Once upon a time there was a raven haired girl who lived fancifully amongst the love and adoration of the adults in her life. At nightfall and in the early morning light, she whispered her dreams, deep, into her pillow. And one day, they started to come true.
Little by little, as time would pass,
each dream would manifest itself at last.
Sure their was heartache, growth, and pain along the way.
And of course she learned of attachment and how hearts are led astray.
But the wishes that felt true and kept her in light, revealed themselves eventually, and she never lost sight.
The first of these wishes was to have a baby brother.
And alas the day came, happier than no other.
He was born on June1st 1986, and was truly the first of amazing and wonderful gifts.
They grew-up together, the best of friends,
and the story continues, it has no end.
----
Here is what he is doing, a baby no more:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91W0kovEJuY
http://www.nsnews.com/story_print.html?id=5310530&sponsor=
A beaming big sister!
Namaste.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
a teenage dream
Is it okay to hide-
knock.
turn around the
clock
under the bed, over my head, was a blanket of stars.
Would play
all day
with you
in my thoughts
no rest
just
a hope
a wish and dream,
a fantasy for me to convene.
when we last saw each other-
the moon shimmered on the sea
and i wanted,
only
to dance with thee.
no rest
thoughts grow
love wanes
and i shook you off-
in the fall-
like the trees with their pretty leaves.
knock.
turn around the
clock
under the bed, over my head, was a blanket of stars.
Would play
all day
with you
in my thoughts
no rest
just
a hope
a wish and dream,
a fantasy for me to convene.
when we last saw each other-
the moon shimmered on the sea
and i wanted,
only
to dance with thee.
no rest
thoughts grow
love wanes
and i shook you off-
in the fall-
like the trees with their pretty leaves.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Egoist
Do you remember that Channel commercial from the 90s where beautiful angry women open their balcony doors and yell "Egoist!" into the air of some Mediterranean town? Their long luscious hair beating against the wind; then (the following part may be a conjecture of my teenage mind) the camera finds an unimaginably handsome chiselled man, listening to the wind carry the angry voices to the sea.
This morning, I felt like one of those angry women. I wanted to find my very own balcony (substitute sun drenched Mediterranean town with nippy Calgary), let my long locks flail with drama, and shout the same cat call to a nameless chiselled man (substitute handsome Italian dude with older greying guy in an okay suite).
After a night of my children playing tag-team 'wake up Mom and Dad', I realized that we did not have coffee filters, nor was there any bread in the house, and my equally tired husband was already out of the house and in the office. So, after changing the kids' diapers, filling their sippy cups with milk, and bundling everyone into their winter coats (over our pyjamas) we headed to my favourite coffee shop in Calgary: Fresh Kitchen. It is a small little shop, with home baked treats, fresh flowers, and everything from local milk to rare truffle oil and crackers made by Buddhist monks living in El Salvador (not really, but you get the picture).
It is the kind of place where people smile when you walk through the doors, they remember you but don't bug you with too much talk; and it is never bustling and overcrowded. In fact, this morning, there were three people, myself included, getting our coffees at that time.
I left the kids in the car (I was parked just outside the store) and ran inside- wearing my pink flannel pyjamas, running shoes, and big black winter coat with a broken zipper. After I made my order and paid, I ran the muffins to the car, so the kids would get some food into their bellies, and I went back for my coffee.
Once I got to the counter, there were two gentlemen (and I use that word lightly here) standing at the counter, paying for their drinks. I said, "Excuse me" as I slowly slid my arm past the guy to the left, to get my drink. Now, remember, I just got out of bed, I have on a massive fluffy full-length winter coat, that won't close, over pink flannel pyjamas, and crazy bed hair. You can't miss me. But, when I said "Excuse me" the man moved to the right, oh, about, half a centimetre. The gentleman behind the counter said, "Oh, excuse our reach, just have to give her coffee"- translation: "Seriously man, move over, the store is not packed, I need to give this scary looking lady her coffee." The suited man moved over a teeny smidgen more, and as I reached for my Americano, the cuff of my jacket hit the side of a display and very hot coffee spilled, onto my hand, the cuff of my coat (tightly pressed around my wrist), on the counter, and some on the floor.
