I adopt a new mantra

30 days hath September.....
so where the hell have they gone?

I can easily account for all the months leading up to September:

January:  Emily and Morgan were the proud parents of Robyn.  The birth is a warm and deeply emotional family occasion.

February: We had beautiful handmade sparkly Valentines from the kids all over the front of the fridge; everyone noticed that Robyn looks so much like Morgan that it's giggle-making; Emily had a significant birthday

March:  We got locked in to our flight dates for our trip to France; got pretty scared about that; Sarah, Bruce and the Roses went to Disney World; Chris moved to Barrie

April:  Sarah had a significant birthday; we packed for France; i painted my toe nails silver

May:  France, Jersey, England, Wales, France again---heaven!

June:  I had an insignificant birthday; we bored everyone we knew with photos and stories of our holiday; I bought books and books and a bathing suit; Emily and I went to the Fringe Festival

July:  Dave had an insignificant birthday; so did Canada, although the fireworks were good; we went to a great family wedding, saw our Phoebe and Chris for a bit and I actually wore the bathing suit

August:  BarBQs, mini-vacation, incredible heat; I made inroads on my pile of books; made no inroads on my pile of fat; bathing suit visited Sue and Dennis's saltwater pool

Then suddenly, the black gap in my brain that was September....briefly lit by the joy of Julia's family birthday dinner when she turned 8.

October:  bring it on!
 




September

It's coming up...

Lorna's Land of Wonder seems like a lonely place tonight.  It is bereft of creative ideas and conglomerous lists and mindless rants.  It is a blah stretch of vanilla road leading to nowhere.

I think the vapidity of The Land has something to do with Autumn.  Many people choose Autumn as their favourite season, which is understandable if you like crisp, bracing weather and heartbreakingly beautiful maple-tree-related vistas or if you dream in terms of turkey.  I, on the other hand, spend much of the Summer season dreading Autumn and all of the Winter season berating myself for being so sucky as to moan about the relatively bearable downside of Autumn.

Nonetheless, I have been known to overturn, if only momentarily, my ingrained dislike of Autumn.  Once, I saw a movie I liked in October.  Another time, late in September, I tried caramel mocha fudge ice cream and found it tolerable.  On yet another occasion, the sight of my grandchildren in their adorable, yet sturdy, Hallowe'en costumes almost made me grin.

Oh, beware the ides of October!

The Downfall of Organization

Is Sunday a day of retrospection chez vous?

It used to be the case for me after freeing up my Saturdays from preparation for the Sacrament of Confession.

As things wound down after dinner, I'd have some time to look ahead and see what was coming up in the week, as well as to look back at what had gone on and how it met or didn't meet my expectations.  For the most part, it was a satisfying exercise, but now that all my kids are on their own and we're semi-retired, it hasn't been seeming so urgent.

I had always adopted the new technology as it came along when I was working, and depended on my PDA to help my memory sort things out, but somewhere along the line, the PDA downgraded to Google Calendar, which works, but doesn't seem as compelling to me as my own chiming, ringing, buzzing, vibrating Blackberry (with games).

I was horrified tonight to come home from dinner with my family and find a bunch of sticky notes and memo pad paper lined up next to my laptop.  Now, there's artistic license for you---"lined up" doesn't really convey paperclips, rejected jewellery, Nintendo stylus, folded and folded and stuck-together paper product scattered on top of the pristine, never-even-cracked-open notebook I bought at Chapters so I could stay on top of things.

Organizational procedures and management were never difficult for me.  I dealt with a piece of paper or an e-mail once and moved it on to the next action or junked it.  I kept track of my messages and wrote on the back of them the date and time I'd returned the call.  I never left e-mails in my in-box or messages on my phone.

Those days are gone.  Retrospection today tells me that it wouldn't have hurt me, when I stopped working, to just get rid of my uptight work-costumes while keeping the handy gadgets and possibly obsessive habits.  Deep retrospection reminds me that I'd have to confess to a whole lot of creative blasphemy now that I've noticed how slack I've become (if I were ever to recontemplate the Sacrament of Confession).   Deeper retrospection digs up a foggy memory of a beautiful rosy leather appointment and address book my folks gave me for one of my birthdays, which might just stand me in good stead now.

