Saturday, February 21, 2004
memory, triggered
(this has been edited) Memories are strange. And rambly, a little. It's almost like you can't share an encapsulated memory - there's too many things that need to go along with it. So much of a backstory that sometimes has to be told to make sense of the memory itself, especially when - theoretically I'm only telling myself but realistically - I'm telling you, too.As previously mentioned, today was a beautiful day. This morning I had coffee on the balcony with you-know-who . If you're curious about her cancer (since to me she still looks like a cutie rock star), then...if you look really hard directly below her right - (from our point of view) nostril about 2 cm is a reddy-black spot, as opposed to the grey on the left side, which is the tumor on her lip (about the size of a grape), and on her back foot towards us is the tumor that has now pretty much replaced her toe (about the size of a cherry tomato), but unless you're me, you probably can't see that one, there's also a little one just under her left eye, but that one is black (about the size of a little pea).
From my balcony I can see downtown (scroll a little farther for the pic - apologies for the quality) - if you look for the red blobby at the edge of the right side - that's the 'famous' Calgary tower, which I cannot see once that tree grows some foliage. I love to sit out on the balcony at night when it's warm and look at the city lights, for although I live 'downtown' the highrise core area is relatively small. Reminds me of Tampa for some reason.
Warm summer evenings in different cities have their own unique feel. When I think of Victoria, I think either of my cabin on the lake - bugs rising off the water, the sounds of birds in the trees and the smell of the lake or having drinks along the waterfront - the slap of the ocean against the dock, the cries of the gulls and the smell of saltwater. Each of the cities in Canada have something like that but I won't go into the rest of mine, as most of them, for me, involve being a CFL girlfriend and all involve the football stadium-hotel-bar triangle in some way. Which isn't so unique across cities.
Summer sunset/dusk in Calgary has always been my favorite time of the day/year due to the peculiar quality of the light. I don't have the words to describe it so you'll just have to trust me on this one. That light is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, but it must be experienced to be understood.
On the balcony today, feeling lightyears away from those summer nights, I found myself propped up against the wall and yearning for it to be that time again. I feel like I missed the tranquility of that time of day all of last year as that was when Billy was here with me, and by no stretch of the imagination was Billy a tranquil person.
Sitting there, I noticed a rock laying on the very edge of the balcony and it took me a while to figure out what it was doing there. I had to laugh as it's been there since the summer of 2002, last year hidden behind the plant pots.
That summer, recently returned to work and struggling with the things I'd gone through that spring, I dated someone named Chris. He was a bartender and had lived in Victoria for a while. We had bonded over discussions of the things we loved about the island and I liked having that connection. I haven't seen him or thought about him in a long while. I remember sitting in my chair reading late one night and hearing this *clang* pause *clang*. He'd been out after work, I think, with his friends and was in that state that comes when you've drank too much and then jammed drugs up your nose, drunk enough to be incoherent but wired enough to make sense and, apparantly, coordinated enough to hit my balcony railing with rocks. I guess the front door was too far for him to go.
Chris was/is a gentle and intelligent man who had taken a wrong turn or two along the way that he seemed unable to get out from under and I find myself wondering if he's alright. He was always very gentle with me then, even though he didn't know what had gone before, somehow, he helped to make it all a little better. He had a habit, of which I could never break him, of sitting naked on the balcony, chain smoking and telling the most wonderful, insightful stories. I'll have to ask one of the kids at my former job if they ever see him, but regardless, that memory made me smile. I could never make him understand that it just didn't look good to the neighbors for the vice-president of the board to have naked people on her balcony.
There have been a few men in my life who would drop out of their own lives periodically for a few days and just hide out with me. Chris always said I was easy to be around and my presence calmed and recharged him somehow. You probably haven't gotten that impression from the blog, and it's no wonder, but it seems to be a fairly consistent part of my personality, as I've had people tell me that quite often. I think it's one of my favorite things about myself.
