Things You Should Not Do If You Are Staying Home Sick From Work :
- Suggest we stop at Tim Hortons while dropping me off at an appointment . Because you know coffee soothes the pukey belly and totally has healing powers related to heat stroke.
-Sit on the edge of the couch for 8+ hours and play the new video game you got on Sunday . Perhaps one is not sick, and one just wanted to conquor , or at least try to conquor video game.. Hmm . One may be tricky.
-Tell me that you don't think " your stomach can handle a green salad" but that " homemade ( ovenbaked though) fries would be better " .
-Devour a bowl of cherrios with a whole banana sliced in , an hour after fries and chicken fingers because you " think you should go to bed with something more in your stomach " because " it will make my stomach feel better in the morning " .
-Say all of these things like you know exactly what you are talking about.
Yup . Still procrastinating . Good news is that I m halfway through WWASB Inspired Entry , bad news is that all I really feel like writing about is pointless crap right now. Procrastinating kind of pointless crap . Having the darling Derek home yesterday did nothing to help my motivation. Nothing . At . All.
Bear with me . Its like Christmas, it will get here eventually.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Happiness In A Glass And Delays
I'm not sure why I thought I would be able to write this weekends inspired WWASB on time , when I had that workshop today. It just ... well I have a whole lot of shit going through my head right now ... Coupled with Derek staying home sick from work today , heat stroke , too much sun, pukey and headachey , and the fact that hes been laying on the couch all day playing video games,....
We ll resume to regular broadcasting tomrorow.
My apologies.
P/s My new favorite drink
/happiness in a glass is : frozen mixed berries ( raspberries- my fav!! , strawberries, blackberries and blueberries) filled up to half the glass. shot of vodka , or not if you are adverse to such things. 2-4 ice cubes.Blue Menu Cranberry raspberry juice, or whatever cranberry raspberry juice you prefer. With a straw. :)
We ll resume to regular broadcasting tomrorow.
My apologies.
P/s My new favorite drink
/happiness in a glass is : frozen mixed berries ( raspberries- my fav!! , strawberries, blackberries and blueberries) filled up to half the glass. shot of vodka , or not if you are adverse to such things. 2-4 ice cubes.Blue Menu Cranberry raspberry juice, or whatever cranberry raspberry juice you prefer. With a straw. :)
Saturday, June 7, 2008
WWASB : I Obsess
I'm on the ball this week , at least in this itty bitty aspect of my life.
This week's blogger I found through a blog roll . I thought she was a mommy blogger, and she professes that it is a mommy blog . But I think it's way more than your typical mommy blog. Anyone can read this . There is a little bit that anyone can relate to , and alot that others can relate to .
This blog is raw and sometimes painful to read. At other times I want to stand up at my desk and cheer at the entry's end. It's not a tale of perfect days that start with breakfast in bed and it's not a sequence of hilarity .
It's real .
So here she is , I Obsess . She can be found over at i-obsess.typepad.com Because you know LJ couldn't give me a link maker that works.
The entry that got me hooked :
The above entry can be found at http://i-obsess.typepad.com/i_obsess/2008/05/fear-of-flight.html
The entry it inspired should be posted late tomorrow, early Sunday .
-krystall
This week's blogger I found through a blog roll . I thought she was a mommy blogger, and she professes that it is a mommy blog . But I think it's way more than your typical mommy blog. Anyone can read this . There is a little bit that anyone can relate to , and alot that others can relate to .
This blog is raw and sometimes painful to read. At other times I want to stand up at my desk and cheer at the entry's end. It's not a tale of perfect days that start with breakfast in bed and it's not a sequence of hilarity .
It's real .
So here she is , I Obsess . She can be found over at i-obsess.typepad.com Because you know LJ couldn't give me a link maker that works.
The entry that got me hooked :
Have been barely capable of lifting my ass out of bed in recent days, weeks, months; my writing has not just suffered, not merely lapsed; I didn't only privatize my blog (only, god, privatize?, jesus - sounds like I have hired an attorney to pen this piece), I quit participating with my insides.
Here, there, and everywhere.
The piles around the house that accumulate on a regular basis grow and grow; the until-recent cold outside has prevented planting a garden, and so I plant a garden of papers and envelopes and moldy catalogs that advertise things I do not require and will never acquire, stacks of yellowing receipts and recipes and requiems, aging piles of disks and cards and broken pieces of toys possibly mended but probably destined for a garbage bin at some distant date; lightbulbs gone bad, written directives to self to create order amidst the stacks lost, lost terrifically, lost desperately, lost quietly and mute and moot.
