Relevé

There is something wrong when you take a day off from work to work. As the pile of essays and short stories that I have to grade were glaring at me angrily all weekend, I got more and more anxious, so I decided to skip the day and attend to these monsters.

I don't know if it's just me, but when I have to grade writing, I get infinitely exhausted. I need naps, or long walks. It's the only way I can get through this. I tried alcohol, but it skews my perspective to the detriment of those I'm grading. My comments get snarkier and decidely less helpful.

Why is it that educators insist on putting students through this torture when they are so mentally unprepared? In order to develop a consistent and well thought-out argument, one must have some cultural, literary, philosophical, or political foundation. In other words, they have to have read something other than manga or msn conversations. It's distressing for them, and incredibly disconcerting for us to sift through a thousand words that say nothing, or worse, the same thing over and over.

Teaching teenagers how to write an essay is like teaching giraffes the grand-plié. Yet, educators persist, insist and desist.

Do not even get me started on the vocabulary. As I scrape my mind against the edges of their instant messaging grammar, their pre-school adjectives, and their convoluted syntax, I wonder.
What have they and I done to be punished so?

We need to quit this archaic methodology and provide these young ones with fodder on which to base their thoughts. They need to read more and learn to express thought, build argument, and develop ideas logically. Why are we asking them to do the intellectual equivalent of skydiving without a parachute?

Ok. I had to vent, now back to grading their grand écart en l'air.

No Country For This Girl

Last night, I helped my friend's husband organize a birthday celebration for her. I am a true believer in customizing the party to suit the person. I really don't like generic affairs that suit the organizer not the guest of honor. So I will do anything the for the friend celebrating whether it is in my taste or not.

I have known Dawn for many years now, and when I met her she was all gangsta - ghetto fab. Then when she got engaged, another side of my dear friend surfaced. The country girl! I found out she loves country and western, hay, rodeos, and umm cowboys - hot please with no shirts!

So we organized a "hootenany" (I have no earthly idea how that's spelled and I don't wanna know) at a trendy country and western saloon downtown - The Dakota Tavern. I have no interest in the genre or its accoutrements, hot wranglers excepted, but "hay" it was for my girl.

This place has been stripped to no frills. The menu is short and sweet. Cajun meets hee haw. Delicious and cheap! The cash and carry bar carries booze at 5 dollars a pop! Holy stirrups cowman! The decor was shabby-shabby basement barn.

She loved it! I have broken ribs to prove it!

The evening started off with the Tin Pan North Festival which featured orignal songwriters. A couple of them were excellent, the rest, well, good thing the butter knives weren't sharp, cause I tell ya, I was tempted to slice myself. Anywho, after hearing about the death of pet dogs and the saga of the cheating mate, that ended uneventfully.

Then, something happened. This staunch No Country For This Girl turned. A band went on who went by the name of The Beauties, and they made me see the haylight! These young men (with a name like that you would expect women) were absolutely amazing with an incredible energy and talent that made my unbooted feet tap despite their blasé reluctance. I was grinning like I swallowed the freshly milked bucket.

But that wasn't the end of the surprise. A little lady came on stage by the name of Samantha Martin and my jaw dropped. The girl has a voice from heaven and a style remiscent of Patsy Kline meets Amy Whinehouse. I was riveted. I could listen to them all night. Unfortunately, we had to leave early because our other friend is a new mother and had to attend to her lovely infant daughter. Dawn stayed behind with her husband and she was in seventh hay loft.

As we walked back to my car, I could swear my feet were doing the jig, and my grin was still in place.

Clouds

I'm sitting here, waking up. Coffee at hand, I sit at my computer to do my morning ritual.

I have been captivated by the clouds rolling by in the sky, outside my window.

I have always loved clouds, and I don't know why. Looking up at them always gives me joy and hope.

The sun is edging through a big fluffy herd of clouds right now, suddenly blinding me with his intensity.

The clouds move steadily, languidly, almost sensually across the sky. Touching and coming apart to reveal the sun.

These are rain clouds; the darkness of their skin betrays that. I don't mind. I'm a rain worshiper. Rain washes everything clean, and you don't have to shovel it off the sidewalk and your driveway.

I remember as a kid, I would lie down on the grass on a mild summer day and watch the clouds drift. A cloud meditation. Cloud Zen. After a while, I would feel the ground moving under my body. An illusion no doubt, but I felt the Earth's revolution. It spoke to me.

