Did you like to run and play ball in your big backyard or in the park with other kids? Did you like to colour, to play in the dirt or puddles? Did you try to run away into the nearby forest but return home in time for dinner?
I think that the age range between 8 and 11 years old is one of innocence, adventure and discovery.
This deep thought has been brought to you by page 106 in a book of daily inspirations. I think it is a good reminder for ambitious, jaded adults.
Good advice: observe babies
…except for the part about pooping in your pants.
When I was ten, I enjoyed playing in big puddles, engineering canals and small towns. I enjoyed playing with Barbie dolls, playing school with my siblings and friends. I enjoyed drawing pictures. As I matured, I had dreams of creating greeting cards or children’s books.
I didn’t care about fashion or boys. I didn’t know our family was poor. I was oblivious to the inhumanity happening in our country, in our world.
I didn’t even know I was fat until it was pointed out by a friend’s older brother.
Central Experimental Farm, reaping what was sown 2016
For me, 2016 was a year full of challenges and opportunities, reunions and departures.
I can accept that winter is here and we should acknowledge its presence as part of the cycle of life. Also, I can’t afford to travel to somewhere exotic or warm…
Central Experimental Farm December 2016 – Covered up and ready to start all over again
As a parent and grandparent, I have concerns for the future of our planet and humanity now that the pendulum has swung back to allow for unbalanced, machismo leaders to take the reins of power. Many of us are wondering what the heck went wrong… Yet, I can cherish the moments I had with loved ones this year and will embrace naive hope for sharing happy times with them again.
My gift to readers of this blog is another time-lapsed photography project. You may remember and hopefully enjoyed the four seasons with two trees from the autumn of 2014 and summer of 2015, and that whimsical cat grass grow-up project this past summer.
This latest obsession was started with joy as I celebrated new opportunities and gave thanks while waiting for the weekend bus near the Central Experimental Farm.
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Thank you for dropping by. I hope you enjoyed that. Here’s a soundtrack and some nostalgia for those of you born before 1963…
That question was recently asked by what could have been a younger, curious version of myself.
A few times each month, I spend three hours of bliss volunteering in a small bookshop.
I get to meet interesting people, stroke and skim through the latest items placed on the shelves. Not a month goes by without me purchasing something of interest to me or someone I love. I like the fact that sales revenues go towards purchasing new books and supporting programs for our local libraries. Being in that book shop is the closest I can get to working in a library – for now 🙂
My recent volunteer shift was graced by the usual lingering regulars and families attending events nearby. It warms my heart when children express delight as they find a book or two that they want their parents to buy.
One particular tot caught my attention while exploring books with her older sister, parents and grandmother. She approached the front desk, her blonde head barely above the counter, her blue eyes peering at me.
“What’s your name?” she asked in a sweet and barely audible voice.
I responded with a smile and asked about hers. Her Mother responded on her behalf due to the child’s limited conversation skills.
Then the child asked, “Why are you here?”
“Why am I here? Well… I like books, I like meeting new people and selling them books.”
Then she skittered away to explore the shelves with her family.
Soon she returned to ask again “Why are you here?”.
After I repeated my previous response I wanted to ask the wee thing if she was being philosophical about the big picture but I decided it would just confuse matters.
It was cute. It was thought-provoking in a naive kind of way.
I think that was a helpful experience for those basic queries we should ask ourselves often, like “Why am I here?”.
If we cannot answer the why, we could at least ask, “What am I doing during my time here?”.
Three weeks ago, the resident artiste provided me with five morning lessons of gentle sitting and stretching, gentle Yoga moves for Salute to the Sun. That was three months after she gifted me a “high-end” Yoga mat for Mother’s Day.
Like I said, I don’t like rushing into things.
On the first day, the Tabby cat took position on her living room perch in preparation to supervise. As we have seen in a previous post in another blog, she’s not a fan of exercise for the sake of exercise.
On the sixth day, I proceeded to perform the sweaty, grunty feat in the privacy of my room. Soon the Old Boy wandered in to complain and rearrange my sweaty towel.