There is nothing and no one that brings my mind up to the point that I can feel energized to stop being sad. Not a constant drone of sad, but a regular, soft, hidden beat, a hidden, cloaked pulse of sad that lurks beyond the windows, just beyond, and not further. Hands pressed gently against the glass, indenting the surface, leaving pale almost-prints.
The list of to-dos is long, long.
The people wait. They grow tired of waiting and they move on, away, beyond my outstretched fingers that I mask in the pocket of my pilled, clumsy sweatshirt.
I have love here, and I cannot sense, cannot scent, am indirectly sent, misspent; pent-up regret belies the bent of exchanges unmade, beds laid in and arms mislaid or lain away or flown not high, rather, low, low.
And the readers say, ugh. This, this is more of what I cannot bear, your sadness, your fingers, your pale prints, and they abstain and there is no blame to shoulder, no shoulder to blame, and the words spiral across the page like bad dna, broken and lost to flame and bitter and bracken and sour.
There are chills here in this newly summer'd moment, there are quiet spells and deep danks and thankless hours of bruised ideas, ideals, things set aside, things to lay to rest in the unmade beds of the mind.
This is no time to fight. This is time to cradle the stacks, to sidle beneath their disheveled bellies and close over the gaps with hands and fingers full of threads disowned.
This is no time to fight.
The above entry can be found at http://i-obsess.typepad.com/i_obsess/2008/05/fear-of-flight.html
The entry it inspired should be posted late tomorrow, early Sunday .
-krystall
Friday, June 6, 2008
Air Conditoned Brats
The recent " heatwave" going on in Toronto right now , if you can call it a heatwave. Humid and smoggy more so than actually hot . I was inspired to write this entry .
Growing up everyone knew which families on the street had air conditoning . The kids that were getting air conditoning or had recently got it in their homes , were as happy as if they had been given a new bike.
It was almost as great as having a pool in your back-yard, but not quite. Pool trumped everything.
I don't remember anyone really complaining or acting as if they were close to death if they didn't have air conditioning though.And I certainly don't remember anyone blasting it in June.
Most of the stores around here have had it on , although not at an artic temperature like in August, since early May.
I doubt those with the large units in windows , had one in every room . I really don't think people would have thought it unheard of to dine in an establishment that didn't have *gasp* central air.
I guess I just don't get it . We all complained and whined about the cold spring and the long time it was taking for the weather to become decent. Well it's hot , guys . Pretty much what we asked for and what do we do ? Ah , well now that it is hot , I will just turn on this machine and reverse it . Let's make it cold .
I'm not sure where I am going with these random yet strong opinions, other than to say that we reallly don't make a lot of sense guys.
It's summer . It's supposed to be hot . It's kinda like the oppposite of winter. Modern luxuries and conveniences are awesome . I don't like to sweat my ass off either , but I think alot of us have become a little spoiled .
Growing up everyone knew which families on the street had air conditoning . The kids that were getting air conditoning or had recently got it in their homes , were as happy as if they had been given a new bike.
It was almost as great as having a pool in your back-yard, but not quite. Pool trumped everything.
I don't remember anyone really complaining or acting as if they were close to death if they didn't have air conditioning though.And I certainly don't remember anyone blasting it in June.
Most of the stores around here have had it on , although not at an artic temperature like in August, since early May.
I doubt those with the large units in windows , had one in every room . I really don't think people would have thought it unheard of to dine in an establishment that didn't have *gasp* central air.
I guess I just don't get it . We all complained and whined about the cold spring and the long time it was taking for the weather to become decent. Well it's hot , guys . Pretty much what we asked for and what do we do ? Ah , well now that it is hot , I will just turn on this machine and reverse it . Let's make it cold .
I'm not sure where I am going with these random yet strong opinions, other than to say that we reallly don't make a lot of sense guys.
It's summer . It's supposed to be hot . It's kinda like the oppposite of winter. Modern luxuries and conveniences are awesome . I don't like to sweat my ass off either , but I think alot of us have become a little spoiled .
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
My Bubble. No, Cube.
