I Chatter Over Stony Ways…I Babble on the Pebbles

I awoke this morning from a sleep so deep as to render it almost impossible to get up - but force myself to do so, I did. I figured my ‘usual’ routine would work its magic and I would awaken fully within the hour.

This did not happen.

I spent the first part of the day in a lethargic fog, trying desperately to find a bit of energy but to no avail. I suppose the endless physical activity over the last few days took it’s toll.

This is what happens as one gets older, I guess.

I expected that, after all that heavy lifting and crawling around on the floor under the (newly built!) desk, as well as more general ‘Spring Cleaning’, I’d bounce back immediately.

But, you know what?

I’m not 20.

I’m well over twice that.

Still, I’m not complaining. I’m just chronicling the adventures of a quirky kinda guy.

Anyway, I had things to do and the lethargy was holding me back.

I took a deep breath, changed my clothes, and forced myself over to the gym - I truly needed a workout. As it happened, this was, indeed, what I needed, for it rejuvenated me immediately. I think it’s all to do with oxygenating the blood, really - and I did plenty of that. By the time I’d finished, I was ready for any challenge.

It was somewhat later in the day, though and the ‘challenges’ I might face were therefore, limited.

I still managed to do a huge shop and this was a good thing because it got me out of the house.

Since Monday, I’d not been out, what with the arrival of the desk and the necessity to get everything put back in place.

It’s good to go out and explore the many twists and turns of life as we make our way along our journey; the constant flow of humanity in the streets - exhilarating, really.

We are a brook after all, aren’t we? And where do we rush off to in the end?

To join which river?

Into what sea do we finally empty?

I suppose it doesn’t really matter in the end - what remains, remains - and what doesn’t is done and gone.

Still, I like to think that some vestige of ourselves endures - even if it is the merest scintilla of what we are; the echo of a lapping wave perhaps.

“For men may come, and men may go,

But I go on forever.”

Enough of this.

As you were.

I'm Beginning to See the Light!

I think things are finally beginning to return to normal.

I just spent this entire day slowly putting things back together. Why, “back together”?

Well, you see - in order to install the new desk, I had to basically remove everything from half of the room - besides the old desk - that included a rather large filing cabinet filled with all sorts of things - besides the files. And it could not be moved without emptying it. Drat!

The process of putting everything back in place gave way to a more general Spring Cleaning (though late in the season) and before I knew it, I wasn’t even in my office anymore but, rather, the storage locker! 

That was a mistake.

It’s probably because I was so tired after the last couple of days - but I found myself on the floor of the storage locker, cleaning out the tool box, of all things. How I got to that, I can’t really say. 

Well, I could - but I’m not going into it right now. 

Suffice it to say, that I had need of something and could not find it.

The new desk is a work of art, if I do say so myself. 

It is gorgeous - and so much more practical than the other one. 

I mean, it has drawers! 

(Yes, that’s right - the old one had no drawers…)

The whole office/studio/sweatshop/workspace has really come a long way.

And though I know it won’t stay neat - I’m going to try to maintain a certain level of tidiness.

This is a great challenge for me as I am an inveterate packrat.

However! 

Never say never!

We are quite capable of surprising ourselves with our own resilient yet, malleable natures when it comes down to it.

Just keep your mind and spirit open to change - it’s that easy.

And don't forget to follow through...

From 2 Hours to 5 1/2 Hours - What!?

OMG!

Okay, I never say that - but - OMG!

I’m exhausted.

The instructions for my beautiful new desk (which is now assembled with some help) said it would take 1 hour and 59 minutes - or something stupid like that.

For curiosity’s sake - I set a timer for 2 hours. Just to see.

When the timer had ticked through its allotted time - I was nowhere near finished and I knew I had quite the little haul ahead of me.

In fact - another 3 1/2 hours!  How's that for being overly optimistic on the old instruction front!?

Geez!

I should have known it took longer than that because my partner bought the same exact desk - and I put that one together as well - and not in 2 hours.

Anyway, our super helped me lift the glass top and place it as one of the final steps.

I’m exhausted and must go.

Immediately.

Shutting Things Down!

Good Morning!

And Good-Bye!

I have a new desk arriving tomorrow and that means I have to take everything apart - the current desk and all that sits upon it.

That means, this computer - the 4 external hard drives - the turntable (attached to my iMac), the Wacom Pad, the Lyra Wireless, the Blue microphone, the printer, the VCR, the telephone - well, I think you get the picture.

