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Archive for the ‘Non-Fiction’ Category

Living the Dream

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Parenting, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on January 26, 2015| 12 Comments »

You will eventually have had enough of my grieving process I’m sure, but for the moment you may be finding comfort in walking alongside me. This is what keeps me going. Perhaps you’ve lost someone or perhaps that hasn’t happened for you yet and you’re trying to understand what to expect.

 

Expect nothing.

 

I can safely say that although the journey will hold similar jumps for all of us, the method and speed with which we get through (not over) them, will not be the same whatsoever. Emotions and reactions are dependent on so many things—age, proximity and support for example, come immediately to my mind.

 

I tried to tell you a story today, but couldn’t find the words. Everything else seems trivial right now and even though I know that’s far from the truth, I can’t seem to muster the creative backbone needed to spin a tale.

 

But I did visit my girlfriend this weekend. I’ve known her for twenty years and she moved to what I’d call far away a couple of years ago. I miss her terribly, but it’s also nice to be able to make an excursion out of seeing her now.

 

So off we went, my daughter and I, painlessly driving the three-hour jaunt, stopping only for cheap gas and cheerful wine. (The wine was for me. My daughter is not allowed to get cheerful just yet.) Once settled and after eating (a delicious Thai meal courtesy of Leslie’s hubby) we sat on the couch and the dreaded reared its inevitable head. We hadn’t, of course, seen each other since my Papa’s passing and she asked how things were going and how everyone was doing. We talked for some time…well into the night, and as we headed off to bed we were still pondering what happens on the other side.

 

I told her that as much as the idea of a guardian angel seems comforting, I don’t like the idea of them having to watch over us. After all, what kind of torture would it be to see our children but be unable to touch or talk to them?

 

“No,” I said. “I like to believe they take a version of us along for the ride and that way, for them, not a thing has changed.”

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Don’t Let Go

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on January 15, 2015| 4 Comments »

Bear with me.

 

It’s a long journey around so many messy things and I lack the stamina to run it in one tidy breath.

 

Opening your eyes to the realization that somehow you must lift your burdened self out of bed so the show can go on. Peeling potatoes and stirring gravy so your children won’t think of this as the year they lost a Grandpa and Christmas Day. Stoically wading through a sea of memories that now contain a foreign element of hurt, so others can remember him the way you do. Battling tears and the desert that has become your mouth in order to send him off with the dignity he very much deserves.

 

Worrying someone will bring him up and then hurting when they don’t, planning only outfits with pockets to hold your twists of unscheduled Kleenex. Finding a way to preserve voicemails you’re so thankful you never deleted, fighting the guilt that you have saved the last ten, subconsciously aware you would come to rely on them one day soon. Holding on to the last time you saw him healthy and ruthlessly reliving the last horrible day that he wasn’t.

 

I used to think death was this obscure thing—a convoluted end that was hard to understand—marred by emotion and murky in its meaning. I was so wrong. Death is concise. It’s clear. It’s forever. And it’s final.

 

So I fumble for a bright side.

 

Hazy always ends in a positive spin. And although I’m desperate not to let her down, I’m having a really hard time grasping a silver lining through all of these ominous clouds.

 

I wish you heartache such as this in your life. Because despite the crumbling cliff it leaves you dangling from, it’s a true blessing to have loved someone this way.

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Extra Ordinary

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on December 29, 2014| 9 Comments »

What was once decent in life, can, like magic, become disproportionate in death.

 

Our memories switch off the ability to recall missteps, unpleasantries and altercations. It takes those things by the neck and drags them deep into the folds of our conscience, tucking them in for a Snow White sleep.

 

The brain, nature, survival, whatever we choose to call it, takes over, and we remember solely the good—the kind words said, the times they made us smile, their soars and their successes.

 

But for the majority of breaths—theirs and ours—we brush our teeth, drive to work, eat our dinner and wash the dishes. One day comes after the other and we forge on, comfortable in the knowledge that we simply like, and contently love.

 

It’s that very love that protects us. It shields. It transforms what’s now gone into only what we need to remain—good deeds, helping hands and a softness of spirit.

 

And this is understandable. After all, less is more. We tend to scrape away disagreeable to accommodate the palatable on our plates.

 

But this wasn’t my Papa’s way. In life, as in death, he had no tolerance for waste.

 

That’s why he only made room for extraordinary his whole life long.

In loving memory of John Martin Murphy Sep 6 1927 - Dec 24 2014

In loving memory of John Martin Murphy
Sep 6 1927 – Dec 24
2014

 

 

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Real Robots

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Inspiration, Non-Fiction, Short Stories, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged on December 22, 2014| 12 Comments »

This article.