Preception tells me I'll have forgotten the angst by tomorrow morning.

Shhhhhhhhh!

I have a tremendous and shameful secret.  At least twice a month I buy beads, chains, jewellery findings and myriad shiny things which I put in a box which I otherwise haven't touched in two years.  Around the time I noticed that I was uncrocheting more work than I was crocheting, I realized that I was also not too handy with the various tools I had acquired  for making earrings, necklaces and bracelets which I didn't need.

One would think that this was the perfect solution:  unable to make jewellery? Whee!!! therefore, unobliged to buy jewellery-making supplies.  I missed that one by a country mile.

I'm really good at reading (and buying books).  I make interesting experiments with make-up (that I buy so that I can pile up Shoppers Drug Mart points).  I drink wine very well (even though I'm compelled, by reason of being the only person in my home to drink wine, to buy it in a box).

All of these things require the outlay of money which today I used to buy blue Swarovski crystals, 4 feet of chain, a white-metal elephant-and-baby pendant, two 3-inch wide silver=plated dragonflies, a black chiffon ribbon suitable for hanging pendants from, a turquoise pendant, a silver starfish pendant and a string of intriguing glass beads.

Will I go on reading, learning new eyeshadow techniques and drinking wine?  Yes.  Will I make bracelets and necklaces?  Not so much probably.

Will I feel guilty while simultaneously continuing to be irresponsible, craven and consumer-driven?  No doubt. And I'll do it with fine dark chocolate, and maybe some really good licorice allsorts.  I may be craven, but I'm consistent.

I'm blaming it on my pillow

I'm wondering if it's true that some people can get by on 4 hours' sleep.  I almost always wake up after 4 hours, let my brain churn up all the things it wants examined, get up if I can't get back to sleep and unless I actually put my mind to "napping", I'm up for the day.

I'm not sure why, but napping has always been anathema for me.  It seems wrong to be sleeping when you could be reading or cooking or walking.  I know that a lot of people use napping as a way to recharge.  I just don't seem to need the recharging.

Is that because I've got a lot of seemingly unnecessary energy, or because I'm not active enough, or is it because I am blessed/cursed with what my Catholic parents called The Protestant Work Ethic?

I think I'm doomed---too awake to sleep, too guilty to enjoy being shiny, too conforming to just accept myself.

Still, I've got a couple of hours to crochet a hair shirt.
 

Making Do, yet perversely enjoying it

Dave has agreed to our having HBO---I have to pay for it, but we'll have it.  If I can ever get through to Rogers.

In the meantime, I'm watching Chuck.

Starz

I don't know if I ever explained the photo above.  Actually I don't know if it's explicable.  Maybe it's just a cryptic key to The Family.

Front and left is my brother Pat, with a smile that hides his inner evil; sort of next to him is Chris in green glasses and (gasp!) no ball cap, with Emma on his shoulders; back row, yellow glasses and gray hair blending into the wall hanging is me and beside me Sarah---smiling as though she really likes us.  In front of me is Bruce with Julia in her matching glasses and unmatching pout; then Robyn and Emily, both of whom look remarkably tattooless, although only one of them actually is.  Dave, entirely comfortable with his feminine side, looks like a calm Buddha.

It was one of those family-centred days:  Our son Chris was moving to another city, so we got together as many of the family members as possible and had dinner together.  That's what we do: eat.  Then sometimes, we take pictures of each other, even when one of us, Morgan-who's-married-to Emily to be precise, is not with us.

I can't remember how or why we got the sunglasses, but we wore them for hours---at least some of us did, and as we grew sillier and and some of us more inebriated, we thought a family collage would be the perfect going-away photo for Chris.  Dave posed us on the couch, set up the timer, zipped back into his place and voilà.

I was right---this is the perfect going-away photo for Chris.  Unfortunately, I never printed it, and Chris is the last computer hold-out I know, so he's never seen it.

Maybe that's kindest.

