Tag Archives: fall

Good Morning Sunshine

The latest incarnation of the paint room aka art studio, in which I have spent hours moving things around and minutes actually working on stuff.
The latest incarnation of the paint room aka art studio, in which I have spent hours moving things around and minutes actually working on stuff.

There isn’t a lot of sunshine yet today, but that’s okay.  We’re having gorgeous autumn weather into the last ten days of September.  Six work shifts to go.  I know countdowns are bad, and a form of wishing your life away while you wait for something to end or begin or happen but I’m doing it anyway.  Anticipation is half the fun, right?

On my second last working Wednesday, all alone between six and eight with no appointments and no customers and no real ambition, I decided to write down all the things I will miss about work when I’m finally done with it on the last day of this month.  I took a sheet of paper out of the printer, got one of my three erasable pens out of my pocket (there must always be three) and sat down to write a list.  Things I will miss.  Ten minutes crawled by.  Everything I thought of was something I actually wouldn’t miss at all.  In fact I knew I would be beside myself with relief and happiness to never have to deal with that shit again.  So then I divided the paper in two and on the second half started a list of things I will NOT miss.  I filled up that side and the entire back with such a pile of work related crap it put me in a totally pissy mood.  I should not be left alone on Wednesday nights.  I’ve always said that, but no one listens.

While this process was all very cathartic, I won’t be sharing my list of negativity from hell.  Going over it once was enough.  Indisputable proof that it’s time to walk away.

W is coming home today.  He’s been in Ontario at the island closing things up for the winter.  He’s bringing my water-color paint supplies home with him.  I can’t remember why I thought it was a good idea to leave them there, but now I’ll have fewer excuses for stifling my creative urges as I amass all my tools and gather ideas and look up art classes.  Plan projects, get organized, have another cup of coffee, read some blogs, play some candy crush, make a pot of soup…..

Is it a little sad that procrastination is my favourite thing in the world?   (Except for reading for hours and watching bizarre things on Netflix.  I never put those things off.)   If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, I’ve been headed in that direction forever.  I do entire blog posts in my head in the middle of the night on my brilliant blog where I discuss brilliant things.  Then dawn breaks and work looms and Netflix sends me a notice that some dumb thing I’ve been watching has new episodes.  So the brilliance is put on hold.  Or forgotten.

Well, it’s an interesting theory/excuse, hey?

No, I’m not really buying it either.  But my point is (YES!  I have a POINT!) work will no longer loom.  Huge chunks of stress will dissolve right before my eyes.  I will have to find something completely different to get all pissy about.  I will answer more prompts and accept more challenges.  Or at the very least, drum up the courage to share my artistic creative genius.  You people are all really nice and will humor me on that one, right?  Thank you, I knew I could count on you.

IMG_1070

Ten days.  Six shifts.  Gorgeous fall weather.  Paint supplies en route to home.  Oh yeah, and W too.

Life is good and about to get better.

Just Jazzy 304

Jazzy Does 100 Days of Happiness 91

Happiness is waking up to rain and wet snow in September because you know it's just a little preview and it won't last.  Review the happiness blather if it lasts.
Happiness is waking up to rain and wet snow in September because you know it’s just a little preview of what’s to come and it won’t last. Rethink the happiness blather if it lasts.

Deep Subjects

Wishing well at the castle of Zumelle, Belluno...
Wishing well at the castle of Zumelle, Belluno, Veneto, Italy. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Well……

It appears I’ve taken an unplanned, unannounced and ridiculously long break.  Long for me, anyway, because of this blog-a-day thing with which I like to torture myself.

I have many teeth stories that even I’m sick of hearing, so I’ll just say I now have a mouthful of them thanks to a small permanent bridge filling up a space that’s been empty for years.  Yay for one less empty space in my head.  And only one more trip to the dentist, and then he can go off on an extended vacation once my bill is paid.

Yesterday was seniors day at Shoppers Drug Mart and the cashier didn’t even ask me for ID to prove I’m over 55.  Seriously.  Even though I’m well over that and have an honest face, she still could have made my day by doubting me.  Whatever, the discount was nice.  Getting to be ancient has it’s perks.