The Salute to the Sun routine goes something like this. With time and commitment, I shall be so graceful and poised. It has been two weeks during which I think I have succeeded in getting myself into a routine as part of a healthier lifestyle.
I aim to perform this sweaty morning ritual at least five days a week;
I time each session for 15 to 20 minutes;
These are small steps in supporting a healthy habit for body and mind;
As with most challenges in life, you just gotta remember to breathe – and repeat as necessary.
I am grateful for the resident artiste, bread baker, cook and cat sitter for persistently nudging and motivating me. It’s only a matter of time before she turns me into a vegetarian too.
What small steps do you take to keep yourself in good overall health?
Thanks for dropping by.
You might be interested in this book I wrote about a priest, his biological daughter and a retired exotic dancer dealing with family issues in a small Georgian Bay town during the 1970s.
Come on Boomers, who didn’t get a thrill from striking matches or flicking cigarette lighters, experiencing that primal awe of having fire at your fingertips?
Who didn’t test their lungs out of curiosity and peer pressure with a prized pack of Du Mauriers or Old Port wine-tipped cigars? Who didn’t deeply inhale the aroma of a freshly opened pack of cigarettes?
Who didn’t get dizzy and nauseous their first time?
Why didn’t they stop there?
In my young adult years, smoking was part of dance bar outings and mostly a social crutch. It gave party-goers something to do with their hands while practicing conversation skills and courting rituals. That was so many years ago and before I carried my children.
From my caffeine-induced, Sunday morning Web research, I can see that smoking started as an experience of the spiritual, for Native Americans to call upon and to give thanks for the six energies. The peace pipe was an important symbol to the indigenous people in the Ottawa Valley as well. Tobacco was used as an offering to the sacred waterfalls named after the pipe bowl.
So with smokers these days, does that mean people are trying to capture that inner reflection or reaching up to the divine? Do they want to meet their maker sooner than intended? How much of their earnings have gone up in smoke?
I often wonder if smoking (and now vaping) are subconscious, primal desires for the comfort of suckling at our Mothers’ breast as well as reaching for the Divine. At least those who choose vaping are doing it to wean them off the death sticks. You can do it!
Social behaviour
I’d like to thank those public transportation users who walk a few meters away from the shelter to light up and begin your ritual of self-reflection while waiting for the next bus. Please complete your ritual by stomping out your cigarette instead of tossing it into the dry grass beside the bus shelter, and please completely exhale your sacred smoke before boarding the bus.
I will be sure to not sit close to you and experience the stench wafting from your hair, clothes and breath.
Be kissable
Another reason to quit smoking is to increase your attraction and possibilities for pleasurable mouth pressing activities.
Ah yes, pleasurable mouth pressing activities and making for romantic memories…
Thanks for dropping by. May your lip puckering activities be refreshing, memorable and sweet.
I am a white woman, a parent and a survivor. As a woman over 50 I feel invisible to most eligible men. I do not have a reliable partner, don’t own my home nor can I afford to travel to tropical locations every winter. I will be lucky if I can retire in comfort by the time I turn 60 years old.
Whenever discussing retirement plans with friends or colleagues, I joke that my insurance was to be extra patient with and kind to my children so that they will take care of me in my old age.
My beautiful adult children are Millennials. They are testing out their respective paths, life purpose and independence. Some are taking a little longer than others due to childhood trauma or the ridiculous limitations of the economy.
My Millennials were not handed everything on a platter. We were barely scraping by in the early years while surviving home life with an unstable, controlling individual.
It saddens and frustrates me when the older generations and entertainers poke fun at Millennials.
“Millennials are getting dumped on from all sides – from parents, employers and the economy. “My Millennial Life” takes a look through the eyes of a group of resourceful, charming and talented 20-somethings and the obstacles and opportunities they face in getting launched and making their mark on the world.”