I’ll be out of commission for a time.

But at least I’m here now!

I hope I can put everything back together - including the desk…

Pride Comes Before A - Blister!? Who Wants Blisters!?

Okay - sorry to disappoint - but I’m suffering here.

I know - you have no idea what I’m talking about.

And it’s strange; after all the ‘stuff’ I talked about yesterday - the diligent workouts, etc. - I had a huge setback today - due to my inability to hear/see/feel the warning signs.

I was going to the gym.

I was rushing.

I decided that because I would be going for a swim as well, I needn’t take my shoes.

Flip-flops would do.

There was to be no cardio - just good, solid, free weights before a swim.

Something unforeseen.

Others (on a Sunday!?) using the equipment I’d intended on using. (Remember, it’s a condo gym - not GoodLife, not the ‘Y’, and not Extreme Fitness - so there are limited facilities.)

I suggested to my workout partner that we spend 10 minutes on the treadmill - as it seemed they (the intruders) were nearing the end of their workouts.

I had no shoes.

I hopped on the treadmill anyway.

10 minutes later:

I limped off, feeling a slight irritation on the bottom of both feet.

Upon examination, it became evident that, on the ball of each foot, a huge blister had formed.

I was stunned.

How could this have happened in so short a time!?

Instant Karma?

It did not matter.

The damage was done.

I could barely walk.

I managed to get to the pool and have a swim - this was refreshing - but my feet didn’t have to bear weight in the water.
After the water - they did - and they hurt - dreadfully.

All this is to say, that; after all my bragging yesterday of almost becoming Mr. Goodbody (or at least, being in pursuit of that unattainable part of myself that may or may not exist…), I found myself completely hobbled by the smallest, and yet, most crippling of maladies - 2 simple blisters!

They have brought me down - on more than one level.

I’m irked.

Plans are scuppered.

I fear the dreadful return to ‘Square One’.

But that’s just paranoia.

I mustn’t allow that to occur.

I’ve already come so close to meeting the ‘Mystery Man’, that I shouldn’t allow a couple of blisters to halt the inevitable coming together of me and my ‘Super Self’.

But again - taking heed of the plight of Icarus - I’d best make sure the wings are secure before going any farther.

And definitely make sure that I learn how to walk (in sensible shoes) before I even dare attempt flight.

Blisters!?

Really!?

How ridiculous!

(OUCH!)

Looking For Mr. Goodbody - In the Mirror

I wouldn’t say that I’ve had a weight problem all my life - but the aging process has brought along a few surprises, such as a slower metabolism leading to weight gain (that and being far too sedentary). Of course, we all have an ideal of what we’d like to look like and my personal, ideal physique resides somewhere in the past - I remember a ‘me’ that was rather more lithe and this used to be my ideal.

Not any more. The idea of being ‘thin’ in a ‘stick’ sense - is not what I would, at present, aim for.

This whole thing started a few years ago. Perhaps even longer. Here, let me explain.

I’d say that during, at least, the last 20 years, I’ve yo-yoed a bit when it comes to my weight. 
I’ve never been morbidly obese but I have tipped the scales at close to 200 lbs. Still, in the 100’s but getting up there.

This has never been fun. 
Nor has it made me very happy. 
But I always managed to bring things under control with diet and a bit of exercise, but no real life style changes - that is, until a couple of years ago.

I can’t remember exactly when it was (though, you would think,  something so momentous, I should.) but it was some time before either my 54th or 55th birthday - one of the 2.

Ah-ha!
Now, I remember! 
It was before my 55th birthday because that Summer, I was going to go to my family reunion - and as a birthday gift (June 27th, if any one is interested in sending me something…) my partner was taking me to Las Vegas.

Now, after a few years of having to expand my wardrobe, as my waistline did the same, I had begun to grow rather uncomfortable at the size of my girth - not to mention the necessity of altering or buying new clothes.

And then one day, it happened. 
I just got fed up. 
I was putting on a pair of trousers, that were fairly new (I’d only worn them once or twice), only to discover that they would not close! Oh, with much effort, not to mention discomfort, I did eventually manage to do them up - but they were tight and I was irritated.

How had it happened?

I know how - it was the slow creep of neglect - and one cannot be neglectful when one is no longer 18 - things can go awry.

Well, I resolved, on the spot, that this nonsense had to be put to an end. 

A conclusion. 