Digressing for a sec, another of those people, whose name was Austin, (whom I sure I will get around to telling the story of, as it's a gooder) as I was leaving for work in the morning would roll over in bed and yell out, "Where's my princess?", (this was back in '00 or so before she lost her hearing) whereupon Lacey would *bound* in to land on his chest and cover his face with kisses. Unreservedly, the one person I dated that she loved beyond all reason. The thing is, it was mutual, that I'm sure of. He used to say that the only time he slept well was when he was there with me and his little princess. It occurs to me that he would probably like to say goodbye to her, and although I've heard he's back in town, I'm not at all sure I want to find him. Not because I don't care for him, but because that would prompt him to become part of my life again and I don't want that. I'm just not that person anymore.
Maybe I think of all these things now as I look back over Lacey's life with me. W, that I talked about in December, hated Lacey just as much as she seemed to loathe him, and in making my peace with her, it may be the best thing to remember all the other people who were gentle with her and loved her, if only briefly. Twelve years is a lifetime and there are many things she has been through with me, many things that she has given me and many things that I need to remember and give her kisses for, before it is her time to go.
And I'm completely flabbergasted that rock is still there. I don't think I'll move it. See how long it lasts.
just plain tuckered out
I'm not sure who's more tired now. That was too much fun. Well, except for the neverunderstood tendency for the killer to take offense when large dogs sniff her bum. That German Shepherd's not so cocky now. pfft.This is a big shock, I know, but I did not win the lottery.
A walking thought...it's all much less terrible than it sounds. But there seems to be no way for me to bring that across. That is a failing that niggles at me.
And because permalinking isn't working for eschie, I'm scooting this here, because I really liked it. If that's icky, let me know.
so yesterday i finally finished going thru those pesky first 242 pages of RMG (incidentally while listening to Front 242) and I came to the realization that what I didn't like about the book had nothing to do with the characters or the plot or the fact that it was seriously lacking in incest, necrophelia, homoeroticism and death, but that it lacked an underlying sadness. I can't explain it. Twin thinks maybe it comes from an inherent melancholy. That internal bluestate that people tend to carry with them regardless of how it serves their selves. I tend to think this underlying sadness is actually part of the glue that holds us together, that binds us as people.
because of my path I don't think there's anything wrong with, or technically bad about this sadness, and I most definitely don't think it's anything that I'd like to be rid of. Mostly I think this sad, this bluestate baggage, is directly tied to hope and compassion. It's the black to the white. It's Suffering, with a capital S. The type of suffering that is unavoidable and unrelenting and must be walked along with instead of out run. Because you can't escape it. It's the nature of things and as natural as breath and if you spend all of your time trying to stop it from occuring, it will destroy you.
which is why it has to be in fiction. Because that sadness, that natural-as-breath emotion is what expands the lungs of the word and puts the pink back in its cheeks, even if the skin is already red from crying. I think fiction, really good under-your-skin fiction, does this in spades. It doesn't shy away or try to be something that it's not or reflect people in some shiny rosy glow.
and that is what I uncovered last night while writing about bike couriers and vomit.
and that is that.
I want to get out the deck chairs but I think that may be tempting fate, considering we are nowhere near the end of winter, no matter what the weather is trying to trick us into.
FFWD tells me that Henry Rollins is coming to town as are the Pixies and that Ani will be in Banff soon (as well as Dido). Hard choices, too hard for a beautiful Saturday afternoon.
lyric at post:
..there will be no white flag upon my door..
worthy use of time
Since I stopped voting (for a myriad of strange and senseless reasons) years ago, I've never really gotten back into taking a stand on anything during elections. This, however, is something I can get behind.It is decidedly springlike outside and so Herself and I are off to go to the park.
lyric at post:
..if it's the thing that you fear, it will always be right here..
Friday, February 20, 2004
artwork for Mom
I've been home today, not feeling well and mostly just hanging on the couch with the cuddle bunny. I ran out a little while ago to grab something from the store across the street and when I came home she'd been busy making me a little gift.She hasn't been chewing on her foot, maybe cause I've been here with her but it seems she took the opportunity during the five minutes I was gone. But she didn't stop there. When I walked in she was 'touring'. The entire condo was decorated with little bloody footprints. And I mean the entire condo. She didn't miss one square foot. I don't think she even went over the same ground twice. Pretty amazing, when you think about it.
It was actually quite pretty.
I've seen lots of human blood over the years but I don't think I've ever seen canine blood. Ours is a deep red but hers is so bright it's almost pink.
