20 Apr 2015, 1:37pm
General
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Time’s Quick Steed

my ponies
Silver, me at 12 and Penny.

I’ve also been fleshing out Looking on the Bri Side, filling in the early 2000s. This fall will be the 20th anniversary of our honeymoon. How crazy is that?

Bri_Pearl_May04
This was over 10 years ago.

I dreamt I wanted to write but when I got to the keyboard it was grey and black and I couldn’t see the keys and would have to clean it before I began. When I woke it seemed to me about the issue of write as therapy or get yourself sorted then write. Am I not on top of processing life? Maybe. But as much as dream may spring from deep or shallows, dreams are like talkers. They may perceive but may get facts wrong.

19 Apr 2015, 4:36pm
General
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Paper Loving

ottawa newspaper box poet
Newspaper box poet from 2004.

rhubarb rising
I don’t like repeating myself. But glitch — I’m not sure what the overlap is between people here, on twitter, at instagram, Flickr or Facebook, to email, with other blogs. I suppose it doesn’t matter. Important thing or fuddle is. What is housed on someone else’s space isn’t mine, exactly.

Been searching for old photos but we used to tolerable tiny ones for small bandwidth but here’s some literary way back time machine. If they were print photos back to full size would be easier. Wonder what I read. John Newlove event?

14 Apr 2015, 2:21pm
General
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Start Gap Measures

An idea passed along from Rosemary,

Spirit Rock Meditation Center
1. Make a list of things that make you happy.
2. Make a list of things you do every day.
3. Compare the lists.
4. Adjust accordingly.

Now that’s an excellent idea, a step further than looking at glad-points.

To distance oneself from things that aren’t working leaves room to embrace things that are or could work even better.

As a primary school teacher chanted and taunted “you can’t always do what you want” but how is trade-off vs. payoff ratio?

Proportion’s the thing. How long something stays in the head and body compared to the actual doing. What do I enjoy?

Sitting and walking outside in weather that doesn’t feel like it’s trying to kill me. (Who doesn’t?)

Doing improv from what I know to new content. For example, how rhythm or short lines could fit and complement this other set of ideas in a poem. Or principles of what the parts in a biscuits do for chemistry and flavour and what other ingredients do.

Making a meal that works. (Last one didn’t. Nutrition but not so much flavour balance. But outcomes aren’t the thing. If you fail that means you’re more likely to be trying.)

What do I do every day? Search with a thumb on the book’s remote to find a phrase a like. Or a section of a poem. Maybe even a whole poem. Or few.

It’s hard to slow down to read instead of scan. Aloud helps but so much seems not built for the tongue.

What’s a daily that I don’t enjoy? Not being able to find books because they scatter over the desk, room, house.

What I dislike, tidying in the act, but do in the effect., that is to function. An orderly space helps the orderly pace of work.

What I enjoy: having everything within reach and knowing where everything is. Having a system I can control so I can can go as fast as possible without being tripped by any impasse.

What do I like? Putting away laundry in a rainbow arrangement. If it’s a top, formal or informal,  it goes from black to white to grey to green to blue to purple to pink to red to orange to brown. Stopping the cacophony of colour ensures morning is one step less taxing.

What’s to like? One person enjoying a line, an idea, a poem, the ride of my poem. Engaging on them.

I enjoy watching people stretch themselves out of their comfort zone, until they become comfortable and capable and then stretch again, becoming more confident and centred in their skin instead of bunched up in one shoulder.

I enjoy seeing the plants grow. The pink knuckles of bleeding heart under the leaf duff. Beans wrapping themselves. beans What can I draw from that?

Maybe a list of pleasures and displeasures too small but it’s the little things. The stopping and resting for conversation without purpose, the leaning against one another, being each other’s furniture, the ease that comes after the minute to minute paying attention to create later ease.

I don’t come from a cultural inheritance of maintenance but fatalism. Dad would buy rotten vehicles that he finished wearing into the ground. I saw him change oil, which was rare, it was thicker than molasses. And he was even harder on his body. Deny it and see if that won’t fix it’s ___. Things didn’t get repaired just used until deemed irreparable. Some of Bring Poor rings too true.

I want a different model that’s more sustainable, more joyful, more caring for the process, more about choice rather than presumed defaults. It takes a long time for the now to catch up with the now.

10 Apr 2015, 6:42pm
Glad Game
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Life Schtuff

Photos are like dust particles for a word-snowstorm to gather around.

When too tired for words, there are photos.

When there are no photos…Houston, we have a problem.

I suppose that means clear skies for doing rather than talking head.

But body feels like a rusty nail.

But thesis-less.

Bah, such a headache. Day 2 of feeling steamrolled.