A full stop at the end of a rather bloated sentence.

And that’s when I began to exercise in earnest on a daily basis. Oh, it wasn’t easy, there at the beginning. I’d spend literally hours on the treadmill without seeing the results I felt I should have had. But slowly, and over time, the weight began to disappear. The more I lost, the more enthused I became about the working out.

And I discovered something else. At least for me. The whole ‘dieting thing’ was not ever going to work - without incorporating some movement along with it. 

Surprise, surprise - who knew!? 

I mean, you read this sort of thing all the time but sometimes these things don’t mean anything until you put them into practice and discover it on your own.

Well, after a year or so, I began thinking that perhaps a bit more than the treadmill should be done and I began to tentatively use some of the machines in the gym. I also discovered the pull-up bar and became rather addicted. 

I now had a routine which I performed every day and my body began to actually change shape. I discovered that I no longer wanted to be just thin - but I wanted to be fit. Like - really fit. 

Now, I’m not talking ‘body-builder’ here - but just well- muscled and not the former sylph-like self of my youth. No, I wanted big, man muscles - but not too big.

So, I’ve worked like a demon on my body and the funny thing is - I’m still thin and fit - but not so muscly.

What’s up with that!?

Here’s the beautiful thing: 

Our superintendent used to be a trainer and I think, a very good one. He worked with the Russian Olympic Weight-Lifting Team - or something like that - I’m not really sure. Anyway, I’ve spoken to him on more than one occasion about the fact that I work so hard but don’t seem to be gaining any muscle and he’s said that he would help me, time permitting.

Well, the other day, he popped into the gym to adjust the thermostat and called me over from the treadmill I was on. He immediately set out a number of exercises for me and told me to do them every week for the next 3 weeks or so at which point, he would bestow upon me, yet more exercises. See? Didn’t I tell you this was a beautiful thing!?  And I am ever so grateful to him.

I’ve only just begun doing them but, you know? I think I can already see a slight difference. Of course, I can feel it as well.

Yes, I think I’m finally on the road to becoming, at least physically, the person I’ve now got as an ideal - Mr. Goodbody.

I’ll let you know when I finally meet him…

Forget the Dreaming - Summer's Here Now!

I know it’s deadly boring to talk about the weather - but I can’t help it. It’s simply gorgeous here for the 25th of May - and pretty much, unheard of. 

The temperature has soared to 88 degrees and with the humidex, it’s over 100 - and stickier - at least, that’s what I’ve heard - I’ve not been out.

Wait!

Did I just say, “100 degrees”? That would be unthinkable if it weren’t actually happening. 

I don’t really mind though because I prefer the heat to the dreadful grey skies and miserable cold - and I'm a skater!

Today is a record breaking and record setting day - for some reason, I find this exciting. 

Don’t ask me why, I couldn’t tell you. 

Perhaps it’s the heat…

At any rate, this seems to be the doorway into what promises to be an excellent Summer, unlike so many we’ve had in the recent past. 

I look forward (almost giddily) to enjoying this much too brief, period of time.

Before you know it - we’ll be dragging out the parkas again.

But I will not think about that today.

No, I will instead, be happy and cherish every drop of sweat that drips down my back or from my brow.

Let’s raise our daiquiris to a dandy Summer season!

Cheers!

A Great Day For a Barbacoa

It’s been quite a glorious day and Apollo has been generous by steering his steeds through a fairly cloudless sky, allowing those, like myself, who like a bit of sun now and then, to do a bit of basking in its glorious heat.

There is one eentsy little problem, however.

(Have I yet mentioned that there are always ‘heaps’ of problems to be overcome in undertaking any task?)

I’m not exactly brown ‘by design’.

No - I am quite white.

Well, no - that is not quite accurate either - for upon reading that, it brings to mind those pale, salamander-like skin tones where the little, squiggly blue veins appear all over the surface.

I am not white like that.

Perhaps I should have gone with pink.

Pink, I think, is more in keeping with my natural skin tone.

Not the pink of a dawning sky - but more the pink of a dew-dropped, blushing rose at first light; delicate and fragile in full sun.

Now, I’m not saying that I am as delicate and fragile as a flower - far from it - but the skin, you see, the skin!

I suppose using the ‘flower reference’ would lead one to believe that I’m all soft - but I’m not. Indeed - I am a man - in all respects.

But when it comes to talking about skin, I haven’t a ‘hide like leather’, befitting the stereotypical masculine side of the gender spectrum.

