Saturday, May 27, 2006

Terminal introspection day

Ok. I must then. Jess, Mary, Zhoen…so far. I must. I can’t help it, it’s too inspiring to read you all…

: I’m Canadian, for God’s sake. Generic Anywhere - North America. Don’t say “aboat” for “about,” (but thank you for asking).

Bombay Sapphire Gin. Because the words “Bombay Sapphire” roll off my tongue like little tiny candies. Because the shade of blue of the bottle is so damned beautiful. Because once, my father suffered a brain hemorrhage and his wife and I, petrified with anxiety, spent 16 hours in a hospital with toxic air, then lost the car park where her vehicle was, and subsequently drove an exhausting hour to their home – because she gave me a gin and grapefruit juice when we finally sat down and it tasted better than anything else I’ve ever ingested. I keep tequila and lemons for the Scorpio. I like how it burns in my mouth but my stomach remembers it’s tumultuous departure long ago – and I can’t actually drink it.

Chore I hate:
One? How much time do you have? None, if I manage to be present for the chore.

Dogs. Cats. I sorely miss having one in my life but can’t afford the possibility of vet bills and the guilt of not being home enough. I live vicariously through my friends’ animals. And my superintendent, Alice, is St. Francis of Assisi, reborn.

Essential electronics:
None. You’d think “computer” but when I had a lemon of an Acer (I named her Helen Keller) and she spent more time in the shop than on my desk, I learned that I could live as a 19th century person quite nicely.

Favorite perfume:
Pine trees.

Number of sexual partners: Come on! I was a child of the 60’s for god’s sake. And you’ve read the entries about the Scorpio. I’m a smitten woman. There’s no objectivity to be found here. And numbers mean absolutely nothing.

Myself. Where I am.

Insomnia: I’m 58. Of course I have insomnia. Rather, I have an aversion to the artificial schedule I have to live with. I sleep best at 2:00 in the afternoon, for approximately one hour. And I wake early. I feel disappointed if I get up past 6:00 a.m. because I’ve missed the best part.

This question is just played out. I am a rocket scientist, dancer, singer, biologist and Queen of the Amazons. But you knew that.

Lovely people, kids. Have you read any of the new mother blogs I’m linked to?

Most admired trait:
Admired by who? I dress like Peg Bundy meets Art College. Do I get points for bravado?Admired by who, again?

Hospital stays:
Oh god let’s not go there. Several. Most nightmarish. One of the worst (emotionally) was having my tonsils removed a month after my mother’s death and being given a bed on the same floor, same ward she died in. And it went downhill from there. Who wants to hear a surgeon say, “I had to go look at the diagnosis and x-rays again because when I got in, I wasn’t sure I had the right person.” Followed by, “You were in there for four hours.

Bullshit. Religious fanaticism of any kind. Hospitals, come to think of it.

Quote: “
Oftentimes I have heard you speak of one who commits a wrong as though he were not one of you, but a stranger unto you and an intruder upon your world. But I say to you that even as the holy and righteous cannot rise beyond the highest which is in each one of you, So the wicked and the weak cannot fall lower than the lowest which is in you also. And as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the whole tree, So the wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all.” - Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet, “Crime and Punishment”

See the above quote

Scattered. A brother. A “half” sister and brother. In truth and reality, a handful of friends. Weedy is listed on all official “notify” documents as “designated relative.”

Vegetable I refuse to eat:

Worst habit:

I don’t think they’ve got to my hands yet.

Unusual talent:
Oh don’t think I’m not tempted to tell you.

Worst habit:
Habit? Singular? I can’t pick. The list is too damn long.

Yummy foods I make:
Toast. I’m excellent at toast.

Self portrait. No dance.

I have mourned
the insidious etching
my own history –
grief and tears

58 years,
capitulating to gravity.
Jaw line
Neck no longer taut,
eyelids no longer smooth.
The spidery markings
on my upper lip.

This time don't
Photoshop it.

light it.

I pick the one

that shows the
of my life.

After all -

I love
and am loved
in exactly
this face.

It gives me courage.
And besides -

“Be happy – promise -” he says,
“if I die before you.
Remember this. Don’t grieve.
The thing I've learned
from death is


I wait each Spring to see if the Grandmother tree survived another year after being blown down in the hurricane. And it makes me unreasonably happy to post this picture.

The other is a shot of the Mac Run. No longer grey-branched and naked.

One thing about our late spring is that the enjoyment is almost orgasmic because we wait for the green, the blossoms, for so long.

This was my R&R today. Camera case slung over my shoulder as I travel from studio, to housework, to grocery and hardware store and back.

Sepia Saturday

Time out to play with the camera.
And now…on with the life at a dead run.
I’ll be posting soon…