sharing magic.... 'In the Absence of Words '

Life is full - not all bad, not all good - and I have so little time that blogging does not often cross my mind these days. You do, you who have been faithful, but blogging is just not climbing into the priority range. But there is time for this. A friend on Facebook (proof that online friendships can be as compassionate and deep and caring as any other) forwarded this piece to me.

Thank you Elizabeth. I love you Mom.

In the Absence of Words | EOAGH:

the newsroom

I’m infatuated with a TV show. It’s been a while. I mean, of course I watched Game of Thrones. What self-respecting fantasy writer (or aspiring fantasy writer) hasn’t? And it’s great entertainment, don’t get me wrong, but there’s no infatuation. I just like it, a lot. But this new show – it’s infatuation, moving towards love.

I doubt very much that you’ll be surprised when I tell you that the show is Aaron Sorkin’s  The Newsroom. I didn’t watch much of The West Wing – no cable at the time and the Internet was not yet all over streaming things like that – but the couple episodes I saw were enjoyable. From a distance though, it seemed like a bit of a fairytale: centrist, pragmatically progressive president making the decisions we wish the American president had been making, and showing the heart we wish he’d been showing, during the height of the Dubya debacle. In the absence of regular exposure to the show, I just never developed an attachment. I never had a chance to properly suspend disbelief.

right now

Disclaimer: You don't need to read this. This post is about staying honest to me and about being true to  my writing ethic. As such, it's not necessarily for public consumption. If you choose to proceed, I'll explain why I'm posting it at all a little farther down.

I was going to post today about The Newsroom, a review of sorts. And then Colorado happened. The media is still trying to get the facts together and not trip over itself too much trying to scoop the competition, so mostly we just have some numbers and some sensationalism, and the truth is a ways away just yet. There's a lot of speculation and supposition. A motive is profoundly absent.

it is normal people that are revolutionaries

Had to share. Sekou Andrews and Steve Connell at TEDMED 2011. Enjoy...



...and, because the sentiment is similar...



p.s. ...cheers...

the love essays

It’s been too long. Seriously, too long. Not that anything is about to change profoundly in that department, but I miss you… this… really miss it.

Anyway, tol isn’t the only thing I’ve had a hard time finding time for. I finally found an afternoon to dedicate to the reading of Judy Clement Wall’s Love Essays which I downloaded earlier this month. The reading of those essays brings me out from under the bridge to make a brief comment here.

Look right and you’ll see links to Judy’s blogs, Zebra Sounds and A Human Thing. If you’ve been around for a while you’ll recognize her name, her blogs, her writing. You’ll remember her Love Project last year at Zebra Sounds. You’ll know A Human Thing for the dedicated extension of that project that it is. I’m a fan, and have been for a while.

The Love Essays are Judy’s condensation of that year of Loving Fearlessly, a wonderfully dense, honest, and lyrical exploration of how the year changed her and, in her humble way of saying, how the year changed the lives of the many that followed her journey. It’s kind of amazing. That is understatement, if that wasn't clear.

This is not an unbiased review of her work. To be fair to myself, I think my opinion would be similarly glowing if it was unbiased; if, for example, I’d been handed a copy with no name on it. But I wasn’t handed a copy. I downloaded it from Judy’s site. In typical Judy fashion, she’s left the cost for her work up to the downloader. If you can’t afford to pay, don’t let that stop you. For Judy, getting the truth of the Love Project – the power of what she calls Fearless Love – out there, is more important than monetizing them.

To be clear, I love that. The only thing I love as much as her giving it away is the thought that every person that can afford to pay for them will, and that she’d be able to do a world tour on the profits (because then I could actually meet her).

…

I'm stoked about Linkin Park's new album...

...just sayin'...

...

P.S. What? You’re still here? Go! Sheesh…

blackout speakout

surfacing for a Liebster

The concept intrigued me profoundly, and on several levels: a collaborative blog that the host, Varun Kothamachu, intended to be an exploration of style and opinion from around the world; each new blogger recommended by the previous blogger; each week a new experience, a new perspective, a celebration of the things that make us unique and the things that unite us as humans.

I’ve kept tabs on the Vie Hebdomadaires site from the start, sometimes with a more participatory intent, other time – like the last several months with everything online – just lurking, reaching out regularly to touch it and assure myself that it was still there, still moving, growing, thriving.

