?

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.

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.

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.

Love,

Me

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.

Time Marches On

I realized this weekend that I'm old.

I was outside on a friend's patio having a cigarette when I noticed a group of girls chatting outside my local across the way. All three were dressed in "crazy dress-up" outfits, the type usually associated with Embarassing Birthday or Ella's Getting Married outings.

I could hear the conversation quite clearly and realized that they were dressed in 80's wear for the Crazy 80s Party Whooo! going on in the upstairs room of the bar across the way.
My first though was "My god, that's not how you dress 80's style!".
My second thought was "You're not old enough to remember the 80's!"
My third and last thought was "A person born in 1990 is now legally of age to drink. I now know how all my friend's parents felt and what they all thought when they saw us dressed up to have our Crazy 70s Party Whooo! times."

Then I went back inside, wrapped myself in my ratty grey cardigan and watched the end of NOVA before going to bed at a reasonable hour.

The End.

Shhh!

I've spent the better part of my day at the library down the street from my house doing some work and non-work related things. The couple I speak about in the following rant plunked themselved down in front of me about an hour ago....

Okay, I get that the library is a public place but for the love of all things good in this world what makes you think that you can sit RIGHT across from me and have a loud chitty-chat conversation when I am clearly trying to get some effing work done!? Perhaps going to a cafe where you can chat freely or maybe MOVE THE FUCK AWAY from me so that I can do my work in peace and not listen to your assinine conversation about Germany and children and FUCKING ROOT BEER!!

Seriously, can you please go somewhere else if you're going to chat? Please?
I don’t want to hear about your cat or dog or the way your cat and dog get along and how cute it is that they think they’re people. Some of us still believe in the sanctity of the Library and the quiet and peace and learning that used to come with it. For some of us, the Library is our Church. Please don’t shit on my hymnal and don’t talk over the sermon.

Or how about learning some basic manners? How about that? Be aware of your surroundings and not think that you are the only two people on the planet. I mean, for the love of god dude, clearly she thinks of you just as a friend, can you not see the crossed arms, the lean back to her body, the hunched shoulders? You can lean in all you want with your open arms and your laid back attitude but she’s not going to fuck you. Sorry.

Ha. That made me feel much better. I only wish that the keys of my computer were louder so that I could type my 60 wpm and interrupt your OH SO IMPORTANT conversation with clickity-clackity-clickity-click. And if I had long nails to type on said keyboard with, well that would be all the better.

Seriously, shut the fuck up. Now you're bothering the people two tables down. How completely oblivious are you to your surroundings? Shut up.

And that's the end of my rant. I am pretty cranky today and I suppose I could have asked them to please move but then again I think that if the tables were turned I would have moved away. But that's just me.