Leaf

I told you so.

Wait, did I ?  I don’t remember. And quite frankly, it doesn’t matter.  I’ve never been an “I told you so” kind of girl.  Especially if I didn’t tell you in the first place.

This year, at the beginning of the year, I knew things would be different.  Admittedly, I wanted them to be different.  I knew it was possible.  So I decided to make changes.  A little less conversation, a little more action.  Okay, there is still a lot of conversation and inner dialogue – this is me, after all.  But there was going to be more action.  

I love how change doesn’t affect you all at once.  Well, in this case it doesn’t anyway.  But I look back, and I see an entirely different me than who I was in January.  Some things the same, some things different, all things me.

No place like home

I had some free time.  Well, it was designated time, but in extenuating circumstances, it can be re-designated.  I make my own rules which means I can break them too.  So whilst the mission was too find lunch, the mission was also to feed my soul. And to me, that usually involves feeding my soles.

It was an honest adventure.  A short perusing – a simple survey of the landscape.  Before I knew it, I was holding in my hands the very pair of red shoes I had looked at 4 months ago, and 2 months ago, and 1 month ago, and 3 weeks ago.  Now they were marked 40% off.  I picked up the right shoe and clutched it tightly as I waited for the assistance of one of my favourite shoe salesmen in the city.

He had cut his hair since I was in last, and today he had on a great pair of square toed tan boots.  He looked cleaner and more put together than the last time I saw him. The last time I saw him, he helped my blue suede boots look cleaner and more put together – he helped me with cleaning tips.  They’re a new pair of boots now.
After what seemed like an eternity, I finally had the left shoe in my hand.  The second I put them on I knew, there was no place like home.  And a home is what I could provide them with.

I checked the time and realized I had 10 minutes to get to work.  Shoes in hand, I scrambled up the street.  Lunch? Who needs it?  

Humorous Humerous

It was one of those rare moments in life where the world is suddenly in slow motion. My perspective flipped to an image of myself. Both skis were on the ground a minute ago, now, I was flying thorough the air – sideways. There was a loud clean and clear sound. I felt my arm snap, my ski fall off, and then I landed, face down, on top of my obviously fractured arm in the snow. I was unintentionally clutching the pole that had tangled itself in my mitten – the same pole that got caught in my ski, and the same pole that unmistakably caused the rigmarole of the next eight weeks.

I did what anyone lying face down in the snow would do, I picked up my arm, with the obvious bone deformity, clutched it tightly and rolled over. Without my face in the snow, I felt a bit better. Not that it even mattered. I waited as a perfect stranger went to find the ski paramedics.

There are fragments and still frames in my mind that retell the story. I remember waking up to a crew of doctors and nurses standing around me discussing how they were going to cast it. No one had ever seen a clean diagonal break that close to the shoulder before. I fell back to sleep and woke up when the first slab of plaster hit my arm.

The next two weeks were spent in a rocking chair. Every time I lay down they had to rest my arm, finally, the doctor thought it would be best if I just didn’t lie down. I was also not allowed to untie my arm from my waist.

Ten years later, doesn’t feel that long ago. The event is now a humorous memory. It would have been funnier at the time if I knew the bone I broke was actually called the humerous. For weeks, people made that joke, and for weeks, it escaped me.
And now I’m proof. It didn’t kill me, and now my right arm really is stronger. And I’ve got a funny little ridge near my shoulder to prove it.

Swept Away

Sweep, sweep, sweep!

Oh, I was sweeping alright. Actually, it wasn't so arlight, I don't make a good sweeper. Not in the kitchen, not on the curling ice either.

It was the last rock of the game, I followed it closely. I ran alongside next to it. Until finally, i was flat on my bum, and in so much pain, I was temporarily (speechless). The game kind of stopped, as everyone waited to see how I could recover. Not wanting to show true anguish, I did the unthinkable for someone who could hardly move. I stayed exactly where I was and yelled Sweep! The other team already had one player sweeping for us since we were a player short. Another extra player from thier team joined in. But we overshot and lost the rock anyway.

By the time I got to work, I was walking gingerly-- very gingerly. Getting in and out of my chair is proving to be a problem. Although, thanks to the medicine cabinet here in Emerg, I am able to move around, just not swiftly.

My first curling experience was a lot of fun. I didn't even know how the game was played until tonight. And who knows, once i'm able to walk normally again, I might even venture to trying again.

Right now though, I need a little bed rest, and a lot of pain killers.

Two eyes are better than Four

I really like glasses, but sometimes, my nose doesn't.

I have been known to collect fun and funky frames. But lately, I find myself removing my frames and freeing my nose at every possible opportunity. I realized it was time to join the rest of the adult and visually-impaired community. Contact lenses. They're for me!

I was told I have an astigmatism, and because of the way my eye doc described it, all I could think was of that little football shaped dude from the Family Guy (Stewie?). Nonetheless, all hope was not lost.

