The studio has been taken over and the gallery is filling up fast.
Happy Valentines Day!
The studio has been taken over and the gallery is filling up fast.
Happy Valentines Day!
That would be island hopping in Greece, almost a year ago. Various family members made the trip to remember my brother, who loved it there but never got the chance to go back. So we went back for him. I even drank a beer in his memory. Funny thing about Santorini, his favourite spot, was that travelling up and down its cliffs by bus scared the hell out of me. Never mind the gondola ride on which I faced the side of the hill rather than look at all that water. How in the world could you raise children that close to a cliff edge? With donkeys running around? Plus be surrounded by ocean everywhere you went? Those Greek people are incredibly brave. Maybe there’s something in the olives.
I fancy myself a writer, because I write things and always have. I have never published anything except blog posts, and I don’t think that counts. Short stories work with my particular attention span. And whether I’m good at it or not, I love writing poetry. I have a big sheet of paper with copious notes about many different types of poetry with the mechanics and rhyming information. One fine day I will get around to actually using it. Time is running out to write novels, I’m afraid. A plot would be an excellent start, but I’ve never come up with one. Maybe I should just stick to Biography/Memoir. Soon I will be able to throw in some historical fiction based on my actual life. And that could slowly turn in to Fantasy if I live long enough.
I have five incredible grandchildren, and it would be just as mind-boggling to choose my favourite one in that group as in this one. Seeing and hearing would maybe be missed the most if they were suddenly gone, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. If I didn’t have taste and smell perhaps I might enjoy my own cooking more. Would losing ones sense of touch mean winter skin wouldn’t feel dry and itchy anymore? That might be worth a shot.
My life is 86% satisfying, so the answer is 14. Well, I had to come up with something using my limited math skills. But if all of these random one hundred people were asked to write down on a random scrap of paper their definition of a satisfying life, there would be a hundred different sized paper scraps, a hundred different answers, a hundred different regrets, and more than a hundred different reasons for each of them to celebrate the life they were given. Satisfaction is all in your head.
I can’t remember what happened yesterday, never mind last week. Oh, wait! My son turned 39 on Saturday. I also don’t remember what happened when I was that age myself for an entire year. I’m sure it was a good time. This weekend I’m looking forward to a visit from the far-away four grandchildren, and the Valentine’s Day birthday of the closer-to-where-I-live one. She will be fourteen on the fourteenth. Time is flying by at an alarming rate. I’d better get going on that memoir.
But this is what old people do – we repeat things and don’t give a shit if you’ve heard them all twenty-six times already.
Granddaughter (the first) and I were sitting on the couch playing with her Polly Pocket dolls. She was responsible for the actions and deeds and commentary of three or four of them, but I had just one. I chose Snow White because she’s my favourite. I had her climb to the top of the couch-back where she jumped around, lost her wig, put it on backwards, freaked out because she couldn’t see, and screamed for help.
My granddaughter sighed, rolled her eyes, and said in her firmest no-nonsense 4-year-old voice, “Oh Snow White, get a grip of yourself.”
Snow White made less of an ass of herself after that.
Here’s to the last snow white day in January. And getting a grip when we need to.
This is my favourite Santa. I painted him many years ago and gave him to my mom. She hung him up for a lot of Christmases. When she died, somehow I got him back with little effort on my part. He was a gift and I didn’t expect he’d ever come back to me. But I’m glad he did.
I love the softness about him, and the impossible floaty star-shaped balloons. And the fact that he might not even be wearing pants or boots under that too-long dragging coat, for all we know.
Most of all I love the warm happy feeling I get when I see him and remember my mother. Maybe he made her think of me too.
It’s just a funny little old Santa who surprised me by turning in to my best Christmas treasure.
Holy cow, I have been so incredibly busy with so much to do I just can’t tell you because I don’t even know where to start….
(So did that sound convincing?)
Maybe you’d prefer the truth. I have done pretty much nothing for the last couple of days.
Except, my new printer arrived and is as hooked up as a smart wireless printer needs to be. I have no idea how I survived for so many years with my monstrous old one which in comparison was not very smart at all. But it was a good scanner and it printed excellent photos. I liked it just fine until the day it decided it could no longer recognize a new ink cartridge and refused to carry on no matter how hard I kicked it. I’m kidding, I don’t kick inanimate objects.
