’t leave that there. Quit hitting your sister.”
- Another person would be in charge of the bathroom. Someone comes out; they go in and clean up. They would also hand out scented towels and do foot massages.
Time share a jet plane so I could fly the whole family to such exotic locations as:
- My brother’s backyard (wouldn’t he be surprised!)
- A sausage festival in Germany, Lobster Dinner with Anne in PEI, and crème Brule wherever they are famous for that.
- Anywhere there’s a theatre production I want to see. Nothing too weird. Must have good snacks. Every weekend.
A tiny, clean house out back that is very, very quiet for writing. And well-insulated. What can I say, with a million dollars I shouldn’t have to feel the cold.
So, as you can see, I would probably not make a great millionaire. However, I would have a lot of fun! Let me know what you would do!
One Million Dollars!
What would you do with a million dollars? I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Almost everyone I know says “When I win a $1000000 I will…”. We must all think about it. There are ads everywhere, “You’re the lucky number!” “We’ve been waiting for you!” “Congratulations, you’re breathing. You’ve just won the opportunity of a lifetime!”
I suppose they’re right. There are a lot of people out there. Most of them are dead.
What would I do with a million dollars? I must admit, for the most part, I am dead boring. I have a long list of things I would pay off, things I would fix, things I would fix again, investments I would make, and appropriate, well managed, charities to fund. It would be a busy, time crunched life filled with writing check, after check and making agonizing decisions over appropriately named things such as:
Bonds or Mutual Funds: Do I want to be tied up in a box, or make friends?
Open Market vs. Closed: Well, duh! You can’t buy anything when the market is closed!
401k Rollovers: That is one tired dog.
Annuities: Which I would probably go for just because it is so cool to say. Go on, try it!
Who needs it? However, I have recently come up with a list of some more Cara styled fun to have with my million … and to make it more exciting … I will post it tomorrow.
I suppose they’re right. There are a lot of people out there. Most of them are dead.
What would I do with a million dollars? I must admit, for the most part, I am dead boring. I have a long list of things I would pay off, things I would fix, things I would fix again, investments I would make, and appropriate, well managed, charities to fund. It would be a busy, time crunched life filled with writing check, after check and making agonizing decisions over appropriately named things such as:
Bonds or Mutual Funds: Do I want to be tied up in a box, or make friends?
Open Market vs. Closed: Well, duh! You can’t buy anything when the market is closed!
401k Rollovers: That is one tired dog.
Annuities: Which I would probably go for just because it is so cool to say. Go on, try it!
Who needs it? However, I have recently come up with a list of some more Cara styled fun to have with my million … and to make it more exciting … I will post it tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Wednesday Story ... Oh boy!
Ok, some of you are looking at this saying. This is a little short. What an odd post modern way to start part two of her story. Did I miss something?
Interestingly, while this, obviously is not my story, it does have something to do with the final question. There are days being home is not easy. There are days when they are. Then there are the days when you do the following:
Wake up way too early to hear the cheery sounds of little voices.
"Stop that! Stop that! I can be louder!"
Give everyone breakfast, vitamins, juice
Wash coffee pot
Scrape egg off the floor
Make formula to the sound of crying twins
Stop fight
Give book back to child
Read book
Put child in time out for hitting
Kiss boo-boo
Give bottles to the twins
Sweep up breakfast
Console daughter who is crying and won't go to school.
Console twins who are crying and drooling, in unison.
Console son who is crying "Save Ums! Save Ums! I want TV!"
Let son watch TV
Put babies to bed
Drag son, "Mr.Outdoors" from TV to outside so I can shovel the walk. All the while he is yelling "No mommy! I don't WANT to go outside!"
Start shovelling.
In and out. Soother for twin 1.
In and out. Soother for twin 2.
Fix shovel.
In and out. Soother.
IN.
Bottles for twins.
Book for son.
Coffee for mommy.
Burp for twins.
Snack for son.
Deep breath for mommy.
Swing for twin 1.
Exersaucer for twin 2.
Magnets for son.
Telephone vacation offer for mommy.
"Do they take kids?" I ask? "I have four?"
Dead air for mommy.
So, as you can see, this is just the FIRST part of my day. Actually, the first part of my day for the last two weeks. So, now, as my brain refuses to think of anything but soothers, blankies, snack and "Get down from there! You'll get hurt!" I will have to try tomorrow. Sorry about that but part two of the story will soon appear, no fear. After all, I'm not going on vacation!
... Put books back on shelf because daughter and son pulled them down to sit on (because, obviously, they are really comfy) and now, that I have noticed, they are way too tired to force them to clean up...
Interestingly, while this, obviously is not my story, it does have something to do with the final question. There are days being home is not easy. There are days when they are. Then there are the days when you do the following:
Wake up way too early to hear the cheery sounds of little voices.
"Stop that! Stop that! I can be louder!"
Give everyone breakfast, vitamins, juice
Wash coffee pot
Scrape egg off the floor
Make formula to the sound of crying twins
Stop fight
Give book back to child
Read book
Put child in time out for hitting
Kiss boo-boo
Give bottles to the twins
Sweep up breakfast
Console daughter who is crying and won't go to school.
Console twins who are crying and drooling, in unison.
Console son who is crying "Save Ums! Save Ums! I want TV!"
Let son watch TV
Put babies to bed
Drag son, "Mr.Outdoors" from TV to outside so I can shovel the walk. All the while he is yelling "No mommy! I don't WANT to go outside!"
Start shovelling.
In and out. Soother for twin 1.
In and out. Soother for twin 2.
Fix shovel.
In and out. Soother.
IN.
Bottles for twins.
Book for son.
Coffee for mommy.
Burp for twins.
Snack for son.
Deep breath for mommy.
Swing for twin 1.
Exersaucer for twin 2.
Magnets for son.
Telephone vacation offer for mommy.