Good thing good events are good because the crash is substantial for an insubstantial thing.

Ever feel like a chump for going to a dentist?

Pah. Complaint is a cheetah on a plain, and entraining for gladness is getting a cat to do chin-ups.

A gratefulness journal for 8 weeks (3 things, most days) improves the ticker.

It’s probably not a stretch to say it aids the immune system, joints, skin condition and various viscera as well.

Let’s see, what causes gut-yes. I’m gonna need more than 3 per dose.

These once existed for order.

The laugh thru the wall of bingo of humorous email received.

The tumble and mumble of rain. The unseen snow disappears.

Thunder. I love thunder. Winter is long without it. Lightning flashes.

Being indoors with no need to go out and heat.

And found slippers.

So I forgot to return the library books. Another day.

So I took the money with me and walked right past the bank and didn’t deposit. Another day.

So 3 chapbooks were stolen out of the store rack despite the price tag on them. So they may be enjoyed out there.

This radish thong.

Being outside on the warmest day of the year yet, maybe. Hatless with a warm wind in the face. Despite winter coats, it’s like a walk on the beach.

Finally booked an eye exam so maybe in a couple weeks or so I’ll be able to see clearly again. That’d be nifty.

Saw frames that I actually liked. Huh. I’ve gone thru half a dozen websites and 3 stores with no, no, no. Except for one $700 frame in Toronto. Ach.

What else was a yes, Latin-English translator is nifty.

Earache subsided. Not better but not spiking worse.

Making up absurd translations for Italian sentences as hubby plays his learn-Italian videos.

The subtler pleasure of being able to transfer my Spanish knowledge to Italian. Did I get that right? Maybe I retained something.

Finding my brain that stammered so painfully slowly at reading French poetry zips along on a much more fluent pace at the simpler structures and vocabulary level of L’Actualité magazine.

Long hot shower.

Warm fruit tea.

A date day of slow time, conversation, totally non-instrumental speech, time for catching up and daydreaming aloud, curiosity about each other.

The smoothness of a returned chin. As much as I also liked his beard.

Seeing one pair of pants I kinda liked and taking just one pair of jeans to the dressing room and them fitting like they were tailored. And $6. Sweet. Not everybody’s a gamber but everyone loves a deal.

Emails from friends.

That I could be there for mom’s medical visit and could do something useful and concrete like push her chair thru the long halls, and feed her when we got back.

The look of new paint colour.

A favourite tomato sauce. I could chug that straight from the jar, it’s so good. But I won’t.

The small uncomplicated beauty of hanging out.

Alright, time to do some of that.

4 Apr 2015, 7:38pm
General
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And Roll our Coaster

making butter biscuits
Making love from, well, the usual biscuit recipe.

And what strong witchcraft is this? I slept well the whole night, out for nearly 12 hours. I had a few sweet and strange dreams, woke with nothing hurting and no anxiety. Even my shoulders were soft and my neck can turn. No hip nor knee ache, no headache, no nausea, no weight like my skin was a lead vest. I can stand on my flat feet without blister pressure. A general sense of well-being. I wouldn’t go so far as optimism, but a beautiful levelness.

Did morning the reading and writing, got the dishwasher run, a few loads of laundry underway, emails to replied to.

Back in 2011 I set my hand to the potter’s wheel:

a spun pot

About that strange dream… the world government ordered all eating and cooking vessels be turned in. Handing in your vessels in something like “all the world shall be taxed”, processions to Toronto. You would get them exchanged for the government authorized Italian design firm’s products which would guaranteed good design and beauty to all the world.

Naturally they couldn’t scale production or didn’t have enough lead time so people were given ious which led to a run on strawberries and other fresh fruit that didn’t need cooking vessels. Areas of food shortages were starting and speculative looting for places that may still contain pots.

The containers all had to be handed within 2 weeks or people would be faced with search and imprisonments. My extras were in a storage locker in the ground level of a condo beside the special occasion room but the lights were blazing in there as an official government function of puff pastry buffet was underway. (Puff pastry all you can eat buffets seem to be a trope in my unconscious.)

I couldn’t get past security so I decided to bide my time and windsurf with hubby along the canal across the street to pass my time, on open water and across ice. I sat on the ice ledge dangling my legs into the water and declared it warm.

As if the the brain was picking up on the cold camembert and broken crackers (which is another attempt to selectively shame a female member of government to get all the women back barefoot pregnant in the kitchen) the ancient Zhou government poem,

Book of Songs

The more unsatisfied we are, the pickier we become with what constitutes luxury or good. Whether 2000 years ago or now.

The top of the day lasted 4 hours so neutral was a high like trading winter boots for sandals. And then the mush of normal. But to have felt the light of life instead of the weight of it gives some hope.

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