Unfortunately, I fall into the category of ‘delicate rose’.

And for years and years - I ignored it with catastrophic results.

Picture a lobster, all cooked up - almost glowing with that unearthly, pulsating shade of red.

Now, picture a man coming home from the beach - looking pretty much the same.

Ah-ha!

You've got it!

Pink skin does not turn brown in the sun - it turns nuclear red - like the coals in a fire pit prepared for…

Yes, that’s right.

A Barbacoa.

Today, I made my first brief appearance outside in a bathing suit - a speedo no less (Lots more area to burn!) and though the time exposed was as brief as the suit - cooking occurred!

But not dreadful, swollen, blistery cooking - just your random, everyday, overly pinkness happened - barbacoa done rare.

And thank God for that!

Honestly, I was only out for a short while, but skin which has been hidden from the light for, yea, these long (eternal it seems) Winter months, can be quite fragile. And even the slightest exposure requires a certain finesse when clocking time.

Regardless of the result, a splendid time was had - though nothing was truly BBQed.

Or barbacoa-ed.

And yes, I guess there is a difference, though the origin of our own BBQ stems from the Arawak Indian term, barbacoa. At least, in some camps it does (it’s funny, what disputes can arise from something as simple as the origin of a word. If you want to see this in action - look up barbacoa in Wikipedia.).

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbacoa

Did you know that the original BBQ would have been a ‘pit’ in which the meat was cooked and not necessarily a spit above ground on which the meat was cooked?

Fascinating…

Well, I joke - but it is.

Fascinating, that is - sort of - if you’re at all geeky…

And that is where I think I should bring this sad tale to a close - a pink geek in a speedo slowly roasting under the noonday sun.

And the result?

Not quite a ‘Mad Dog or an Englishman’.

But somewhere in between - turning, turning, turning…

Where Have All the Hours Gone? Long Time Passin'...

Oh! To have more time! But I haven’t - and short comes in various sizes. Tonight’s ‘short’ is of the briefest kind.

I’d considered a topic earlier in the day but, even then, I didn’t have time to put it down on - well - this thing that isn’t paper. What is it? It certainly isn’t paper - and as far as I can tell, you don’t write it ‘down’, for that assumes a flat surface with a writing implement positioned above, ready to let gravity do the work between pen and page. No, this is something perpendicular and not at all foldable - as a letter might be.

Anyway - there had been a topic but it is gone now and even if I could draw it back - there is no time!

What I can leave here is the knowledge that this has been a day well spent. You may be curious as to its content, and though I hate to disappoint, its contents shall remain unknown - there is no time!

Suffice it to say that workouts were had, laps were done, galleries were visited, birthdays were celebrated, and dining occurred - all in the course of one day.

A remarkable day, really. Oh, yes! And there was sun.

This is where I think the hours went.

I know.

This is dull.

BUT!

Once again, I’ve fulfilled the promise to myself to write every day - even if the product is drivel.

Let’s just remember - on some days you’re going to do better than on others.

Good Night.

"E La Nave Va"

Though my Italian should be faultless by now, it is as full of holes as a wheel of Swiss cheese - and of course, my memory is the same. Both of these things come into play in the title of this particular piece of (very brief) writing, for I never write in Italian and I’m not sure if I’ve ‘stolen’ the title accurately - seeing how it comes from a Fellini film - in fact, it might have been his last - and I adored it (the critics, I think, less so).

But really, it’s not of a ship I speak, nor a Fellini film or anything to do with the Italian language really, but rather, the passing of an opportunity to view ‘the royals’ - which I/we did not do though the door was opened for it.

It’s funny how I envision this entire visit of Prince Charles and Camilla in the terms of a Fellini film, in which are depicted, characters from a previous order/era/or epoch, if you will, sailing into oblivion, for their efforts to connect seem quaint, and outdated; living vestiges of an age that has passed its relevance - particularly when considered next to his son, the future king. It’s sad, really.

And yet, like in the film, there is something heartbreakingly, attractive about the fading glamour of the passengers and all that which they represent - a world on the verge of disappearing forever, never to be seen again. And that too is quite sad.

Still, the world revolves, and ever spirals onwards, repeating a course without the exact duplication of each unique revolution - and thus, humanity evolves - and old orders are lost as new configurations of power and prestige manifest themselves - - though capitalism always seems to keep its ship upright…

I suppose the least one can do is crack open a bottle of champagne (better that, than to crack it against a ship’s prow) and toast whatever the future holds in store for us.