The barista exclaimed, "Oh NO! Are you okay ma'am? What can I do for you? Are you okay?" I yelped "Ooh, kinda! Hot! Hot!" then looked at the man next to me and said, "Sorry about that, are you okay?" He checked to see if I spilled on his suite, and replied, "I am not sure." I realise that I have not burnt him, or else he would know. I then recall how expensive a suit can be, and apologize again, but add, "At least there is not milk in it, you should be fine."
Meanwhile, my jacket has absorbed all the hot water and my wrist is burning. I feel I cannot take off my coat in the store because I am in my pyjamas, so I quickly run to my car. Once I manage to take my coat off, I pour cold water on my hand and wrist (thank God I leave bottled water in the car).
Then, as one does when a highly intense incident occurs, I replay the events in my mind. I think about the suited-man's actions. I think of my husband, in his suits, and what he would do if a crazy looking lady spilled coffee on herself and a little on him.
Herein lay the difference between a true gentleman and an Egoist.
The Egoist at Fresh Kitchen cared only about his suit, he was meticulously wiping at it while I was flapping my hand, and clearly hurt. He made no caring or helpful gestures, instead made me feel bad for an accident that clearly hurt me more than it hurt him. Not to mention, had he moved over a few more inches, the accident would not have occurred.
A gentleman would realise that he is not hurt, and that there is someone other than himself needing attention at the moment. A gentleman would help the person in need first; all else is secondary.
I believe George Michael said it best when he sang, "I hope you understand / Sometimes the clothes do not make the man"
Namaste.
This morning, I felt like one of those angry women. I wanted to find my very own balcony (substitute sun drenched Mediterranean town with nippy Calgary), let my long locks flail with drama, and shout the same cat call to a nameless chiselled man (substitute handsome Italian dude with older greying guy in an okay suite).
After a night of my children playing tag-team 'wake up Mom and Dad', I realized that we did not have coffee filters, nor was there any bread in the house, and my equally tired husband was already out of the house and in the office. So, after changing the kids' diapers, filling their sippy cups with milk, and bundling everyone into their winter coats (over our pyjamas) we headed to my favourite coffee shop in Calgary: Fresh Kitchen. It is a small little shop, with home baked treats, fresh flowers, and everything from local milk to rare truffle oil and crackers made by Buddhist monks living in El Salvador (not really, but you get the picture).
It is the kind of place where people smile when you walk through the doors, they remember you but don't bug you with too much talk; and it is never bustling and overcrowded. In fact, this morning, there were three people, myself included, getting our coffees at that time.
I left the kids in the car (I was parked just outside the store) and ran inside- wearing my pink flannel pyjamas, running shoes, and big black winter coat with a broken zipper. After I made my order and paid, I ran the muffins to the car, so the kids would get some food into their bellies, and I went back for my coffee.
Once I got to the counter, there were two gentlemen (and I use that word lightly here) standing at the counter, paying for their drinks. I said, "Excuse me" as I slowly slid my arm past the guy to the left, to get my drink. Now, remember, I just got out of bed, I have on a massive fluffy full-length winter coat, that won't close, over pink flannel pyjamas, and crazy bed hair. You can't miss me. But, when I said "Excuse me" the man moved to the right, oh, about, half a centimetre. The gentleman behind the counter said, "Oh, excuse our reach, just have to give her coffee"- translation: "Seriously man, move over, the store is not packed, I need to give this scary looking lady her coffee." The suited man moved over a teeny smidgen more, and as I reached for my Americano, the cuff of my jacket hit the side of a display and very hot coffee spilled, onto my hand, the cuff of my coat (tightly pressed around my wrist), on the counter, and some on the floor.