Like most things, the thing that I love most about Vie Hebdomadaires is simply that it exists, that it aspires, that there is a journey happening there worth being a part of. It is an idea and an ideal, and it evolves. We should all be so lucky.

And then, in spite of my general quietude and lack of (overt) involvement, Varun emailed me this week and honored me again, offering me a heretofore unknown (to me) version of the pay-it-forward blog award, a Liebster.

Web consensus is that the Liebster Blog Award originated in Germany – Liebster means favorite or dearest – and is intended to give bloggy love to writers with fewer than 200 followers. I qualify. What moved me most though was that Varun remembered me; I was the seventh writer in the Vie Hebdomadaires daisy-chain and they’re striding along into week thirty-four right now.

...he likes me, he really likes me.

So, I’m flattered. Time to pass it forward. The rules for the Liebster are as follows:

1. Thank the one who nominated you. Varun and Vie Hebdomadaires, here’s to you;

b. Nominate five blogs with fewer than 200 followers;

trois. Let the nominees know by e-mail or comment on their site;

四. Copy and paste the Liebster Award Icon to your site.

I hereby nominate the following for a Liebster Blog Award...

Melissa Wolfe’s No Such Thing as Never. I first found Melissa’s former blog, Finding Melissa, and was immediately attracted by her honesty and courage and the seeming inevitable arc of her growth and journey. I’ve never been disappointed.

I don’t know if it qualifies on the “under 200” measuring stick (I doubt it, frankly)), but it deserves mention. A Human Thing is the extension of Judy Clement Wall’s year-long Love Project from Zebra Sounds, another blog that Varun nominated. Now Judy’s covered both ways.

I can’t even remember how Holly and I met online. She is bright, opinionated, takes great pictures, and has experienced a profound amount of life at a young age, a quality that she and Melissa share in common. Her blog, Eating a Tangerine, is a combination of feminism, political opinion, astute observation, and courageous self-discovery.

Lance Burson was the one that daisy-chained me into the Vie Hebdomadaires list of writers, recommending me after he was writer number six. Lance writes about life, love, parenthood, music, and integrity. Even when he doesn't write about integrity directly at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog, it infuses everything he says. More than any other one factor, that’s why I like reading Lance’s non-fiction stuff – he’s sincere and honest. He also posts a lot of his fiction, which is just fun.

Aside – honesty may be a theme here…

Yes, that’s only four people, but I mentioned two of Melissa's blogs. Also, I am both an iconoclast that loves breaking arbitrary rules, and prefer to focus on the now. Right now, this is what I’m reading consistently that may realistically qualify under the 200 parameter. I might still be (am probably) wrong on A Human Thing, but I’ll be happy to err on the side of caution there.

Anyway, there you go. Thanks Varun, it’s much appreciated. Back to revising…

truth and intentions

Somewhere between grades eight and nine everything changed. I mean, things had changed a lot already. Dad was gone, a few years gone, and Mom had turned home into a group home, and I was living in the shed, and I was still awkward and happier in my own company than anyone else’s.

paradise lost

My Dad is a very involved and devout evangelical Christian. I used to be, twice. If you’ve been reading, you know I’m not any more, not at all. This makes for some interesting conversations.

flip

The weather is changing here, winter giving up ground to spring, even though there's a fight for it, and everyone seems really tired this week. It felt that way in Aikido, at hockey, even in yoga where a majority, independent of one another, asked Julie if the vinyasa was going to be hard today.

Seems like the change of seasons is just taking it out of folks this year. Or maybe it was the winter that took it out of us, and now, with the promise of spring around the corner, we just finally feel safe enough to acknowledge it, safe enough to let the fatigue bubble up to the surface.

Me, I think it’s more like the way a lake will flip, the bottom water exchanging with the top as the temperature rises or falls, spring and fall. When it does, it dredges up all the silt, increasing turbidity for a week or two as the flip occurs. I have this theory that our bodies know better than we do. And the flip dredges up all the toxins to make space for the new season. If we’re listening, if we’re on it, it’s a chance to clean things up, wash the toxins out, let the current take away the silt.

The other thing the lake flip does? It re-oxygenates the water, bringing the life up to the surface again, just in time for the sun to reestablish dominance. Hello sun.

Equinox is in two weeks. Get out your shorts and flip flops, folks. Maybe grab a metaphorical broom too.

