Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Eventually it comes, blasting us like the blitz of a headstrong storm rolling in off the ocean. Within moments, the heavens close their doors and the sky darkens, snuffing out the eternal hope of a singular ray of sunshine. All comes crashing down around us as that relentless monotonous drone penetrates the inner recesses of my soul. I sit still and silent amongst the chaos showering down around me mirroring the war that rages from within. Above me, I make out the shadow of it swooping through the black smoke. I can see it through the awkward angle of the eves. It circles. I can feel the piercing red beady eyes through the smouldering air. I close mine own eyes, yet remain haunted by the image of those fluorescent beady eyes emblazoned on my memory. I imagine them looking and seeing straight through it all, straight through right to my raw beating heart, my heart beating furiously, pounding so hard to a nervous rhythm that it almost breaks free of my ribcage which holds it prisoner. I open my eyes slightly and gasp. So close, so close.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
I am walking, hurrying down a narrow path through the trees. A bright canopy of green towers above me. It is mild and comfortable. I am not alone. There is a man with me. Under other circumstances it would have perhaps been a nice day, but anxiety lies thick upon my brow. We move quietly without talking. We move swiftly with our nervousness ringing continually in our ears. The trees open up and we pass into a clearing. Quickly we glance around to ensure that we are alone before proceeding, and then we keep moving. The long grass sways gently in the fields. There is a soft wind at our back. The conditions for travel are favourable.
Suddenly we hear that dreaded unmistakable low hum in the distance. We haven’t any time. Our tension mounts as we momentarily freeze like deer caught in headlights. We must act quickly. The hum grows steadily louder. I scan the landscape. Nothing but a black dot in the distant skyline. A small country church stands nearby. Interesting roofline, a small portion sweeps low on the backside, leaving a minute space where we could crawl through and crouch underneath. We rush towards it, hoping no one sees us. We approach from both sides and quickly contort ourselves through the opening and try to make ourselves comfortable in our confined space.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
- Link to the person that tagged you.
- Post the rules on your blog.
- Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
- Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
- Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
1. I am a perfectionist. I believe that we are born with our personality traits. I was certainly born with this one, although I've worked hard over the years to try to mellow it out...but essentially it is who I am. My mother tells me that when I was a baby and learning to talk, that I could talk long before I would utter a word in front of anyone. She had placed a mirror in my crib and I would sit there and practice as long as I thought no one was watching. As soon as anyone would enter the room, I would stop. When I began speaking I essentially had a very good command of the language. I had the same struggle in Quebec when I was first learning French many years later. I hated the thought of making an error or talking like a toddler. Eventually I had to ask myself what was the worst thing that could happen was and just get out there and do it. Still, I tend to over do things. It's a bit of a stress.
2. I am also just a bit obsessive compulsive...another trait from birth. I have always loved books and I am told that from about the age of one, I would gravitate to my parents' beautiful coffee table books, which, of course, were at just the perfect height for me to reach. I would choose a page and then rip just the tiniest little bit...not even a millimeter. Sometimes I'd have more than one book going at a time. Every day, I would go back to those books, to those specific pages and rip just the tiniest bit more. It would take months for the rip to develop into a much larger tear that would eat its way to the centre of the page. When I would start on a page, my parents told me that they were never sure it was actually a rip, perhaps just a snag from wear, but when they would go back to those same pages after a space of time, that very same rip would be decidedly longer. Yes, I know what you are all thinking...I had a lot of issues. I was probably born with them. I am sure that Freud would have had a heyday with me.
3. I, and everyone in my family, have memories that go back to about the age of two or three. These aren't fabricated memories or things that I've heard people talking about and then adapted as my own, these are my actual memories. Memories from when I was younger are sometimes more of a visual memory and at other times I remember the situation or event because I remember specifically what I was thinking at the time when the event happened. I am always astonished when people tell me that they can't remember anything before the age of ten. That's a whole decade that is lost or forgotten. I simply cannot imagine.
4. I have never been able to sleep in moving vehicles, especially cars. When I was young, my family would drive to the coast several times a year to visit the grandparents. It's a long trip through numerous mountain passes. I had visions of the car driving off a cliff so I would force myself to stay awake and keep watch. I recently recounted this to my father who excitedly informed me that when I was a baby, I was in a vehicle with my mother who missed a corner and drove the car over the bank. We both wondered if this incident had somehow imprinted itself upon my cellular memory so that even though I don't consciously remember the event, somehow my body did.
5. I am a night owl. Always have been, probably always will be. There were at least a couple instances when I was young where I simply forgot to go to sleep. No, this was not when I was at university pulling all nighters, although that did happen much later. At sleep overs, I was always the last one awake and usually the first one up. Now, although I still tend to keep rather late hours, don't find it quite so easy to get up so early. I have considered that perhaps I was supposed to have been born in a different time zone, not sure how I would actually confirm that though.
6. Last but not least...I talk to myself a lot...or sometimes to people who aren't there. Okay, I usually don't do this when other people are around, or if I do, it's internal dialogue. I'm not an outright freak, at least not yet.
Now, who to tag, who to tag...eenie, meenie, minie moe, I choose Cheryl, JBelle, Fede, Pinks, Mone, and VE.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Monday, February 04, 2008
I don’t know that the little narrow path just beyond the bridge meanders behind the wall to the edge of town and eventually leads into a large garden with a big apple tree and a quaint little cottage. I don’t know that the man, who lives in this cottage, reminiscent of the gingerbread house in the tale Hansel and Gretel, is now retired, that he waits impatiently for Sunday afternoon when his curly haired granddaughter with her big blue eyes and cherry pursed lips and little scuffed black mary janes comes to visit.
I don’t know that she runs up and down the path along the side of the house chasing the mouser who in turn dives under the bushes searching for a quiet refuge. I don’t know that the little girl, once she’s had her fill of fun then flies breathless through the front door, dirt on her knees where Oma feeds her fresh baked cookies and a tall glass of milk. I don’t know that she gobbles it all up greedily and then peers into the china cabinet at grandma’s collection of knickknacks knowing that she mustn’t touch, but wanting to in the worst way.
I don’t know that later that afternoon she saunters lazily hand in hand with her mother down the cobblestone street. I don’t know that when they turn the third corner that there’s a little café that sells ice cream, their most popular flavour being a creamy hazelnut that would be perfect topped with melted chocolate. I don’t know that just a little ways further down this narrow street they reach the city walls where they take time to peer off into the forested countryside and then slowly pass through a gate into a large park with beautiful gardens.
I don’t know that many musicians hang out in this area serenading the lovers who laze about in the grass and on the park benches on sunny summer afternoons. I don’t know. There are many things I just don’t know.