Glad Game: To start with the obvious, bananas, the blessed herb. All other fruit may taste plastic and smell like wax but at least there’s banana.
Glad that there’s some food my body doesn’t reject. Choco-fruitarian may sound like a glamourous all-you-can eat fondue life, but is pretty limiting.
Glad I’m not getting the visceral wall at the sight, sound, taste, smell or idea of meat. It makes it easier to walk in the world.
And muscle relaxants. Walk, baths, stretches, music can go a distance but at times, what a wonderful invention.
Glad for them all, ibuprofen, antihistamine and knowing the migraine meds are there in the wings.
The understandingness of hubby who does not hup-hup, c’mon get up at me. Some nights it takes me hours to sleep and then I wake for an hour or two in the middle. By 8 a.m. I may only be towards hour 5.
Glad for the release and for things made.
Thankful that sometimes I can write like 6 hours flat out yesterday. No need to eat or pause, rapid edits and clarity in groove. The fishing about for something to care about as I read or write is all washed back onto shore like so much bleached deadwood.
Glad for the joie de vivre of the cwazy cat that seems to mistake herself for an anklet that play-bites my feet.
Blessed are those who retweet or favourite on twitter so there’s an indication of saying something of interest.
Thankful for those who reply to emails with any length.
Glad that mom is gradually remembering that phoning after 10 a.m. is almost infinitely better than before 7 a.m. even if both seem like nearly afternoon to her.
Feeling blessed by people who are willing to read what I write and say I hear you.
Thankful for Wally Keeler and his uploads of videos of people hearing poetry on the street of Cobourg.
Glad for fresh safe water to drink.
Glad to anticipate chapbooks coming in the mail.
Glad for chapbooks received and such a richness of creativity.
Glad that rob mclennan can make so many ephemeral events and chapbooks and connect people.
Glad to see Versefest coming in 5 weeks.
Glad to have people who love me even when I seem to be bottomlessly futile,
- such as carrying the bag for photo walk, bring the lens but not camera body,
- such as sending the address to pick me up at but dyslexically flipping the numbers,
- such as finally nailing the pre-recorded segment of 2 Things I’m Reading This Week, but the mic was not switched on,
- such as setting out the clothes for the morning but it rarely matching the number of appendages I have (2 pants, no shirt, or 1 pants, 1 shirt but 3 pairs of socks or half a pair, etc ad nauseum)
- such as stammering and umming and mumbling and pretending that silence or omission can speak on my behalf
Glad I can still have time to learn, improve and accept.
Glad my self-talk is better and that I can recognize that there’s a noisy head roar of criticism that doesn’t make sense to oppose point by point. Let it wash.
Glad to get to a place where there are feelings and there is body and there is intellect and they aren’t at war or all shut out. There is a working peace in the kingdom most of the time.
Glad to get the bathtub cleaned. If the shoulds are monkeys on the back, a bathtub’s one heavy monkey.
Glad to get an excuse to use the paper cutter.
Glad the cat thinks I’m much more interesting when I cut paper into small squares than when I stare and move ideas around. Maybe she’s right.
Glad to get to share people and ideas that I think should be shared on the radio show.
Glad to find a bit of information that someone mentioned looking for and passing it on. Being an information clearing house always feels more useful.
Glad to have used up most of the food so I could clean out the fridge. Glad to get more food to restock because frozen mixed veggies is pretty dire.
Glad to be moving outdoors in the snow where there are no people and no gender count of what is said or not said by who.
Sorry to be in such an apocalyptic urban space with so few species visible and people hating what is here. But glad I can get away to wilder areas to breathe and restore.
Glad for the support of hubby and glad to work in symbiosis with him to make a small world where compassion, harmony and making each self better matter.
Glad to have access to computers and ability to use them for words, for images, for ideas, for people.
Glad for free flowing times that makes blocked times worth waiting out.
Glad for heavy sleep and sweet dreams, and visitations by grandmother and all past groups of people and places in life integrated.
Glad for being able to expect good in tomorrow.
Double Quote: “Give what you have to somebody, it may be better than you think.” ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and
“Is life too short to be taking shit, or is lie too short to be minding it?” ~ Violet Weingarten
Glad Game: We happened across a friend on the street. I automatically waved. Both of those are good and that I didn’t crumple from sudden shoulder movement. It was more of a salute until the shoulder hit a wall 3/4 lifted, but still, that’s farther than its been for I don’t know how many weeks.
Book was ordered. I shipped it. I didn’t charge enough for postage so griped and then life dropped a toonie at our feet for my troubles. I tell you, it’s hard to keep a good kvetch going sometimes.
Let there be light and there was and it was good: the basement window which was boarded over when we got our place has now been unboarded and it admits light and air. That brightens it up down there.
Halloos received from a few friends. That’s rather nice.
Muffins in the mailbox. That sure never happened in condo life. In a condo it had all the isolation of being a hermit and none of the advantages of quiet or privacy. Being on the ground again has all kinds of unexpected perks like new lovely neighbours.
Sister Teresa of Proces Constituent in Catalan Spain is thinking of bigger boxes that better social policy and more self-determination can fit in.
The Ottawa Public Library has another lineup of poetry workshops
Oh, and I’ve been reminded that not everyone is on twitter or FB and the blogs go where some of them don’t. It’s kind of counterintutive since there’s more interaction at the FB and Twitter but yes, I should mention here as well, a recording of Literary Landscape is archived at my author site.