There have been many a time I have spent staring up, conjuring images of unicorns and ballet shoes made up of water mass. In the sky a rhinoceros can hold a daisy.

Every time I travelled by plane, I would stare at the cloud waves underneath and wish I could walk on them, swim in them. One of my students once gave me a copy of a photo he took on a plane. The clouds had sculptured the image of Jesus Christ, long robes, long hair, beard, with a compassionate look on his gentle face and exposed palms at his side. I'm not a religious fanatic but that was awe-inspiring. No one wrote about him walking on clouds.

There have been times as I was walking or driving along and glance at the horizon, finding to my delight that the clouds have formed a mountain to flank this mostly flat city. I would find myself mesmerized with Mount Kilimanjaro, or Everest where Mississauga should have been. It thrilled me, because I love mountains and miss them, almost as much as I miss the sea. The clouds fulfilled this craving majestically.

Then there are the miracle cloud scenes as they call them. Color-filled streams and golden ribbons of light cascading through the clouds in one spot convince my fanciful soul that it's a god sighting, or the way to Nirvana.

Clouds wear many gowns of color. From brooding grey to party pink. They are all delightful. When it's cloudy, the sky is decked out in all its moods. A sky of many faces. A wounded face about to crumble into a flood of tears. A face of an ecstatic toddler with all his toys scattered around him. A face of a woman in love.

Yes, I adore clouds, and as I write this, the sun is bursting through again. He appears full force and head on. Then the clouds gently cover him like a playful lover. All I see is his outline now. Behind the cloud arms, the sky is peeking through. There he is again in his lovers arms. Blue with long trails of cloud tresses, hidden yet again by his lover's mass as she enfolds him.

What a glorious day of clouds it will be.

Happy Something Day

Today was a holiday. For the life of me, I can't remember what we're celebrating. I, for one, celebrated one extra day to do as I please.

I slept in this morning which is something I rarely do anymore, but it was delicious not having to rush anywhere or plan anything.

I spent a lot of the day in contemplation, listening to music while dancing in my living room, making a spicy chicken salad, and finishing a book.

My goddaughter, along with most tween and teen girls, is simply captivated by the Twilight series; so being a reader and a writer, I had to see what all the hype is about.

Reading Twilight and New Moon, I took a stroll down memory lane. I was a tween again, getting my first taste of the confident, brooding, complicated and oh so sexy male. For me, it was Edward Rochester, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and Heathcliff; for the girls in this generation, it's Edward Cullen.

The writing is cliched for sure. There is not one twist that I did not anticipate several chapters earlier, but I could feel the magic that took over my tween heart. It was the hope for that one man who would get me, no matter what; and despite his flaws and the many obstacles between us, fate would inexplicably draw us together again and again.

Romance is a wonderful thing containing such exquisite pain, such tortured expectations, such passionate fulfillment.

It's downright dangerous.

I'm torn. I know how cruel these kinds of fantasies are, and how they can shape a girl's and then a woman's expectations. It is these expectations that I have had to battle in order to negotiate a real-life relationship with a man. Was I successful? Not so much, as man after man has proven to be oh so human and uncharmingly flawed. Or is it us, the women weaned on romance that are flawed?

I don't have the answers, but one thing experience and soul-searching have taught me. It is a glorious to be with someone who loves you for exactly who you are. And that my friends, is a two way street.

Ick and the City

I decided to indulge myself yesterday. After an afternoon of walking in the rain, then running errands which included getting new eyewear ( 700 dollars later with 2 new pairs of fabulous glasses and a six months supply of top notch contacts, I decided I really need to stop this binge shopping!), I made myself a nice steak and salad, poured myself a glass of red wine, and proceeded to plunge into the second season of Sex in the City. This is in preparation for the movie's debut on May 30th. (I have planned an outing with a group of amazing women to see the movie and have cocktails and aps on that night.)

Of course this has lead me to the inevitable comparison.

Like Carrie, I have curly hair, I live alone, I'm a writer, I have fabulous friends, and I have a penchant to spend indiscriminately.

Unlike Carrie, I have a cat whom I adore, I pay my own mortgage, I have another job to support my bills, my friends are almost all in relationships and I do not have a string of sexual experiences with deeply fascinating but screwed up men.

