I was one of those kids who looked forward to going back to school every Fall. I like learning. I like having a routine. I liked the familiarity. I knew what was expected. I knew what each day would be like. Waking up the same time every morning, Science before English, a predictable lunch time and lots of time to read – 5 minutes between classes and all of recess. Then off to babysit after school and home to supper and TV before bedtime and the inevitable return to sameness tomorrow. I got left alone by the adults because I was quiet and well behaved. I was a perfect student though never considered brilliant.
I grew up in a small town and went to school from Kindergarten to Graduation with basically the same thirty people. Some say that small towns are better for raising children. There’s more freedom and less crime. Until I was 13 I considered my small town to be mostly paradise.
And then it was hell. What is it about High School that seems to bring out the worst in people? I didn’t fit in. I was too much a reader. I was obviously poor and never have figured out how to be stylish. There was nobody else like me or nobody that I saw.
I was not nerdy (except for the book reading). I dabble at geeky things like Buffy and Doctor Who. I skim the service of things and always have. I will read everything and anything but cannot tell you who is in every Hogwarts house like some geeks I know can.
For my entire High School existence I merely survived. I did what I had to. I went to school and I worked. The only peers I related to were in books. My peers outside of books were mean or indifferent. There seemed to be no other option.
According to my older sister, I was in the mean class. So, I guess people noticed that things were wrong but nobody did anything. I understand that. I understand the urge to not intervene in others’ troubles. I did the same.
I have a dream. I have a dream that we all stop hurting each other. I have a dream that we learn to emphasize before we learn to hurt and hate. I have a dream.
Why does it seem such an impossibility?
I’ve moved (again).
I have a mostly empty room to fill.
The main (mistress ;-) ) bedroom.
This came with the house. We’re assuming it was made in there because we haven’t figured out (yet) how it comes apart!
It matches my nightstand cabinet really well. How synchronicitic!
It’s hard to tell the colour of the walls in these pictures. The pictures were taken late yesterday afternoon after I read what the Daily Post picture challenge is for this week. Synchronicity abounds. I’ve been in my new place for less than a week.
The big, empty space in the center of the room will, before the Summer is over, house a queen-sized bed. Up to now, the largest bed I’ve owned has been a double. I just fit – head right up to the headboard while my feet touch the foot of the bed. I’ll get to stretch out.
More next week on the grand move and the secret – shhh!
Sometimes, when you move in closer you see a more complete picture.
It is finally Spring!
The trick to forgetting the big picture is to look at everything close-up. – Chuck Palahniuk (thank you Ailsa for the quote).
I have decided, for now, to exist purely in the moment. Wish me luck with that! ;-)
I am a late adapter. That means that I am never the first one to explore new technology. I got my first cell phone (a SmartPhone) in August of 2012 – less than two years ago. However I did jump right in and get an iPhone as my first phone. I was seduced by its image.
My iPhone lies. It says I am sophisticated. It tags me as a Sex in the City gal.
When I was much, much younger the thing I wanted to be most was a writer living in New York City. A Carrie, if you will. Though back then Carrie was Helen Gurley Brown, the penultimate editor of Cosmopolitan, who evolved from Arkansas to Manhattan in the 1960s. She went from poverty to literary fame, from small rural town to what was then the literary capital of the United States.
All the greats, all the women writers I admire, spent time writing and living in New York. Sylvia Plath went to Smith, worked at Mademoiselle and eventually ended up in London. London, England – another city I wished to use to live in. I was too poor to aspire to Smith but if I could write well enough perhaps I too could end up somewhere amazing. I envied her path in life but not her end. Why are the writers we so often admire so tragic?
Then there was Dorothy Parker, witty, not so pretty Dorothy who wore glasses and only wanted to be sophisticated and feared not admired and loved.
So there we have it, a capsule of New York City’s sophisticated writers from the beginning of the 20th century to its end. I’m a big fan of smart and liberated women no matter what century they lived in.