Not so perky is the hearing loss where I misunderstand people who mumble in a quiet and irritating manner, saying things like “seduced LSD is a sin” when they actually mean “reduced elasticity in the skin”.  Come on people, either speak up or I’ll have to go see an audiologist.

And speaking of ‘seeing’, yesterday I misread the question “What makes a great teacher?” as “What makes a goat tender?”  That was on my phone where the printing is small.  Could have happened to anyone, right? And means practically the same thing.  My life has become infinitesimally more interesting lately.  No wonder old people wander around looking dazed and confused.

At work I continue to be a geezer magnet.  Eighty year old men love me.  A ten minute glasses dispensing job turns into a half hour gab session as they tell me their life stories.  A delightful man told me all about his triple bypass surgery, and how he had to stay in the hospital an extra three days due to constipation.

Another explained how doctors removed four litres of fluid from his asbestos inflamed lungs, and now his feet swell up all the time.  I did not ask how those two facts are related.

Did you know that a box of ammunition for a 22 rifle used to cost twenty five cents, and that an 11 year old way back in the day picking off gophers could become a sharp shooter really fast? Neither did I.

Canada is the absolute best place in the world to live and in Texas you can shoot an intruder and then just call somebody to come pick up the body.  I could think of no reply to that double barrelled  bit of information, but I think perhaps one or both of those statements may not be entirely true.

Well, who knows.  Maybe I didn’t hear him right.   Because, you know, think about the winters here.

It’s been another beautiful fall day.  I went for a hair cut and didn’t cry.  W brought home Chinese take out.  I was able to chew stuff.

Life is good.

Q is for Quintessential

I never use this word in polite conversation.  My attempts at sounding sophisticated come out sounding prissy instead.  Plus I would probably stumble over its proper pronunciation and make a quintessential fool of myself.

quin·tes·sen·tial

adjective

1.  of the pure and essential essence of something: the quintessential Jewish delicatessen.

2.  of or pertaining to the most perfect embodiment of something: the quintessential performance of the Brandenburg Concertos.

The purest, most characteristic, perfect example of a particular type.

Yesterday I fell asleep in the afternoon heat.  I used to watch my grandmother do the same thing.  She’d sit down to read and her eyes would close and her head would nod and the book would fall from her fingers onto her lap.  Once I gently touched her shoulder and startled her awake and she told me she wasn’t really napping, she was just resting her eyes.

So!  Yesterday I was resting my eyes in the warm sunshine.  When I opened them the sky was overcast and a cool breeze was chilling me to the bone.  It’s how the seasons change.  One day it’s summer and the next day it’s just not.  I know the autumnal equinox does not officially begin until the 22nd of September, but here in my little spot on the northern hemisphere it is already fall.  These chilled old bones do not lie.

Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt, 19th-20th century poet.
Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt, 19th-20th century poet. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I found the quintessential bit of poetry to describe exactly how yesterday felt to me.

It is the summer’s great last heat,
It is the fall’s first chill: They meet.

–Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt

 

 

 

Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt is probably the quintessential name for a poet.  If I ever expect to make it as a poet I can see I will have to seriously lengthen my name.

English: Sunset at the autumnal equinox

We had the quintessential autumn sunset the other night as I was leaving work, but I didn’t get a picture of it.  Look at this photo and imagine a half deserted parking lot in the foreground, a few power poles here and there and a Wendy’s sign twinkling in the distance.  And take out the waves.  There.  Quintessentially perfect.

Hmm.  Did I just say perfectly perfect?  I’m never using this prissy word again.

Fall Is In The Air Too Soon

Shorter days, cooler nights, freezing-my-butt-off mornings because I refuse to close the windows until it’s officially September – all indications that another summer is slowly but surely biting the dust.

September
September (Photo credit: Helgi Halldórsson/Freddi)

Since summer hours are ending, we have been advised of a work schedule change starting next month.  It is just plain weird and gives me all over the place shifts and long tedious mega days in a row interspersed with three and four-day weekends.  Yep.  No one asked me for my input.  But I believe in karma and that the instigator will eventually end up in hell, so it’s all good.

