Friday, May 29, 2009


I think those questions that you ask when you think you’re awake but you’re not really quite awake yet are some of the best. I’m sure a writer like Stephen King has a really cool word or phrase for that in between, coming up from the depths of Slumbor’s lair moment, but I don’t.

The last one I asked, I remember because I had to make sure I said it out loud or else it would be lost forever was “Can dogs get polio?”

As it turns out, yes they can.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

The Mouths of Babes

My daughter : “I made a mother’s day card for Courtney (her father's new wife) with Papa.”
Me : “Oh? Is Courtney somebody’s Mama?”
My daughter : “Yes, Papa has two Mamas. Gammy, and Courtney.”

Best. Mother's Day. Present. Ever.

Friday, May 8, 2009

An Open Letter To My Best Friend

Dear Best Friend,

This week I witnessed something beautiful and pure between you and your daughter, the unabashed giving and receiving of the words “I love you”. It was sweet and tender and untouched by any outside influence. I felt a little like an invader just listening, that just being in the room with you would taint it somehow. But I also felt blessed to be a witness to it and to be able to catch a little of the loving spill-over.

I ask one thing of you my dear friend, please don’t ever become too busy, too distracted, too frustrated or too caught up in the little things in life that seem so big to ever respond with a heartfelt and pure “I love you” when those words are said to you by your daughter.
I know that sometimes life can seem to get too big, too hurried, too much and we lose sight of the things that really matter.

I remember when I was a little girl, not much older than your girl is now; my mother and I had our own loving back and forth. I would say “Mom? Guess what? I love you” and she would respond with “I love you too. You’re my favouritest Jennie in the whole wide world”. One day I said my part and my mom responded with a distracted “Yeah, uh-huh” and it broke my heart in a way that only a little girl’s heart can be broken.

Please don’t ever let that happen to your and your daughter, for all the little girl and big girl hearts of the world. I know that’s a lot of pressure but I know you can handle it.



Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Portrait of a Spring Day

And on that blustery day in April, the Hopeless Romantic walked outside, lay down in her self made rose garden, closed her eyes and died.

Well, she didn’t really die, she just decided to go to the in between place for a while. Not quite living, not quite dead, not quite like Sleeping Beauty but not too far off.

She had decided that it was just too hard to keep going. The years had taken their toll and she was too tired. She was too tired of people more concerned about appearances and sex and who-makes-more-money and not being concerned enough about feelings and holding hands and first kisses and good old fashioned simple love.

Her back was twisted and bent from the hundreds of men and women who had leaned so heavily upon it for so long, not caring about the consequences of their actions. They had consumed her from the inside out, eroding the rock of her love, compassion and caring.

In her semi-conscious state she wondered if anyone would miss her, if anyone would even notice she was gone. Not in a teenaged-tragic suicide attempt cry for help, “I wonder who would show up at my funeral” way, but with real wonder if she had actually touched as many lives as she thought. Normally thoughts like this wouldn’t even think of knocking on the door let alone coming right in and settling in on the couch of her mind.

She was just so very tired.

Something was scratching at her cheek. It irked her. She tried to ignore it but it insisted on skrit-skritting against her cheek. Swearing revenge and a slow painful death against whatever Prince Charming Wannabe that was trying weasel its way into the dark sanctuary of her mind, she fluttered one eyelid open.

A fat bumble bee had set down upon one of the leaves of a rose bush and had bent it down, touching her cheek.

Well, she could hardly maim and kill a harmless bee now could she? She shooed it hoping it would leave her in peace but the furry little bastard just sat there. She waved her hand over and around it hoping it would get the hint but it just kept sitting there. Not buzzing, not eating, not doing anything.

The funny thing was she didn’t even stop to question how or why a bee would be out and about this early in the season.
The bee stared at her and she stared at the bee. It was fat and fuzzy and looked like it was ready to settle down for a long winter’s nap, the Hopeless Romantic could certainly empathize.

She was trying to apply logic to an illogical situation. Trying to use rational thinking on love was like using a teacup to cross the Atlantic.

Her desperate cries for help had all gone unanswered, they hadn’t even connected with voice mail. How could they when she didn’t even realize that she had made them in the first place? The tragic flaw of the Hopeless Romanic lying in that rose garden staring at that bee was that she didn’t even realize that she needed to be rescued. She didn’t know that she was locked in the tower of her own making, drifting on a sea of her own tears. She had spent so much time concerned about others that she had forgotten to take a moment to take care of herself.

The bee stretched its wings.
The Hopeless Romantic stretched her arms.
The bee stretched its antenna.
The Hopeless Romantic stood up.

No sense wasting time lying around feeling sorry for oneself when there’s work to be done and a life to keep living.

The bee flew away.
She had learned nothing.

Word To The Wise

When sitting around with a good friend solving all the world's problems over a bottle of wine or two, make sure you take notes. No crummier feeling than waking up the next day feeling refreshed and accomplished and realizing that you can't remember a dratted thing. I don't think it's so much the wine as the massive endorphine rush you get when you realize that you've just cured the world of all its ails. That good feeling is what makes your brain turn mushy (anyone who has ever been in love can attest to that fact).
So, keep a notepad handy, just in case.