It's been raining for the past few days. Its been stuffy and the sky 's either hazy or it's the smog . It's hard to tell the difference between a hazy day and a high smog advisory day around here, but I think it's too earlier in the season for smog serious-ness.
So it's just been that kind of day . I could have used some sunshine today instead:
-Drunk TTC Driver - wtf . Ok so that really didn't effect my day much . To be honest I'm listening to the news as I write this and they're reporting on it . But seriously , the driver apparently smelled like booze , was driving irratically and missing stops. A passenger thought something was up , so called 911 from his cell phone. Fucked up , considering a lot of people coming home from the bars take the TTC so they don't drive drunk.
- I spent the better part of my day redialing a number . I had called a government 1-800 number to inquire about something , and they told me to call another number. I called and called that damn number from 9 am this morning until I finally was fed up at 2 pm . No one was answering . It rang and rang and went to this lengthy recording in both french and english . But no one ever answered .So I called the 1-800 number back and spoke to a different person , who told me that the number originally given to me was indeed, the wrong number. She gave me the correct number and I spoke with someone in minutes , but god, frustrating . Making people waste their time and get upset over their own incompetence.
-However, since I had the phone glued to my ear for most of the day , I tore everything out of the bedroom closet and dresser drawers. I sorted , threw stuff out, and packed things away in bins or on the shelves in the closet. I also organized the closet.
Perhaps a bit too much .
It was stress releasing though . I concentrated on same style shirts on same style hangers . I made certain it went in color order . The only frustration , which isn't really a frustration to most people is my lack of wooden hangers. I've just recently discovered my love of wooden hangers, so I only have about 40% of my hangers in wood. I want so badly to just chuck the remaning offensive hangers and buy a large amount of wooden ones. It could be worse, I could be fantasizing about expensive hand-bags.
-I'm not sure if I wrote about it here or not but , I was without hot water from sunday night to early tuesday morning . Needless to say I pretty much lost my shit . My arms are clawed and scratched out of frustration . I obsessed over it . I counted how many times I had to wash my hands with cold water . Ugh . It was not a happy time for me and I am still feeling unsafe/more obsessive than usual.
- On the same topic, I attached my kitchen floor with a Mr Clean Magic Eraser. While I love the power of the Magic Eraser , I would not advise that you do this , unless you have a lot of energy or would like to exercise. Ew, I was sweating by the end of this .
It started out as it always does, similar to picking at th epaint on the wall . You pick and pick and soon enough you ve either peeled it all off or peeled enough of it off that you have to paint the entire wall.
I did this to the floor, concentrating on a small area and then getting addicted and scrubbing the entire floor . Thankfully , my lazy , er lack of stamina , caught up with me and I stopped at just the kitchen . I did not attack the tiles in the hallway or bathroom . I will not .
Well I m sure I probably will , as it will bug the fuck out of me if I don't .
-I am going to a workshop on Monday morning .
I don't want to jinx myself or give myself an opportunity to overthink this right now, so I'm not going to say much else about it . I am not trying to be all secret-y , I just don't want to give myself a reason not to and if I start thinking and writing about it right now , I will .
I am the queed of avoidance and always am looking for the first excuse to get out of something that doesn't fit into my safe little bubble . Or cube. I think I would rather a cube. How would you get a bed in a bubble ? Like an actual bubble , not like John Travolta in The Boy In A Bubble .
The workshop will give me more information and with this information I will be able to make more decisions, final decisions and ultimately, I will either be going back to school or not going back to school .
* Bubble Boy doens't look particularly happy . Perhaps I will go with a hyperbaric (sp?) chamber of some sort a la Mister Burns. *
So it's just been that kind of day . I could have used some sunshine today instead:
-Drunk TTC Driver - wtf . Ok so that really didn't effect my day much . To be honest I'm listening to the news as I write this and they're reporting on it . But seriously , the driver apparently smelled like booze , was driving irratically and missing stops. A passenger thought something was up , so called 911 from his cell phone. Fucked up , considering a lot of people coming home from the bars take the TTC so they don't drive drunk.
- I spent the better part of my day redialing a number . I had called a government 1-800 number to inquire about something , and they told me to call another number. I called and called that damn number from 9 am this morning until I finally was fed up at 2 pm . No one was answering . It rang and rang and went to this lengthy recording in both french and english . But no one ever answered .So I called the 1-800 number back and spoke to a different person , who told me that the number originally given to me was indeed, the wrong number. She gave me the correct number and I spoke with someone in minutes , but god, frustrating . Making people waste their time and get upset over their own incompetence.