Needless to say, there is no Mr. Big. I have dated a few Mr. "Bogs", but nothing worth writing about.

My single friends fall into two categories. The ones in their 20's to early 30's who are living the lifestyle of the series, and the ones in their late 30's to early 40's who have given up. I love them all, but I feel out of place with the former and cannot convince the latter to leave their homes at night.

Unlike Carrie, I don't seem to have an endless supply of couture outfits, accessories and shoes. I also am nowhere near the "In" crowd. My friends, like me, are normal working girls. We don't have hairstylists waiting in the wings, and we wear our outfits more than once. We don't go to gallery or club openings and we are not on the A list anywhere. We, also, don't live in the mythical New York, the urban Nirvana, the 21st Century Mecca, that we all hope to attain but is not within everyone's reach.

I am Canadian after all.

I live in Toronto.

Some call it Hollywood North. Others call it the Canadian New York. I call foul! This city almost always sleeps. It does have cultural, music and other events. There is North by North West, The Jazz Festival, The Harbour Front Series, The Film Festival. There is plenty to do, and I do a lot of it alone. I have no problem with that. I like my own company, but people don't talk to strangers here; if you smile at someone they think you're a freak; and men do not appear out of the woodwork.

Oh yes, the 10% live the mythical life, but the rest look on from a desert of complacent suburbia filled with designer strollers and PVR's. Starbucks everywhere do not a city make.

It's hard to explain the difference, but everything here is so politically correct, so indecently sanitized, so conservative, it has strangled the sparkle out of the city. I think there is even a law against flirting or talking to strangers in elevators.

And here I am, a single woman with a lot going for her, lost in the ick. I will survive, but it certainly isn't the stuff of sitcoms and feature movies. In the meantime, I have some fabulous eyewear and a plan that will pay for most of the costs.

The Soil is Turning

It's been almost a week since I entered a post.

I would like to say that it has been a busy week, full of marvelous activities, and maybe it has but that's not what I want to write about now.

I would like to address the depression I have been feeling. It's a hard thing to even acknowledge it, and believe me I have tried to avoid it, but it will not be ignored.

What complicates things is that I am not one to succumb to such feelings. I have been a little ashamed to admit that I have been depressed. Possibly because I used to think of it as self-indulgence. I don't anymore.

It's a ghost in the cupboard.

I don't have the number for ghost busters so I have been dealing with it on my own.

The first step, as they say, is acknowledging it. How much more publically can I do it than on my blog?

It's out there.
I have said it.
I am staring that disgruntled monster in the eye.

I have a lot of good reasons to be depressed, but right now I don't want to dwell on them. It is good to acknowledge them, and send them on their way.

The Zen way. Live in the moment. Accept the past and that it is over. Accept the future and that it is not set in stone. The only thing we have is the moment. Live in it.

That is so simple, so wise, so unpolluted, and yet the hardest thing to achieve. But not impossible.

I have been allowing myself to be plagued by the past and the immeasurable mistakes I have made. I am my own worse critic and sometimes with good reason.

Sometimes. the things that come out of my mouth, although truth are thoughtless and sometimes brutal. I do not like that about myself. I always regret them. I apologize. I am trying to stop doing that. I need to train myself to speak only when absolutely necessary and when I speak to do so thoughtfully.

I feel like I have not been a good daughter, a good friend, a good lover, a good colleague, a good leader, a good teacher, a good neighbour, or a good citizen of the world. This is a hard sentence I am giving myself for failing. Yet I know I have not failed as much as I am perceiving.

The thing that frightens me the most though, is that when I think about the future, I draw a blank. There are no hopes, no dreams, no plans that used to fill my life before. It feels like I have gone numb. It feels really dark sometimes.

I laugh. I smile. I interract with people but I'm not there. I'm not anywhere.

People have wondered if I am mad at them. People are worried. People are kind and caring.

I am not mad. I think they have a lot to be worried about, because there is a good chance that the things I have had to go through in the past year, have killed a big part of me.

I make plans. I make lists of things that I can do and should do to help myself. I know I should talk to "someone", but I'm done talking. I don't want to open up to anyone.

The fact that I am even writing this, is a miracle.

I'm not writing about some television show, that in the long run doesn't even matter. I'm writing about the one thing that really matters.

