18 Nov 2014, 9:37pm
General Glad Game

Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There

The internet is visual Redbull. It’s easy to get overstimulated. It can be all heroes arc and villains all the time without nuance. Infinite options, news, some kind of informational black hole. The rate of reading is so much faster disclosure than conversations wending about.

Somewhere on twitter someone said it articulately. Something like: Say no to any things that aren’t a ‘heck yeah! I’m in.’

morning light
Morning light. HY.

making your own souvenir
Letterpress print a card. HY.

tray for the table
Cheesecake. HY.

Desirée Desirée
Desirée climbing about chewing my hair. HY.
(And circle of people unpictured to not harass people all the time. Their HY.)

To add to the glad game, migraine medd, Motrin and sympathy when I crash.

Phone connection and emails to check on those I love from far off.

An aunt being back out of the hospital.

Making time for a walk and a spontaneous date long enough to get thru debriefing and onto dreaming. HY.

sleepy kitten
Stop to watch the snoring cat whose fallen nose-first on the sheet. HY.

There is so much to do but balance means mixing it up. There’s no natural end to work. Boundaries are arbitrary and imposed.

I could keep on going headlong, or allow myself to be pulled up short by, “I’m not demanding that you work harder or faster. What I’m asking you is what your priority is.”


Lack of focus can be a good thing. The body kicks against it but still it’s a Heck Yeah.

Pearl reading Roland
Roadtrip reading with friends. HY.

Lingering conversations. HY.

Stop to watch a llama (or alpaca) kitted out for Christmas. HY.

While I don’t entirely approve of premature jubilation for Christmas, dozens of little kids shouting Merry Christmas kinda wavered me over the line.

PB150098 PB150011
Wave to any fireman dogs and antique truck fireman at the Kemptville Santa Claus parade.

Bagpiping Christmas carols. HY. Like jello wigglers.

Wave to Santa even if his beard doesn’t turn with his head.

outside library
Heed Voltaire’s advice. HY. Like no one cares. Because they do or they don’t. But only you can.

2 Nov 2014, 3:07pm
Glad Game
1 comment

Little Things that Slay or Play

I was going to ease into the day and read, and did for a bit

furry bookmark
until a certain furry bookmark parked herself across my notebook, iphone and book.

nummy gandhi, say nothing.
“Nummy Gandhi, hush,” sez kitty.

One can touch the book and get swatted, or stay off her book.

Possession is 9/10th of the law, yes? (What Guttersnipe Spy Snitched that to the Cats?)

Yesterday everything became overwhelming and impossible. Yesterday crashed. No burn. Okay a little singed, and less singing around the edges.

I got up at 10, kinda up, and at quarter speed did some life-maintenance schtuff and fell into a deep sleep again at 4 until 6 then made it to 9pm and slept almost around the clock.

Sleep is a good doctor.

I’m still moving at half speed but the world doesn’t seem so daunting. My throat isn’t sore so maybe my immune system deflected the incoming or maybe it’s too soon to say.

But glad game:

  • Sunshine that doesn’t twist behind and hurt the eyes
  • Foot rub for aching feet
  • Citrus. Sourcing clementines. A taste for grapefruit.
  • Some days call for opening a new pair of socks. I keep a few pristine ones in their package for days such as this.
  • Looking back and feeling like a dream echoes of well-being.
  • To see friends happy.
  • The glory which is delivery. Food brought to sofa when anything else seems as hard as taking the scythe to the field and pulling a millstone myself
  • Files that open and are not in a haste to crash.
  • Ah, well-timed comedy, Pages.
  • The small victory of bringing a full change of clothes to the bathroom. Instead of say, 3 pairs of pants and no shirt.
  • The small pleasure of combing the hair and the realization later that it means I can lift my arm without pain as a normal thing.
  • The scent of aromatic eastern red cedar. I once nearly bought a chest of that and now our closet will be lined with it.
  • Some loops take decades to complete. Let’s call this good.
  • A cat who could be anywhere but chooses to flop near
  • The fickleness of memory that cuts both ways. When spiralling down, can only see things that went that way but when upward, can access only upwards as salient. Knowing the game’s blindspots doesn’t detract from grabbing the next cab up
  • Gradually learning when not to push it. Can’t. So be it. But want. But can’t. But chest compression. But life’s self-leveling so wait.
  • The fingers have their own intentions. I aim to write slices and fingers type smiled. Is the part of my body that is sloppy also pressing an agenda of happy? Probably random misalignments that happen to signify. I’ll take it.
  • Reading aloud together until one or the other falls asleep.
  • Work I find useful and satisfying. Some design, some hands on, some promise of connecting right words to the mind that will receive them.
9 Jul 2014, 2:30pm
Glad Game


It’s good to count your blessing while you can remember them. When the neural weather system reverses, they still may be unreachable as something with significance but they might glimmer.

A family reunion was fun. I like having something to do that is needed. So I was in charge of getting people to sign the attendance sheet and write their names on a slip for door prizes, and then going to find the people when they won who had scattered all over, in a circle playing music, or another playing badminton, or kicking a soccer ball,
or gone up to visit the neighbour’s cows, or down to the river to look for snakes, or gone for a walk around the pond, or sitting in the shade.

Got a chance to have a few words with a few. Lowering expectations to dribs and drabs that may accumulate or not, but being present for little bits.

Mom dropped another couple bags of things I left at her house when I moved out, including the best jeans ever. If I ever return to my 8-year-old frame, I would totally wear those red roadrunners again. Also, this:

I do not remember cutting the sleeves off a sweatshirt. Or writing this. Misspelling totally unintentional I’m sure. Did I wear it in public with that written on the back? The past is a mysterious country.