 

 

This article winks at me from across the room, then leaves with someone else. It asks me out to dinner and dodges the check. It promises tickets to a show that isn’t playing. It snatches my last Rolo and while we huddle side by side in a muddy, war-torn trench, it tells me we don’t stand a chance.

 

In a shell, I’m the nut and it’s the cracker and it splintered my little blog-bound heart into a million tiny pieces.

 

I admit going through a similar process to what Carol describes. Writing has always been in my life, but I felt that putting my work out there was the next step. In fact, I believed I’d be hiding in the dark ages by not leaping into the light. That’s how I came to birth my blog and as is human nature, I continue to nurture it despite the pain it causes me.

 

“Next, they fall in love with the blog, and then spend way too much time on it.”

 

It’s almost three years old now, and yes I’m in love. Not because—“…it’s so empowering, pushing that ‘publish’ button on whatever you want to say…that it becomes addictive.”—but because I don’t feel alone. It’s not just me anymore. I went from what was, in my mind, selfish, to sharing, hopeful my words would entertain and inspire. At times, I even dare to believe I’d be letting you down should I vanish into thin air.

 

“It’s a dying niche because semi-literate, half-baked posts you dash off in 15 minutes for search robots to index don’t work any more.”

 

Piercing music screams in my head, reaching its crescendo as the shards of my heart are flattened and ground into a fine dust by this suggestion. Half-baked…dashed off in 15 minutes…I’m writing for robots?

 

Ouch.

 

But, I read Carol’s article through several times, washing it down with a tall glass of cool coherence. And you might be surprised to know that once I’d swallowed the pulp and circumstance, I concurred—If you want to write articles, you should of course, write articles.

 

But if you, like me, simply want to write of myth and whimsy to see where the wind takes you, there’s no need for a plummeting spirit. Tice’s advice doesn’t apply to you. Just keep doing what you’re doing because well, it makes you so darn extraordinary.

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All bolded quotes taken from “Why You Should Stop Writing Blog Posts (and What to Do Instead) by Carol Tice at makealivingwriting.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Fitting Tale

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Non-Fiction, Rant, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on December 18, 2014| 9 Comments »

To distract from the consistent incorrect use of tense in my last post, which I’m hoping you won’t realize took me a full day to get around to fixing, I’m going to talk about coffee and its accessories.

 

I didn’t drink coffee until I turned 30. With company over one night and me, pregnant with my third and last child, I percolated a pot for our guests just as I’d done a million times before. But this time, as I set out the cream and sugar, the spoons and the mugs, I added one for myself without thinking. I poured the dark and steamy liquid, filling each one, including my own. My friends and my husband looked on, somewhat shocked.

 

And then, as natural as can be, I drank it.

 

I imagined it was a one-off, but from then on, my baby begged for beans. By the time she was out of the womb and a walking, talking two year old she was pleading for teaspoons full of my sweet and milky caffeine. (You may want to fault me for this, but I’m British and was raised on tea—let’s face it, we have since discovered that that is just as caffeine-infused as coffee and I turned out fine. No really, I did.)

 

It’s been a long few years since that first cup and it took me some time to figure out what it is about Starbucks that makes it the apparent all that.

 

It’s the lid.

 

I can’t even drink the regular coffee at Starbucks. It’s too stark, too bitter for me, so I tend to go for a milky Cappuccino, but sometimes, you just want a cuppa, you know? And I do love a good Double Double.

 

But. That. Lid.

 

I am aware this is the quintessence of first world problems but this is the world in which we live. With the knowledge available and the ‘perfect’ sample ripe for the copying, why oh why, would Tim Hortons manufacture such a horrendous lid?

 

It’s flimsy. It’s loose. It’s weak. Once you open that hatch it’ll never be on lock-down again—you’re left babysitting your beverage until the last drop. And, could the opening be any bigger? Who thought having to pause mid-walk for every sip would be convenient, or that your car would have to be motionless to take a swig. And your coffee is of course cold by then by the way, due to that gaping hole in the top of your cup.

 

I thought I’d finally found my genius when I ordered my Double Double and asked for their ‘latte lid’ instead which actually does resemble Starbucks’ style, but I knew I’d made a big mistake when I looked down to find my scarf covered in large fervently fragrant dribbles.

 

Details matter. People notice. They rely on us to get them right, to make it easy…to feel effortless. The structure, the tense, the flavor, the finishing touch…all of it counts.

 

It has to be charming. It has to be tight.

 

Readers will always choose a good fit. After all, the content is subjective.