Today, after a drawn out effort, I succeed in putting in and removing my own lenses repeatedly. I'm not so fond of the poking of my own eye, but the novelty of seeing 100% all the time is making this entirely worth it. It feels strange not to reach for my glasses when I need to see the board at work, or even walk down the hall. But to tell you the truth, I'm going to like it.

Song of the day : I can see clearly now, my glasses are gone. I can see all obstacles in my way....

What's Love got to do with it?

This is the last thing on my list of things to do today.  I’ve been planning this all day.  

Happy Valentines Day / Happy Quirky Alone Day!

I’ve been planning to write this all day, because I really am excited to celebrate Valentines Day.  For the record, I’m not celebrating with anyone in particular… unless you reading this right now care to make plans.  In that case call me.

I’m celebrating Valentines Day for what it should be: A celebration of Love!
So significant other or not, there are still people I love.  Like my friends.  I realize I have a kick-ass group of friends.  People who would walk barefoot across the earth for me if I needed them to.  And I would do the same for them – in a heartbeat (no pun intended).


Happy Valentines Day! Happy Quirky Alone Day!  Darlings, you know I love you, and of course, I always smile

So What?

So.

So what?

It’s a large burden for such a little word.  I mean, really, think about it.  An alveolar fricative combined with a closed, mid, back vowel.  Now, it sounds more important.  So.  Say it again – just one more time.  It weighs heavier on the tongue now.

It’s a bridge.  Used to fill in gaps in the conversation.  So…. It fills awkward silence, shifts the focus of the conversation and allows a new topic to be introduced.

Said defiantly, it can defend your honour, your point of view and essentially your being.  
Said inquisitively, it opens up the floor for discussion, clarification and even more questions.

Said mildly, it welcomes conversation with the comfort of a down-filled duvet in the middle of winter.  With the right tone from the right friend it shows concern.  It’s an open ended conversation with the intent to do more listening than talking.  

So is about making transitions.  It’s about defining conversations and personalities while asking the questions mildy.  It’s a small word with great expectations.
So?  So what?

Sleepless

While I was lying in bed, it seems that my head was avoiding sleep.  It thought up many great stories, reflections, memories and secrets to tell you.  Eventually, it told me to get out of bed to tell you all about it.  

I listened. I don’t always listen. Because, really, what fun is it to do what you’re told.

So alas, here I am, sleepless , cold and slightly beyond peckish.  I’m in my favourite pajama sweater.  I’m ready to tell you tales, but they’ve escaped me.  Until now.
This deserves a post all of its own.

Quirks and Clerks

I walked into the Registration office to greet my co-workers.
“Are you the Ward Quirk, er, um clerk tonight?” one of them asked.  She laughed as she clerk ended up sounding like quirk.

I laughed too.  “Ward Quirk! I think that’s a great name for me!”

When I went out to sign my name up on the board, I erased the spot that said Ward clerk.  
I adjusted it to read Ward Quirk : Tracy.

I’m fond of my new job title.  And quite frankly, I think it’s much more fitting.

Cinder-Tracy

Once upon a time, on a cold night in Halifax, there lived a girl.  She was the type of girl who needed an Ipod to walk even 5 minutes up the street.  She also liked to own things that matched; she was especially fond of the way her mittens matched her coat.

She parted ways with her friend at the street corner.  Having 2 more blocks to walk, she fished out her Ipod while she held her mittens securely in her hand.  But by the time she got her headphones untangled, she realized she was only holding one more mitten.  Knowing better than to panic, she turned around and surveyed the suburban landscape for the sign of her lost mitten.

She spotted it lying 30 feet away.  How sad and lonely it looked on the cold dark pavement.  She quickened her pace.

The door from the video store opened.  A man, wearing a very nice wool jacket, great dark denim straight-leg jeans and a pair of black leather shoes stepped confidently into the cool February air.  He looked at the mitten, paused, and then bent over and picked it up.  He looked around.  He took one more look at the mitten and walked into the video store.  When he came back out, he no longer held her mitten in his hands.  He walked away with an expression that suggested he wanted more.

She wished he had seen her.  She wanted to call out to him. What would she say.  Their eyes would meet he would take her unmittend hand between his own.  He would know instantly that the she was the only one who could ever own that mitten.  He would also like the way it matched her coat so perfectly. But more importantly, he would like the way it matched her.  And together, they would live.  Happily ever after.  

Just Beat It

Just under 10 minutes ago, I had two pillows under my head, and one on top.  Because that didn’t help, I switched the ratio – one under, two over.  Still no luck.  The only place that would get me would be with a crick in my neck.

It started out with drums, and then they added a little vocal and guitar to the mix.  At this point I’m angry and frustrated.  I’d really like to play the drums on their head.  Either that, or take my guitar upstairs and join them.

And really, like Sandie Brown says: “If you can’t beat em, you might as well beat with em”

Bedtime.  One more time from the top.