(And another addition to the 'blog-promise', fulfilled.  Phew!)

Would Queen Victoria Have Worn a Leotard?

We’re scraping the proverbial bottom again but it is a momentarily, mildly interesting thing to contemplate - but not envision. The idea that Queen Victoria might have, in reality, donned a leotard is quite out of the question.

We consider the very idea of things ‘born’ in the Victorian era to be prudish, uptight, buttoned to the neck, etc. - and there may be reason for that. Monarchs have always been given, by the media, a discreet curtain of silence, which could be drawn over their indiscretions - and it would appear that Victoria was no different.

In fact, it is my theory that in order to make sure that such indiscretions did not make the dailies, an impenetrable cone of silence was put in place - and the fallout from this had repercussions throughout society at large; the fact that the Queen might be having the odd dalliance could not be known and thus, as a result, the entire zeitgeist of the time began to reflect a more ‘closed’ world in which ‘vice’, however defined, must be tamped down.

Whenever a society tries to lay a conservative blanket of suppressive thinking over the body of humanity, they are bound to find a lot of illicit activity going on under the covers - we are animals, after all.

Which brings me to my point (I had a point!?):

It’s funny to think that in the midst of all this moral, sexual suppression, a Frenchman by the name of Jules Leotard should have begun to appear, in public, in what must have been, for the times, the skimpiest, and tightest of costumes.

Jules Leotard, originator of the eponymously named garment, was not only the ‘father’ of that close fitting, stretchy little number worn by dancers and acrobats alike - but the father/inventor of the flying trapeze act. He was also memorialized in song - I’m sure you’ve heard, ‘The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze’, haven’t you?

What I find amazing is that amidst all the suppression of the Victorian Era, there should have been such displays of the human figure - in public.

I know it doesn’t seem like much today - a leotard, a pair of tights - but think about it - there was but the thinnest veil of fabric covering the rawest of rippling, muscled flesh while an entire population went around, daily, covered from head to heel- does that sound ‘prudish’ to you? It sounds like the suppression of basic human characteristics to me - all that wrapping up (while observing the more or less, unclad.).

I guess what it all amounts to is that there were double standards - say one thing and dress accordingly but, behave in a completely different way. And Victoria did - if one is to believe all that has come to be revealed over the years.

But Monarchs shape their times - and no matter what hijinks or high spirits might have been about during her reign, her age will always be known as one which was repressed - and rehabilitation of that image of her epoch is virtually impossible, once committed to history.

And so I suggest that we all squeeze into a leotard and prance about in honour of this Victoria Day weekend - but only if said garment is buried beneath a royally respective number of outer clothes - top hats are optional…

So Late - But Still In Time

It has been a very busy day for a Sunday.

Not only did I do a bit of the regular stuff (laundry), etc, but I went to the gym for a great workout and followed that with a swim in our pool which has been newly converted from chlorine to salt water - fabulous!

Though I’ve thought of going to the pool before this, in the 4 years since we’ve lived here, I’ve never been - till now. 

And the only reason I went today is because I have a friend in the building (with whom I workout, make treks to Canadian Tire, go to Staples, basically run errands, etc.) who has been talking about how nice the pool is since they switched it over. 

Well, today I finally agreed to go - after our trip to the gym and - I could have kicked myself for not taking advantage of the pool before this. 

It’s such a beautiful facility that it’s hard for me to imagine it sitting there for the past 4 years without a single visit from me.

When I first moved to Toronto, it was as a result of the need to fulfil the requirements of my landed immigrant status; my partner, who by birth is Canadian, remained in the United States. 

Though we’d planned on coming to Canada together, circumstances prevented this and I ended up moving here by myself -a very strange situation - considering, I was an American having to live in Canada and my partner was a Canadian having to live in the US, by dint of his job - isn’t that strange?

Many years before, my partner had lived in an apartment building at Bay and Charles and we found a small studio that was perfect for me in order to maintain my landed immigrant status.

But it was lonely.

I knew no one in Canada.

But worse, I know no one in Toronto.

This meant there were endless days, nights, weeks, months - spent on my own, trying to fill my days with ‘life’.

Because of the strange nature of our situation, I could not work and found myself travelling back and forth to Washington DC, every few months for extended periods of time - always mindful of the necessity to spent approximately 180 days of each year in Canada.

