Tag Archives: attitude

It’s 4:00 in the morning!

I recently ran across this post written in July 2018. I thought I would like to share it again. I hope you don’t mind.

It’s 4:00 in the morning!

4 AM. The clock ticks inexorably towards 5 o’clock but it’s still a long way away. It is dark. It is quiet. But it is not silent. I can hear a clock ticking in the other room  . . .  tick tick tick. A relentless metronome. Tick tick tick. Isn’t there supposed to be a tock in there somewhere? It’s funny how we interpret what we hear.

I just heard a car, I think, it was a quiet, dull roar. Fortunately no car alarms! I can hear my refrigerator faintly humming. Not a tune I know. Silly me. I get a little punchy in the wee, wee hours of the day. Or is it still night? Technically it’s the morning but that doesn’t seem right until after dawn. But it is a quiet time.

I can hear my heart beating. Odd. It is something that has been doing the same job for more years than I wish to admit to and yet it is alien to me. My liver, my spleen. These are all important aspects of what makes me tick but I have no relationship with them. They are the mechanisms within the shell of my body. And I am no mechanic!

I am tired. But I am not sleepy. My body wants to rest but my mind insists it has something important to say. I wonder what that is. I wonder what is the meaning of life. Meaning. Mean. Such different meanings. Can you be mean to your meanings? How do we understand? Why do we not understand? We are not so different from each other and yet we insist that we are. Why? Why do we hate what we do not understand? When? When did we come to believe that it was okay to hate? Is that the meaning of life?

Understanding. Perhaps when we understand each other we will realize that only when we are acting as one, can we become one. One species, one race, one people. Too few people have tried. We are raised to be individuals and we cannot comprehend how we can be a part of something bigger when we come together as a whole. We do not give up our individuality by joining a group we simply enhance the group.

I feel I’m in ranting but I also feel that it is important. I am important. You are important. But even better than all of that:  WE ARE IMPORTANT!  WE MATTER.

A Slippery Slope

A word said in jest,

Can be misconstrued.

Words said in anger,

Are so over used.


The power exists,

For good or for bad.

The power of speech,

Is more than a fad.


Heroes are made,

By the needs of the few.

Their actions for many,

The usual view.


Who wields the power,

The spoken word holds,

Controls just what happens,

As the future unfolds.


Could you be the one,

Who guides with a word?

Ideals we hold true,

Must never be blurred.

My Muse

My muse amuses me. I often hear people talking about their muse and I don’t have one. I have hundreds of thousands of one. I get my inspiration from the wind and leaves or a comment overheard on the street. I once wrote a lovely post about an ‘alligator’. A small childhood used that word to his mother to describe the elevator we were all on. I’ve written poems based on a cracked tail light and a misheard comment about soup. I am inspired by the people I read and by the actors I am entranced by. I am placated by a wooden spoon that my Mother used when I was a child, I still have it. It is so full of memories and it is now almost black. I would never part with it. I love the memories that creep up in the back of my mind when I least expect it and the wonderful vacations I can take meandering through my childhood. These are my muses.

I have written about a little red wagon and a broken pencil.  I have written about hopes and dreams and puppy dog tails. Raindrops hitting the glass or rainbows sneaking behind buildings.  Laughter and tears, a quiet moment with a book or a rousing rendition of cello music. All these things stimulate and provoke and tantalize. These are my muses. This is what compels me to write to share and to learn.

I am often flooded by ideas that won’t stop coming. I am downing but I am also excited and terrified. How do I grasp, how do I hold on. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes they walked by me never to be seen again or perhaps to show up in something else. Sometimes the ideas sit and percolate. They need to be stronger, more full-bodied. I can wait. I write a few words down and sometimes I go back days, weeks, years later and pick up where I left off or I am stimulated by another thought and I will go down another rabbit hole. This is my world. I love, love, hate, love it!  I am inspired and I despair in equal measure. But I’m having fun. It is my muse de jour that I have grabbed by the tail and I’m trying to hang on. It might be a bumpy ride, but damn I’m having fun!


Of My Dreams

The age of Heroes has gone by,

The shining armour’s tarnished.

Dragons are nowhere to be found,

And the Damsel is a Duke.


Values weak and morals loose,

Vulgarity becomes the norm.

People fight over silly names,

And kill for a pair of shoes.