And...

gratitudes and inclusions

Hold on, buckle in. This is messier than I intended. But I’m going for it. See you on the other side…

*

rituals of grief

I mentioned on Saturday afternoon that Lylune, beloved kitty of my beloved, Gena, was very sick. In the space of a week she had shed a third of her body weight, stopped eating and drinking. Gena had her in to the Vet on Friday and they could only speculate – renal failure or cancer - probably, considering the rapidity and the symptoms - cancer. They hydrated her, filled her full of electrolytes and nutrients and drugs to try to get her kidneys working again, and that was about all they could do. 

“If she responds,” the Vet told Gena, “we’ll talk about treatment options on Monday."

But she didn’t respond. She was in less distress thanks to the IV, but she never got her groove back, not to mention her appetite, and she passed away quietly on Saturday evening.

the most delicate paw in the history of paws

learning to miss

I have only a little time today. Forgive me if this seems a bit abrupt, but Gena’s tiny, delicate, beautiful kitty Lylune is really sick. This is stolen time right here, and there are priorities to attend to. And yet, I have to put some thoughts down. It's a precious responsibility - to catch the thoughts, the moments, before they pass.

the long ones

There are days, with dementia, when good memories abound. When I visit Mom, almost all of the time, that’s the case. We're very lucky so far. She doesn’t put together my visits into any kind of continuum very well, so every Monday and Friday the visits seems a bit like a treat – like I haven’t been around for a long time – and the good will ensues (there is a lesson to learn in this, I think). Lots of love, lots of nice memories, smiles, laughs.

But not always.

yoga conundrums

I’ve been trying to figure out how to write something about yoga without sounding completely fucking pretentious. I’m hoping that being unnecessarily vulgar will help. Only that once though. Maybe.

Yoga’s one of those things that I’ve done for a while as a sideline, intermittently as it were, and as a means to an end. The “end” has been improved flexibility for climbing, hockey, Aikido. That’s served a purpose to date, I suppose, but I’ve never really had the kind of breakthrough with my bad hip that I’ve dreamed about. So I’m trying to go a bit deeper, make yoga a focus, and end in itself.

This is one of those risk and reward things.

things i learn getting hurt

After not playing hockey all of last season, barely playing at all for the three before that, I pulled out my goalie gear last fall and started playing a few times a week. Three to be exact. I was out of shape, my legs felt like jelly after about 15 minutes that first ice time, but I remembered how much I love playing the first time the puck ended up in my glove.

Shocker., I know. That’s how it is when you love something.

pipelines, violins, politicians, and love...

Anyone else find Obama’s SOTU mostly really good to listen to this year? I mean except for the saber rattling and nationalistic hoopla that seems to be mandatory for Western leaders? The man and his handlers have a gift for hearing the tone of the zeitgeist, even if I don’t really believe for a second that his banker friends will be letting him do much about any of that social equity and taxation of the rich stuff. He at least makes it sound like it would be a cool thing to see him doing.

MOXNews shared an OWS perspective too. Sort of.

Here in Canada, we have no charismatic leadership, sincere or not. We just have lying, cheating, heartless bastards that are about as exciting as dead fish. I hear what you're thinking, but really, I'm being kind. Our PM can’t even bring himself to tell us that he plans on completely gutting the social safety net that our country has been lauded for over the last fifty years; he goes to Davos and an economic summit, as far away as possible from the citizens he’s supposed to serve, to do it. I swear, this is karma for laughing at the US-ians for electing Dubya…

i'm older today than i was yesterday

It’s my birthday today. Forty-five years. I’m not sure what that means, or if it means anything specifically, or even if it's supposed to.

I’m not much of a sentimentalist, although birthdays and New Years are about the only national holidays that I don’t consider hypocritical in most ways. They remain what they have always been: reasons to party. And numbers don’t mean much either, do they? I appreciate the experience that the extra time provides, and occasionally wish I’d known then what I know now, but I had to not know it at some point to be able to learn it, right? Chickens, eggs, always getting us into arguments.

renewing acquaintances

Three months. That’s kind of a long time for an unannounced hiatus. Although the writing was on the wall even back in November.

Mic check. Mic check. Anyone still out there?

What can I say? I’ve been busy. Some of the busy-ness has been good, some not so much. Most of it remains, but I cleared a bit of time for you and me.