I am in a life-or-death struggle right now, and I have undertaken it alone.

I will conquer this because I am strong, and I am persistant, and I do not give up. And despite everything I have said or done in the past to cause others and myself pain, I am a good person.

So, I will fight for my life, and I will keep myself honest.

My Mommy

Today is Mother's Day, and it is the first one I am spending without my sweet mommy. I lost her last October, and I'm still struggling with the sudden pangs of pain.

Today, I will swallow the huge lump in my throat and remember my mommy as she deserves.

She had the sweetest smile. In fact, my mom when she was younger was a hottie. I could only wish I had a portion of her looks.

My mommy was a gentle soul. If ever harsh words came out of her mouth, she immediately regretted them.

My mommy was a good mom. She always cared for me and made sure I wanted for nothing. She made sure I had a warm meal and a comfortable, sweet smelling bed.

She loved to play solitaire.

My mommy was a solitairy soul. She liked quiet and peace more than anything else. She never imposed herself on anything or anyone.

My favorite memories of my mom:

Her laughing, beautifully clad in a sari in Bangladesh, surrounded by her admirers.

Her holding me in the high waves in Atlantic City. I asked her to take me there so the waves could wash over us.

Sitting quietly with her on the grass, enjoying a picnic for two.

Her calling me to come up from the playground because my dad was on his way home.

Her staying up with me when I was ill. I still call for her when I'm sick.

Watching soaps with her, and explaining what the heck is going on.

My mommy telling me she is proud of me when I got my diploma.

The smile on her face when she got flowers.

I love you my mommy, and may your soul be at peace. I hope with all my heart that you are happy.

American SoSo?*

There are a few key problems with American Idol and it has nothing to do with the singers.

The first problem is the audition process, which frankly has become a "let's see who comes out of the freak woodwork" process. It's far too long and far too painful. By the time they have their final 20, the viewers are done with the show.

The second problem this season is the theme choices. Though some of the themes/mentors picked are more than worthy in their discography, they do not appeal to the target audience. The viewers simply cannot relate to these songs. It is left to the singer to contemporize the songs, but often the competitors are not up to the challenge without coaching.

The third problem is the voting. I think fan voting should certainly be part of the process, but fans do not necessarily vote for the best singers/entertainers. This season, several strong singers/entertainers were voted out in favor of weaker competitors, simply because they were not to the mainstream liking. The judges should have a vote too, as should the mentors, to balance popularity with talent.

Lastly, the definition of 'idol' is someone put on a pedestal as a representative of "perfection". It seems that some of the past Idol winners have none of the qualities that sell records, that's why we see runners up with better careers than the winners. Maybe this is not Amercian Idol, as much as it is American SoSo?

*this also was posted on yahoo TV reviews under American Idol

Survivor - Blindside

I sometimes wonder about people. It's just something I have been doing all my life.It's a puzzle that never ends.

Here is one piece. What prompts someone to go on a reality tv show, undergo hardships and public scrutiny, only to give away his chance at getting to the end and possibly winning the prize? Erik gave his immunity idol away. He gave away his safety to a group of people who have been blindsiding and evicting one player after another. He will join those evictees on the jury now.

I can't even begin to decipher that. If anyone at all is reading my blog, haha, do you have an answer?

Sprung

Spring has sprung
The grass has riz

Do you know where
my head is?

Cause if you find it, please contact me. It spun at the speed of light today and I can't seem to locate it.

A lot of decisions to be made.
A lot of ground to cover.
A lot of people under my watch.
A lot of debts to pay.
A lot of walking to do.
A lot of plans to follow through.

And I get to do all this, all on my own! Woooo! Don't be jealous!

That comes along with cleaning my house, figuring out why my cat is pooping in weird places, clean that shizz up, bulldoze my garden, cause really? what the hell was the former owner thinking?

Did I mention laundry?

Did I mention that I would love to be able to do some renovations to my house. Break down some walls. Literally.

Ok. I better stop because my head which I have lost is reeling somewhere in the distance. Maybe it will find my way back to me.

Goodbye Jason

It's time to say goodbye and good luck to Jason Castro. He bombed to hell tonight which is not surprising. The fact that he has stayed this long in the competition when better singers and performers left, is surprising. He's cute and seems like a really nice guy, but American Idol? Not so much.

