Found Smiles

It’s that time of year, winter coats are packed away, and windows are opened. Grass thinks about turning green, buds pop out on trees, and bicycles appear on sidewalks.

Everything feels bright, fresh—and your blog? Uh…yeah, that’s what I thought. Don’t worry Hugh’s got you covered. If you haven’t read his post, 21 Ways to Spring Clean Your Blog, check it out here.

As per Hugh’s suggestion #12, I waded through my old posts, and trashed everything from my first year on WordPress, except…the answers to one of those blog award questions. You remember, the Tell Us 5 Things About Yourself request?

Reading those answers now, after five years, some of them still true, some not
—Found Smiles.

Sharing the nostalgia and hopefully, the smiles…

  1. I’m 4’10”—if I’m having a wild hair day.
  2. I’ve taken years of classes in French and Spanish, and still can’t speak either of them.
  3. I can’t remember song lyrics anymore, and that seriously screws up my shower renditions.
  4. I say, “Hi” to dogs when I pass them on the street.
  5. I love to go—anywhere. Give me ten minutes to pack a bag and I’m on the plane. (If you think it takes me ten minutes to pack, I’ve got bridge in New York I want to sell you.)

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Little Fears Sunday Collaboration

Peter's House

SAVED

A bump in the night,
It’s nothing, right?
Wind at the window,
Gusts at the door.
Shadows in the bedroom,

Were they there before?

An old farm house,
Creaking wood floors.
A musty bed
In an unused room.
A storm, mad rain,

Go to sleep, again.

A crucifix on the wall,
Across from the bed.
A voice in the dark,
A whisper in his head.
Have you been saved?

The shadows said.

Thorns on his head,
Blood on his ribs.
The pale figure moved,
First hands, then feet.
Stepped off the wood cross,

Floated down from the wall.

Sheets on the floor,
Feet on the stairs.
Heart pounding,
Door slamming.
Rain on his face,

He shouted back at the house.

Thanks, but I saved myself!

Art work, video, you know, all the hard stuff, by Peter—the creative mind behind Little Fears.

A big thank you to Peter for coming up with this Sunday Collaboration idea and giving me the opportunity to get Spooky. If you’re looking to start your day with a laugh, check out Peter’s blog.

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Continue reading “Little Fears Sunday Collaboration”

Winter Whining

Over a weekend, in the middle of January, winter bared its teeth and bit us hard.

For those of you who remember the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson…

Drum roll… How cold was it?

Cold enough to dig out the winter hat I bought in Russia and thought I’d never wear.

Cold enough to actually wear it.

Cold enough for the snow to protest with a high pitched squeak as you drive over it.

Cold enough for frost bite to threaten any sliver of exposed skin.

Cold enough for me.

In proof of the old assertion, This Too Shall Pass, I offer…a scene from summer  🙂

Entrance to the Acropolis Buildings in Athens

Remember what sweltering in +34C was like?

Yeah, me neither 🙂

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Proposal

“I’ve been thinking,” Martin said, spreading low-fat margarine over his toasted bagel. “We should get married.”

Charlie lowered his newspaper, looked at Martin over the top of his reading glasses. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“No.” Charlie went back to reading his paper.

“No, you didn’t hear me or no, you don’t want to get married?” Martin asked, grimacing as he bit into his bagel. It wasn’t the same without cream cheese and jam.

Charlie’s head popped over the paper again. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing, I want to get married.” Martin said, setting his bagel down and picking up his coffee.

Charlie flapped the newspaper pages, but he didn’t look up. “No, you don’t.”

Martin snorted. “You mean you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I mean, you know I hate that.”

“Why? You tell me what I think.” Martin popped the last piece of bagel into his mouth and dusted toast crumbs off his fingers.

Charlie folded his newspaper, pushed away from the table. Thirty years with Martin had taught him when to retreat. “I’m off to the gym.”

“I don’t know why you bother going. It’s not like you actually work out,” Martin said, getting up to slot his breakfast plate into the dishwasher.

“Should have thought that was obvious,” Charlie said, rounding the kitchen table, and pinning Martin to the counter. “I go to get away from you.”

Laughter spilling into Martin’s face, he slipped Charlie’s reading glasses off, and set them on the counter. “Get out of here, moron.”

At the kitchen door, Charlie turned back, raised an eyebrow at Martin. “You bought rings, didn’t you?”

“Thought you were leaving?” Martin asked, pouring himself a second cup of coffee.

“Ah, shit.” 

Martin sipped his coffee, heard the hangers clang in the hall closet as Charlie got his jacket. 

“No reception,” Charlie called down the hallway to the kitchen, closing the front door behind him.

Ever the romantic, his Charlie.

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Impulse Buys

Ads pop up on my laptop, emails scream sale price at me, and Amazon and I have a one-click-to-buy relationship. Shopping 24/7, the ultimate consumer dream, brought to you by the good folks at the internet.

I’m ancient enough to remember how excited we all were when stores were first allowed to open on Sundays, but now…

Who needs store hours when you can buy stuff while sitting in your bathtub?

Most of the time, I’m good at reigning in the impulse buying. I don’t order from the Shopping Network, I ignore the ads for creams that claim to be better than face-lifts, and I consider things like currency exchange, custom fees, and delivery charges before pulling out my credit card.

Usually.

There have been times though…

There are two red-velvet covered 1907 theatre seats from the Royal Alexandra Theatre  sitting in my basement gathering dust because I read an email at 5 A.M. after a sleepless night. I thought they’d look great in my living room. They don’t.

Which is not to say that all online purchases are a mistake…

Two years ago, when he was 12 years old, Louis Bilodeau bought a flock of sheep on Kijiji.

Now at 14, he’s a sheep farmer, a high school student, and the lamb supplier to a Montreal restaurant.

He even has a dish named in his honour, Méchoui fumé de Louis.

Obviously, Louis is a smarter shopper than I am 🙂

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