There were times when things seemed quite miserable - and other times of great joy - like I said - that’s life.

But there was a pool in our building and though I knew of its existence, I had never actually been. Until one very, dark, Winter day, when I thought, I couldn't continue on this way much longer.

I thought, ‘I need a break’ and pulled out a bathing suit and went to the pool.

Well, who knew!?

It was a revelation - though it shouldn’t have been - I’m a Cancer - a ‘Water Sign’ - and though I may not subscribe to ‘all that’, I definitely have an affinity for the water and why I wouldn’t have been taking advantage of it before that time, I don’t know.

Perhaps it’s one of those things where, the simplest solution lies directly in front of us but we are too preoccupied with trying to find it to be able to see what’s directly in front of us. That pool was exactly like that.

I cannot explain it any better than to say immersing myself in the water was completely restorative and once I’d re-babtised myself in its healing powers, I was restored, rejuvenated and wholly reinvigorated. I thought to myself, ‘how could I not always be aware of the restorative power of the water on me?’ - but I don’t remember - obviously.

Otherwise, I would not have had to relearn the exact same experience once again, today. For, immersing myself in the water was truly restorative - and as I said before - ‘how could I have not known or forgotten something that is so clearly good for me!?

Well - is all I can say is - I’ll try not to do it again.

I’m planning another trip to the gym tomorrow as well as a dip - and the same thing for the rest of the week.

Let’s hope I continue to remember how good it is for me…

Well Hello, Victoria!

Well, I don’t think there could be a finer start to this, The Summer of 2012, than that which we are having now - the weather is gorgeous. We’ve been given ample sunshine and temperatures that would indicate a fine Summer ahead - if you are optimistic - and I am - particularly today.

It is a holiday weekend as well - at least, here in Canada. This is the weekend on which the Queen’s birthday is celebrated and began as such following the birth of Queen Victoria. At some point in time, it was made to honour the birthday of all reigning sovereign’s.

Before coming to Canada, I don’t remember being aware of it at all. Victoria Day, that is - but then, why should I have? Americans are not known for knowing much about the celebratory customs of other nations - or much of anything else foreign, for that matter. And though Canada is ‘right next door’, you’d be hard-pressed to find many Yanks that know much about it.

This is also considered the ‘unofficial’ start of Summer - and that suits me just fine - as long as the weather continues along the same course it’s taking now - and as I say, we’re off to a very, very promising start.

So, here’s to you, Victoria - keep up the good work!

Hydraulics-A-Go-Go!

Have you ever had that sinking feeling?

The feeling that the floor is dropping out from under you?

Or perhaps that the ground beneath you is shifting and that you are being subsumed by something beyond your control?

Or perhaps, simply, that you weren’t in control?

I have been experiencing all of this - yes, all of this - over the course of the last couple of years - and it could have been avoided.

You see -

I

have

a

defective

chair.

There!

I’ve said it!

I’ve not wanted to admit it but - I bought a desk chair about 5 (could be 7) years ago and the hydraulic lift never really worked properly.

Well - it worked well enough until - the warranty ran out.

And then, as if it actually understood expiry dates - at a certain point after outliving its warranty, it began to lose its ability to lift; the only function it had, it lost.

I continued to pretend that it was not that much of a problem - but in reality, the necessity of constant interaction with the chair made the fact of its disfunction even more acute.

In other words - having to constantly raise the seat was driving me insane!

Now - I ‘subscribe’ to many catalogues and various publications online from which I receive updates, etc - and among these various ‘publications’ (advertisement circulars, really) is one, Staples!

And so! I received 2 notifications of a sale; one, in the form of a flyer, and the other, in the form of an email. They both talked about the ‘great chair sale’!

I needed a new chair.

There was a sale.

I thought I should participate.

I did.

I enlisted my neighbour to help me with my task - but he has an aversion to walking and thought he agreed to help in the end, it meant a car ride to a much more distant store - to another town more or less.

But!

I bought the chair (along with some coffee) and it’s being delivered this week.

As I write this, I am constantly sinking and having to raise the seat of the malfunctioning chair I bought - Yea, those many years ago.

I am waiting with baited breath for this beautiful new chair to arrive on Wednesday. Until then - I hope to God I can bear one more minute with this insanity(well, it’s been a few years already - what’s a few more days…….?)

Grrr! Argh!

The Long and Winding - Rabbit Hole

Okay, I admit it - sometimes, when time is actually on our side, we use it in the pursuit of - well - nothing.