I love my Millennial room-mate who cooks healthy meals, cleans the humble apartment once a week, and looks after the cats while I am away – all the while using artistic skills to earn a modest income.
On a related, rippling note I am sad to acknowledge recent violent events south of the border. Some parental concerns and human rights issues catch your interest even more so if your Millennials are also dark-skinned, dealing with social anxieties or are gay.
They would seem to be fncked whichever way they turn. I know they can overcome challenges with courage, intelligence and strength of character.
Do you enjoy your solitude? Do you find it conducive to navel-gazing and existential contemplations?
Do you alternately feel a sense of inclusion and connectedness when in a crowd of like-minded strangers?
I do.
One way I experience the latter is to treat myself to a personal adventure on the Doors Open Ottawa tours. This was the third year that I explored the city on my own, learned new things, admired architecture and met other interesting humans.
Yesterday’s weather was perfect for being in the sun, walking, busing, touring around Ottawa.
My first stop was a disappointment. It seems that arriving at noon is too late to get on the guided tour list for the temple of online commerce, Shopify.
Still determined for urban exercise and discovery, I walked from Elgin Street all the way to my next desired stop, The Temple of Science.
Science. Apologies for this ear worm coming at you.
I arrived tired and sweaty at the National Research Council Canada (NRC) – Temple of Science on Sussex Drive. After freshening up in the ladies room and refilling my water bottle, I unwittingly jumped the queue, ignoring protocol by inserting myself into the next guided tour group. I blame it on the heat.
It was a very interesting, fast-paced walking tour. Kudos to the staff and volunteers.
@NRC_CNRC who could resist the attraction to The Temple of Science, the lamp of learning? That was very interesting! Thank you.
The wait on Sussex Drive for the OC Transpo bus downtown was very long. The buses were not obeying the GPS offerings according to various smart phone apps shared by me and my random companions. At least we had a bench in the shade of nearby trees. People came and sat. Some gave up and started walking.
It wasn’t the first time I used a park bench for deep thinking activities. I had plenty of time for people-watching, casual conversation, contemplating the Universe, and … catching up on some reading. I really hope to finish Masters of Time this weekend!
Waiting for another bus on construction-cramped Rideau Street provided a different lens into humanity, social interactions of ragtag gangs rallying back and forth in some loud, shared purpose. I was relieved when the next bus finally arrived.
Next stop was the Saint-François d’Assise Church, another temple of sorts. It was cool and quiet except when someone was demonstrating the organ (!). I admired the wooden pews, the statues and all those candles.
Presque tous les panneaux d’information et de la littérature était en français!
Now resting and reflecting on a rainy Sunday morning, I plan to head out for another educational tour. I think I convinced one of the young people to join me.
On a parting note, here is something else to contemplate:
I think there may be benefits to waking in the middle of the night with hot flashes and a damp nightgown.
A vigilant type can tour the humble abode, check the perimeters and be satisfied that all is secure. A creative type can take a few minutes to write down in her dream journal, jot journal or make a crude illustration.
According to an article I recently read, there are benefits to segmented sleep and due to our modern habits and lighting, we may be losing out on times for reflection.
“But though we may feel perfectly happy with our modern consolidated sleep, we’ve now lost that midnight hour between sleeps, a time when we can be awake and alone with our thoughts.
“I think we’re missing out on a time of intimacy and privacy, a time of self-reflection,” says Ekirch. “We’ve lost a traditional avenue to our dreams, our subconscious.””
I wonder if I can train my body to practise segmented sleep. Will I remember to drink more water before retiring so my body will force me to get up once or twice during the night? In a few years, my bladder will likely perform that task for me anyway!
I also wonder if segmented sleep can help me train my body and mind to embrace Hypnogogia, to capture, remember the dreams and visions, to record them for later inspection and creative expansion.
“In the borderlands between wakefulness and rest is a strange and fascinating state of consciousness characterized by dream-like visions and strange sensory occurrences. Psychologists call this stage “hypnagogia,” but centuries before they created a term for it, artists were using the hypnagogic state to tap into some of their best ideas. “
I am intrigued by the bridging of sleep and awakening, of the subconscious and consciousness. I also have an appreciation for afternoon naps.