The barista exclaimed, "Oh NO! Are you okay ma'am? What can I do for you? Are you okay?" I yelped "Ooh, kinda! Hot! Hot!" then looked at the man next to me and said, "Sorry about that, are you okay?" He checked to see if I spilled on his suite, and replied, "I am not sure." I realise that I have not burnt him, or else he would know. I then recall how expensive a suit can be, and apologize again, but add, "At least there is not milk in it, you should be fine."
Meanwhile, my jacket has absorbed all the hot water and my wrist is burning. I feel I cannot take off my coat in the store because I am in my pyjamas, so I quickly run to my car. Once I manage to take my coat off, I pour cold water on my hand and wrist (thank God I leave bottled water in the car).
Then, as one does when a highly intense incident occurs, I replay the events in my mind. I think about the suited-man's actions. I think of my husband, in his suits, and what he would do if a crazy looking lady spilled coffee on herself and a little on him.
Herein lay the difference between a true gentleman and an Egoist.
The Egoist at Fresh Kitchen cared only about his suit, he was meticulously wiping at it while I was flapping my hand, and clearly hurt. He made no caring or helpful gestures, instead made me feel bad for an accident that clearly hurt me more than it hurt him. Not to mention, had he moved over a few more inches, the accident would not have occurred.
A gentleman would realise that he is not hurt, and that there is someone other than himself needing attention at the moment. A gentleman would help the person in need first; all else is secondary.
I believe George Michael said it best when he sang, "I hope you understand / Sometimes the clothes do not make the man"
Namaste.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
LOST and STOLEN
I will not cry for you.
make me fall to my knees
reach for
free fall
down
into you
slowly
the abyss grew so dark and so cold over me
concealing me-
wayward girl
losing myself to you-
the lost and the missing.
MISSING
no picture of my soul on this milk carton.
i will not cry these tears of regret. they will not fall. they will not
show themselves
they do not exist. you did not wake me from my life and take me to
another
so dark and so cold
alone
in this world of attachments
And, it was New Year's Eve. I wanted to feel real, like everyone else. Looking out my window- at the Christmas lights, linning the streets. Hearing crowds of people laughing, they were near but not near enough. My window was fogged with steam. I had to wipe it clean. It left a mark, a shadow trail. I couldn't see clearly out that window, I wanted to see what they were wearing, and from where they were coming and going.
Did the fireworks start? Did I miss them? Am I too late?
I am so sad.
oh! here they go! i see them sparkle
between the tall buildings.
Red, Gold, Opulent, Silver, Vibrant, Emerald, Joyous, Blue
Glitter Glue on navy velvet skies-
it doesn't stick.
my view is obstructed, anyhow.
too dim to see the light
snuffed
somewhere along my path ...
Frightened.
the stolen and the missing
all a lonesome
Fuck you.
I will not cry for you.
You will starve dry- no longer gleam nutrients from my bitter tears.
make me fall to my knees
reach for
free fall
down
into you
slowly
the abyss grew so dark and so cold over me
concealing me-
wayward girl
losing myself to you-
the lost and the missing.
MISSING
no picture of my soul on this milk carton.
i will not cry these tears of regret. they will not fall. they will not
show themselves
they do not exist. you did not wake me from my life and take me to
another
so dark and so cold
alone
in this world of attachments
And, it was New Year's Eve. I wanted to feel real, like everyone else. Looking out my window- at the Christmas lights, linning the streets. Hearing crowds of people laughing, they were near but not near enough. My window was fogged with steam. I had to wipe it clean. It left a mark, a shadow trail. I couldn't see clearly out that window, I wanted to see what they were wearing, and from where they were coming and going.
Did the fireworks start? Did I miss them? Am I too late?
I am so sad.
oh! here they go! i see them sparkle
between the tall buildings.
Red, Gold, Opulent, Silver, Vibrant, Emerald, Joyous, Blue
Glitter Glue on navy velvet skies-
it doesn't stick.
my view is obstructed, anyhow.
too dim to see the light
snuffed
somewhere along my path ...
Frightened.
the stolen and the missing
all a lonesome
Fuck you.
I will not cry for you.
You will starve dry- no longer gleam nutrients from my bitter tears.
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