-However, since I had the phone glued to my ear for most of the day , I tore everything out of the bedroom closet and dresser drawers. I sorted , threw stuff out, and packed things away in bins or on the shelves in the closet. I also organized the closet.
Perhaps a bit too much .
It was stress releasing though . I concentrated on same style shirts on same style hangers . I made certain it went in color order . The only frustration , which isn't really a frustration to most people is my lack of wooden hangers. I've just recently discovered my love of wooden hangers, so I only have about 40% of my hangers in wood. I want so badly to just chuck the remaning offensive hangers and buy a large amount of wooden ones. It could be worse, I could be fantasizing about expensive hand-bags.
-I'm not sure if I wrote about it here or not but , I was without hot water from sunday night to early tuesday morning . Needless to say I pretty much lost my shit . My arms are clawed and scratched out of frustration . I obsessed over it . I counted how many times I had to wash my hands with cold water . Ugh . It was not a happy time for me and I am still feeling unsafe/more obsessive than usual.
- On the same topic, I attached my kitchen floor with a Mr Clean Magic Eraser. While I love the power of the Magic Eraser , I would not advise that you do this , unless you have a lot of energy or would like to exercise. Ew, I was sweating by the end of this .
It started out as it always does, similar to picking at th epaint on the wall . You pick and pick and soon enough you ve either peeled it all off or peeled enough of it off that you have to paint the entire wall.
I did this to the floor, concentrating on a small area and then getting addicted and scrubbing the entire floor . Thankfully , my lazy , er lack of stamina , caught up with me and I stopped at just the kitchen . I did not attack the tiles in the hallway or bathroom . I will not .
Well I m sure I probably will , as it will bug the fuck out of me if I don't .
-I am going to a workshop on Monday morning .
I don't want to jinx myself or give myself an opportunity to overthink this right now, so I'm not going to say much else about it . I am not trying to be all secret-y , I just don't want to give myself a reason not to and if I start thinking and writing about it right now , I will .
I am the queed of avoidance and always am looking for the first excuse to get out of something that doesn't fit into my safe little bubble . Or cube. I think I would rather a cube. How would you get a bed in a bubble ? Like an actual bubble , not like John Travolta in The Boy In A Bubble .
The workshop will give me more information and with this information I will be able to make more decisions, final decisions and ultimately, I will either be going back to school or not going back to school .
* Bubble Boy doens't look particularly happy . Perhaps I will go with a hyperbaric (sp?) chamber of some sort a la Mister Burns. *
Five Things Meme
* Obviously it's not Friday, but this entry was written on Friday *
Its Friday and despite having a lot to say , my attention span and patience levels aren't very good today .So here's a pointless meme , that I've dubbed Five Things Friday ..
1/ A picture of D that I had long deemed lost .
It's him at an apple orchard last fall . Hes crouched under the tree because my neice is making him go where she goes despite the fact that shes 3 feet tall and hes over 6 feet. He is a good sport.
4/ Glade Clean Linen Candle
I usually don't buy my candles from the grocery store but this one was in the laundry soap aisle and it caught my eye. It smells like clean laundry and I love it .
Usually I am a food scent candle person , but this one is pretty good and it doesn't even smell like Gramma's Banana Bread or Raspberry Torte. Who knew.
5/ Desktop
This is my current desktop image. I downloaded it from a site that I don't recall the name of . I think its written in the bottom right corner of the picture though , so if you squint hard enough I'm sure you can see it .
Its an awesome website for stuff like desktops, and icons to replace the boring provided icons on your computer. Not awesome enough that I can remember the name though .
I think it feels spring-ish even though we 're almost summer-ish . The weather has other plans apparently.
So whats your Friday Five??
Its Friday and despite having a lot to say , my attention span and patience levels aren't very good today .So here's a pointless meme , that I've dubbed Five Things Friday ..
1/ A picture of D that I had long deemed lost .
It's him at an apple orchard last fall . Hes crouched under the tree because my neice is making him go where she goes despite the fact that shes 3 feet tall and hes over 6 feet. He is a good sport.
2/ The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs.
