where's your passion?

"This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell, my blessing season this in thee! ~ Polonius

what are you passionate about?
do you write?
do you sing?
do you draw or paint?

or do you sit on your dreams
and bite your tongue
to follow the party line?

are you a sad little excuse
for a human being?

or are you in the trenches
fighting your good fight?

are you living an authentic life?
are you kind, thoughtful
and not unnecessarily mean?

or are you so busy
bending, folding spindling and mutilating
your morals and integrity
to meet the needs of others
that you can't even see
what a shadow of a person you are?

can you truly say you are happy?
or are you just mouthing the words
someone else put in there for you?
while your soul is crushed
and your very thoughts
are no longer your own?

is your appetite for enthusiasm
dampened by
the biding of your time
the base existence
that you are living?

are you evolving as a human being
or are you still swimming
in the redneck excrement
of the people you played with
as a child?

where's your passion?
who is living your life?

what are you waiting for?

let's talk

shall we?

subject at hand
is the people
that use common courtesy
as an excuse
or cover up
for rudeness

seriously
if one more person
gives me lip and attitude
and thinks that by saying
please
or
thank you
they've excused their
less than stellar behaviour

I'm just liable
to burst a vein
in my forehead

wtf is wrong with people
how hard is it?

too hard apparently.

yer mother would
be ashamed of you
and I don't suffer fools
asshats or fucktards
willingly
consider
yourself
warned.

we can't go back

often times
I find myself
wishing things could be
the way the used to be

the what if's
will drive me mad

what if Mike hadn't died?
what if I'd have gone to law school?
what if I'd not become an addict?
what if I'd not given the baby up for adoption?
what if the arm wrestler wasn't a narcissist?
what if the Indian wanted a more normal life?
what if the East Coast boy wasn't a thief and a junkie?
what if I'd not lost everything?
what if I'd not moved here?

what if?

this I know
each of these lessons
I had to learn
to bring me to
the person I have become

each of these lessons
were specifically designed
to teach me what I needed to know
to be me

you can't go back
there's simply no possibility

we can only go forward
"once more into the breach"

we can't go back...

somewhere along the line...

somewhere along the line
I think I stopped being a girl
or a woman

and just became me

I stopped wearing makeup
when my eyelids started to sag
like (unfortunately for me)
both my parents

not to mention the
Zippy the Clown incident
of 2004

I stopped wearing dresses
pretty much
when I stopped wearing
pantyhose
and no longer worked
for a multinational

I stopped worrying
about the way I looked
when I started shaving my head
all those years ago

seems that I stopped
anything that remotely resembled
a beauty regime then too

I stopped changing my earrings daily
I stopped painting my nails
I stopped wearing most of my jewelry
I wear jeans and boots
sneakers and men's shirts

I stopped getting my hair done
when I realized that my alopecia
was such that I no longer had to
shave my legs...I actually rejoiced

I stopped caring
about the fact that
I can see my waist
sticking out past my chest
when it became obvious to me
that my diet around
having Crohn's Disease
was gonna make it stick out
way past my chest...
and at that time
I made a conscious choice
to get better from the Crohn's
even if it cost me
my health in other areas...
I'd work on those when I needed to
and I am...

and
somewhere along the line
I found me..

I shaved my head
had a hysterectomy
which negated
anything that resembled
a sex drive
and set about on my new life...
single and new

but I lost part of me too
and
sometimes
I miss those parts

I'm still attracted to
pretty things
but don't buy them anymore
so I guess
somewhere along the line
I stopped
being a girl....

but I still can spend hours
perusing websites
of the kind of girlie things
I used to buy
beautiful charm bracelets
corsets and skirts
uplift bras and off shoulder blouses
high heeled shoes and boy cut knickers

so maybe there still is
a girl in there somewhere...
but she's 55 now
and thinks that maybe
she needs to be less frivolous
and more real...

Tracy Chapman - the Promise...

If you wait for me then I'll come for you
Although I've traveled far
I always hold a place for you in my heart
If you think of me If you miss me once in awhile
Then I'll return to you
I'll return and fill that space in your heart
Remembering
Your touch
Your kiss
Your warm embrace
I'll find my way back to you
If you'll be waiting
If you dream of me like I dream of you
In a place that's warm and dark
In a place where I can feel the beating of your heart

Remembering
Your touch
Your kiss
Your warm embrace
I'll find my way back to you
If you'll be waiting
I've longed for you and I have desired
To see your face your smile
To be with you wherever you are

Remembering
Your touch
Your kiss
Your warm embrace
I'll find my way back to you
If you'll be waiting
I've longed for you and I have desired
To see your face, your smile
To be with you wherever you are

Remembering
Your touch
Your kiss
Your warm embrace
I'll find my way back to you
Please say you'll be waiting

Together again
It would feel so good to be
In your arms
Where all my journeys end
If you can make a promise If it's one that you can keep, I vow to come for you
If you wait for me and say you'll hold
A place for me in your heart.

oh my!

