31 Jan 2006, 10:14pm
Pearl's Life


My library books and library CDs were due, could not be renewed online again, and Cds are $1 a day for late charges. I had to go out tonight. That set in motion a pleasant set of turns. I wandered to the international book section and discovered they have international music CDs filed there. Whoohoo — Amr Diab and Mohamed Fouad CDs that I don’t have, plus I borrowed the soundtrack for Mambo Italiano. :-)

Not fully media sated, we went to Chapters and there bumped into a friend, chatted and made plans for a meal together later this week. 😀 While there Starbucks was giving away free latte-something with cinnamon sprinkles. :-)

Got home to receive emails from a couple friends.

My throat still hurts like a bugger. I’m laying low in voice tomorrow if not better and calling in sick.

Soundtrack: (Until I pop the new-find CDs in) Diana, naw first, Chris Cagle’s Chicks Dig It. (“Yeah pain hurts, but only for a minute/ Yeah, life’s short so go on and live it…”)

I’m a Chevrolet Corvette!

You’re a classic – powerful, athletic, and competitive. You’re all about winning the race and getting the job done. While you have a practical everyday side, you get wild when anyone pushes your pedal. You hate to lose, but you hardly ever do.

Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.

Word Chain: Raven, ravenous, serene, serendipity, yippideedoo-dah, fiddle-dee-dee, vrroooooom. crash.

31 Jan 2006, 6:07pm
On the Peace Path Poets

Bo-Bo Blues Poems

Some days luck doesn’t look so good. Like Brian at Audience of One on Jan 29. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong.

Today is smashing here! Smashing head into cupboard door that is, tray into door, spilling soup smashing-like.

bandaided thumbMe, I just added some unplanned iron to the veggies via my thumb. Bled like a stucked pig as my mom would put it. Cat woke me repeated through the night to tell me she wasn’t feeling well either then vomited at my bedside at 3 a.m. I didn’t sleep properly until around 4 a.m. just to wake up at 6:30 a.m.

Some days you think, it hardly pays to get out of bed, you know?

When you were little did you like the song, Nobody likes me, “guess I’ll go eat worms”? It cheers a person up, maybe in the way punk rock perks a person up, or a scream therapy box, or some really maudlin spoken word truck driving country song like Red Sovine or some pappy gossip rag. A little exaggeration goes a long way.

There’s a lump in my throat that won’t stay down, and it’s not from some old country hurting song. 😛

My voice is a little less gravelly than Leonard Cohen or Johnny Cash but I’m doing what I can with home remedies and seeing what my body does next.

Two citruses, jello, chicken noodle soup, salt gargles, continuous tea or water to stay hydrated. Talking less. [That last one is particularly a chore for me. ;-)].

It’s not so bad, but it’s not so pleasant either. I’ll live, in fact thrive. But until then, I won’t whine. Much.

I feel better reciting the old poem I learned when I was little. It’s a favorite of mine for such times is from a 1920 reprint of am 1887 book The Best Loved Poems of James Whitcomb Riley. They are written in dialect about what then, when much of America was in rural areas, would have been common experiences. You could get some of the same poems in the newly republished, Riley Child-Rhymes with Hoosier Pictures

Almost Beyond Endurance
by James Whitcomb Riley

I ain’t a-goin’ to cry no more no more!
I’m got ear-ache, an’ Ma can’t make
It quit a-tall;
And Carlo bite my rubber ball
An’ puncture it; an’ Sis she take
An’ poke my knife down through the stable-floor
An’ loozed it – blame it all!
But I ain’t goin’ to cry no more no more!

An’ Aunt Mame wrote she’s comin’, an’ she can’t
Folks is come there! — An’ I don’t care
She is my Aunt!
An’ my eyes stings; an’ I’m
Ist coughin’ all the time,
An’ hurts me so, an’ where my side’s so sore
Grampa felt where, an’ he
Says “Mayby it’s pleurasy!
But I ain’t goin’ to cry no more no more!

An’ I clumbed up an’ nen falled off the fence,
An’ Herbert he ist laughed at me!
An’ my fi’-cents
It sticked in my tin bank, an’ I ist tore
Purt’nigh my thumbnail off a-trying to git
It out – nen smash it! – An it’s in there yit!
But I ain’t goin’ to cry no more no more!

Oo! I’m so wicked! – An’ my breath’s so hot
Ist like I run an’ don’t rest none
But ist run on when I ought to not;
Yes, an’ my chin
An’ lips ‘s all warpy an’ teeth’s so fast,
An’ ‘s a place in my throat I can’ t swaller past —
An’ they all hurt so! —
An’ oh, my-oh!
I’m a-startin’ ag’in –
I’m a-startin’ ag’in, but I won’t, fer shore! —
I ist ain’t goin’ to cry no more no more!