"Do they take kids?" I ask? "I have four?"
Dead air for mommy.
So, as you can see, this is just the FIRST part of my day. Actually, the first part of my day for the last two weeks. So, now, as my brain refuses to think of anything but soothers, blankies, snack and "Get down from there! You'll get hurt!" I will have to try tomorrow. Sorry about that but part two of the story will soon appear, no fear. After all, I'm not going on vacation!
... Put books back on shelf because daughter and son pulled them down to sit on (because, obviously, they are really comfy) and now, that I have noticed, they are way too tired to force them to clean up...
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
TA - DA!!
A Consuming Experience: How to include categories for your blog (manual, expand-collapse):
No kidding! I think my brain has shrivelled up and is falling out my ear. However, it's done! (At least...I think) And, gasp, I did it myself! I feel like I just fixed the carborator in my car. I really don't know if it works and I hope the duct tape holds!
Thanks to this nice lady at e blogger I now have snazzy catagories for you to look through. Just take a glance at these fabulous features:
Too tired to slog through months of posts? No problem.
Had a down day? All you want is comedy? Sure, you betcha.
Need a vacation and a bag of cash? Yah, me too, can't help you there.
However, it might make you feel like you're on a vacation to browse through my lovely, yet basic, titles just below the Archives listed on you left. (I said might. It depends on your idea of vacation.)
Happy browsing!
No kidding! I think my brain has shrivelled up and is falling out my ear. However, it's done! (At least...I think) And, gasp, I did it myself! I feel like I just fixed the carborator in my car. I really don't know if it works and I hope the duct tape holds!
Thanks to this nice lady at e blogger I now have snazzy catagories for you to look through. Just take a glance at these fabulous features:
Too tired to slog through months of posts? No problem.
Had a down day? All you want is comedy? Sure, you betcha.
Need a vacation and a bag of cash? Yah, me too, can't help you there.
However, it might make you feel like you're on a vacation to browse through my lovely, yet basic, titles just below the Archives listed on you left. (I said might. It depends on your idea of vacation.)
Happy browsing!
Did You Know?: The Real Names of Celebrities
Did You Know?: The Real Names of Celebrities
Ah yes, as Matt kindly brought to my attention (and he was very kind I might add), my piddily knowledge of the internet universe has reared its ugly head ... again. Here, for everyone who has tried the link below and failed miserably, is the real link. Sorry about that. I hope it works. I hope, I really do. Cause after this I'll have to do things manually. And that would be annoying.
Ah yes, as Matt kindly brought to my attention (and he was very kind I might add), my piddily knowledge of the internet universe has reared its ugly head ... again. Here, for everyone who has tried the link below and failed miserably, is the real link. Sorry about that. I hope it works. I hope, I really do. Cause after this I'll have to do things manually. And that would be annoying.
BlogExplosion - Did You Know?
BlogExplosion - Did You Know?
Check out this site for a listing of Celebrity names, past and present. For instance, Tom Cruise was really called Thomas Mapother the 4th! Not the same thing at all! If you have any names to add to his list he would be greatful!
Check out this site for a listing of Celebrity names, past and present. For instance, Tom Cruise was really called Thomas Mapother the 4th! Not the same thing at all! If you have any names to add to his list he would be greatful!
Please, Stop Being Nice To My Daughter.
Please, stop being nice to my daughter. I mean it.
My daughter’s in love with her doctor. The symptoms appeared at the age of two. Her first words were, “Dad”, “Hi” and “Doctor! Doctor!” It got worse. Every time we passed our doctor’s little grey office building she would cry, and beg to be let out of the car. Now, I wonder if there will ever be a cure. The other day I caught her scolding her dolly saying, “No doctor’s office for you!” How can she love her doctor after a steady round of immunizations and uncomfortable examinations? I don’t know.
At the age of four she is the only child I know who cries when I take her siblings to the doctor and leave her behind.
“Why are you crying?” I ask.
“He’s my doctor, mommy! I want to see him.”
“Are you sick, honey?”
She nods and throws her hand across her forehead, “I have a fever, mommy.”
A likely story. This from a girl who has taken to carrying around her spit up bucket and telling everyone who comes to visit that she is sooo sick. We are running out of play dates. I do my motherly duties and check her temperature: She’s fine. I feel her forehead, check her eyes, and look for lice: All good. “Honey,” I say, “you don’t have a fever, and you don’t appear to be sick. Besides, I just saw you swinging off that tree branch.”
“Oh, mommy,” her little eyelashes bat angelically, “the tree stole my fever. Could you get it back?”
Just what is going on? I can tell you a few things; I caught her shining a flashlight against her hand in order to make ‘Christmas lights’, she wants a giraffe at home so she can be ‘measured’, and she can’t stop talking about the fact that there are baby elephants sleeping just inside her ears. She comes from a loving, well adjusted family, I assure you. She laughs, sings, and plays like any normal child, but as soon as a member of the family coughs she puts on her boots and waits by the door.
So listen, doctor, don’t be nice to my daughter! No playing, no laughing, and certainly no funny songs about her elbows. Same goes for you, nurses, keep those knitted finger puppets to yourselves. I’m afraid my daughter will get to know someone with a spooky skin disease just to get inside your door. Plus, I have my other children to think about. Yesterday, I wiped my nose and my son was half-way to the car. I think it might be contagious.
My daughter’s in love with her doctor. The symptoms appeared at the age of two. Her first words were, “Dad”, “Hi” and “Doctor! Doctor!” It got worse. Every time we passed our doctor’s little grey office building she would cry, and beg to be let out of the car. Now, I wonder if there will ever be a cure. The other day I caught her scolding her dolly saying, “No doctor’s office for you!” How can she love her doctor after a steady round of immunizations and uncomfortable examinations? I don’t know.