Five social events in 2 weeks. What butterflies we are. And after a sense of well-being. For Canada Day I thought I pulled a muscle in my face from smiling. I haven’t laughed that much in a long while.

Yesterday slow, mellow easy company. Sometimes it feels impossibly hard as such a long pattern and then this. Sometimes one gets the illusion that life might be easy. And/or funny.

Older Ladies by Donnalou Stevens has that wonderful balance of good humour and standing self-assessing as acceptable and self-assured. With 5 million views in a month, seems the world has been waiting for that message.

A time for refusing and reflecting putdowns, not silently shrugging off like that 14-year-old Carleigh. Determine one’s own terms of engagement.

And canning small joys. For almost a month I’ve been planning to try this. (The post at Eaten Up at noon tomorrow.)

It’s a hard sweet spot to hit to want something enough to do it and to not want something so much that it is paralyzing. Stage fright and performance anxiety aren’t just for conversation and presentation. Alone in the kitchen. Until it’s in the thick of it. Then there’s a breakthru in the doing. As with anything else.

To do something concrete. To saw off 4 limbs and have the backyard less overhung with leaves. I have a sap-lust. Is this how lumberjacks start? Or deserts? If only we could eat Manitoba Maple we’d never be able to go hungry.

Sometimes I feel darnright domestic without it seeming pejorative.

Imagine all the funny human tricks I can do — like lift a heady pot, or carry limbs again. Or lift laundry onto the line. Or carry a table. It’s been 14 months or so since I was that normal. Sometimes the shoulder aches if I lift too much for too long, or lie on it for too long, but it is largely normal.

A good normal of wanting the well-being for one another, asking after, the casual walk by with a touch on the back or arm. And the longer time off together, with an excuse of food.

IMG_1436 IMG_1483
The garden is growing. So are plans for the next. Maybe take out that tree, and put a fruit one. Or move such and such. Nice to see a bit of future instead of being in the smaller now.

What a profusion of flowers. Everything is blossoming. Except poetry. I’m writing at probably 1/10 or 1/20 of my normal rate but life in general is a creative outlet.

Sunny days of zig zag hopping all around the yard. I don’t know how we’ll explain winter to her. A rainy day is lament enough. Her ears back and meowing when it’s raining out not just the front door, but at the back door too. She adds an inordinate joy with her curiosity and innocence.

The good life must include watermelon in the shade.

And yesterday the sweetness of standing together under a roof in a white out of downpour, sheets of rain blowing down the water-covered river of a street. Cat at our feet. On other verandas along the street other people out watching the torrential rain. I ran out in it for the cold shock and at my squeak, the cat retreated closer to the door then as the rained eased came back to hunker between our ankles.

It’s rather nice that a being so independent could be anywhere and chooses there. I woke to her sleeping against my ankle. Hubby at the other side. Good way to ease into a day.

27 Jun 2014, 3:13pm
Glad Game
1 comment

Glad Game: Summertime

The weather is not trying to kill us. Moving inside to outside isn’t a shock.

Barefoot in grass. And in hammock.

How hard and intense reading sessions are completed by work of the body. I see why monks do practical gardening and so on. The mind processes better and the body is more complete with useful muscle work.

Since 2004, this is post 2001 at Humanyms.

The yard is taking shape. The new doors in the studio brighten the whole place.

I found all the missing hats. The mysteriously missing baseball caps fell to the back of the top shelf. Thanks to a chair, I saw them, and the missing scarf, the badminton rackets, the frisbee and 2 bottles of sun protection.

That brings our total house count to 7. 2 empty. 2 creams of 30 and 50 spf, of known location. These found. And one other spray bottle on the lam.

Homemade rhubarb juice and homemade lemonade.

It’s date day. Our take off and talk about nothing instrumental or practical while we eat somewhere for a couple hours. It’s a lovely tradition.

Fireflies. I was sure I’d never see them again since we left the countryside but here they found us in our very yard. All this and bat swoop too.

Bruce Taylor Workshop
The Bruce Taylor workshop closed the season with lots of food for thought on didactic poetry from the time of Socrates to present. None of which I’ll pass on here in the interests of going back outside among the sun and ferns.


take a thing, leave a thing box
The exchange boxes are back. Here’s the story behind the people of this round

Make yourself a good day,

23 May 2014, 9:02pm
Glad Game Thirteen Thursday

The Little Things

I’m too late for 13 Thursday. That being the case, why 13? Let’s see where it goes.

Sometimes it’s the little things that make all the difference. The good stuff I mean. Like?

  1. Finding the book you want in particular at a particular moment even when it goes peek a boo on you.
  2. Progress in gardening. No pics yet. Take my word for it to hold ya over.
  3. And in sewing with the little helper,
  4. mushroom rain
    A good mushroom rain.
  5. Remembering to remove the marshmallows from the pocket before the washing machine.
  6. Western Creamery cream cheese and the best bagels in the city — Kettlemen’s.
  7. A visiting elder checking out the place,
  8. Realizing that I’m not super spy material; trying to release a book into the wild 3 people came after me saying “miss, miss, you forgot your book.”
  9. on the plus side people see books as valuable things no one would want to lose.
  10. These are days of hug low, kiss high. But I’m down to 1 ibuprofen a day, if that. The chest isn’t entirely normal and neither is the shoulder but I can do neat human tricks like move the arm from a brain command instead of moving it with the other arm against discomfort.
  11. That mom’s mammogram shadow was a shadow and nothing showed in the second.
  12. The humour of cat being called Honey while I am called Holly.
  13. Small blessings of quiet nuzzle and kiss on the forehead.
  14. Bonus: Glad also for the hours weeding and the Lee Valley nail brush.
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