What goes around, comes around and smacks you silly

I used to be a theatre-junkie.  I read plays, watched plays, cried and laughed at plays, volunteered at theatres and worked on theatre boards of directors for upwards of 25 years of my life.  Shit happened, as it does in everyone's life, and I took a break from theatre rather than get arrested for pursuing people with planks.

I missed it, but pride is a hard master, and I didn't get back to theatre-going-and-living.   Emily and I both love dance, so we took to subscribing to the Dance Program at the National Arts Centre, and watching reality dance programming on TV. 

And every once in a while, I'd sneak in to something theatre-related but obscure, or spend big bucks on NAC theatre tickets to things like Wicked.  Once Facebook got big, I started to see theatre friends putting their faces, and their wit, out there, and I got some vicarious pleasure from that.

Volunteerism doesn't just go out of your soul, even if you've become disenchanted with a particular sector, so I pimped my board skills to other groups, and life went on.

Tonight though, Dave and I went to see a play written by a friend of ours, who happens to be both a clever writer and a wonderful person.  We'd seen the play in the late 90s, and in fact, seen all of his work, and were looking forward to participating in the process of having the playwright open the top of his head, and let you spy on his every thought and its ramifications.  As we expected, we laughed, we cringed, we (I) came close to tears; we were delighted and amused. 

When we came home though, I felt a sharp stab of loneliness and regret that I'd voluntarily (and huffily) moved away from something that gave me such pleasure.  I don't know what I'm going to do about that.

In Which I Make a Confession

A couple of weeks ago, I was in Chapters, just by chance, and noticed they were having a Buy 3, Get the 4th Free sale on books.  Luckily, I wasn't busy that day, and I took advantage of Chapters to get 5 free books.  Guess I showed them!

Ever since Prince Phillip actually spoke to me on the Royal Tour of 19xx, I've been a closet royalist, so it wasn't too surprising that among my pile of books was the 6 lb biography of the Queen Mother Elizabeth.  I had been sneaking peaks at it for a couple of weeks, but been reluctant to invest in so much book on so iffy a subject.

Because it's such a heavy tome, I only read it in the living room, if the light is right, so I didn't feel like I'd really made a commitment.   Still, something kept drawing me back, so I made myself a coffee this morning and settled in to think about what I was finding so compelling.

Someone, a Royal Archivist I suppose, keeps every piece of paper ever written by the royals---and that glimpse of intimacy, that vicarious look at what should never have been shared with the world, has been fascinating me.  I can't feel proud of that, but I'm kind of glad nonetheless to have seen the warmth and ordinariness of the notes between the QM and her husband, family and friends.

It isn't really much different from what transpires between people on a daily basis, but it is all written down...archived...available to the world.  And it sort of topsy-turvies the impression of power that goes with royalty---how much more vulnerable could you be than to have public the notes you wrote your daughters on their impending marriages, or the ones to your husband about missing him?

I'm not recommending the book---I'm not recommending the adulation of royalty, but I will finish reading it even while I feel the unfairness of the exposure.

And it doesn't hurt that my upper arms are getting a workout.

Spinemma

This clip was taken the other day at the hill next to our building.  Emma is rolling down toward the kayak run.  I think there's a possibility that David's part in this filming constitutes a breach of grandfatherliness. I knew I was in trouble when I couldn't stop laughing.

Strange Things I Am

Saturday morning at 3:17 a.m.

• I am at the kitchen counter in the dark, as Emily and Robyn are sleeping about 6 feet away.  Actually, since I am on the other side of the counter from the kitchen, I should call it the office counter.
• I am drinking ginger ale and have removed all my bracelets so I can use the keyboard without undue clanking. 
• I am in shock because I can't hear myself even though I'm moving.
• I am wondering why ginger ale seemed such a good idea 10 minutes ago.
• I have finished the books in The Hunger Games series, and am still reluctant not to be in that world, as bleak as it was.
• I am wondering why I feel I have to explain why I'm reading copious amounts of books from the Adolescent section of my various bookstores. (Some of today's best writing and best stories are being written for the 12 to 18 range, which is great for them, but a shame for the rest of us, and I feel silly having to put my reading material in plain brown wrappers).
• I am contemplating giving up crochet forever versus giving in to the fact that my hands do shake a bit, and that speed is not necessarily  a virtue in the making of an afghan that a sweet girl especially asked for.
• I am re-evaluating the wisdom of my long-held practice of getting up if I find myself awake for more than half an hour during the night.
• I am wondering why my hair and my nails grow so fast, when I appear to be shrinking.  I am also wondering where that errant thought came from.
• I am thinking it's been too long since the last time the Cunningham brothers and sisters got together, but realistically accepting that people who live thousands of miles from each other might encounter that feeling from time to time.
• I am resisting the urge to go and get all my photo albums out so that I can see how cute we were as kids.
• I am wondering how long I should wait before I declare it "morning" and make myself a coffee.
• I am hoping that photo up there made you smile---it's captioned, for reasons I now forget, but which seem reasonable, Sadness on a stick.