At the age of four she is the only child I know who cries when I take her siblings to the doctor and leave her behind.
“Why are you crying?” I ask.
“He’s my doctor, mommy! I want to see him.”
“Are you sick, honey?”
She nods and throws her hand across her forehead, “I have a fever, mommy.”
A likely story. This from a girl who has taken to carrying around her spit up bucket and telling everyone who comes to visit that she is sooo sick. We are running out of play dates. I do my motherly duties and check her temperature: She’s fine. I feel her forehead, check her eyes, and look for lice: All good. “Honey,” I say, “you don’t have a fever, and you don’t appear to be sick. Besides, I just saw you swinging off that tree branch.”
“Oh, mommy,” her little eyelashes bat angelically, “the tree stole my fever. Could you get it back?”
Just what is going on? I can tell you a few things; I caught her shining a flashlight against her hand in order to make ‘Christmas lights’, she wants a giraffe at home so she can be ‘measured’, and she can’t stop talking about the fact that there are baby elephants sleeping just inside her ears. She comes from a loving, well adjusted family, I assure you. She laughs, sings, and plays like any normal child, but as soon as a member of the family coughs she puts on her boots and waits by the door.
So listen, doctor, don’t be nice to my daughter! No playing, no laughing, and certainly no funny songs about her elbows. Same goes for you, nurses, keep those knitted finger puppets to yourselves. I’m afraid my daughter will get to know someone with a spooky skin disease just to get inside your door. Plus, I have my other children to think about. Yesterday, I wiped my nose and my son was half-way to the car. I think it might be contagious.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Sunday Intellectual Question: Knights of England
Here’s a thought: If England went to war and they had to muster all their knights and protectors of the realm, all they would have is a theatre troop and a quirky rock band.
It’s silly but perhaps the Queen has a point. In this day and age our country’s identity (culture, language, politics, trade etc.) may not only change with war but with culture, and ideas, subversively. In this way entertainers and popular artists act like protectors, of sorts, keeping some sort of “British ness” alive while all the world is breaking down the doors. What do you think?
It’s silly but perhaps the Queen has a point. In this day and age our country’s identity (culture, language, politics, trade etc.) may not only change with war but with culture, and ideas, subversively. In this way entertainers and popular artists act like protectors, of sorts, keeping some sort of “British ness” alive while all the world is breaking down the doors. What do you think?
Saturday, March 18, 2006
The Official Robert Munsch Website
The Official Robert Munsch Website
This is a great site for anyone with kids or anyone like me who secretly watched Sesame Street in University. (Come on, the puppets were awesome!) Robert Munsch has recordings of his stories on MP3s and as long as you don't use it for public performance you are free to download and listen to. My daughter is in heaven! He has a number of other interesting things like pictures, poetry and even an email address you can send to. How great is that?
This is a great site for anyone with kids or anyone like me who secretly watched Sesame Street in University. (Come on, the puppets were awesome!) Robert Munsch has recordings of his stories on MP3s and as long as you don't use it for public performance you are free to download and listen to. My daughter is in heaven! He has a number of other interesting things like pictures, poetry and even an email address you can send to. How great is that?
Friday, March 17, 2006
MIT OpenCourseWare | Music and Theater Arts | 21M.873 Theater Arts Topics, Fall 2004 - January (IAP) 2005 | Study Materials
MIT OpenCourseWare | Music and Theater Arts | 21M.873 Theater Arts Topics, Fall 2004 - January (IAP) 2005 | Study Materials
Ok. I may have to take it back. While the material is not all useful it is not entirely a "too bad you weren't at the real course, here's a consolation prize"concept. Take this theatre course for instance, it's a far cry from what you would learn at school but it would still be useful for Little Theatres or interested parties.
Ok. I may have to take it back. While the material is not all useful it is not entirely a "too bad you weren't at the real course, here's a consolation prize"concept. Take this theatre course for instance, it's a far cry from what you would learn at school but it would still be useful for Little Theatres or interested parties.
Open Content
Open Content
Now this is pretty exciting! These Universities are posting free materials. If, and this is a big if, the Universities involved post quality and responsible course material we can all have access to ideas and learning. However, I'm not holding my breath. All things free tend to come with either a price or advertising attached.
Now this is pretty exciting! These Universities are posting free materials. If, and this is a big if, the Universities involved post quality and responsible course material we can all have access to ideas and learning. However, I'm not holding my breath. All things free tend to come with either a price or advertising attached.
Gaudi and Barcelona Club
Gaudi and Barcelona Club
Here's another site for those of you who are interested in seeing a little more Gaudi. It has a little biography and the pictures are less artsy visions of Gaudi's works. There are histories of his works available as well. Enjoy!
Here's another site for those of you who are interested in seeing a little more Gaudi. It has a little biography and the pictures are less artsy visions of Gaudi's works. There are histories of his works available as well. Enjoy!
Thursday, March 16, 2006
The Pop Culture Jeblog: TV on DVD: Battlestar Galactica Season One
The Pop Culture Jeblog: TV on DVD: Battlestar Galactica Season One
Here's another site that has some interesting reviews. Jebb takes a look at DVD's, movies, TV and gives what looks like a fair and well thought out shake down of their value. Worth a look. I think I'll rent new Battlestar Galactica ... it sounds way more interesting than the talking garbage cans in the first series.
Here's another site that has some interesting reviews. Jebb takes a look at DVD's, movies, TV and gives what looks like a fair and well thought out shake down of their value. Worth a look. I think I'll rent new Battlestar Galactica ... it sounds way more interesting than the talking garbage cans in the first series.
BlogExplosion - Rockphiles blog
BlogExplosion - Rockphiles blog
Here's an interesting site for those of you who want to know what the world of rock is up to. One article that caught my eye is ... get this ... some psychics are going to try to speak to John Lennon from beyond the grave. They are "hoping" John will give them some musical notes and words to make a new song (which will then be flown to a composer for arranging). Hmmm. Sounds like someone just found another great way to make quick cash. Look out psychic hotlines!
