Friday brain dump
What I want to know is, how come when I'm standing at the bus stop, or in the shower, or in the checkout line at the grocery store, or at 4:05 in the morning, I've got all these tremendous blog ideas, but when I am actually staring at the computer, fingers poised expectantly over the keyboard, I got nothing?
Not nothing, really, but nothing coherent. For example, I could write about how this really freaked me out. It's an article about, among other things, a company called Life Gems that "transforms the carbon in cremated remains to graphite and finally a yellow or blue diamond." Ick. I mean, think of the pressure - no pun intended - of walking around with the compressed remains of your loved one on your pinkie finger. Aside from the ick factor, I'd be terrified that I'd lose it or scratch it. Every time I bumped into a door frame (happens a lot more often than you might expect) I'd be apologizing to the dearly departed. No thank you.
Or I could whine about how my family might have to not have a Thanksgiving dinner together this weekend. My dad is sick with some sort of lung ailment that might be tuberculosis, or might be something benign. They did some sort of medical test last week, and he has been on "house arrest" - not allowed to see anyone except my mother - while awaiting results. Those results were supposed to be in yesterday, but they weren't. So if they aren't in today, he has to stay in seclusion and we can't spend any time with him (or my mom) until the test results come back in - the Tuesday after the holiday weekend at earliest. My poor mother is going through grandson withdrawal, but was lucky enough to bump into Beloved and the boys yesterday in - of all places - the parking lot of Toys R Us. Hmmm, wonder what she was doing there?
On a less whiny note, I was also thinking about talking about Random Acts of Poetry. I'm not a huge fan of poetry, not because I don't like it but because for the most part it makes me feel a little less bright than the average bulb. There are lots of poems I like, but mostly because of the play of the words and the rhythm of the verse - think The Creation of Sam McGee. But I do love this idea of Random Acts of Poetry, mostly because I think any initiative that combines literacy, reaching out to people and a sense of humour is a worthwhile endeavour. Imagine standing at the bus stop, or walking down the street, completely absorbed in your own mundane thoughts, and having some strange person accost you and ask, ever so politely, if it's okay if she "poems" you. I might go out at 11 o'clock to see the poeming at the Maman statue; it's only a building away from here.
In the end, I thought I'd blog on this oh-so-scattered Friday, about two not-quite-anecdotes from my boys. Simon is at the stage where he is stringing two and occasionally three words together, although for the most part only Tristan, Beloved or I can understand him. He has mastered two key phrases that turn me to jello instantly. Whenever I hand him anything, he says, "thangumummy" (most gracious thanks, mother) and "lubbumummy" (I love you, mummy.) It really is fortifying to be loved so completely, and to love so completely in return.
And the last word goes to Tristan. He and Beloved somehow got on the topic of kissing and girls. Beloved asked, "Would you ever kiss a girl?" To which Tristan responded, "Ewww! Girls are disGUSting. I only kiss Mummy."
That's my boy.
Update - the test results are in, and whatever is making my Dad sick is not contagious and not TB. Turkey Day is back on!!!
Not nothing, really, but nothing coherent. For example, I could write about how this really freaked me out. It's an article about, among other things, a company called Life Gems that "transforms the carbon in cremated remains to graphite and finally a yellow or blue diamond." Ick. I mean, think of the pressure - no pun intended - of walking around with the compressed remains of your loved one on your pinkie finger. Aside from the ick factor, I'd be terrified that I'd lose it or scratch it. Every time I bumped into a door frame (happens a lot more often than you might expect) I'd be apologizing to the dearly departed. No thank you.
Or I could whine about how my family might have to not have a Thanksgiving dinner together this weekend. My dad is sick with some sort of lung ailment that might be tuberculosis, or might be something benign. They did some sort of medical test last week, and he has been on "house arrest" - not allowed to see anyone except my mother - while awaiting results. Those results were supposed to be in yesterday, but they weren't. So if they aren't in today, he has to stay in seclusion and we can't spend any time with him (or my mom) until the test results come back in - the Tuesday after the holiday weekend at earliest. My poor mother is going through grandson withdrawal, but was lucky enough to bump into Beloved and the boys yesterday in - of all places - the parking lot of Toys R Us. Hmmm, wonder what she was doing there?
On a less whiny note, I was also thinking about talking about Random Acts of Poetry. I'm not a huge fan of poetry, not because I don't like it but because for the most part it makes me feel a little less bright than the average bulb. There are lots of poems I like, but mostly because of the play of the words and the rhythm of the verse - think The Creation of Sam McGee. But I do love this idea of Random Acts of Poetry, mostly because I think any initiative that combines literacy, reaching out to people and a sense of humour is a worthwhile endeavour. Imagine standing at the bus stop, or walking down the street, completely absorbed in your own mundane thoughts, and having some strange person accost you and ask, ever so politely, if it's okay if she "poems" you. I might go out at 11 o'clock to see the poeming at the Maman statue; it's only a building away from here.
In the end, I thought I'd blog on this oh-so-scattered Friday, about two not-quite-anecdotes from my boys. Simon is at the stage where he is stringing two and occasionally three words together, although for the most part only Tristan, Beloved or I can understand him. He has mastered two key phrases that turn me to jello instantly. Whenever I hand him anything, he says, "thangumummy" (most gracious thanks, mother) and "lubbumummy" (I love you, mummy.) It really is fortifying to be loved so completely, and to love so completely in return.
And the last word goes to Tristan. He and Beloved somehow got on the topic of kissing and girls. Beloved asked, "Would you ever kiss a girl?" To which Tristan responded, "Ewww! Girls are disGUSting. I only kiss Mummy."
That's my boy.
Update - the test results are in, and whatever is making my Dad sick is not contagious and not TB. Turkey Day is back on!!!
Said DaniGirl at 6:38 a.m. #
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