That caught was thanks to plan C: the recording by Hubby At Home Manoeuvre. Not much of the time, not the majority of the time, but every now and then, intentions turn out. How about that.
I like the sentiment of the quote below, even if it’s kind of right and wrong. Expecting perfection and professional to be synonymous and that there is a place where one’s learning and curiosity stops while skills keep right on going seems misguided and not entirely benign. At the same time, much is lost by giving up too soon, by “good enough” and starting to call it in. And everything is a skill. Learning itself and teaching are skills. All is acquired. Even, I’ve heard, patience.
Quote: “Amateurs practice until they get it right; professionals practice until they can’t get it wrong” ~ quote investigator says a variant of it went to 1902 to school superintendent George W. Loomis
Glad Game: Fan.
Terrific crashes of lightning.
Fans. I’m a fan.
Getting caught up on the course.
Plans in place to go to a lake.
The new endeavour of being a radio host.
No-particular-reason-for-writing emails from friends.
Getting the local paper.
Respite by going by air conditioned busses.
The portability of writing. Could go to a beach with it. If there weren’t a tornado watch.
Seeing friends earlier this week.
Plans underway to catch up with other lovely people in the coming weeks.
Evenings cooling off enough for cuddles to not be too sticky and sweaty.
Ability to decipher my penmanship, even when weeks old.
Also my punmanship.
Capacity to see past glasses that are fogged up from just sitting.
Long talks airing out the heads with hubby.
While not caught up to all my to-do list, at least I’m not totally overwhelmed and dismayed.
More downpour splashing its silver back at the flipped silver backs of leaves.
Some of those trees could manage a hoola hoop better than me.
Quiet excitement is so much better than drama.
Quote: “to see things in the seed in genius” ~ Lao Zhu
But not like it’s a bad word. Pretty blues.
That’s it. More glimpses from around the planet at Our World Tuesday.
Wait, hold the press publish button. A mini glad game first:
Glad that: vacation plans are taking shape. We didn’t go on holiday last year. Integrating a good pace to life is good progress, but taking off is good too. Glad that mom seems to be doing well. Glad to get another letter started. Glad to be cat-sitting. Hub and I managed to bang heads in the night with such a smack that I saw a blue flash of light. Here comes the cat part. She came running and sat nearby and purred comfort. Wisely out of reach since mid-groggy coordination could take out an eye. And glad that I have access to email and plans to see a friend soon in person even. How cool, I won a t-shirt. When I get it, I’ll show. Glad that Call Me Katie is performing next month at Rasputin’s. Glad to get a book in the mail. Yay, more Phil Hall. I can carpe the diems as they come. Glad I can turn on a diem.
Noteable Quoteable: “I no longer have my entire life ahead of me (I can tell because I just looked over my shoulder…)” ~ Martha
Sometimes I think there’s a mole in Harper’s advisors who try to harm his chances, such as the whole ignore The Journey of Nishiyuu. The only strategic thing could be to drown out the efforts of many with the silence of one, to derail attention from them to him by glaring omission and state that international relations is more important than domestic dialogue.
At the same time people aren’t that readily trumped. A couple years ago Lakota youth felt categorically dumped into a category of poverty porn with a simplified portrayal of them. They demonstrated their aspirations and their view of the community they make in a video of their diversity.
Mud-slinging season in politics may only be exacerbated by paying attention but I wonder what was the thinking behind an attack ad over someone donating to a popularly valued health charity. It caused more attention and as much donations in 48 hours as a usual month.
But maybe it still got its intended effect?
The games are absurd.
A little attention there is a red herring from what this time? It’s like grocery sales. Such and such item goes on sale while other items go up so unless you want to go buy only the cheap items all around town, it nets the same. Even if it does it nets the same because some people will buy what they buy at any price, others refuse things on sale as defective or old or only buy by the higher price. So why not cut the games from the system?
A sense of proportion and a sense of humour is easiest when in extreme pain or relieved pain.
The thunderstorm that unleashed last night with lightning and a nearby thunderclap also made the barometric pressure much more compatible with my joints.
Besides that I went to a chiropractor. That only took me 3 months.
Now I can do stupid human tricks. I can turn my head to the right. Listen, no crackly sounds. Wait, it gets better. *and* the left. I can scratch my left shoulder with my right arm and scratch my own back.
Glad Game: And I can lift my right arm, suddenly even. And I can swing arms backwards. Without a pain jolt. Neat, huh.
I found some good books.
I was one of the winners of the tweet poetry contest at the Ottawa Public Library with Amanda Earl, Adam Thomlison and JC Sulzenko.
And I got a poem up with the excellent company at The Week Shall Inherit the Verse!
Phew. Quite a week.
All this and weather that doesn’t need a sweater nor a jacket.
The gardens are cleaned up. Spring onions are planted.
Walking in the dappling rain there were two little girls in their summer dressed on their doorstep. The littler one bent over to examine a rain drop splotch on the walkway and sang “rain, rain, little rain, won’t you come everyday”.
The picnic table and bench are back outside. The barbecue is out and ready to cook something.
Quote: “Any sportiveness in cattle is unexpected. I saw one day a herd of a dozen bullocks and cows running about and frisking in unwieldy sport, like huge rats, even like kittens. They shook their heads, raised their tails, and rushed up and down a hill [...] a sudden loud WHOA! would have damped their ardor at once, reduced them from venison to beef, and stiffened their sides and sinews like the locomotive. Who but the Evil One has cried the “Whoa!” to mankind? ~ Henry David Thoreau