Here's an interesting site for those of you who want to know what the world of rock is up to. One article that caught my eye is ... get this ... some psychics are going to try to speak to John Lennon from beyond the grave. They are "hoping" John will give them some musical notes and words to make a new song (which will then be flown to a composer for arranging). Hmmm. Sounds like someone just found another great way to make quick cash. Look out psychic hotlines!
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Wednesday Story: An Architect's Tower
In the dream it was always the same. A girl with hair as dark as night, holding something in her hand, saying words he could never remember but they brought so much happiness…
Sunlight streamed in the window resting gently on his coverlet and poking at his eyelids. Antoni, his grey hair matted on his forehead, resisted for a moment, but there was no use, the sun was up and the day had begun. He patted down his hair absently, that silly cowlick with a mind of its own in his youth now ruled the roost, proclaiming its domain by sticking straight out and refusing to be tamed. He waved his hand in disgust. It didn’t matter; there was so much to be done. He roamed around his cramped quarters, an eccentric living area at best, gathering bits of paper. A grand four post bed squatted in the midst of a paper jungle. Tables sat everywhere, here with a cold cup of coffee, there with notes, all in various stages of disarray. Strangest of all was the soaring windows, the high ceiling, the stained glass. Antoni, of course, would not think it strange, it was more convenient to live at the cathedral he was building, and he had practically done so before. Now, he had a bed. He hadn’t even bothered to put on his smoking jacket by the time Joan, his lanky assistant, came in carrying more roles of drawings and a bag of seed.
“Here are your drawings, Mr.Gaudi. The rest of the seed is just outside …” A well groomed Joan finally looked up, “You haven’t even put on your jacket. Antoni! You’ll freeze. The sun is not nearly as high as to …”
“Hog wash. Busy, busy …” Antoni waved his arm and stared at his model. The great contraption hung from ceiling to floor. Small ropes with tiny bags of seed at their ends, fixed just so, in loops here and there like some fantastic, unreal, garden. The weight of the bags had to be just right. Something was wrong with the overall scheme and it would have to be fixed, before the foreman arrived.
“Let me at least get you some breakfast.”
“Had it, had it.” In fact, Antoni had eaten half a nut loaf from the night before, the evidence of which still rested on his chin. “Hurry up with that seed. Can’t take all day you know!” Joan scurried out of the room and Antoni leaned back into his model. Antoni adjusted the mirror so that he could see the entire model right side up.
“There.” He sighed. In the mirror the reflected bags of seed and rope came to life and became the soaring towers of a great cathedral. In the mind’s eye one could see small mountains of stone and glass peering out behind one another, topped here by a cross, there by a dove, wheat, fruit, the gospels, and … “Ah!” Antoni ran to the other side of the room, rolls of paper, pencils quickly shoved this way and that until finally the great towers appeared. Lovingly he began to sketch the words ‘Hosanna, Excel sis,’ on four of the tallest towers, specifying ceramic mosaic in the margin beside. “Joan, Joan!” Antoni yelled into the hall. He closed the door. He opened it again to yell once more. “Joan! These papers, right away.” An exhausted Joan arrived moments later, seed bags under both arms.
“Yes, Mr.Gaudi?”
Antoni shoved the newly minted drawing into Joan’s arms. “This and this to foreman right away. Tell him to wait before work as I have another important adjustment.” Antoni drifted back to his model. “I just cannot see it yet.”
“But Mr.Gaudi, the foreman has not yet arrived …”
“Not yet arrived? When will he work? When day is done? Argh. City man. In the country we are up at dawn…”
“And asleep by noon.” Joan whispered to himself, inwardly groaning.
“What was that?”
“Just agreeing with your work ethic. After all here I am. The rest of Barcelona? They are not so eager. Ten o’clock remember? Ten o’clock the work begins. Two o’clock …”
“Siesta, siesta, siesta. How are they so found of sleep?”
“They don’t all sleep, Mr.Gaudi, it’s the heat. They begin work again at …”
“Yes, yes, yes. I know. But I do not have all day. So, foreman is not here. So, so, no need for him to wait.” He turned back to the model then again to Joan. “Still here? There is plenty to do. All these things before my walk this morning…” Antoni was already rubbing his leg. It had been sore for years now, since his childhood, when an illness had shut him inside for months. Later, he had been prescribed walks, short painful ones at first, longer ones later. But he had always been slow; he never could run or play. Now, well it was much too late for play, but the walk would never end.
Joan still stood by the doorway. He looked strange, even a little amused.
“Joan, what is it? Why are you continuing to interrupt my morning?”
“Mr.Gaudi,” he paused his eyes glinting; “there’s someone here to see you … a woman.”
“Oh, how very nice. I’m busy. Too busy to take on contracts, too busy for social blah, blah, blah.”
Joan didn’t leave, instead, he stepped forward. “She says she is from your home town. I told her you were busy, but she insisted.”
“So she’s from my hometown. What is she, reporter, or social convener? …”
“Her name is Beatriz.”
Sunlight streamed in the window resting gently on his coverlet and poking at his eyelids. Antoni, his grey hair matted on his forehead, resisted for a moment, but there was no use, the sun was up and the day had begun. He patted down his hair absently, that silly cowlick with a mind of its own in his youth now ruled the roost, proclaiming its domain by sticking straight out and refusing to be tamed. He waved his hand in disgust. It didn’t matter; there was so much to be done. He roamed around his cramped quarters, an eccentric living area at best, gathering bits of paper. A grand four post bed squatted in the midst of a paper jungle. Tables sat everywhere, here with a cold cup of coffee, there with notes, all in various stages of disarray. Strangest of all was the soaring windows, the high ceiling, the stained glass. Antoni, of course, would not think it strange, it was more convenient to live at the cathedral he was building, and he had practically done so before. Now, he had a bed. He hadn’t even bothered to put on his smoking jacket by the time Joan, his lanky assistant, came in carrying more roles of drawings and a bag of seed.