I thought about leaving it. It matched the accents in the living room.
She's been disinfected and bandaged and is now having a well deserved nap in my easy chair. I could almost swear she's smiling.
lyric at post:
..I believe you mean the best that life can bring
I believe in it all ..
hmph
one background negates another, I suppose. Can anyone else see it? my kingdom for a bracket, apparantly....all fixedThat cup in the pic, mys, was a silver sippy cup with my name on it, I've still got it around here someplace. :) That's my favorite pic too.
lyric at post:
..you're dirty and you're sweet, you're everything to me..
Thursday, February 19, 2004
bits
In my referrer log today, domain name of a visitor.....boromir 5:39:56 pm
How cool is that?
It occured to me that unless you know my last name, you won't find the nickname relevant in any way. Which is most of you. Sorry!
In thinking about what yj emailed me today, I wrote an entire post in my head on the walk home from work, but large amounts of dog kisses (blech) and that nasty nasty board meeting have wiped it completely away.
But maybe it'll come back tomorrow.
It was about giving people access to the blog. And, depending on motivation, what that access means. In a nutshell. But I don't think it changes anything, now that I'm not moving really fast down the street. Maybe I don't need that post written in my head. I still stand by this and this. Even more every day.
H, knowing how much I like Crystal Light to make my smoothies, brought me an entire bag of one-serving Raspberry flavored packets. I didn't do a count, but it looks like about 300 of them. Isn't she great? I think so.
Here's a funny thing, the more I walk, the less I feel like this. Okay, not funny ha ha, not even funny weird. Common sense actually. *blushing, me*
And this, obviously, is recycle day. But, in my own little way, I have a reason for it.
lyric at post:
..when he shouts, nobody listens, where he leads, no one will go..
Old Friends
I have this old friend. His name is Steve. I always called him SteveM then as there were too many Steve's in my life, much like the plethora of Tim's lately. He is a transplanted Manchesterian (is that what they're called?) who's been in Vancouver for at least 15 years (as that's how long I've known him). I met him through my friend Ron who did some sort of 'work' with him. Steve is what I think of as the bad cliche Brit. A crusty live-under-the-bridge troll type of guy, popping up to be critical of everything and cheap as all get out, but with some saving charm once you crack through the surface.Anyways, he regularly travelled over to the island to do business, usually three days of every fourteen. I lived in my little cabin on the lake and he stayed in the big ritzy hotel on the Inner Harbor. In those days, I didn't yet have the dog, so when Steve was in town I would commandeer the second bed in his hotel room so I could hit the pool and the sauna and then walk the two blocks to work in the morning. We ate out when Steve was in town and Ron just paid for everything. I guess business was good. I remember those times when I smell the chlorine of a pool or, for some weird reason, see a stand up fan. I think one of the summers was a hot one. Ron used to take us out on his boat and I can still hear the seals barking on Race Rocks and to this day sport the scar on my thumb from a crab that just wouldn't let go. Ron's teenage son Robbie had to beat it to death with some sort of fishing implement like a hero.
Since I was in my early 20's, Steve must have been in his early 30's and Ron was in his mid 40's. One night, about 3 years ago, in the bar, I ran into Robbie - who wasn't even driving when I left home to move here. Didn't even recognize him (as boys tend to fill out from gawky to gorgeous between 15 and 25). Drunk and looming over me in the bar, he confessed he'd had a crush on me all those years ago. The thought of which still makes me smile. I've spoken to Ron and Steve both since I left but it's been about 9 years since I've seen either of them.
In calling about yesterday to see if I could find a couch for Accent Boy, I called Steve at work and left a message. I never thought he'd call back. He never ever does. He just assumes I'll keep calling back until I catch him. I mentioned he was cheap, right?
Today, my cell rang and this still faintly accented voice yells - "Who am I speaking to?" (he's a yeller to boot). We caught up in double-time, where I'm working, Calgary, the condo, his job, how Ron and his son are. He laughed at my story of Robbie's confession - his remark being, 'like father, like son.' (I know that friends have told me I'm completely oblivious to the interest of other people, and there's probably several million different reasons for that, but it is a bit of a nice thing to learn after the fact. In it's way. Once you discount the father/son creepiness.)