On Saturday our brand new much-anticipated great-niece arrived! I saw her picture on Facebook before I got the message on my phone! She is in Ontario so I don’t know when we will get to meet her in person. Why this wonderful news made it impossible for me to accomplish anything is a complete mystery, but I’m using her birth as an excuse anyway.
Then today my daughter cleaned my house and W took granddaughter K shopping for a new winter coat. One of these years she will stop letting her arms and legs grow ever longer. And yes, I know I could probably get off my ass and clean my own house now that I’m no longer working, but I pay her well so I think she’s happy to have me as one of her clients, plus we sometimes feed her. I absolutely love how everything looks when she’s done. And I like to talk to her constantly while she’s here (talk about a captive audience) so once again – no drawings or painting or writing. I did cook supper though. I’m not completely useless.
All of the above, including the picture which illustrates some of W’s Christmas decorating skills, has very little to do with the incredible word I discovered and would like to share with you.
Having a loud voice; vociferous; clamorous.
Of grand or imposing sound.
The word ‘megalophonous’ comes from Greek roots meaning ‘big’ and ‘sound’.
The reason I like this word so much is because it so perfectly describes the one and only W. He isn’t always loud, but when he is, it’s definitely mega. He uses his megalophonous talents when greeting people in public places, talking to a group of people, or to just one person in a room full of people so that all other conversations are effectively drowned out, AND when he is talking on the phone. This is the one that drives me crazy. He has a friend he talks to who also has a super loud telephone voice. When the two of them get on the phone I can hear their entire conversation from the other end of the house.
He will tell you that he does this because he is used to talking to his hearing impaired dad, but his dad wasn’t always deaf, whereas W has always been loud. Perhaps he is partly to blame for his dad’s hearing loss.
My head hurts and my ears pound and ring when people are too loud. I don’t like music turned up or concerts or crowds of people making a big racket. Sometimes I think my own hearing loss is a form of self-defence.
So yeah. That’s all I wanted to say about that. Because if I say any more and W reads it I’ll be in for a loud lecture on all his virtues. The entire time I’ve been writing this, W has been sitting across the room as quiet as a mouse.
Okay I take that back because he just made a long and loud speech about the pros and cons of dishwasher liquid versus powder detergents and how he prefers laundry detergent in liquid form. I agree with everything he said, so there was no reason to shout.
Gawd, we will end up as two little old half deaf shouting people having random conversations about nothing. Unless that’s happened already. If so, I really don’t want to hear about it.
Before bed she watches her grandma scurry about the house making preparations for tomorrow, putting what appears to be worthless junk on the kitchen table, although she knows her mother considers these things priceless family treasures and will be thrilled to have them.
In the morning she is still disoriented and exhausted after her long flight across the ocean, the drive to the farm and her restless night in yet another strange bed, with nothing better to look forward to now than a two-day road trip on her long journey home.
With a defeated sigh, she throws her things back in to her travel-worn bag, wishing she could stuff her bad mood and all her worries in there right along with them.
Once she gets everything downstairs she simply can’t stop laughing at the sight of her funny little grandma, giant fork under one arm and enormous spoon under the other, declaring herself all set and ready to go.
And just like that, all the irritation disappears.
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. This week’s word: IRRITATION
W (aka Good Grandpa) is off somewhere helping granddaughter K find winter boots. She’s 13. We may never see them again. Never mind, he’s just come home and declared the shopping expedition a success.
Last night the digital box for our tv died, a day after our DVD player stopped working. My printer has decided new ink cartridges are empty and refuses to print. Our electronic world is falling to pieces and I’m drawing cats.
A tech guy from Telus will be here tomorrow morning to sort out our tv woes. Meanwhile W will have to make do with Netflix on his computer. No hockey. Boo hoo. And I will have to use his printer. It’s rather silly to have two printers anyway.
And now I’m going to make meatballs. I don’t anticipate anything going wrong, but you never know.
“Fiddle de dee, tomorrow is another day”
― (Scarlet O’Hara ) Margaret Mitchel
Hope your weekend was fun and trouble free.
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