“Here are your drawings, Mr.Gaudi. The rest of the seed is just outside …” A well groomed Joan finally looked up, “You haven’t even put on your jacket. Antoni! You’ll freeze. The sun is not nearly as high as to …”
“Hog wash. Busy, busy …” Antoni waved his arm and stared at his model. The great contraption hung from ceiling to floor. Small ropes with tiny bags of seed at their ends, fixed just so, in loops here and there like some fantastic, unreal, garden. The weight of the bags had to be just right. Something was wrong with the overall scheme and it would have to be fixed, before the foreman arrived.
“Let me at least get you some breakfast.”
“Had it, had it.” In fact, Antoni had eaten half a nut loaf from the night before, the evidence of which still rested on his chin. “Hurry up with that seed. Can’t take all day you know!” Joan scurried out of the room and Antoni leaned back into his model. Antoni adjusted the mirror so that he could see the entire model right side up.
“There.” He sighed. In the mirror the reflected bags of seed and rope came to life and became the soaring towers of a great cathedral. In the mind’s eye one could see small mountains of stone and glass peering out behind one another, topped here by a cross, there by a dove, wheat, fruit, the gospels, and … “Ah!” Antoni ran to the other side of the room, rolls of paper, pencils quickly shoved this way and that until finally the great towers appeared. Lovingly he began to sketch the words ‘Hosanna, Excel sis,’ on four of the tallest towers, specifying ceramic mosaic in the margin beside. “Joan, Joan!” Antoni yelled into the hall. He closed the door. He opened it again to yell once more. “Joan! These papers, right away.” An exhausted Joan arrived moments later, seed bags under both arms.
“Yes, Mr.Gaudi?”
Antoni shoved the newly minted drawing into Joan’s arms. “This and this to foreman right away. Tell him to wait before work as I have another important adjustment.” Antoni drifted back to his model. “I just cannot see it yet.”
“But Mr.Gaudi, the foreman has not yet arrived …”
“Not yet arrived? When will he work? When day is done? Argh. City man. In the country we are up at dawn…”
“And asleep by noon.” Joan whispered to himself, inwardly groaning.
“What was that?”
“Just agreeing with your work ethic. After all here I am. The rest of Barcelona? They are not so eager. Ten o’clock remember? Ten o’clock the work begins. Two o’clock …”
“Siesta, siesta, siesta. How are they so found of sleep?”
“They don’t all sleep, Mr.Gaudi, it’s the heat. They begin work again at …”
“Yes, yes, yes. I know. But I do not have all day. So, foreman is not here. So, so, no need for him to wait.” He turned back to the model then again to Joan. “Still here? There is plenty to do. All these things before my walk this morning…” Antoni was already rubbing his leg. It had been sore for years now, since his childhood, when an illness had shut him inside for months. Later, he had been prescribed walks, short painful ones at first, longer ones later. But he had always been slow; he never could run or play. Now, well it was much too late for play, but the walk would never end.
Joan still stood by the doorway. He looked strange, even a little amused.
“Joan, what is it? Why are you continuing to interrupt my morning?”
“Mr.Gaudi,” he paused his eyes glinting; “there’s someone here to see you … a woman.”
“Oh, how very nice. I’m busy. Too busy to take on contracts, too busy for social blah, blah, blah.”
Joan didn’t leave, instead, he stepped forward. “She says she is from your home town. I told her you were busy, but she insisted.”
“So she’s from my hometown. What is she, reporter, or social convener? …”
“Her name is Beatriz.”
Monday, March 13, 2006
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ...
The Sunday Intellectual Question finally got around to my favourite topic: Sleep. If you look at the comments my friend Kim says “I can't believe it has taken YOU so long to ask this all-encompassing question...” Ah, yes. Kim is probably referring to my sleep obsession. "I'm so tired" I complained to her the other day. "You've always been tired." she said. It's true! Sleep is my solution to almost every problem. I walk, talk and eat sleep. When I’m asleep, I dream of sleeping. Rip Van Winkle’s story sounds like an ideal, yet unattainable vacation. Especially since I’ve had kids. I know a lady who fell asleep during a root canal, all because she hadn’t had a proper sleep “since the baby.” Never mind that the baby was 32 and living in Vegas. Come to think of it that’s probably why she wasn’t sleeping.
Anyway, my solutions are as follows: Sick? Sleep it off. Yucky hair? Close my eyes. Bad day? Go to bed!
"Look!" I say to my body when I awake,"It's a fresh new day. Ignore the bright sunshine and pretend that it's morning." (My brain is much smarter than my body: reference, the post I walked into in grade eight) Nine out of ten times it seems to work. I have yet to try it for opening sticky lids or snow removal, but I’ll let you know. Sleep is not highly recommended for any traffic problems or most emergency situations but I believe it would work wonders for going into labour. I realise this is not everyone’s choice solution, some use proper diet, exercise or buying ridiculously expensive shoes … just to look at … but sleep seems to work for me. My children will probably cringe when their old and dottering mother calls them from the nursing home, "Did you get some sleep dear? Your gamey leg will clear right up."
Anyway, my solutions are as follows: Sick? Sleep it off. Yucky hair? Close my eyes. Bad day? Go to bed!
"Look!" I say to my body when I awake,"It's a fresh new day. Ignore the bright sunshine and pretend that it's morning." (My brain is much smarter than my body: reference, the post I walked into in grade eight) Nine out of ten times it seems to work. I have yet to try it for opening sticky lids or snow removal, but I’ll let you know. Sleep is not highly recommended for any traffic problems or most emergency situations but I believe it would work wonders for going into labour. I realise this is not everyone’s choice solution, some use proper diet, exercise or buying ridiculously expensive shoes … just to look at … but sleep seems to work for me. My children will probably cringe when their old and dottering mother calls them from the nursing home, "Did you get some sleep dear? Your gamey leg will clear right up."