What is also surprising is how much and how well Syesha has evolved. She was absolutely riveting tonight. I gotta say, she was not one of my faves, but I am convinced she deserves to go on the David train to Final 3. She has earned her passage.

David Archuletta has been the most consistent competitor this year. If I have been wary about him winning this, is because I worry how stardom will change his life. He seems like a very grounded young man from a solid and supportive environment, so I will trust that he will be alright. I still have issues with his loud breathing during songs. I find it distracting and I'm wondering why none of the coaches have worked on this with him.

David Cook is still my favorite. He already is a rock star. He sings like one. He carries himself like one. His career will definitely take off, winner of this competition or not.

Sunnyday

Happy Sunny Sunday!

My guilty pleasures on Sunday? Cripsy bacon, over-easy eggs, whole grains toast and Corrie Street. Don't judge! There is nothing like a greasy breakfast once a week accompanied by a British soap about the masses. Simply decadent!

I'm excited today because I will be going to my good friend Danette's Art Sale! She is so talented this girl. If you're wondering how talented, check out the link on the left! She is also starting her life coaching business, and I cannot recommend her highly enough. She is compassionate, open and non-judgemental. I'm so honored that she is my friend.

Actually, I'm very lucky in my friends. They make up for the family I don't have. Each one is unique, amazing and loving. I cannot even fathom what my life would be like without them. I hope everyone is blessed like I am!

Mani-Pedi... Gooood

There is nothing like a hair appointment and a nice relaxing mani-pedi to make a girl feel human again.

That's just what the doctor ordered on this rainy, windy Saturday.

My head was so full of unrully curls, and some signs of gray! Gasp! Now, my scalp is relaxed, my color restored, my hair soft and shiny. I resist the urge to keep running my fingers through it.

The spa I go to has these delicious massage chairs that you sit in while someone is working on your poor tired feet. As the rollers (I swear, they feel like hands!) were kneading my knot-filled back, the aesthetician was beautifying my battered feet. Shoes do a number on women's feet. Seriously. It ain't pretty. Looking down, now, at my dainty freshly painted toesies, I feel joy.

Ah, the small pleasures in life can seriously outweigh the big, because they are certainly more frequent. Without those moments, the overwhelming stress of the daily grind would have pulverized me long ago.

I'm off to make myself a nice coffee in my French Press and read while listening to the rain washing the city.

Later! :)

Monsters, Rain, Discovery

Sometimes, I have so many thoughts milling around in my head at the same time, that I can barely formulate one. Dancing, drunken guests crowding the room, jostling, spirited and sometimes unsure of foot and stomach.

Some thought pops out, suddenly sticking up from the rest. I observe it, loving it, and let it do it's thing.

Sometimes feelings accompany these thoughts. Sometimes they are good, sometimes not.

I feel like a slow pot, ready.

Right now the thought that has taken hold is not a pretty one. It's rooted in a memory of something that happened today.

I have a particularly challenging class. Twenty one individuals, each with a story, each with a motivation, each with reactions. What frustrates me the most, is that hard as I try, I cannot inspire them, motivate them. This isn't a reenactment of Freedoom Writers. More like, Stone Wall Bludgeon. A lot of these kids hate school, they hate to think, they hate anything that makes them awaken from the deep slumber of the mind that they have intentionally fallen into.

And some of them are very rude, covertly hostile, unreachable.

And I am human. There is so much I can take with a smile on my face and an adage on my tongue.

I got so frustrated today that I raised my voice at a student. Not in anger, just to be heard. I feel for these kids, but I know that, to them, I am their jailor. Yet one more hurdle they need to overcome to get the freedom they crave, the freedom they more than likely will not know how to handle. I fear for them. They are so ill-prepared and stubbornly want to remain so. And, it seems sometimes that there is nothing I can do, or that they will allow me to do.

It would be better if I didn't care. It would be so easy to stay aloof and observe them like guinea pigs in a cage. I don't want to do that though. That isn't who I am.

And yes, I am tormented by the fact that I raised my voice - at one student in particular. There is no way I can understand or pretend to understand his life. I can only work with what he is giving me and that's a whole lot of f-all. He is a very bright kid, and he is falling through the cracks. I see him there, wedged and falling, and no matter how I try to help him out, he refuses this help, and reacts hostilely.