Thanks for dropping by and staying alert while reading this entry. You can also see what my pen name Flo is offering at her blog. She has so many ideas about more Seguin Sound childhood stories but needs more free time during our waking and working hours to transcribe them.
There has been a bridge theme occupying my mind for many months.
A few weeks ago, we Canadians were surprised to hear of structural damage to a bridge in Northern Ontario that joined the east to the west. People were concerned that our vast, beautiful country seemed split in half if only for a couple of days.
This weekend, one of the artistic young adults and I visited Monet, A Bridge to Modernity an exhibit at the National Gallery. It was beautiful and inspirational. I was glad to have splurged the extra $6 for the audio tour. I also spent a little more money to bring some of the exhibit back to le petit apartment.
A little Monet display in our home
The prints and poster were an appropriate addition to the bare walls in the new dining corner setup. They dissolve the winter blues, fitting the recommended Feng Shui arrangement and colour pallet to welcome the Lunar New Year, the Year of the Monkey.
The Monet experience makes me want to try my hand at water colour painting again and in the impressionist style “en plain air“. Maybe when the weather is more agreeable, yes? Perhaps during the summer, along a river bank.
Ah, river banks.
I grew up near a river that fed into the refreshing Georgian Bay. There were many different bridges that crossed the Seguin River. One was the Canadian Pacific Rail (CPR) bridge that rose above our neighbourhood, spanning the river to the richer side of town. It also marked the division of our side bordering on the Townies from that of the Harbour Bums.
CP rail bridge over the Seguin River, Parry Sound 2015
During a journey to the home town last summer, I got to revisit the bridge’s domain and witness much rebuilding activity along the rails.
Reparation activities along the CPR trestle
These experiences reinforced the theme of building, capturing the beauty of and repairing bridges in the corporeal world.
We can also explore bridges between the past and the present. It can be exciting and emotionally draining when you have reached back to the murky past, bravely transit the present and reach into the fogginess of the future.
Some bridges are worth the risk and energy to cross.
Some bridges (relationships, experiences, etc.) are not worth the toll on one’s health, psyche and sense of self-worth.
When you encounter those that seem cracked and unsupportive, you can choose a different route or tread lightly and keep a safety net handy.
Thanks for dropping by. May all of your bridges be sturdy, lead you to auspicious experiences and destinations. May they join and not divide.
We have not yet entered mid-winter in the northern hemisphere and I’m already me-deep in thought.
It’s a combination of effects from the winter blahs and the desire for self-preservation.
Winter Forest Rabbit ballpoint pen drawing TAJ circa 1984
I enjoyed many small gatherings over the Christmas holidays. The colourful lights, good food and companionship helped brighten the drabness. This past week has brought us much snow, packed into a very short time span.
I like to think that writing can support one’s goals and dreams, help calm irrational fears while providing a form of therapy. Sometimes you wish you could write harmful influences and memories out of existence, then compose works that inspire and help reunite you with others.
Those in the know are familiar with our family’s history, the struggles due to one disturbed individual. I am very thankful for past and recent support from family, friends and protective agencies. I am curious about the deafening silence from others.
This winter break has also provided opportunities to putter around le petit apartment when venturing outdoors is not an option – nor a necessity 🙂
The cats are bored
The cats are starting to get cabin fever, not being able to visit the balcony. At least they can watch the critters from inside the windows.
These furry roommates have provided me with comfort and welcomed distractions over the years through photography and comic bubble inserts while being unwitting channels for my quirky sense of humour.
Spreading my wings and chirping politely, I celebrate new life and the milestones shared with family and friends. I welcome the promise this new year brings. I admire how some Parisians chose to celebrate the new year’s arrival in defiance of fears, and without the unnecessary explosions from fireworks.
To sum up: One can be vigilant while not letting fears sour the enjoyment of life.