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Count On It

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on December 5, 2014| 6 Comments »

This is a post from almost a year ago, that I decided to revamp. Much to my delight, I didn’t end up feeling like I needed to change all that much. Most times I read my old posts and end up buried under the covers, shivering for the rest of the day.

Have a safe and happy Friday folks, and thanks for reading!

 

I have this old adding machine and for about ten years, the battery cover has been missing. It’s because of this I feel a profound sadness every time I pull it out of the drawer. Without the support, I know it will only be a matter of time before those little coils relax and let the batteries fall to the floor. But it would hurt my heart to replace a perfectly good thing due simply to the fact that it’s missing a piece. After all, it still works faultlessly and if anyone appreciates a bit of help in the calculating department, it’s me. You see, I can’t add worth a damn. I still count out on my fingers and have to write anything more than a three-digit sum down on paper or the numbers start climbing, tripping and toppling over one another in my head.

Many years ago, I waitressed and always kept a tiny calculator tucked into my billfold, never wanting to expose my tricky little secret. My fellow servers let bills flail from their pockets or flap from their cleavage and somehow still managed to finish their closes ahead of me and my tightly organized stash of cash.

I also worked in retail and strived to move up through the ranks. But moving up meant making manager and making manager meant numbers, which was, as you can guess, intimidating for someone like me. Eventually I learned to make my fingers fly over the chunky buttons without even looking. I earned a sense of control I’d never felt before, being able to ‘rule’ math that way. Granted, the bookwork to be done was very formulaic and the risk of something going seriously wrong was low. The numbers either balanced or they didn’t and if it turned out they wouldn’t, the mistake was usually very easy to find. It got so that I could do the hour-long nightly paperwork in twenty minutes—fifteen if I had somewhere more enticing to be.

Much to my dismay, long after being paid to fret over it, math continues to linger in my life and it seems the only time I’m able to call it rewarding is when I’m gauging the tip for a sly pub lunch. Things like balancing checkbooks, crunching numbers, logging endless expenses and estimating interests do not bring me joy.

What. So. Ever.

But the other day I decided it was time to clean out my junk drawers—oh shush, yes I have more than one—and you can probably guess what I came across. That’s right. Lo and behold, there, on the drawer’s gritty bottom, lay the battery cover for my old adding machine. I have to say my heart skipped a beat and I did experience what could be considered a teensy jab of joy.

Don’t give up on something because it’s disjointed or incomplete. You never know when you’ll find that very thing you weren’t even aware you were searching for. And sometimes, that little piece is all it takes.

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In Writing

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Funny, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on December 2, 2014| 5 Comments »

Nope. No ink on me.

 

Not because I don’t like tattoos or even that I have much of an opinion about them either way. Admittedly, there have been times when they’ve piqued my interest and times when I’ve been awkwardly surprised. There are some people I can’t imagine without them and some who have shocked me by uncovering that discreet little place and exposing their clandestine art.

 

I don’t have tattoos for the same reasons naming characters in my stories stops me cold. How can I be sure I’ve picked the right one? How do I know I’ll like it forever? What if, at the half way mark, my character turns around and tells me they hate it? Where is the guarantee I won’t regret it the minute ten thousand copies have been printed? What if the name I’ve chosen doesn’t translate well to the big screen? Yes, I’m in an optimistic mood. So, sue me.

 

There is something to a name. A name can change who we are and shape who we would have become. If we’d been called something else, none of the conversations or interactions we’ve had because of our name would’ve happened, ultimately altering our very being. A name influences the way people relate to us—change your name and the personality you know so well is gone.

 

How I was able to name my children, without once regretting my choices, is a mystery to me. (Must be something to do with that same hormone that keeps us from pegging our kids to the clothesline when they’ve been screaming for twenty-four plus hours.)

 

It’s a big responsibility, naming a being, whether they be breathing or fictional. It takes heart and soul, conviction and commitment. It takes longing, vision and love.

 

I think I’ve just decided what I’m doing for my 90th birthday.

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See The Squirrel?

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on November 20, 2014| 19 Comments »

Is it possible to develop ADD later in life? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening to me.

 

I—Cannot—Focus.

 

Sure, I’ve been a putterer for as long as I can remember, skipping from one task to the next, but at the end of the day, my long list was always complete. I accomplished what I set out to do and went to bed each night, content and satisfied.

 

No longer the case.