A bit listless

I could never be accused of being list-less, but I'm coming close.
Here's a list of things I've been doing lately instead of writing or reading posts:

• reading prodigious amounts of written-for-adolescents fiction---great stuff
• holding lovely and precious sleepovers for both Emma and Julia---which, as usual means visits to the chinese stores in the Byward Market which means exotic pyjamas, parasols, fans, buddhas and lions for all
• spending a couple of days in bed with vague discomfort in every limb, muscle and whatever else there is in this body---Dave wasn't  home and I had to get my own chicken soup, so I cheated and got hot chocolate instead
• crocheting, ripping out, crocheting, ripping out, crocheting a soft throw for Emma in rainbow colours
• walking in the Capital Pride Parade on one of the hottest days of the year, but being too far from the Pride Firetruck to get the benefit of the occasional dousings others profited from
• family, family, family, she said with more delight than not
• going to the 42nd wedding anniversary of people I introduced to each other, who seem to think I've been successful at matchmaking
• getting a cycyling lesson from Emily down in the parking garage---it was both scary and giggle-making---I haven't been back on my bike since my second knee-ruiner last year.
• mismanaging my volunteer work; I volunteer for PFLAG Canada and they entrusted me with 3 kinds of task: committee work, which I've been great at; board work, which I'm competent at, and liaison work with the various chapters in my region, at which I've failed miserably.  I also seem to have taken on a ditzy streak: losing mail, phone numbers, track of time, missing planned teleconferences.  Yikes!
• wasting 2 two-hour boring and mindless sessions building my blogroll which you may notice only has 5 of the 40 or so names I thought I'd added
• eating Ontario peaches and pears in great and wonderfully tasty numbers(it's annoying though:  you can buy Ontario fruit in containers, but if you want to buy two or three pieces, and you're not at a Farmers' Market, you get product of USA...why?)
• fighting not to turn on the TV at noon when Da Vinci's Inquest is running---such a gritty Canadian show---but I don't want to get caught up in daytime tv
• not drinking wine because I'm taking an antibiotic (insert sad face)
• doing research so I can convince Dave we need new dishes...it's going to  be so hard because we really don't.  The ones we have used to be black and shiny and now they're blackish and dull but they still hold food.  I want to go back to glass dishes like we used to have before we moved out of our house and I'd rather do it by not having to make the shelves fall out of the cupboards with all those pitted black dishes on them
• eating zucchini bread made by Dave from Sarah and Bruce's zucchini...eating it warm with butter
• giving myself manicures which barely last over night, then spending hours checking out the various places I could walk to and have the process done for a mere $55
• giving up, then going back to, coffee
• walking, walking, walking with no visible reward...I'm going to see if there's a Nordic Walking Club here---maybe Dave and I could go
• being defeated day after day by a fly who only comes out of wherever his lair is when I'm alone in the house...Dave usually catches them in a glass and puts them outside...I broke a glass trying that yesterday
• reading mail that the couple who bought our house 4 years ago have been saving for us---there was only one cheque in the bagful
• cutting my own hair
• trying to persuade Emily to cut hers...I'm not really trying to make her do something, just to think of the various possibilities and in case we have to get into misery-loves-company mode
• giving myself a weekend free (well, almost free) of e-mail, blogging and facebooking...and discovering that it made me a bit jumpy

There!  what is the opposite of listless?  listmore? listfull? I'm it.