I looked for this book for a long time after reading a review of it in a gossip magazine. Probably People, judging by the contents of my overflowing magazine basket. I found it in the bargain section of Chapters yesterday and despite being a ways into THe Heart is A Lonely Hunter, I started reading it and couldn't put it down last night.
THe title and cover are misleading. A book about a bunch of knitters? boooooring , right? It focuses on the characters and the knitting is basiclly the glue that keeps them all going even though everyone is going through something different and equally hard. The women in this book are all vastly different and live very differnet lives , but Friday night Knitting Club is their solace , connection and comfort.
I looked for this book for a long time after reading a review of it in a gossip magazine. Probably People, judging by the contents of my overflowing magazine basket. I found it in the bargain section of Chapters yesterday and despite being a ways into THe Heart is A Lonely Hunter, I started reading it and couldn't put it down last night.
THe title and cover are misleading. A book about a bunch of knitters? boooooring , right? It focuses on the characters and the knitting is basiclly the glue that keeps them all going even though everyone is going through something different and equally hard. The women in this book are all vastly different and live very differnet lives , but Friday night Knitting Club is their solace , connection and comfort.
3/ Nativa Organics Blue Tortilla Chips
What can I say ? I love these chips and yes the blue ones are soo much better IMO than the plain ones although the plain ones aren't bad but they're not blue and you don't get to say that you are eating blue chips .
What can I say ? I love these chips and yes the blue ones are soo much better IMO than the plain ones although the plain ones aren't bad but they're not blue and you don't get to say that you are eating blue chips .
4/ Glade Clean Linen Candle
I usually don't buy my candles from the grocery store but this one was in the laundry soap aisle and it caught my eye. It smells like clean laundry and I love it .
Usually I am a food scent candle person , but this one is pretty good and it doesn't even smell like Gramma's Banana Bread or Raspberry Torte. Who knew.
5/ Desktop
This is my current desktop image. I downloaded it from a site that I don't recall the name of . I think its written in the bottom right corner of the picture though , so if you squint hard enough I'm sure you can see it .
Its an awesome website for stuff like desktops, and icons to replace the boring provided icons on your computer. Not awesome enough that I can remember the name though .
I think it feels spring-ish even though we 're almost summer-ish . The weather has other plans apparently.
So whats your Friday Five??
Monday, June 2, 2008
WWASB Inspired Entry - No Limits
*This is the entry inspired by this weekends WWASB*
I met her on the playground during lunchhour.
She was all limbs , gangly and full of smiles and energy. Her blonde hair was like corn-silk and her eyes were icy yet warming .
Her voice was quiet ,but inviting . She never doubted herself for a moment, throwing her whole self, body , mind and soul into everything she did.
Every lunch hour and recess she 'd seek me out . Sometimes she would be waiting near the steps of my portable classroom . Always with a smile and something exciting to tell me .
We were the same age but she wasn't in any of my classes. She wasn't in the gym class we had every wednesday with all of the classes of our grade competing in a tournament of whack each other with soft balls, err dodgeball and she rarely was there on Elective days. The days when we picked a sport , skiing , swimming or bowling . Stuff like that and went to take part on a big yellow school bus.
We shared the same first name and a love of sour cream and bacon potato chips .We both hated the color pink and loved The Babysitters Club books . She loved to paint and draw and we 'd concoct small " novels" as we called them , with her drawing the scenary and me penning in the words.
I never really thought about why she didn't take part in all of the things the rest of my class did.I never thought of her as any different than myself or any other girl in my grade until one day in June.
My school had a talent show and me and my name twin wanted to do a dance to a popular song we had carefully choregraphed for weeks before.
We would practice on our lunch hour and after school , until the small school bus would pick up my friend to go home.
They posted the sign up sheet for the talent show on the doors to the gymnasium . My friend and I were one of the first to sign up . We wanted to be sure we had a spot to showcase our talent .
The following morning in homeroom , my teacher pulled me aside . I'll never forget the way I felt after she spoke to me . I hope I ll never feel that way again .
" Are you sure you don't want to take part in Marsha's ( another classmates ) skit in the talent show ?"
No . We're doing a dance . We've been practicing . Why ? We signed up right away . Are there not any spots? Its not that long really ...
"Well , your partner won't be able to take part in the talent show . It would just be you dancing . Are you sure that is what you want to do still ? "
No .Is she sick ? We 're doing it together . We've planned it for weeks. Shes not that shy Miss Rhore, really. She'll be ok .