It’s got something in common with homeopathy’s hair of the dog that bit you, except it’s the dog of the hair that tickled you. It’s got something in common with what Colleen was talking about, re: bibliotherapy. We can sort of do exposure therapy for ourselves and make ourselves feel better. We have lots of options as conscious adults. As adults we can recognize “when life’s unfair” and that we’re feeling lousy, without throwing ourselves down in the middle of a shopping aisle and thrashing and screaming. Often.

Getting in touch with one’s inner child isn’t only about play, joy, creativity, trust and innocence, but about powerlessness and frustration, overreacting in ignorance, getting cranky and needing a nap. And knowing that when you get big and strong, you can best anything.

Letting oneself feel bad in controlled way, is a skill. It’s saying it’s valid to get worked up out of perspective now and then; it’s natural enough. Not a target state to maintain for shore, but human.

This is Humanyms after all, and that universal way to name what it is to be human comes out here. How do we respond to our weakness times that are between extremes? Not mundane, same-same, not bubbling with energy, not weekus horriblus.

Do we let it flow on through? Do we hoard it up, pickle it in revenge or some divine reckoning tally-keeping? Do we cling to the pain lest it be useful or essential and internalized as part of us? Do we assume it is a gift of deities to teach us strength? Do we assume it just is to be worked around until it ceases to inconvenience us again? Do we get extra cheerful to (over)compensate? Do we gather to mind every tangentally negative thing, or try to cheer ourselves by counting blessings? Which processing route do we take?

Do we paternalize ourselves and do the chide-to-stiff-upper-lip, bear down and work harder? Do we jut out our lower lip, pull down our cheeks, shrug and try to make as little awareness of the feeling as possible? Do we mock and poke a person into jokes or retreat until they can be sociable-faced? Do we mantra ourselves away from any sharp pang and try to let go of the storm just before the first thunder rolls?

Now, I’ll go take me and my cough to a pre-supper nap.

Hasta Manana!

Underlying Assumptions

Reading: Eeyore’s (Mis)Adventures

Glad Game: To be in warm out of the freezing drizzle.

I’m expecting a friend over for supper soon.

Sourced that seitan I mentioned.

A story in January 27, 06 Centretown News on an update on Potlucks for Peace. Jews and Arabs gather for food and discussion monthly. They have been getting to know each other as they talk about resolving the Palestinian-Israeli disputes since 2002. Dr. Qais Ghanem was quoted as saying the udnerlying premise of their group is based on the principle of “stop complaining, start contributing”. 60 people are contributing in this venue these days. He added as well, “I know I’ll have my fingers burnt from time to time but at my age, I really don’t care.”

That my odd throat may not turn into larygitis (again). By morning it may be back to normal.

Not so glad really: My throat for 36 hours had felt slightly off. My gut says it is not fighting a cold but that nastier thing again, perhaps even strep throat. If this keeps up will I develop polyps? But really how do I keep myself from provoking factors? Talking too much (switch professions?), cold dry air (leave central Canada), stay out of high temperature humid spaces (no long steam showers? no dry saunas?), breathe through nose (and stop snoring while I’m at it?), toxic fumes (leave urbanites and perfumes?). Clearly talking too much and not stressing are most under my control. Vitamin boosting I can do, wetting my whistle more often I can do. Hrmm.

Easier said than done, until the laryngitis reoccurs to the point where it is chronic. Then will it be easier done than said because my hand will be forced to action?

And more enigmatically, is it still soul searching if I know just where my soul is?

Life-Preserving fictions is an interesting filter for awareness. What do we assume to be true, and what do we imply from that, what reactrions do we build from those assumptions? Here’s their sample:

Life-Preserving Fiction: I must believe that staying in a loveless marriage is better for my children than a broken home. If I thought I was staying because I was too afraid to be on my own with three kids I would feel like a loser, so I must believe that an unhappy home is better than a broken home.

The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche claimed that we recognize these untruths as a condition of life; that the falsest beliefs are often the most indispensable to us.

I could go on at great length on my core beliefs and how by exposing them I can release myself from them to new beliefs and so on. Perhaps that would be amusing and instructive to do on a formal level when I have a few hour block to devote. Now I will just raise the point. And then another lens for seeing how we as creatures think:

If I ask people whether they would prefer
(a) $7 for themselves and for another person or
(b) $8 for themselves and $10 for the other person,
people choose “b.” However, when people are simply given “a” or “b,” “a” makes them happier.

We be funny people.

This excerpt is from Harvard Business School articel: Looking Behind Bad Decisions derirved from a paper by Max Bazerman and coauthors Jonathan Baron and Katherine Shonk. They are looking into the psychology of decision making. [Their paper, “Enlarging the Societal Pie through Wise Legislation: A Psychological Perspective,” has been accepted for publication in Perspectives on Psychological Science later this year.]

Menu: [forgot to photograph; there’s a first for everything] curried cauliflower, mulitgrain buns, raw baby carrots, bocconcini sliced alternating with italian tomatoes, basil and avocado with cracked black pepper and chinese red bean dumplings.