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Antonio Gaudi : www.gaudi2002.bcn.es
Here are some photos of one of my favorite architects, Gaudi. We visited some of his buildings while in Spain including his Parc Guelle, (which he lived in) and his "cathedral" Sagrada Famillia. Take a look at his work in these photos just click on the small photos to see a larger image ... they resemble something from a dream...
www.gaudi2002.bcn.es
www.gaudi2002.bcn.es
Sunday Intellectual Question: Sleep
This is mostly for my own interest but how much sleep do you need to function? For how long can sleep deprevation last before you do funny things? What's your record? I knew of a guy in school who regularly only had five hours sleep per night, he thought sleeping longer was a waste of time. I also knew another guy who went for a week without sleep so he could finish his major project. He wasn't kidding and, while he spent that entire time in a lab, I'm not sure how he got home safely or really what he would be able to accomplish in a semi-comatose state! A lot of parents survive on a couple of sporadic hours of sleep for, litterally, years. How do you do?
Remember you don't have to sign in to reply. Simply choose anonymous and use the letter verification.
And ... for those of you who like the Barenaked Ladies ... "Who needs sleep? You're never gonna get it. Who needs sleep? Tell me what's that for? Who needs sleep you're never gonna get it, there's guys been awake since the second world war."
Remember you don't have to sign in to reply. Simply choose anonymous and use the letter verification.
And ... for those of you who like the Barenaked Ladies ... "Who needs sleep? You're never gonna get it. Who needs sleep? Tell me what's that for? Who needs sleep you're never gonna get it, there's guys been awake since the second world war."
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
The Final Eighties Thing ... I hope
In a bid to quell my ever growing curiousity I am posting this site. It claims to have a little about all things in the eighties. Songs, politics, fashion (we all want to go back there, just give me the keys apparently I'm driving!) So, enjoy, I hopefully, am going to bed. I'll try to not "Wear my sunglasses!"
The Music Scene
The Music Scene
Huey Lewis and the News - Front Page
I loved, and in many ways still love these guys. He had a great gravelly voice, they had cool, funny lyrics, and I am a sucker for anything remotely funny, and a whole band who ... shocker ... played instruments.
Huey Lewis and the News - Front Page
Huey Lewis and the News - Front Page
Glass Tiger
I remember when they came to my hometown. It was at the height of their popularity and also at a time when no respectful act would play in peasant land. Yet there they were. Their music actually still sounds pretty cool in playback. Everyone sing "I'm gonna sing my song, take me home where I come from ..." Check out their site how neat is it that they are still together. Like the Stones, only less pickled.
Glass Tiger
Glass Tiger
Milli Vanilli Bio Part 2
Seems one half of the duo is still kicking around and looking to perform. This little promo for Milli Vanilli closet fans everywhere leads to his new site.
Milli Vanilli Bio
Milli Vanilli Bio
Blame it on the Rain: MTV.com | Milli Vanilli | Biography
Come on, who still has a tape of this running around? Hands up those of you who can sing, with feeling, most if not all the words to "Girl you know it's True". Oo, oo, oo I love you... Their story is so sad, all the way around. The singers that actually did the recording never worked again, the guys that lip synched and apparently could sing went right off the deep end, drugs, suicide threats you name it. No question they deserved to fall but really, they were telling lies when so many other groups did or are doing the same. They were poster kids for a slap on the wrist. Sad, sad,sad. I bet though you're still singing!
MTV.com | Milli Vanilli | Biography
MTV.com | Milli Vanilli | Biography
Official Deborah Gibson Website
I thought Debbie Gibson was way cooler than Tiffany. I often argued the point, I'm sure there were reasons but I can't think of what they were, with my friends. Taking a look at her site it seems that she never stopped working but has popped in and out of the spot light. I say good on her and Nah nah, Debbie is way cooler than Tiffany!
Official Deborah Gibson Website
Official Deborah Gibson Website
What ever happened to Tiffany?
Looks like she's still singing ... and has posed for Playboy as child stars trying to make a comeback often do. Unfortunately I think it doesn't work. Sing along with me everyone ... I think we're alone now ... Could have been so beautiful ... there are some links to some of her recent songs, could be interesting. Ah, I can still picture that hair, hers, mine and all the girls who owned teasing combs.
www.TIFFANY.org -- An Online Fan Club
www.TIFFANY.org -- An Online Fan Club
Ah, the Eighties: Rick Astley
I'm here at the library with the kiddies and while they are playing I thought I would check out a few things on the internet... my fickle youth to be exact. I'm one of the only people I know who will freely admit that she used to listen to ... gasp ...Rick Astley. I still have his tape. I know, but old habits won't die. And he really does have a nice voice. Surprise, surprise but he has his own website. Now, I'm wondering what everyone else from the eighties is doing? If you want to check out his latest stuff take a look here. (Go on now, you know you want to!)
http://www.rickastley.co.uk/
http://www.rickastley.co.uk/
Wednesday Story: notes
Wednesday Story will return next week (barring any disasters!) For this week I am posting one of my poems. Hope you enjoy it!
Poem: Child
Child
Your smile peels the rind off the sun,
Opens doors, makes the rivers run,
And touches, like the softest pillow’s wake,
The stars, and all the heavens God could make.
Silence, with your laughter has to flee,
Loneliness follows, just a memory,
And you, with jolly cheeks and softest crown,
Are wrapped up in my arms, where love abounds.
Your smile peels the rind off the sun,
Opens doors, makes the rivers run,
And touches, like the softest pillow’s wake,
The stars, and all the heavens God could make.