"Sweetie , she is handicapped. She won't be able to particpate in the talent show. It just wouldn't be a good thing for anyone ."
Handicapped. Disabled.
The word had never even crossed my thoughts until that moment . My friend was the same as me. We did the same things. We liked the same activities, so surely , if there was nothing wrong with me , there wasn't anything wrong with her , right?
I was sad. I was angry .
Even if my friend was handicapped, so what. She was ok . She could do it . I just couldn't understand the limits when my friend obviously didn't believe in them herself.
I ran out of the classroom that morning . I ran up the hill behind the portable classroom and around the corner to my house .
My mother sat at the kitchen table having a cup of tea and filing paperwork . I was all tears and speaking a mile a minute.
I spilled my guts to my mom who was understanding yet as angry as I was. How was my friend handicapped so different than me ? I didn't understand. I didn't see it . At all.
Years later , I know my friend's handicap , but still don't understand the limitations placed on her by others.
I never saw her handicap , because it was hidden . It wasn't that big of a deal to her , so why should it be to anyone else.
If she didn't place limits on herself , who was anyone else to do it ?
She had braces on her legs, covered by her pants . I suppose looking back , maybe she walked a bit different. But dancing on the hill to the music of her pink boombox , we were the same. Two girls , having fun . No one was struggling and no one was thinking about the differences between each other. We were friends because of simalarities.
My mother was a pillar of strength and perserverance. She complained. She complained some more. She made phonecalls. She wrote letters. She met my friends mother and the two of them,together, did not give up .
On the last day of school, my friend and I sitting side by side in our portable classroom , waited nervously for our names to be called.
We rose together and walked to the gymnasium together, with our class. With all of the other students in our grade.
Without any labels.
Without any limits .
Without any exceptions.
I met her on the playground during lunchhour.
She was all limbs , gangly and full of smiles and energy. Her blonde hair was like corn-silk and her eyes were icy yet warming .
Her voice was quiet ,but inviting . She never doubted herself for a moment, throwing her whole self, body , mind and soul into everything she did.
Every lunch hour and recess she 'd seek me out . Sometimes she would be waiting near the steps of my portable classroom . Always with a smile and something exciting to tell me .
We were the same age but she wasn't in any of my classes. She wasn't in the gym class we had every wednesday with all of the classes of our grade competing in a tournament of whack each other with soft balls, err dodgeball and she rarely was there on Elective days. The days when we picked a sport , skiing , swimming or bowling . Stuff like that and went to take part on a big yellow school bus.
We shared the same first name and a love of sour cream and bacon potato chips .We both hated the color pink and loved The Babysitters Club books . She loved to paint and draw and we 'd concoct small " novels" as we called them , with her drawing the scenary and me penning in the words.
I never really thought about why she didn't take part in all of the things the rest of my class did.I never thought of her as any different than myself or any other girl in my grade until one day in June.
My school had a talent show and me and my name twin wanted to do a dance to a popular song we had carefully choregraphed for weeks before.
We would practice on our lunch hour and after school , until the small school bus would pick up my friend to go home.
They posted the sign up sheet for the talent show on the doors to the gymnasium . My friend and I were one of the first to sign up . We wanted to be sure we had a spot to showcase our talent .
The following morning in homeroom , my teacher pulled me aside . I'll never forget the way I felt after she spoke to me . I hope I ll never feel that way again .
" Are you sure you don't want to take part in Marsha's ( another classmates ) skit in the talent show ?"
No . We're doing a dance . We've been practicing . Why ? We signed up right away . Are there not any spots? Its not that long really ...
"Well , your partner won't be able to take part in the talent show . It would just be you dancing . Are you sure that is what you want to do still ? "
No .Is she sick ? We 're doing it together . We've planned it for weeks. Shes not that shy Miss Rhore, really. She'll be ok .
"Sweetie , she is handicapped. She won't be able to particpate in the talent show. It just wouldn't be a good thing for anyone ."
Handicapped. Disabled.
The word had never even crossed my thoughts until that moment . My friend was the same as me. We did the same things. We liked the same activities, so surely , if there was nothing wrong with me , there wasn't anything wrong with her , right?
I was sad. I was angry .
