This is a hard question. How do I narrow the possibilities down to just one?
There are the famous I’d like to meet. Those I feel like I’ve known forever like Bernadette, Broadway actor extraordinaire whom I’d like to have seen on stage as the witch in Into The Woods. Susan, whom I’ve followed since Thelma and Louise first rode off into the sunset (and Geena, of course, who is such a smart woman and strong feminist). Jodie, whom I watch grow up on screen since I was just a wee bit like her. They could help me understand how one lives a happy, happy life in spite of all the idjits out there.
Then there are the historical women like Mary Shelley and her mother who had such interesting lives despite society’s views on their womanhood.
And what about all my fellow spinsters out there? I don’t have enough time to explore them all.
The answer to this question changes daily, nay, hourly, or by the minute!
My choice right now would be someone alive and kicking, someone nearish to my age so we could be life-long admirers of each other’s works. I would have liked to have had her childhood (she grew up in a funeral home) and I get her references because we have the same cultural markers in our lives. I shall start following her on facebook because, in this day and age, I can.
Her name is Alison Bechdel and I have read her comic since the beginning though heaven knows how I (a young woman in rural Saskatchewan) ever first discovered it since, Dykes to Watch Out For, a cartoon strip that ran for twenty-five years, between 1983 and 2008, ran mostly in alternative newspapers.
Her view point is not mine. Her life style is not one I aspire to. I like that she, as all these women do, shows me a different world that is, in many ways, exactly like my own.
So, here we have today’s (this minute’s) one singular sensation whom I would like to be reading my blog.
Describe your relationship with your phone. Is it your lifeline, a buzzing nuisance, or something in between?
I dread the ringing phone. I always have. I always will.
I grew up on government assistance. It was drilled in to me early to never answer the phone. It might be someone checking up on us and answering would only result in bad things happening.
So I learned to ignore the persistent ringing of the phone at my mother’s house. I wrote recently how annoyed she would get about this (bad) habit of mine.
I also ignored the phone at my father’s house. He was very particular about getting his messages correctly and would yell if a message was forgotten or wrongly transmitted. Thus, I learnt also to ignore his ringing phone and let the answering machine take the message.
The phone has never been my friend. I hate answering it. I hate making calls on it. There is too much that can be misconstrued.
I was not the type of teenager who spent hours talking to her friends on the phone. My youngest sister would get home at seven and still be talking with friends on the phone at midnight.
My university boyfriend would call me and chatter on for a half hour with little input from me. My mother (and other family members) don’t expect much from me on the phone besides an occasional “uh huh.”
I can not tell you how much I love the new smart phones. I don’t have to talk to anyone (mostly). I can get answers and services taken care of through text (mostly). This is heaven. This is bliss.
My mother worked as a telephone operator in her younger days and thus knew all the small town gossip. My older sisters have no trouble ignoring a ringing phone without feeling guilty. The phone to them is a useful tool. To me, a ringing phone is an incessant demon berating and punishing and never conveying good news.
No, a ringing phone is not my friend.
If you need to talk to me, text me please.
This is a picture of the first phone we ever owned. It sounds like this. It sits on my desk, loud and annoying. The ring, even turned all the way down, scares the cat. We are thankful that it barely rings once every few days.
Remember, text me, don’t call!
I got up at six am this morning!
I am not a morning person!
My cat, however, figures once the sun is up everybody needs to be up!
She can’t watch bird TV all by herself you know.
I use to be legendary for how long I could sleep in. It would be noon and I would still be abed. It would annoy my mother greatly when teenage me would lie abed and not get up to answer the ringing telephone (when it got to the tenth ring I knew the only person who could be calling was my mother).
I don’t usually get up early. If I’m awake after midnight it’s because I haven’t gone to bed yet. The last time I was awake at four am was because our plane home from Alaska didn’t land until after midnight and by the time the parents were dropped off and we got home it was almost five am and the sun was contemplating rising.
I miss sleeping in, luxuriating half-awake curled up under warm blankets for hours and hours.
I am not an early bird. I will not get the first, freshest worm! (Ugh).
I am, however, learning to enjoy cat naps with the cat. No wonder she is up early as she naps most of the day.
I did not go out today to catch the first light. It was too early. It was too cold. Instead I give you a September Sunset picture and leave you with these words of wisdom.
“Learn from yesterday, live for today, look to tomorrow, rest this afternoon.” ― Charles M. Schulz, Charlie Brown’s Little Book of Wisdom
Thursday, February 27th was International Polar Bear Day and Polar Bears International marked the day with a petition urging world leaders to take decisive action at the UN climate change summit in Paris this December. You can read more about the petition here.
To help spread the word, Ailsa at Where’s my backpack? took a look through her travel photos for shots that suggest environment in some way and urged us to do the same.
I give you sky, land, and water.
The state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled.
Remembering. I am half-smiling at ridiculous situations, crazy people and strange places, all with the benefit of hindsight. I admit I am choosing my memories selectively. I am quickening time, losing years and even improving my looks. I have never included the bad side which, I know, is an integral part of one’s memories. That was not for me.
My very first post was posted on September 22, 2008 in the late evening. It was just under a thousand words and had no pictures. None! I had been considering blogging for almost five years before I attempted my first post.
I introduced myself to you all by employing the journalistic concepts of who, what, where, when, and why.
Don’t worry I’m not even going to try to do that again. I think I’ve learned a few things in the 5+ years I’ve been blogging. In hindsight, I’ll be briefer and more concise. Also, not much has really changed about who I am.
I’m still who I was except you can add home-owner to the list and maybe remove librarian.
Why maybe? I no longer work as a librarian. Am I still a librarian?
Dictionary.com defines librarian as a person trained in library science and engaged in library service.
Yes, I still have a degree – they can’t take that sky from me -but I am no longer engaged in library service.
Does that make me a former librarian or a has-been librarian?
I much prefer the definitions over at Urban Dictionary.
There, librarians are defined as :
- a person who is trained to help you find whatever information you might be looking for,
- people who desire to make the whole world of information available to people at the time they need it,
- well-minded angels with little street-sense or business-savvy [who] love to help,
- ugly old people that know a lot about books,
- someone with weird quirks.
Now, this is a list which perfectly defines me.
Who am I?
I am a librarian and a bookworm and still so much more.
And I want this job!
Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.
by Sara Teasdale (1914)
Travel theme: Autumn via Where’s my backpack?
The stores overflow with Halloween candy and decorations. Houses on the street look dark, gory and gloomy. Halloween is nigh!
When I was a child (oh so many decades ago) only one or two households would decorate the outside of their home for Halloween and we didn’t expect to see anything in the stores until after Canadian Thanksgiving (which is next weekend).
Now, it seems everything is buy, buy, buy. Halloween stuff appears in the store beside Back to School sales and Christmas stuff goes out even before Halloween is here.
We don’t just consume anymore now we must be seen to be consuming, to be consumers, to have it all, everyone must see it. Who are we keeping up to? Who is it all for?
Am I turning in to a curmudgeon?
Or was I always one? ;-)
I decorate for me. I celebrate for me. And increasingly that means buying less and enjoying the moments more.
What is this a sign of?