Silence, with your laughter has to flee,
Loneliness follows, just a memory,
And you, with jolly cheeks and softest crown,
Are wrapped up in my arms, where love abounds.
One of my favorite poems
I have talked about this poem a lot and I have been trying to find it for a long time. Here it is, finally. For some reason this poem sticks in my brain. I love the symbolism between the heart and the sun and how life grows meaningless without love. I don’t think of the love as being just romantic love but the act of loving others, being loved by someone, and most, being loved by God. Enjoy!
The Night has a Thousand Eyes
The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.
-- Francis William Bourdillon
The Night has a Thousand Eyes
The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.
-- Francis William Bourdillon
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Sunday Intellectual Question: Finding Sources
This is just another thing that I feel deserves some discussion. In today's universe we obviously have access to a lot of information. In schools we seem to be aiming towards being able to find the information but not being able to own it (in memory), or analyse it. Many of our sources claim to be absolutely true and relaible, just look at news commercials on TV that is almost always what they say, combined with the idea that they should be our only source for information. So, what is the best way to find reliable, truthful sources? How should we analyze them and what can we look to as a way of understanding how true they are? Interesting.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Change to Security
Ahh, the delicate balance. First I had too much security, now, I have too little. Butterflies in the Cayman Islands are dropping from exhaustion. So security has been updated once more.
Can I please, please, make a comment?
Why, yes!
Do I get to play a game?
Free of charge.
Thank you! thank you!
I do what I can.
Yes, it's true. Now when you make a comment you have to indentify and type in some cool letters. And, for those fans of the DaVinci Code, you can make you own conspiracy theory from them. If you like. No pressure. So, in conclusion, comment away. Butterflies, rest secure, I will trouble you no more.
Can I please, please, make a comment?
Why, yes!
Do I get to play a game?
Free of charge.
Thank you! thank you!
I do what I can.
Yes, it's true. Now when you make a comment you have to indentify and type in some cool letters. And, for those fans of the DaVinci Code, you can make you own conspiracy theory from them. If you like. No pressure. So, in conclusion, comment away. Butterflies, rest secure, I will trouble you no more.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
... And Speaking of Fashion ... CBC.ca - Arts - Photo Gallery
Speaking of Academy Awards fashion here's a little glimpse into some of the fun, funny and cool outfits that have been sported.
CBC.ca - Arts - Photo Gallery
CBC.ca - Arts - Photo Gallery
CBC.ca - Arts - Photo Gallery The Academy Awards
CBC.ca - Arts - Photo Gallery
Ahhh...It is almost time for the event I love to hate ... the Academy Awards. Every year it gets harder for me to believe their claims that five movies are the best in the world in almost every catagory. Secretly, I think the executives get together, assemble four not so big box office takers, one larger picture, make sure they are of a serious nature then just give awards for whatever they think is politically interesting at the time. A few great performances get through because they cannot be ignored, but largely, it just means that you were in the right place at the right time. Take a peek at these pictures showing the Academy's more silly moments. And yes, I'll likely watch as I love to hear what people have to say for themselves and what they are wearing. Then I like to picture them doing rigourous housework.
Ahhh...It is almost time for the event I love to hate ... the Academy Awards. Every year it gets harder for me to believe their claims that five movies are the best in the world in almost every catagory. Secretly, I think the executives get together, assemble four not so big box office takers, one larger picture, make sure they are of a serious nature then just give awards for whatever they think is politically interesting at the time. A few great performances get through because they cannot be ignored, but largely, it just means that you were in the right place at the right time. Take a peek at these pictures showing the Academy's more silly moments. And yes, I'll likely watch as I love to hear what people have to say for themselves and what they are wearing. Then I like to picture them doing rigourous housework.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Wednesday Story: The Ending!!!
The next morning I slowly assembled Harvey’s breakfast tray and maneuvered around the kitchen door. It’s amazing how much your back can hurt when you haven’t exercised in a while. Exercise involving second story windows and miles of rope. SWAT I am not. Frankly, was surprised to be alive. As it was I had a few scratches from the stucco walls and a nasty gash from a tumble in the rose bush.
“What’s the matter with you now?” Mrs. Strenburger voice careened onto my aching ears.
“Uh, skateboarding.” I said.
“Don’t lie to me Elisabeth. I can tell when you’re lying. You should really take better care of yourself. Just look at that bruise …”
I looked down. Yuck. I had a bruise on my elbow! It might have been easier to just go through the front door and deal with …
“I’ve always said I wouldn’t interfere, days off are days off after all, but really if you mean to have a man before it’s too late…”
“I know, I know, act like a lady.” As I brushed past her I tried to envision her younger self. She must have been very beautiful, but was she so angry, petty and sad? Now, I could guess why and I felt a little pity for her. Just a little. I went on into Harvey’s room, he looked so small and frail it wouldn’t be long now. What could I do? I was sworn to secrecy but these lies could follow Harvey to the grave. I loved Harvey but after last night things were changing. Did he deserve to die in peace and leave those he loved with questions that could never be answered? Selfishly, I had to know if I had been wrong about him all this time. Instead of leaving the tray by his bedside I shook his shoulder to wake him.
“Harvey … Harvey …” I whispered. She could be just outside the door. I wouldn’t put it past her. “It’s important Harvey.”
His eyes slowly opened and he smiled weakly. “Elly. Elly my dear.”
There wasn’t much time so I got right to the point. “Harvey, I know.”
Shock flickered through his eyes, he laughed. “I’m dying, yes, of course you know…”
“No Harvey, I know about your son.”
Harveys' eyes grew wide and his hand clenched around my fingers. Strange that he could be so strong while his body was failing. “How? How Elly?”
“He’s here. Barney wants to see you.”