Take today, for example. I started off well enough being quite busy and came out of the morning onto the other side of noon, then ran a couple of errands and still found myself with ‘extra’ time.

Now, I had made a list this morning of things I wanted to get done, but like the grasshopper who sees the long stretch of Summer ahead, I figured I could slow down a little, perhaps do a little Facebooking, etc, and still have time to complete the list.

I forgot about the Rabbit Hole effect. Or maybe I just ignored it. In any case, one bit of searching lead to another and before you could say Mad as a March Hare, the afternoon had disappeared and it appeared that some things on the list were going to have to wait until tomorrow.

This is a poor use of time - especially when I should be writing. But then again, sometimes we need ‘other stuff’ to make things flow. Still, an hour lost cannot be regained.

And that’s why I’m stopping here and going off to the piano - I need to get some practice in.

I’ll just take a quick look at my email and see if there’s anything ‘urgent’ that needs tending to…

Promises Kept, Decisions Altered - Unconsciously

Well, this is an interesting turn of events. It occurred to me today that in the mindful process of making sure I wrote here every day - I began to write about the process itself - in other words - reporting on my own progress - this, as many might call it, is considered journalling - and they would be right.

But that’s not what I set out to do - and even made a point (at some previous point) of indicating this would not be just a journal.

Ah, how malleable is our journey when there is no fixed destination aforehand - had I bothered to create a ‘purpose’ for this blog, its scope and focus would be more easily managed - as it is, the loose notion of using it as an outlet for whatever bit of creative writing might emerge from the tumult of voices in my head has resulted in it becoming exactly what I’d not wanted - a journal - and a public one at that.

There are worse things in the world.

On the one hand - I keep my promise to write. 

Daily.

On the other - the effort to create a concise bit of fiction, brief though it may be, has proved a greater challenge than anticipated.  And the writing itself? 

Reduced to stream of consciousness, fly by the seat of your pants, journal entries with little forethought as to subject or content - mere clouds traversing a mental sky so well lit as to render all that occurs behind its reflective scrim to go unseen and thus, un-noted. 

Unfortunately, that is where the stories lie - behind the veil - and to access them, one must free the mind just enough to rise up beyond the gravity and boundaries that pull us back into the mundane - but not so high as to melt the wax of the wings that carry us up - we are all, descendants of Icarus, but as descendants, we needn’t fall if we are careful and do not let ourselves be distracted by that reflected light - we must see beyond that gauze and, with purpose, record what we have seen there.

Nothing more.

If it takes journalling to get me there - if this is what is necessary/required for me to write - then let this be my path from whence I shall take flight.

I shall embrace it.

So be it.

What a Difference a Day Makes

I have some friends who are members of Costco. I wouldn’t call them fanatics but they certainly do like the store. I used to think these ‘warehouse club’ things were pretty lame - but that never stopped me from requesting, on occasion, if I might be allowed to go along with them.

Not having a membership myself, I would hand over the few items I’d picked up and pay for them later - in cash. These places only take cash or American Express. I don’t get that. And of course, my friends only take cash as well.

Anyway, as I was saying - I used to think these warehouses were soul-destroying dens of consumption - consumption done on a level unheard of when I was growing up. 

I mean, who needs to buy 20 boxes of kleenex at a time? And once you do (along with the other ginormous boxes) where, oh where, do you store them all!? 

Living in a condo, space is an issue - we don’t have a giant shed in the backyard - or a 3 car garage to stuff all the loot in.

But that’s getting off the topic again - the thing is - I could never really see myself shopping at one of these places like Costco for instance because I don’t buy in bulk. Having lived in NYC for a great number of years, I am quite used to shopping daily and therefore have no need to ‘stock up’ on many things.

However, a problem arose when I became addicted to pistachios. I don’t recall exactly when this addiction began but it was at least 3 years ago or so - and now, there is a monster (or perhaps, a squirrel) inside of me that cannot be sated when it comes to that particular nut.

But there are complications of a sort.

As far as addictions go, this is one I’m willing - no - eager to feed and so I haven’t many qualms about purchasing bags full of these little delights - but there is one niggling thing that has grown pronounced over the last little while - the price. 

It seems to have sky-rocketed - and now, even a small bag of the little charmers costs about $6.00! And in my case, a small bag doesn’t go very far. How could the price of a nut be so high? It’s ridiculous!