In reality, am I a Carrie, a Charlotte, a Miranda or a Samantha? I am older then the oldest of them now. The older I get the less I want to move though New York City, London and San Francisco still haunt my books and occasional dreams. These are on my TBR lists. (TBR = books to be read eventually). I’ve downloaded this Cocktail app on my iPhone.
So, mostly, I am a career centered Miranda with a bit of sex positive Samantha thrown in for fun. I can live with that!
Miranda, somewhat like me, is the pragmatic career woman. Though I wouldn’t say that I am highly ambitious, my own life and career does comes first. However, I will always put my iPhone down to enjoy a cocktail with the girls. I am strong-willed, determined and independent. I want what I want but finding the means to achieve what I want is where I run into trouble. I like to control my life and my space and each time I move it gets harder and harder to do. I want security. I want to be in a place where I’ll know that I’ll never have to move again and I would love to have a relationship with a stable, self-sufficient employed man.
There are too many to name. I seem to reinvent myself with every decade. My music tastes evolve. I read more widely in many more genres. I get pickier about what I watch on television. I seem less and less to fit in with the norm – not that I ever was miss popular small town wife and mother to be.
I was always slightly different from everyone else but I got very good at passing as normal (or whatever normal seemed to be at the moment).
gigi would not feel uncomfortable living anywhere in the world. She would be friendly while still maintaining her independence. She would be a woman of means who would age gracefully. She would love to wear vintage clothes and wouldn’t care what people said about her unconventional life.
So, as Helen Gurley Brown said:
“After you’re older, two things are possibly more important than any others: health and money.”
And Dorothy Parker opined in her poem, Resume:
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
Myself, gigi, can only hope to one day be as witty and suplime.
Here’s to life – wherever and however you end up living it.
I am feeling ancient, ancient and cold (the minus 50 degree Celsius day is not helping). I am rock. I am granite. I am stone.
Water runs off me, through me and wears away at my surface.
The good stuff is underneath, is inside.
I am gargoyle, grotesque. I am a statue – immobile.
I am ancient. I am unknown.
I am abandoned.
There is beauty there.
Old. Ancient. Abandoned.
Joy is a full day exploring an old cemetery with or without company.
First snow today (or at least, the first snow that will last longer than a few warm days). Big flakes. Lots of wind. Invigorating to walk in. I have been out and will now stay in until Monday.
Sunday is applesauce and home-made soup day. Reading Doctor Sleep day. Hibernating.
I have a full freezer, full fridge and full cupboards. I have cable (after six months of only having one channel) and internet. I need nothing else.
This short post (look only one picture) is participating in Ailsa’s weekly travel theme – this week the theme is Travel theme: Short.
This week’s photo challenge at the Daily Post is The Hue of You (cute wordplay, by the way – it made me smile).
“For this challenge, we want to keep it simple: share a photograph with a prominent color (or assortment of colors) that reveals more about you. It could be a symbolic, meaningful shade; a color that expresses how you currently feel; or a combination of colors that excites you and tells a visual story.”
I’ve always been drawn to the primary colours of yellow and blue.
From the brightness of local playground equipment….
To the pattern on the bathroom wall at Wanuskewin Heritage Park…
To the yellow and blue house that I use to pass on my daily walk.
Here it is before it sold…
And here it is after (repainted in the same colours). Hooray, I was worried the new owners would replace the colour scheme with something different!
So, what does this say about me. That I’m still childlike (primary colours), that I’m attracted to what makes me smile (aren’t we all) and that right now, I need smiles (it’s been a bad year).
Some weeks I really don’t want to blog; you may have noticed I have participated in a lot of photography challenges this year.
So, what hue are you?
I was never the sort of person who wrote on walls. I was raised up to be perfect in my manners and decorum. It was too quiet a life. It is too quiet a life. I think, sometimes, you should break the rules (especially when you’re growing up and just learning who you want to be). Otherwise, you get too scared to make good art.
The picture above is just part of an alley wall mural. I love the whole wall but it is impossible to get a picture without wires and light posts getting in the way and I have little Photoshop skills.
Do yourself good. Write on the walls!
Weekly photo challenge via The Daily Post.