Now just sit back and take in stock,

Of frightening pictures painted.

We can escape to distant fires,

A place to live again.


Where grass is green and never smoked,

Where men are strong and women true.

This is a place to rest your brow,

This valley of my dreams.

An Emotional Hoarder

I recently posted a poem that I had written about how we need to let go of the baggage we carry around. It’s true. And I am guilty, so guilty. On one of the comments, I responded that I was an emotional hoarder. I really am. I remember a slight I was given when I was five years old, maybe. I was going to the first meeting of a Brownie troop and one of the leaders looked at my fingernails and said, and I quote, “You bite your nails! That is a filthy, dirty, disgusting habit.!” I was five. Of course, there was no recording of the comment so it is entirely possible that I have blown it out of proportion in my memory. But what I have not blown out of proportion is how I felt. That is a memory that will not fade. Because I internalized it. I never went back to that troop.  And you know, it still hurts. I no longer bite my nails. But why do I think of that, why do I remember that?  Why am I carrying that baggage?

I am also a physical hoarder, albeit a tidy one. I’ve lived in the same place for almost 30 years so I have a lot of boxes full of a lot of stuff. I have figurines that I was collecting when I was a child, think single digits. I think of it as mindful clutter.  I have pieces of paper that I wrote in university and that was many decades ago. Recently I’ve been going through those boxes looking at the things I have kept and wondering why? Why would I save a piece of paper with three words that have no meaning to me now. But they must’ve been important once upon a time.

I think I do that with bad memories as well. Why do we hang onto those? I want to remember the good stuff! I think I do but I not sure I give it as much weight as I do the negative. And that is my failing. I think there’ll always be a part of me that wonders if I am good enough or smart enough or pretty enough or… just enough. And I also think we all go through the same thing. But I’m starting to realize that I am enough. Of course, some days I am more than enough. Thankfully there’s only one of me in the world, I don’t think the universe could handle two!





Our Baggage

What do you carry,

In the baggage you hold?

How tight do your keep

Your grip?


Do you shuffle and fold,

And occasionally toss,

The items you carry,

Each day?


Are they heavy and cold

Or cheerful and light?

Do you keep

Under lock and key?


Do you share what you have

With those you hold dear?

Or hide them away



Perhaps it is time

To reveal what you have,

To lighten the burden

You hold.


Each of us owns

Some baggage we hide,

So don’t be afraid

To unpack.

Reflection versus Direction

It would appear that the post I had planned to use today is still percolating and not quite ready. So, I thought I would regale you with a post from 2014. I hope you enjoy.

In this day and age almost everything we say or do can be broadcast to the world.  You never know if your picture is being taken on the street or in the shops.  Movie cameras have moved into our workplace, our leisure time and our wars.  We have instant information at our fingertips.  But I have a question for you:  does the instant relating of news serve as a reflection of what is happening or is it directing us.

The whole strategy behind marketing is to influence people in their decision-making.  If one soap brand has a really cool commercial they will probably end up with more sales than another brand.  So it stands to reason that if the newsmakers present, for example, a war with the appropriate packaging it will be accepted more easily by the general public.  We want our world neatly packaged and delivered painlessly to us.

Who was it that said you can never be too thin or too rich?  Well if you’re too thin you die and if you’re too rich, ummmm, I’m thinking.  Okay I got it!  If you are too rich then you become insulated from the human condition.  Okay maybe not.  I’m not too thin and I’m not too rich.  What I am is too damn tired of Hollywood and its environs telling us how to look, how to act, how to think, how to live.  They’re trying to mold us into perfect little automatons.

In order to be yourself you have to disregard the advertisements that tell you what shampoos to use and how your makeup is to be applied, how to dress. If we can be true to ourselves and honour the person we actually are and not the image that society wants us to project, then I believe we have a chance. We need to raise children to be forward thinkers and not sheep-like followers.

I don’t have any children so why am I so concerned about other people’s offspring?  Simply put:  other people’s kids are our future.  If I love this world then I should want it to continue.  The only way that will happen is if we have people at the forefront who care. News needs to be analyzed and marketing gimmicks need to be dismissed. The truth is there, it is just sometimes difficult to see.

