He reaches
to her slumbering form,
gathering her
within his arms.
Brushing her hair
with his breath,
he pulls her
against his heart,
too full of
her
to search
for words.
words January 29, 2013
Splashing in the bathroom
awakens her
to a sorrowful knowing.
Her eyes are closed against it.
His baggage rustles.
“Come kiss me good-bye,” she says
blinking blurrily.
Compliant,
he leans and offers
a perfunctory pucker
upon her sour morning lips.
“I’ll call you tomorrow
to tell you whether I’m coming home,”
he says.
“Call me today
to tell me you’ve arrived.”
“I can do that,” he agrees
moving down the hallway.
Eyes clamped closed again,
she hears the firm crunch of
doors and humming rumble of the engine.
As the car leaves,
she leans into her pillow,
wondering at the words,
he didn’t say.
dreaming of socks January 26, 2013
Back when I was in teacher training, my Faculty Associate (university liaison person) was Debbie. Debbie got up every morning and sewed before she headed to work. Because she made her own cool garments, she invested in interesting shoes and socks. I had a pair of Debbie-style striped shoes I wore until they fell apart, and I still have some fancy, colourful trouser socks purchased on her inspiration back in those days, now getting over stretched and holey, and desperately in need of replacement. Unfortunately finding great socks can be a challenge.
My mother also sews, and also loves great shoes. When we moved her, she had 8 closets of clothes, and well over a hundred shoes- mostly pumps. She wasn’t quite as adventurous in her shoe choices, but then, she’s a very classical dresser- à la Chanel. She has lots of fancy hose, but offers no suggestions on wonderful socks.
I used to make my own clothes, and still collect fabric and patterns with the intention of sewing, but with an uncooperative serger (it was recently ‘repaired’ without any change in its proclivity to eat needles and break thread), and a cold basement sewing zone, I don’t do as much sewing as I should, especially not in the middle of winter, when I’m supposed to be writing novels in my ‘spare’ time.
When weight fluctuates, shoes and socks still fit (unless something truly dramatic happens) but while finding shoes has been relatively simple effort, I have not found a local or internet source for awesome socks worthy of my Fluevogs.
Recently, I was looking at blogs for some inspiration on other ways to wear my Libby Smith boots, and that search led me to The Fashionable Bureaucrat. Megan lives all the way across Canada in Nova Scotia and she blogs photos of her ensembles. She has some interesting tights she orders from Sock Dreams 
in Portland, Oregon. With a store name like that, obviously I had to check them out and wow! it is sock NIRVANA over there! I just sent in my first order, and I’m looking forward to adding funky socks to the daily dressing here in the Shuswap. After poking around Sock Dreams, I discovered Sock It to Me, also located in Portland. What is it with Portland that they get TWO amazing sock stores, while the rest of North America goes without?
There is sock hope! (You’ll see that shipping is free in the US. With orders under $50 you can ship with USPS First Class International Parcel for $8, which isn’t so bad taxes and exchange rate considered!).
still winter January 19, 2013
Of course it is. After all, the calendar says mid-January, so what can you expect? Here is the view from my kitchen window:
.
.
And here’s the view from the living room window:
.
.
Yup. Definitely still winter.
It’s a beautiful time, full of stillness and rest. Unless you’re out on your skis or snowshoes, it’s a good time to be inside sipping cocoa, reading a good book in front of the fire, while you listen to some beautiful music.
Which reminds me of a beautiful harp piece by Sharlene Wallace on her album Journey of Shadows. Listen to “Winter Still.” Sharlene was my harp teacher in the 90’s, when I would go study at Island Mountain Arts International harp School. These days my poor harps are sadly neglected, but I still love Sharlene! After you’ve heard “Winter Still,” while you’re on that CBC site, listen to some of her other pieces! “Winter Frieze” is another of my favourites.
Underlying Grammar January 15, 2013
Grammar is not just a pain in the ass; it’s the pole you grab to get your thoughts up on their feet and walking.”
Stephen King On Writing p. 121
I kind of like grammar. I like the structure of it, and I like analyzing it. It’s even interesting when I discover I’ve been doing something incorrectly for years. True, I have an English degree, and I teach English (and frequently I’m the grammar expert on staff), but occasionally there is still a surprise.
Last week, Diana Gabaldon posted a selection of her latest work in progress (My Own Heart’s Blood, book 8 in the Outlander series) which included the sentence, “I saw the seriousness that underlay the laughter…” I had to study that for a while.
Underlay- a noun- is the padding that goes beneath carpet. The form of the word we most frequently use is the adjective ‘underlying.’ So, whence cometh ‘that underlay?’ At first glance, I thought it should be ‘that underlaid the laughter,’ but Diana has corrected my grammar before, so I pondered.
Following the lay, laid, laid vs lie, lay, lain model, I realised the verb is to underlie, and therefore the simple past tense must be “Yesterday he underlay the principle with a moral lesson,” and that “Previously he had underlain the principle with moral lesson, until he didn’t any more.” It still doesn’t sound right, but frequently correct grammar doesn’t.
Good thing someone is keeping an eye on us, and providing an excellent grammatical role model.
More importantly, thank heavens for brilliant editors!
How about you? Have you had any grammatical epiphanies lately?
in essence… January 11, 2013
Madame Arthurson brought word tattoos for the Creative Writing Club meeting today. Cool! 🙂
art is life support January 10, 2013
Put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn’t in the middle of the room. Life isn’t a support-system for art. It’s the other way around.
Stephen King in On Writing
There is an inter-connectiveness between art and the artist. Our lives are fuel for art, a touching point, a grounding place, a beginning, but not a support system. It’s not the scaffold of bones that holds the art in place, because art should not be tethered. Art flies.
Art becomes the air that intoxicates and enlivens the life.
Art supports life.
wild photos January 8, 2013
This is just cool. Wildlife taking self-portraits at Banff National Park.
.
romance is terror transmuted by time January 7, 2013
One never stops to think what underlies romance. Tragedy and terror, transmuted by time. Add a little art in the telling and voilá! a stirring romance, to make the blood run fast and maidens sigh.
Diana Gabaldon in Outlander.
I really like the poetry of this, although I’m questioning the truth of it. Do time, tragedy and terror told artfully equal romance? What do you think?
Shawn L. Bird 
blinders January 17, 2013
What a brilliant satire this is. (At least I think it’s a satire!)
http://thoughtcatalog.com/2013/what-if-we-responded-to-sexual-assault-by-limiting-mens-freedom-like-we-limit-womens/
What do you think?
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