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
Dad planted them. They flowered the last time the year he lived and not since. Mom thought the heavy snow had broken them finally but they were punky, dry-rotted, perhaps from the lichen, or something of the low ground they grew on. It seems like grandfather’s clock somehow.
There are many ways of looking at any given thing. The plants that flourished to the trees’ loss. The end of putting the wrong tree on ill-suited soil. Something new displaces. Any material loss, tree loss directs attention to the preciousness of the transitory, transitionary, now.
Our bathroom gutting continues. Under the floor tiles was black rotting plywood, under that blue linoleum, under that hardwood, and under that the subfloor. Before too many days it will be properly stabilized, waterproofed, and newly tiled everywhere.
Glad Game: It’s unfortunate to live so far out of the daily of our niece and nephew but a sweet handwritten card from the 7-year-old gaffer warms the heart-cockles.
The body may have its flirts with evilness but thank goodness for good friends. And a hubby bringing me a strawberry while I’m furrowed deep in editing? Priceless.
Although I was awake 25 hours yesterday, sleep is inevitable. It’ll crash like a cement truck through plate glass. (With no one harmed in the process of course.)
Although pickings may be slim for people for online scrabble over the long weekend, I did get quite a few rounds through overnight. No one around can only spur me to spend more time with the page.
I read a whole novel this morning. Cue playback of my voice saying “I don’t do novels”. But, wait, I protest, there’s a statute of limitations – ones prior to 1920 are fine.
Noteable Quoteable: “Troubles are poor things to hug. They’ve got too many prickers.” Eleanor Porter in Pollyanna Grows Up (1915)