For several days I’ve been moving furniture around, preparing for the delivery of a new bed, which arrives this afternoon.  They promised.  I confirmed.  They will haul it in and set it up.  Good thing, because both my arms are broken.  Last night I moved the present bed to its new location, leaving a big empty space in my bedroom, and myself with the dilemma of where to go for the night.  It’s a big people-empty house with a lot of choices.  I went all the way across the hall.  So much for an adventurous spirit.  I can’t believe how much noisier it is over there where the window faces the street.  And how not firm the mattress is.  And how much brighter it is in the morning facing north-east.  There’s more than one reason why we give that bedroom to guests I guess.

Anyway, W – if you’re reading this – Surprise!  It’s pretty much a done deal and there’s nothing you can do about it now.  Don’t go off and leave me unsupervised for long stretches of time if you expect everything to remain the same.

As if anything stays the same forever.  I’m going to have to see a doctor about my carpel tunnel soon I think.  All this moving stuff about hasn’t done the condition any favors and now my right hand goes tingley and numb more often than I’d like.  Never would be a better option for this symptom.  It’s gone from annoying to just this side of worrisome.  So of course I’m trying to ignore it until the time comes when I drop something really important and breakable.

There are other things happening that are too new to talk about yet.  Some days I feel like one of those Joe Palooka punching dolls that gets knocked around and keeps bobbing back up for more.  This too shall pass.  The strong shall survive.  And probably complete wimps like me will too.

JOE PALOOKA

In the meantime, life goes on, and we all pretend we’re normal.  The sun is still shining, the grass is still green.  I have brand new sheets for my brand new bed, in a color called “toast”.  Frankly I would never eat a piece of toast if it was that color, but for sheets it’s okay.  The lights will be off anyway so it doesn’t matter.

Okay!  Nothing much left to do until the exciting DELIVERY and nowhere to go until it happens.  I’m off to enjoy the last holy Thursday of this disappearing month.

Moody Weather

How much does the weather influence my mood?

Well, first off, this is a great question to ask any Canadian, because we wouldn’t even have moods if it wasn’t for changes in the weather. We would have nothing to talk about and nothing really to do. We are a nation of people who have evolved with the seasons.

We all complain bitterly about winter because it’s cold and white and bleak and makes our cars run funny. (Well except for those insane winter sports enthusiasts who pretend to love the ice and the snow and skiing in the mountains and who go trotting off to hockey games all the time.) (There’s also the ones who go flying off to Mexico for six months every year and no longer care, although once there I’m pretty sure they will complain about the heat instead.)

In the spring we either get far too much rain or not nearly enough. The snow goes away too fast, or it refuses to go fast enough. This puts all farmers and gardeners and lawn enthusiasts into foul humor, one way or the other. The rest of us either pity them or remain thoroughly confused as to why it makes any difference.

In the summer the weather is either unseasonably cool or ridiculously hot. It is too humid or it is too dry. There are too many bugs and there’s not enough sunshine, or there’s way too much sunshine, and all those harmful rays can’t possibly be good for us. Perfect weather would stun us speechless. Most of us are confined to windowless workplaces and temperature controlled buildings and we miss it all anyway.

In the fall it gets much too windy, much too soon, and we get burried in leaves before we’re ready for it. Everyone decides to get everything winterized all at once and we’re all surprised and miffed when the people who do these things are very busy and we have to wait our turn. We live in constant dread of that first snowfall and fret for weeks about whether or not it’s the right time to put the snow tires on.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that about 90% of my time is spent indoors quite happily disconnected from whatever impact the weather would like to have on my life. Of course this doesn’t stop me from being bored and irritated because I’m cooped up inside, or annoyed with whatever is going on out there, even if I haven’t experienced it yet today first hand.

There’s always somebody wandering around from building to building who is happy to drop by and let the people inside know what kind of hell they’re being put through weather-wise. The rest of us adjust our moods accordingly.

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