Coax me, cajole me

My veins are running thick with molasses this week. I just seem to have this malaise about me that I can’t shake. Yet again, I have been thinking of this blog, but those few, brief seconds I get to myself to compose my thoughts have not resulted in anything concrete.

I have been walking a lot lately, hoping it will clear the cobwebs. When I’m sitting, I want to get out and walk. When I walk, I want to be at rest. Peace isn’t coming easy. I feel like a cat that doesn’t know if it wants to be out or in, stroked or ignored.

I wonder if others feel like the world is spinning out of control and not making sense. I don’t understand how my government can do what it is doing in the Middle East and in the name of freedom, how nations can blow each other to smithereens without batting an eyelash, how the open prairies are being gobbled up by insane sprawl in the name of oil ripped from the soil. How does one not stand by and watch all of this without feeling confused, questioning “Why?”

I just wish I could push past the confusion, and do something.

Best. Chick Rock. Ever.

I am a chick, it's true. But most chick rock really makes me ill. So I'm so lucky to have recently witnessed the rocking goddesses that make up Magneta Lane.

In an open blog entry to them, (I guess that's what this is turning into), I want to say thanks for being so gracious and for spreading the message to girls that they should be what they want when they grow up, as long as they are true to themselves. I took four 13-y.o. to 14-y.o. girls to the concert, and it was good for them to hear a real message from real women (in between disturbingly ogling Murder City Sparrows and Hedley, of course). So as a step-parent, excellent use of opportunity to speak to them when you have the chance! Oh yeah, and to French... thanks for saying that I look too young to have kids. You're my new rock hero.

Mike Loves Me

x-posted from my flickr account
This photo was my little brother's last birthday present to me, in March 2003. My mom and dad e-mailed it to me back then as part of a birthday message. He was ripped from my life on January 11, 2005, but this photo gets me through the hard days.

What made me post this at this time, is that I read a particularly moving post on Matthew Good's blog entitled 'Wealth'. At times, I feel so down lately, but when I look at this photo I remember how pure my brother was, and how he loved people so openly. And I feel so lucky that I had a person like that in my life, and that I knew what it felt like to have someone like that love you. I miss him a lot, but I do still feel lucky and wealthy to have had 31 years on earth together.

My stab at Urban Planning humour

Planning and I have had a rocky relationship, but we're getting along much better now.

A whirlpool of thoughts

I have been thinking a lot over the past few days about this entry, my first real entry. And a rush of words flood through my brain, but none of it actually spills onto the blank template. I can never explain the wonder in life or the emotions within me. Although I am haunted by the written word, I have trouble using it to convey my innermost thoughts. Or at least in a way that I feel would move others. With a few rare exceptions, my words have been lifeless to me.

I believe that is why I have always been befuddled by words and how they hook into me… the way I can fall in love with a verse or phrase, where I’ll think about it without knowing and smile. I’ll suddenly find it swirling around me in quiet moments. There are passages from poetry I can smell, taste and feel because we have been intimate for so long. Poems and songs are a holiday, an island to myself.

When I stand in an open field or by the shore, the words of others fly to me that somehow better convey the beauty of the moment more than my words ever could. And I guess that is why I am left here, with so little to say. I have named this journal 'a stone, a leaf, an unfound door' because those are the words that have haunted me the longest.

As difficult as words come to me, the illustration comes easier. I can visualize anything, maybe because I have done it for a living for so long, or maybe because I have had a camera in my hand since I was six. So I will start with photography, and maybe the words will come later.

Definition of torny

Main Entry: torny
Pronunciation: 'tor-nE Function: adjective Inflected Form(s): torn·i·er; -est Etymology: Colloquial English, from being too lazy to use real words: desiring sex but too tired to do anything about it.