Even if my friend was handicapped, so what. She was ok . She could do it . I just couldn't understand the limits when my friend obviously didn't believe in them herself.
I ran out of the classroom that morning . I ran up the hill behind the portable classroom and around the corner to my house .
My mother sat at the kitchen table having a cup of tea and filing paperwork . I was all tears and speaking a mile a minute.
I spilled my guts to my mom who was understanding yet as angry as I was. How was my friend handicapped so different than me ? I didn't understand. I didn't see it . At all.
Years later , I know my friend's handicap , but still don't understand the limitations placed on her by others.
I never saw her handicap , because it was hidden . It wasn't that big of a deal to her , so why should it be to anyone else.
If she didn't place limits on herself , who was anyone else to do it ?
She had braces on her legs, covered by her pants . I suppose looking back , maybe she walked a bit different. But dancing on the hill to the music of her pink boombox , we were the same. Two girls , having fun . No one was struggling and no one was thinking about the differences between each other. We were friends because of simalarities.
My mother was a pillar of strength and perserverance. She complained. She complained some more. She made phonecalls. She wrote letters. She met my friends mother and the two of them,together, did not give up .
On the last day of school, my friend and I sitting side by side in our portable classroom , waited nervously for our names to be called.
We rose together and walked to the gymnasium together, with our class. With all of the other students in our grade.
Without any labels.
Without any limits .
Without any exceptions.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
A New Beginning And First Post
Sometimes when I'm starting at a blank text box, a blank document , watching the blinking cursor. Watching the screen wait for the words to concoct themselves in my head in the right order that when combined results in an entry .
Sometimes my mind runs blank . Sometimes I can't think of something worth writing about , or something that others would like to read about.
That is not to say that I don't write this journal for me . I do but at the same time I write to get a perspective from others. I write to share it with others and for others to share their writing with me , hence the friends only. If you 're not letting me read yoru stuff, you're not reading mine .
Sometimes when my mind goes blank and I feel brain dead and stupid, I read other blogs . Tearjerking entries , memes, stories of their past and I'm intrigued and inspired. And of course happy to find a good blog to read.
So today , since I 've been inspired by other blogs so many times and written entries running off of their steam and energy so to speak . Kinda like a writing prompt , I figured I d introduce something new.
Weekend With A Strange Blogger .
How it works :
Every weekend I'll write an entry inspired by a certain blogger, give you a link and a fantastic entry from said blogger's journal. Perhaps you'll find a new blog to read and the Strange Blogger of the Weekend will get some new readers. Or maybe you'll just have an entry to read.
Because I'm a local kinda of gal , the first Strange Weekend Blogger is a Toronto gal .
I found this blogger in a strange way . I'm a long time reader of Dooce.com and if you're familiar with the blogging world outside of LJ ( its crazy on the outside guys really! peopel are getting paid for this shit ) than you 've heard of Dooce , read her hilarious entries and seen her incredible photography skils . She has mad skills with balancing shit on her dogs head and photographing it . It's an art really . Ooh and she even has a verb named after her Dooced , wikipedia it , i sware its an internet verb ;)
Anyhow enough gushing over miss Dooce, from reading Dooce I entered the world of the Mommy Bloggers. I know what you're thinking , why krys ? Are you wanting children ? Why would a mommy blog interest you ? Don't you read about Britney Spears and puppy dogs?Vodka?
Ok so vodka really had no place in that paragraph , I just love vodka.
I digress, I entered the world of mommy bloggers and shocked to find these incredible blog rolls ( means list of bloggers, lj friend lists essentially ) full of literary awesome-ness.
These woman aren't just writing about diapers and cracked nipples. They're writing novels. They're winning awards. They're supporting their families by telling their stories and sharing their worlds.
Child or not , I was hooked.
So without further or do , Don Mills Diva . http://donmillsdiva.blogspot.com/
Yup . My lj link maker is still capooey . But click it . Really. You should. Get a drink first though because you're going to get sucked into this girlie's archives before you know it .
The following can be found here :
http://donmillsdiva.blogspot.com/2008/01/j
Julie and Me.
We had big dreams, Julie and I.
She was going to be an Oscar-winning actress and I was going to be famous the world over for writing that would make people laugh with joy and weep with empathy.
Instead I today mark the 12th anniversary of her death by trying, in this humble space, to use my words to pay some kind of tribute to her and to our friendship.