I've been outted!

one of my cousins found this blog
and told the whole family

so...
Hi!

and....I feel I must say...
this is an "enter at your own risk" area

I do all my ranting
and raving in here...

this is where I vent...

when I'm upset
this is where I go

to let off steam
and to call things/people/issues names

this is likely the reason
I seem more sane these days

I also do a whoooole lot of thinkin
in here....
so
...enter at your own risk!

dreams do come true...

I may have mentioned it many times before...

I was raised mostly in NW ON by a father (aka the fadder)
that was an Ontario Provincial Police Officer
much of who and what he is and where he came from
was a focal point in my life for many years

our lives (and holidays) revolved around
trips to Toronto
to allow my father to re-connect
with his mother, and his rather large family

I grew up knowing intimately
all my aunts, uncles and cousins on my father's side of the family
and not so much the family of the VOD (my mother)
who lived in Saskatchewan or British Columbia

Visiting my Grammo (aka grandmother Brown)
was like stepping into a story book
for a child with a romantic nature
like me

see...
when my father came on the police force in the 195o's
he made $2000.00 a year
and as his father owned a large funeral directing firm
that he'd started from scratch
and nursed into a large, respectable, moneymaking concern
the family had some monetary value
not huge wealth by today's standards
but they didn't go without
that's for sure

there was real butter on the table
not that white margarine you had to burst
the colour button and squeeze thru to colour
there was real fruit juice
not crystals
there was real roast beef for sandwiches
not chubs of baloney
and at Grammo's house even the kids
got real jam and fresh veggies
spare no expense at Grammo's house!

so because Grammo would tuck a buck er two
into an envelope when I was quite little
and we lived in Perth ON
there was an obligation to travel towards them
when holidays were due...
an obligation that may have become habit
but stood some of us in good stead
for developing kin ships with extended family

Grammo lived in (what at the time seemed to me to be)
a huge house on Lakeside Ave in Scarborough
and old neighbourhood, even then
with large oak trees
off the Scarborough bluffs
when I was quite young there were
houses between Grammo's and the bluffs
but over the years those were moved
or moved themselves
down the bluffs
as the bluffs eroded....

Grammo had more money than we did
and when she first met my grandfather
not wanting to embarrass this "gent" in public
took lady lessons.
as a result
there were always Irish linens
table cloths, napkins etc

(I believe I've also mentioned previously
that I spent my formative years
in Grammo's basement
ironing said linens...cos that's what
"young ladies" did for punishment)

Grammo had 2 kinds of china patterns
one pattern was a Royal Doulton pattern
called Ainsley Durham Moore
lovely white with a burgundy ribbon
around the edge
and trimmed out in gold leaf
used only on special dinner days
IE Christmas, birthdays etc

Grammo's everyday pattern
was a Simpson's pattern
from before Simpson's and Sears became one
a 50's pattern called Belle Fiore













and there was tons of it
every kind of dish, platter and plate
saucer and pitcher, teapots of all shapes and sizes
one could possibly imagine
and there were even
little double ended gizmo's called egg cups

imagine...cups designed just for holding eggs!

in our extended family
over the years
we developed a routine
of the "elders" moving from the dining room
to the living room for "afters" and coffee
whilst the elder of the grandchildren
did the dishes

When we used the regular stuff
we just piled it all in the dishwasher
usually more than 3 loads
due to the amount of people
and extra stuff in a place setting
but we were indulged to a degree
and plenty of times
members of the adult portion
of our family
would use the Belle Fiore
as discs for target practice
over the bluffs

Grammo always smiled
and ordered more plates from Simpsons

it was a heady time in my life
and over time I've come to realize
both the financial commitment
and emotional value of my Grammo's
smiles over us turfing her china
over the bluffs....

fast forward years later
(12 yrs this past April to be exact)
I moved to BC..

the reason's were myriad
I was sick enough at the time
that I didn't think that I'd live
to see the first full year on the Island
but I moved
and started working at getting well
and being more "normal"

less dramatic, romantic,
less hiding, more living...
no drugs, no drinking, no fistfights
no dealing, no bars, no more full on crazy.

eventually I decided to
mark important moments
in my life
with a piece of Belle Fiore china
in honour of my Grammo
and all that she represented
in making me the adult
I strive to be.