 

Just to give you an idea, in the past two days, I have opened up six new Word docs with the intention of courting you with six different subjects and currently, each one displays about three sentences. There are twenty-three tabs open in my web browser. I can’t seem to make it to the laundry room because I have to walk through the family room to get there and well, let’s just say there’s always cause for pause in that area. I head towards the kitchen with the intent of baking cupcakes, but notice the granite counter top feels gritty, so I clean the entire kitchen instead. A vacuum out the cutlery drawer and wipe down all twenty-six cupboard doors kind of cleaning where, eventually, I look down to see the folds in my yellow rubber gloves crested in moonlight and I find myself totally alone, wondering why everyone is in bed already.

 

I don’t know what it is. I’ve started four books and can’t read more than a page in any one of them. I stand in front of my outdated pine bookcases and ponder how much better they will look when I finally paint them, only to get lost in the paperwork they house, which is never, ever finished…and thus, neither are the shelves.

 

Anyway, squirrel.

 

I got together with a friend last night. She helped me not only to hunker down and finish something, but to get a little of that Christmas Spirit I find so hard to muster, flowing. Here is the productive result of our focused girl’s night…

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Ernie’s Got It Down

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on November 17, 2014| 6 Comments »

I’ve developed a zealous addiction to ice cream. I can also be persuaded with Gelato or frozen yogurt—anything cold and creamy really, and most any kind. It doesn’t need to be expensive or of a certain name. It doesn’t have to be healthy or organic and I admit, with a coy smile and fluttering lashes, that it doesn’t even have to be particularly good.

 

There’s just something about it. Tiny spoonfuls. Over-sized globs. I don’t discriminate. Textured with nuts, smattered with chunks, smothered in swirling trails of smooth liqueurs—I’ll try them all.

 

Oh yes, I’ve always liked ice cream. As a kid I’d run after the creepy van or sit cross-legged on the sidewalk, scrawling my name in chalky bubbles, waiting for a poor schmuck to come by, pedaling a freezer full. I’d gleefully shell out way too much of my hard-earned pocket change for a Phantom or a Drumstick, and when I lived in the UK, I’d drool over 99’s and Raspberry Ripple. I savored bright afternoons watching Ernie stack his spherical scoops while I lazily traced designs in our blue, sun-warmed, shag rug.

 

But lately, it’s more than that. It’s like someone’s trying to tell me something. I just don’t know what. Maybe it’s that I’m getting too old for ice cream. That my time to enjoy it is running out. That soon it will make my teeth twinge and my stomach ache—that diabetes and high cholesterol are right around the corner and I should slow down. Or it might just be telling me I should go after more of what I enjoy .

Maybe it’s as simple as that.

Ernie-icecream

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Have One

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Parenting, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on November 14, 2014| 8 Comments »

It can be tough to keep going. Everyone has reasons—some physical, some mental, some…imaginary.

 

You’ve given it your all, done all you can and you’re tired.

 

Maybe you’ve been trying to lose weight, but can’t seem to shed more than a pound or two, perhaps you’re training for a new job and things simply aren’t clicking, you might have been blogging for years and a high-profile publicist has somehow failed to swoop in and make you a star, maybe every query you’ve ever sent has ended up in the slush pile or it might just be that the expensive tooth whitening system you succumbed to buying just isn’t delivering those shocking pearly whites.

 

Unfortunately, I get it. I am very familiar with the rigorous tear down of the emotional psyche. No surprise there. Why do you think it occurs to me to write posts like this?

 

So last Sunday, I watched my daughter play yet another soccer game. She’s a good little player. Usually the oldest and almost always the smallest. She’s phenomenal with ball control, but sometimes doesn’t have the physical strength to match the other players. She was on a team at 4 and 5 years old, but quit shortly after for whatever reason of the day she gave back then, probably a blister, but decided to start up again two years ago. She’s almost 14. She’s playing with girls who never quit. Girls who have been playing since they were 3, 4 and 5 years old. Needless to say, it has taken her some time to build enough confidence to do more than run the ball for more than a few feet or make a quick pass to another teammate.

 

But Sunday was a great day. The weather was invigorating—cold and crisp with the odd burst of energizing sun. We played on a beautiful landscape adjacent to the prestigious grounds of UBC. The team played particularly well and incredibly hard. We were treated to all kinds of fancy footwork and the opportunities to cheer were plentiful.

 

And cheer we did.

 

Especially when my determined little girl seized the chance to strategically chip the ball up over the goalie’s head and score for her first time on a Rep level team.

 

Everyone needs a goal. What’s yours?

Not from Sunday, but a good one, nonetheless. (Photo cred goes to Kori Balaberda)

Not from Sunday, but a good one, nonetheless. Ava is the one in all black. (Photo cred goes to Kori Balaberda)

 

 

 

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