And this is what leads me to Costco. On one of my few visits to Costco with my friends, I spotted a bag of pistachios whose size was so large as to astound - a bag that size would never be found in any of my local grocery stores, and if, by some miracle, one that big should appear, believe me it would cost a small fortune. 

But there, at the wonderful Costco, it was $15! 

That’s right - Fifteen Dollars!

Well, I almost swooned with delight - and picked up 3 of them.

Now, before I go any further, I should mention that I don’t just eat them by the dozen, but I also bake with them - they are a key ingredient in my Pistachio & Cranberry Biscotti - and I bake a lot of these. 

I mean - a lot. 

Regularly. 

This justifies the need to always have them at hand…

The problem I have now is that I cannot rely on ‘The Kindness of Strangers’ to be ever at the ready to take me to Costco when the need arises. And so, I suddenly found myself contemplating the idea of getting my own membership (how novel)! 

I never thought such a day would come - but there you are.

Not only do they have huge bags of pistachios but boxes of chocolate bars that are also quite reasonably priced - and they don’t take up a lot of space (like the kleenex would).

There are lots of other lovely things at the magnificent Costco as well - but I will not go into detail about them - for now…

Anyway, I was getting ready to go to the delightful Costco all by myself and get my membership card when I received a phone call from my original Costco connection. During the conversation I mentioned that I would be getting my own card (sniff) and would not be relying on them to buy things for me anymore.

This news was met with what I could only consider insouciance, and I was shocked to think that my new found independent buying power meant so very little - for, to me, it was huge news! 

I was going to become a member of that grand and noble club named Costco! 

How could this not matter to everyone, I ask you!? 
And what was I met with?  Indifference.  Complete indifference.

Jaded. 

Everyone is so very jaded.

As it turned out, they were planning a trip to Costco the following day and wanted to know if I might want to go along… 

Well, of course, I said yes!

But this time - I’ll be buying things with my own card...

Rosin up your - slippers! For We Are at Sixes & Sevens!

I have been debating, virtually all day, about attending my ballet class this evening. It shouldn’t be like this, but it is.

Here’s the thing - The Easter weekend meant that I had no class on the Monday following that holiday and it is up to each student to find and do a make-up class during the current session. This is not always an easy thing to do, given that many of the classes are either too advanced or too basic - those, ala Goldilocks, that are “Just right!”, are few, and for me - at inconvenient times.

Last Monday, we were in NYC and so another class was missed and will need to be made-up as well. If my calculations are correct - that amounts to 2. Therefore, I must find 2 make-up classes at the appropriate level before the end of the session.

Which leads me to the dilemma I face today - if I don’t go to this class, I will be forced to try and find, not 2 but 3 make-up classes - that’s quite a task.

Perhaps I should have mentioned that the only reason I’m even considering missing this evening’s class is because I woke up before 5:00am this morning, coughing endlessly and was unable to go back to sleep. Needless to say, this has left the ‘reservoir’ of energy depleted - so much so as to be able to see the bottom - and it’s not pretty.

How can I possibly get through a rather rigorous ballet class when I’ve no energy and I’m still suffering the effects of this blasted cold!? Any sane person would just say, “Don’t go!” - but then, you’d have to be sane - and somehow that is not an attribute that jumps readily to mind when I think about my varied array of attributes.

Pity.

I could use a bit of sanity just now.

You see, the tolling of the hour is quickly bearing down on me and this is causing a certain amount of anxiety, bordering on panic, to occur. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I tend to put myself in these extreme positions before a decision is ever made. 

This would all be over if I just decided.

But I’d probably be kicked out of the official ‘Procrastinator's Club’ should I ever make up my mind to do something in less than, at least, 1/2 a day.

Well, I think I may be announcing a winner any moment - a coughing fit, having just ensued (and continues) seems to be swaying the balance.

Yes, yes!

A decision is imminent!

Though it’s difficult to schedule make-up classes, it is better to go that route than to cough and hack my way through a class from which I will probably get no benefit. I would not be able to give it my all - and what’s the point if you cannot give 100%, I ask you!? Not to mention the irritation of the other students who may believe, though unnecessarily, that I may still be contagious and should have stayed home.

We are at sixes and sevens no more!

I’ll begin checking the calendar for possible make-up dates.

Oh! And I forgot to mention - contributing to my fatigue is the fact that, though I probably shouldn’t have, I went to the gym today as well.

And there you have it!