Belle Fiore can now only be found
at replacement shops and china shops
around the world
mostly from the UK
but as there was a huge migration
of Brits to the Island
there's been a bit here and there
over the last 12 years.

so over the years that I’ve been here
I’ve not become a regular antique crawler
just for special occasions
cos that’s all I can afford…
and they are getting harder and harder to find…

One year for Christmas
my cousins Colin and Roberta
gave me a tea cup and saucer
I’ve a couple of medium sized milk pitchers
I bought one when I got my job at the U
and one when the nefew graduated
my aunt Mal
(short for Marigold - which is a kind of indication
of the era I'm talking about)
and her son Colin and his wife Roberta
got me a cream and sugar set on a wee tray
last year for Christmas
and in June I bought a coffee cup and saucer
when the Princess graduated..

It’s luck of the draw
and not like I get to choose what I buy
but mostly
if I find it and can afford it at the time I buy it

when the Princess graduated
I stopped at 2 or 3 different places
and then found the coffee cup and saucer
at a place quite by accident....
the manager was just telling me
that a couple had been in the day before
and “cleaned them out”
when a seller walked in
with a box of stuff
and the cup and saucer were right there!

Kinda like providence if ya ask me…

anyway...I tell you all this
so that I can tell you that a few weeks ago
I mentioned my passion for Belle Fiore
in an email to the whole family
which of course
started a round of "remember when's"
which prompted my Aunt to forward
to the family
a real estate listing
for the Lakeside Ave house
(for $2.1 mil no less)

the listing included pictures
and while the outside sort of looks the same
gone is the interior of my memories
replaced by wood painted white
and the grand interiors
of luxury homes in the 2000's

however, since seeing the changes
wrought in those pictures of Lakeside Ave
I’ve been dreaming of the past a lot
a lot more than I have in a long long time….

I’ve had this recurring dream
since just before my birthday
about Grammo sitting in “Father’s chair”
in the kitchen…with a bunch of us….
me, the bother, the blister, and 2 cousins
and we were all very young…
the blister was about 4 or 5 methinks…
there was a general milling about of adults
at the other end of this huge kitchen…
there was brown toast
and real butter and crumpets,
jam in pots and juice and milk…
such luxury…

The part of the dream
that has been so vivid to me
was my intently watching Grammo
with her egg in an egg cup
and her strips of toast for dunking,
and the tinkling of her family bracelet
(that she rarely wore at breaky really…
remind me to tell you of that bracelet another time)

….the focus for me was the egg cup
– it was, at that age,
completely fascinating to me
that there was actually
a dish
specifically for holding soft boiled eggs
and nothing else…
and it matched all the other dishes in the kitchen…

And Grammo’s act of tapping
around the top of the egg
with her butter knife
to take just the top of the egg off
to allow for dipping
strips of toast
was methodical and musical
and when watching
I’d often hold my breath
to see if it actually worked…

I was always amazed
that only the top broke
and not the whole thing…
wasn’t that just the height of classy?

I was mesmerized.

(jeez I do drag out telling a story eh?)

As I said earlier….
I’ve been dreaming about said egg cup
on a regular basis since before my b'day
(which I might have mentioned
was more than a great day for me this year)

Anyway….

You will now imagine my surprise/shock/tears
when I went to my mailbox today
(something I’ve been forgetting
to do daily since the VOD moved away)
and discovered a box…
a smallish box with the return address of my aunt Marigold
in handwriting that looks suspiciously
(and more than anyone else in the family…)
like Grammo's

I rushed back to my kitchen
to open the box
(no small feat considering
the amount and caliber of tape…
but hey!....it was precious cargo)

inside I found a wee card
in that same handwriting...
a little red calico mouse
that Marigold says she got
in Salsburg Austria last year...
safely nestled
in a beautiful Belle Fiore egg cup!



















…just like in my dreams!

that I'd not mentioned to anyone
even when I told the family
about my Belle Fiore jones...

Marigold says that she was at
the big downtown Toronto Market
and there it was
meant for me

so yes...contrary to what many other say
I do believe....
dreams do come true.

Don't Let Us Get Sick

Warren Zevon's song as presented by Jill Sobule



Don't let us get sick
Don't let us get old
Don't let us get stupid, all right?
Just make us be brave
And make us play nice
And let us be together tonight

The sky was on fire
When I walked to the mill
To take up the slack in the line
I thought of my friends
And the troubles they've had
To keep me from thinking of mine

Don't let us get sick
Don't let us get old
Don't let us get stupid, all right?
Just make us be brave
And make us play nice
And let us be together tonight

The moon has a face
And it smiles on the lake
And causes the ripples in Time
I'm lucky to be here
With someone I like
Who maketh my spirit to shine

Don't let us get sick
Don't let us get old
Don't let us get stupid, all right?
Just make us be brave
And make us play nice
And let us be together tonigh t