I am sad. I am sad that I have to accept the inevitable, and I don't want to.

Funny, when I stared this post I was going to write about Cloverfield and how much I love the rain. I guess I just stuck to writing about discovery.

Fry-day

Friday got it's name from godesses of fertility or love. (Friga or Venus) It's a day dedicated to feminity and love. Woohoo.

Several traditions are associated with this day in various cultures such as eating fried fish or not cutting your nails, or not using electricity. It's all good.

My tradition is this. I succumb to my exhaustion, and allow my fired mind and body to recouperate. By the end of the week both have been battered to a near jellied state. I cannot form coherent sentences. In fact, I'm using my last bit of coherence on this blog. After this, all bets are off.

I have gone out on Fridays, either to movies, or social gatherings, or drinking, or gods help me, dancing, but I more often that not pass on all said activities until I have had a chance to rejuvenate, aka sleep.

Tonight, it's dinner and movies with my goddaughter and her mom. Yay for girls' night, movies, pop corn, and not having to mind my pees and ques. What better way to celebrate the day of the godess of love?

That's all she wrote.

Happy frying everyone! :)

Lost and Lost-er

There is something to be said about a good twist. It spices things up and keeps things interesting. Too many twists, however, spoil the plot.

That's what's happening with "Lost". All these flashbacks, flash forwards, flash-in-betweens is making my head spin.

Jack, on the island, is fighting for his life, depending on a sketchy operation. Jack in the future is continuing his medical practice, living with Kate and Erin (Claire's son). All seems "heavenly". But is it? Hurley who is institutionalized insists that nothing is real and that Charlie has visited him with a message for Jack. "You are not supposed to raise him." Jack turns to booze and paranoia. A winning combo.

He confronts Kate, "Where were you?"
"I was doing something for him."
"For who?" (Umm hello Jack... Him.)
"For Sawyer. I made him a promise. I promised him I would do this for him" (Ain't love grand?)
"He's not here is he? He made his choice. He chose to stay. I'm here."
(More fighting.)
"I can't have you like this around my son."
"He's not your son. You're not even related to him."

Cue Erin.

Back on the island, Claire disappears leaving her baby.
The twists continue.

Anyone have gravol?

Like life isn't confusing enough...

Word

Today, I received a wake-up call from the universe. I'm still processing it, but here are the initial messages.

I need to get up off my soul, and let it speak again. I have been silenced for too long. Those who know me might find this hilarious. I'm not one to mince words or keep my thoughts hidden. I'm not afraid to speak out, speak up, speak about. But I have really said nothing at all.

I have been playing a tactical game of avoidance, and I'm declaring that it's game over.

Wake up. Stand up. Move.

I am lifting the gag order I have put on myself, going out on the limb, and shouting from the top of the tree line.

Genie has risen and will be silent no more!

I have been skirting the edges of my life, abandoned in activities carefully mastered to avoid it. No more.

Reality TV has replaced my reality. Who really gives an F about the people on the tube, when I have rolled myself up into a tube and stifled the very blood flow to my soul.

I have avoided the face of the unknown. In fear. In fear of pain imaginable and real that I have felt. No use avoiding pain because it will come uninvited. So I divest myself of the comfortable and walk with naked soul again into the terrible unknown.

Booyaka!

Elusive Sleep

Three nights in a row I have not gotten decent sleep. If it's not one thing, it's another. This morning (3 am) I woke up with a headache! What the hell? How is it that the beginnings of a migraine just crop up in someone's sleep? Stressful dreams? It's time to get back to meditation methinks, or maybe I can find an all-night gym. That would kill two birds with one stone. Shed extra weight, and work myself out into exhaustion.

Work is one big stressball. If it's not management being vindictive, it's colleagues being dismissive. Everyone wants to leave this sinking ship, but no one wants to solve this untenable situation. The problem is, there are no guarantees that it's better anywhere else, but you can't know until you go.

I try to remain positive but it's getting harder and harder, and I'm thinking there is no place in society for someone like me. I believe that 70% of the problems in a work environment can be solved by organization and a vision. I cannot work in a place devoid of a vision, managed by people whose sole raison d'etre is damage control. And the damage keeps accruing.

Then I wonder where my headaches and acid reflux come from...

Ok. Time for my morning walk, and caffeine...