When I mentioned that I may be out his way after Lacey's on her way, he snorted (yes, he actually did) and said, "Well, no wonda yer bloddy callin', you obviously need a quick reality slap in the hed." He makes me laugh.
He had to go as he was on his way to fly to Ottawa but promised he'd call me next week. And he sounded downright tickled to hear from me. I guess we all become a little less troll-like and a little more willing to be gentle as we get older.
My boss came up with a new nickname for me today, I think as payback for calling him 'Timli' (think Gimli the dwarf') the last month or so.
copious: 1. Yielding or containing plenty; affording ample supply: a copious harvest. 2. Large in quantity; abundant: copious rainfall. 3. Abounding in matter, thoughts, or words; wordy: “I found our speech copious without order, and energetic without rules” (Samuel Johnson).
Whatever way you look at it, it's about as flattering as Timli. Must come up with some nasty rejoinder.
lyric at post:
..I feel stupid, but it's something that comes and goes
I've been changing, I think it's funny how no one knows..
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
artful dodging
To take my mind off not smoking and shut up that little hoarse voice beside my left ear croaking, "Why? Why are you trying to quit NOW? *hack* Are you mad? Could you pick a worse time?" I've been trying to learn how to insert streaming video.I succeeded in the first, but not in the second.
I think it's cool when people know the lyrics. Just so you know.
MaJen suggested I put a little bootie on the dog to protect her footsie from any dirt aggravating the infection. Thinking it's a rational idea (few and far between from my mother, god love her) but not being the kind of girl (at least since I hit puberty) to dress up my pets in cute and very "in" accessories, I just used one of the baggies I use for erm...collection. I have to admit, I'm sure she knows I'm laughing at her, but it's funny as hell. I can't help myself.
It's no worse than that time I broke my elbow and, not having a bathtub, having to shower with a black garbage bag over half my body. Granted, the general public didn't get to see that, (we can only hope) but what comes around...
How many bits did I get to with the whole meaning of life thing? I was thinking about that since 'Meaning' below was the first one. Cause I found something tonight that needs to go in there. Regardless. I'll add it and put them all in one place in the Tombs. Right after I finish this post.
You'll need some reference material for the next bit, class.
Western Canada (where I live), please note distances between cities - handily noted in miles for your perusal. In talking with maJen the other night I mentioned about T wanting to buy the condo and she says...
"You should wait for the year before the Olympics."
I admit, I have to pause to figure this out, but finally have to ask...
"Why? The Olympics are in Vancouver."
"Oops," she giggles, "I thought they were in Edmonton."
Begging of course, a mental sigh and the remark, "But Mom, I LIVE in Calgary."
"Oh, right, good point."
And you guys wonder why even sometimes *I'm* not sure where I live. Although, to my credit, I know what city I'm in.
lyric at post:
..running over the same old ground, but have we found the same old fears, wish you were here..
Sunday, February 15, 2004
Canadianisms
a happy coincidence
From Labyrinthman.With definitions and everything! It's right here.
lyric at post:
..you got a stuck in a moment and now you can't get out of it..
mysterys solved
I've had this bruise on my stomach since last Sunday. I bruise easily and take a long time healing and most of the time I have no idea where they've come from, being fairly careless in the way I throw myself through the day. There's currently one on the inside first joint of my middle finger which hurts like a son of a bitch every time I touch something. The one on my belly is a circle about 2 cm round and a lovely greeny purple color. Yesterday, whilst sipping lemongrass tea, I pulled up my shirt to show H, apologizing for exposing my fat little belly but then couldn't see it. Shifting a little, I discovered the antenna of my cell phone was jammed into it. Hence, mystery solved. Repeating cell phone injury.Thinking lately that herself's knee has destabilized as she's not putting any weight on it, in wrestling about with her last night I felt a really long nail and in getting the thingmajig to cut it, found a great big mushy sore looking toe that's pushed the nail out of whack. Cutting the nail has allowed her to put her foot down once more. Mystery number 2 solved. Little old lady gnarly toenails.
Now, if only some of the big mysteries would neatly resolve themselves into my lap.
lyric at post:
..and that ain't what you want to hear, but that's what I'll do..