Julie and I met nearly 20 years ago in my first year of university. I was in full party mode, enjoying a concert by a band I can’t remember, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and there stood a tiny, doll-like girl with a big, tipsy smile.
“I’m ever so short,” she said. (Really). “I can’t see the band. Help me out?”
She gestured to my shoulder and I burst out laughing at her audacity. When I regained my composure I stooped down and up she hopped. We were pretty much inseparable from that moment on.
I don’t know exactly how tall Julie was. Four feet, ten inches maybe? Four feet eleven? Surely not five feet. She never discussed it so I’m not sure how I came to understand that her growth had been stunted by treatments she endured to successfully fight leukemia as a toddler.
No matter. What Julie lacked in stature she made up for in attitude. She was startling beautiful and she knew it. She turned heads wherever she went. She would insult you in the most outrageous fashion and then charm you a second later with a conspiratorial wink and a flip of her hair.
We had a shtick, Julie and I. She was drool and I was goofy. I told corny jokes and she made cutting observations. We were partners in crime, kindred spirits, two peas in a pod. We got each other.
A few years after graduation Julie moved Los Angeles to pursue her acting career. I took a road trip to visit and fell in love with Arizona on my way through. I moved there not long after and we visited between Scottsdale and Los Angeles regularly.
What a heady time! She acted bit parts and I worked as a freelance writer. Drunk with youth and possibility, we attacked the world the only way we knew how – full tilt. We narrowly avoided a dust-up with a member of Faster Pussycat
at Whiskey a Go-Go. We danced on the tables at a sushi restaurant in Venice. We traded jokes and insults behind the microphone at a house party we crashed in West Hollywood.Superbowl weekend rolled around. Julie had vague plans to visit me in Arizona. I didn’t hear from her, but wasn’t overly concerned. Then her mother called in the early evening.
“I’m in Los Angeles dear,” she said. “With Julie. She’s dying. She’s asking to see you. You better come right away”
I have often tried, during the last 12 years, to recreate how I felt to hear those words. When the picture I carry of her in my head gets blurry or I can’t quite hear her voice, I force myself back into that dark moment, hoping, I guess, that fresh pain will somehow make her seem less distant.
And so I drove, tears streaming down my face, across the desert in the middle of the night. I remember the moonlight on the palm trees and the warm wind and the feeling that surely I must just be playing a part in some cheesy movie of the week – the kind Julie would eviscerate with one pithy blow.
But it wasn’t a movie of course. Julie had visited the doctor just a few weeks earlier about a nagging cough, which was, it turned out, symptomatic of imminent heart and lung failure. Her respiratory system had been compromised by the very treatments that had saved her life all those years ago.
I got to the hospital and went in to see her right away. I remember thinking how glamorous and beautiful she looked laying there, her hair artfully fanned out around her pillow: a tiny, perfect doll.
“Tell me a joke,” she said. And, because she asked me to, I blinked back my tears and did just that. Then I told her I loved her. She smiled like Cleopatra on the Nile. Of course I did.
One after another, the people who loved her filed in to say goodbye. Her parents went last and came out an hour or so later. She was gone, they said.
Julie was gone.
Afterwards I went to a Denny’s on Sunset Blvd and ate pancakes and drank Irish coffee and cried. It seemed fitting somehow and I lingered, knowing Julie would revel in the curious glances I drew with my smeared eyeliner, disheveled hair and tragic demeanor.
Some days I can’t believe that how much the world has changed since Julie was in it. How can it be that Pulp Fiction was the last movie that she saw? That she never got to make fun of Paris Hilton or weigh in on reality television. That September 11th
I carried Julie’s lace handkerchief down the aisle with me on my wedding day. And on her birthday every year her parents treat me to dinner at her favorite restaurant. But I feel her loss most keenly at times when her memory sneaks up on me. Like on my 30th birthday when I couldn’t stop crying because it didn’t seem fair that I got to turn 30 and she didn’t.
There are so many, many things that Julie didn’t get to do and even as my life moves happily forward, I am haunted by each and every one of them.
Because we had big dreams, Julie and I.
was remarkable to her only because it’s my birthday?
Of course as always I would be thrilled if some of you wanted to take part in WWASB. By intoducing your own Strange Blogger, of going and reading another persons inspiration . Be sure to comment on their blog and tell them how much you love it ..
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