I was raised by parents who loved me.  They never taught me to hate.  They did teach me to care.  And I do care.  I care about the atrocities I see happening in other parts of the world.  I care about the horrible greed that exists around so many of our politicians.  I see hate, I see rage, I see iniquities, I see despair and I see fear.  What I also see is love, understanding and compassion.

I also see hope.  Above all else hope will save our world. If we stick together we will overcome adversity and we will flourish. The world is ours.


I think Mother Nature is going through Menopause.


A few days ago we had temperatures that felt like -26°C (-14°F) and four days later it was 7°C (44°F ).  We’ve got tsunamis and floods , drought, humidity and . . .

Recently a friend and I were talking about the weather and how changeable it is right now. This is Canada, we talk about weather. She was the one who came up with the idea that perhaps Mother Nature was going through ‘the change’. Yes ladies, THAT change.  And then my mind started to percolate…

The cycle of a human being can be challenging at times. In our childhood we deal with our bones growing and our minds developing. In our youth we begin to deal with hormones that we don’t understand and our minds expanding. As we pass middle age our minds are, hopefully, still expanding but we are faced with new challenges. That never seems to change. And women know that at a certain time those changes become, sometimes, more than a challenge. They can be life altering. And the men around them know this just as well.

A few days ago, the weather was 13°C (55°F) normally it hovers around -2°C (28°F).  Is somebody having hot flashes? What about the record highs in other countries or the constant downpour, flooding?  The entire planet seems to be shaking more than usual. I know there’s climate change but what about climate menopause. With always liking the planet to a woman and women age, just how old is the planet? Perhaps, geologically speaking, this wonderful world of ours is just past middle age. And we are now experiencing the throes of that age. It does make you wonder.

I have seen women burst into a rage for no reason and then collapse in tears. I think tsunami and torrential downpours. I once knew a woman who had hot flashes so unbearable that in the middle of winter she was out in her backyard in the snow in bare feet. I kid you not. She used to turn the air conditioning on while her husband was at work because. of course, it was winter. It was marvellous to be in the same room with her because she radiated heat. Parts of our world are heating up far past where they should be. Is Mother Nature having hot flashes?

I realize this is just another example of someone anthropomorphizing but I was bored and had time on my hands. That is such a dangerous combination!

On the Wall

A fly on the wall,

We’d all like to be.

A different perspective,

On the world we would see.


No one would know,

That we were so near.

Gathering gossip,

On those we hold dear.


Our size makes it easy,

To wander about.

Close and then far,

Even inside and out.


There’s only one problem,

I can see from this blotter.

Wielded with accuracy,

The dreaded fly swatter!




86,400 (2.0)

I originally wrote this nine years ago but my focus has changed in the ensuing time and I have, I think, improved it. I hope you enjoy.


I was once sent an e-mail that likened the 86,400 seconds in a 24-hour day to money. It went on to ask if you were given that amount of money every morning knowing that you would lose any you did not spend, would you endeavour to spend every cent.  Of course you would!  It attempts to remind us that we need to use every second of every day to its fullest.  That is so true, except . . . . I spend approximately 5 hours out of every 24 sleeping or 18,000 seconds (or $18.000).  Does that mean I have squandered that time?  No, I am recharging.

How much time do you spend preparing the food that fuels your body? Or any of the other activities that are vital in the running of said body. One works to afford the food to fuel the body as well as the clothes we wear and the roof over our head. We must also clean and exercise to maintain and… And then there are the activities for the mind which is part of the package. We need to stimulate, educate and entertain … I think it is a very costly activity to maintain one’s self. And I’m not talking about the frivolous, decorative activities. Just to simply maintain. When we get into the area of improvement. There is schooling and physical activities … Yep, there is a lot to do and none of it is squandering. I wonder how much I just spent writing this post. I probably shouldn’t add it up.

Now this brings up another problem.  How you speak and how you are understood.  I could say that I am not responsible for what you hear, only for what I say. But that is not quite accurate. I am a big believer that it is not how well you speak that is important but how well you are understood.  One may speak correctly and still be misunderstood.  Why?  The person or persons you are speaking to may not speak exactly the same way you do.  Their comprehension may be at a different place than yours.  For example – the word rug – it has different meanings depending on where you live.  In England a rug is a blanket. In Canada a rug is a carpet.  My point is that if you are going to chastise someone for squandering time then make sure it is the appropriate amount.  We all need some down time. And I am worth it!