There was a long pause, I almost thought he had gone to sleep but when he opened his eyes they were so sad I knew he was going to cry. “How can I? Abigail doesn’t know. I was going to tell her someday.”
I patted his hand. “Harvey, today’s the day. If you love both of them then the time has come. No more lies Harvey. It’s time.”
He nodded his head, his breath quickening. “Bring him here, Elly.”
I watched helplessly as Harvey’s face turned grey. It was the point of no return. Barney would meet his father today and Abigail would know the truth while Harvey was on this earth or they would discover each other after he had passed on. Forgiveness then would be so difficult. I should know. I passed Abigail as I raced out of the room. She must have taken a look at Harvey’s teary eyes and drawn face for her yells followed me down the hall “Elisabeth! Elisabeth! What did you do to my husband! It’s alright my dear. Abigail’s here, I’m here.”
I quickly picked up the phone and dialed. It wouldn’t be long now.
I paced in front of the door. Everything was set in motion but how I wanted to stop it all. As much as I didn’t like Abigail I couldn’t imagine a worse situation. She loved him so much. She had no children and Harvey was her world. To learn that he had been unfaithful and then to loose him in the same day would be unbearable. How dare Harvey do that to her? How dare he treat his only son with such indifference? The seconds ticked on to the muted sound of Abigail crying in Harvey’s room. Finally, there was a light knock on the door. Barney had arrived. I let him in but he hesitated by the door.
“Barney, you’ll have to make it fast. He really doesn’t look good.” I dragged him quickly down the hallway to where Abigail sat crying softly beside a pale and raspy man. Abigail stood up protectively between us and Harvey. She glared at Barney.
“What are you doing here? This is my home. You were not invited! How dare you bring this man into my house Elisabeth?”
Harvey looked up and whispered, “Barney? Come closer so I can see you.” He gently pushed Abigail aside.
Barney stepped forward. “I never thought I would see you again … dad.”
For once Abigail was silent. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room and we continued to breathe on faith alone.
Barney continued “I knew you were mad at me. I wrecked your car. Your beautiful white Cadalliac. You loved that car. I just thought you would come back.”
Barney held out his hand. “I’m so sorry, boy. Please let me tell you that it was not what I planned.”
“What? I wasn’t what you planned? I found out that day about your other life, dad. Your other world. Seems like you had a lot of things planned. You managed to fool a lot of people into thinking you loved them. You managed to live more than one life. You …” Barney sighed, “I should have never…”
Harvey waved his hand. “Please, just listen. You can argue all you want when I’m gone. You’ll have lots of time then. And Abigal, I’m so sorry, I meant to tell you a better way, but I couldn’t find a way to make it sound alright. Can’t make the wrong things sound better than they are I guess. Please, just listen. I loved your mother but she wanted to be free of me. She couldn’t stand all the waiting so when you were just a small boy she and I … I’ve thought lots about it Barney, for a long time it was just her in my mind but, really, we each had our way of letting down … we divorced. Still, I tried to be around as much as I could for you. In the end we both found it too hard, I remarried and moved, and to my everlasting shame, I left you for good. I’m so sorry son.”
Barney stood there stunned. “But … the car? You didn’t leave because of the car?”
Harvey reached for Barney’s hand, “It was just a car, son. Forgive me?”
His eyes flickered over to Abigail whose frame almost disappeared into the chair. The change in her appearance was astonishing. The woman I had been so afraid of now looked like a small child who had lost her way.
“How dare you Harvey … how dare you.” Her voice cracked softly.
“Abigail, please forgive me. I thought that you would never marry a divorced man and I … it was stupid. Just plain stupid.”
“Harvey, why would you lie to me? I’ve always loved you. After all we’ve been though why wouldn’t you tell me? What were you waiting for? Death? Did you want me to find out another way? I should have known when my father’s Cadillac was ruined! What else did I have left of him? You could have told me then. Instead you lie and lie and lie. We never had a child Harvey and now … I never had a child!”
“No … no …” Harvey was breathing very fast now. “Please … Abigail! I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought it would be easier for us if we could just forget.”
“Life goes on Harvey. The things we do can sometimes be forgotten but they can never be erased.” Abigail dabbed away a tear from her cheek. “Oh Harvey.”
Harvey struggled to sit up. “I have done wrong to both of you. I have been bitter and selfish. Lying here I’ve gone through all the things I could have done differently. I’m glad you’re here Barney. You’ve made it right.” He sunk back into the pillow as we all stared in stunned silence. Harvey was going to die, but the wraiths of what he had left undone would haunt us all. Barney bent down and picked Harvey up.
“What are you doing!?” Abigail was frantic, “You’ll kill him!”
Barney looked her kindly in the eyes, “Come on, I’ve got a Cadillac that needs one last ride.”
I can still feel the wind blowing through my hair. It was like a float on parade day. Abigail and I sat in the back of the Cadillac, our eyes streaming from the wind and our tears, Barney at the wheel, turned the car onto a country lane as Harvey drifted away in the passenger seat. A flock of black birds rose before the wheels, strange spectators filling the sky, clearing the way for our big, white, beautiful float on parade day.
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Hey everyone!
I didn't realize the amount of security I have going on here! Yes, I admit I was pretty tech savvy back when I programed musical ditties in Basic. But then, neon socks were also all the rage! To sum up, I have now magically changed the settings so that everyone can post a comment! Keep it clean folks or I will be forced to sweep up after you ... and anyone who's visited my house has some idea how much I manage to do that! Happy posting!
Cara
I didn't realize the amount of security I have going on here! Yes, I admit I was pretty tech savvy back when I programed musical ditties in Basic. But then, neon socks were also all the rage! To sum up, I have now magically changed the settings so that everyone can post a comment! Keep it clean folks or I will be forced to sweep up after you ... and anyone who's visited my house has some idea how much I manage to do that! Happy posting!
Cara
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