Who Should Paint You: Gustav Klimt

Sensual and gorgeous, you would inspire an enchanting portrait..
With just enough classic appeal to be hung in any museum!

Dwayne Morgan at Golden Star

The monthly poetry event of Golden Star Lounge was last night between 7:30 and 10:something p.m. The headliner was Dwayne Morgan whom I have had the pleasure of hearing perform before. We arrived a bit late, dozens ahead of us heard more and dozens after us until there was standing room only.

At least 4 poets performed on topics as diverse as mango baths to mentoring boys of deadbeat dads and a piece by Garamie called out the self-righteous air of truth poets can assume. A djembe player performed in a blur of hands, changing the rythms showing that percussion can have a sort of melody.

One of Dwayne Morgan’s poems were hard hitting on the inequity of media coverage depending on the victim’s skin color. I wondered at times if he would be mobbed by women during or after his sexy pieces on how he would treat a woman. Women controlled themselves but the lineup to buy his voice on CD or his book were crammed after the show. It seemed most of a hundred were ready.

Poetry for Sale: He has been doing poetry full time for over 12 years. Morgan’s CDs are available at Up from the Roots.

Vid Link: Morgan is interviewed at Google video

stamp Today we have entered lunar year 4703. Happy New Years to those in China, Vietnam or Korea and those abroad who would celebrate.

[Sidenote: My report on architect Ian MacDonald is still in rough note. I’ll post it within the week, on the outside]

Quotes of the Day: See some uplifting thoughts at The world of Grace Jones (found via The Presurfer)

Soundtrack: Don’t miss Birdie Jaworski’s take on Folsom Prison Blues in Avon Prison Blues

Bonus featured poetry: Winter craving spring rarely said better than by Birdie’s poem January, Las Vegas, New Mexico

ginger peanut slawMenu: Poco-Coco’s slaw with ginger-peanut dressing (but substituting balsamic vinagrette for the rice vinegar and olive oil, honey for brown sugar, savoy cabbage for regular, and omitting garlic and cilantro), potato and cottage cheese perogies and brussel sprouts and gnocchi and baby green soy beans with aparagus and a yogurt-basil-dill-feta sauce. They both had a range of textures, temperatures, tooth feels, flavors and smells, but I’m more pleased with the second with the brighter color to seduce the eye first and more pleased with the first for the depths of smell.

Light Link: Silly Joke

27 Jan 2006, 7:53pm
Pearl's Life Photos
Comments Off on Old Family Snapshots

Old Family Snapshots

We skip back…and around thru time.

Sitting with a lap full of a litter of barn kittens.

Probably my favorite picture from childhood of my two cousins I grew up with, all of us muddy-kneed.

Many Christmas morning photos saw me in at least 3 changes of clothes, presumably the new ones received that year.

This trypic intrigues me. It seems ripe to interpret from.

Here I was in pants, belt and shirt with sheriff’s badge and gun (with dad), then with lego as I wore in frilly lace-edged long gown (with mom), and by myself in PJs with a doggie toy. I think it was when I was 8 years old.

I have suprising few pictures of granny even tho we went there every week.

I thought the stuffed doggie kept showing up through albums; it’s not the same one as with me and my gramma in this baby photo, as the one which appears with me at age 3 or 4 with my cousin Harvey and his dad.

In grade one class photo, all the girls were to sit in the front with their hands in their laps. One didn’t. ‘Cause I wanted to show the paint palette with one primary button for each primary color on it. It was pretty. It didn’t show up from the camera angle. lol.

Zoom ahead.

When I turned 13 wearing my cat’s eye brooch posed with the cake. I still have a lot of cat’s eye pieces but rarely wear jewelry.

Zoom ahead again.

1993 family reunion with Hub-to-be, my parents, and granny.

1995 Wedding Picture with Brian.

2002 with Hubby.

Him when he was a wee gaffer.

Hubby as a boy.

Hubby 2004

Holding our niece with her parents in the background.

Us in 2004



Then to skip back further before my lifetime.

My paternal grandparents got married in 1917.

It was his 2nd marriage of 3. She would bring his child-count up to 11. Here’s another picture of her, before her marriage.

This is my grandmother Meredith Jane Gertrude Bennett as a baby, born in 1892.

On the maternal grandparents’ side of my family, 12 pregnancies yielded 14 children. There’s a picture of all the grandparents here. Of the 10 grandparents I had, including those through marriage, only three overlapped my lifetime and only one remains.

My dad being held by his mom who died when he was only 8. He was raised by successive housekeepers, and his sisters.

There were always a few animals around. This was in 1984 for the newspaper with Penny and her daughter.

My dad’s earliest memories and lifetime activity keeps being training big horses, as he was here at age 3, 1930. I grew up under the belly of horses, from ponies to quarterhorses to workhorses. My parents were always sure I’d get trampled but with all the time in the world I could win trust of any animal.

Gratuitous cuteness shot of me as baby with baby calf.

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