Thursday, 27 December 2012

paedarchy: The rule or government by a child or children

I realize that for the most part paedarchies refer to groupings in school settings or playdates, or even the occasional foreign circumstance, however, a good majority of the time I feel like my household is ruled by a paedocracy.

In this day and age, disciplining a child is a difficult task.  Spanking is frowned upon and for good reason.  I don't want to teach my children that hitting is okay when you're angry.  I don't want them to start smacking each other, they already throw in the occasional low-blow when I'm not looking.  Yelling is frowned upon and although it's understandable why, attempting to keep a handle on your temper in the heat of the moment can most certainly feel like an insurmountable task at the best of times.  Granted I don't want my girls yelling at me when they're upset but I can understand through experience that sometimes your anger or overwhelming emotions need an outlet.

What does that leave us?  Threats.  Well for those parents who are pushovers, (my girls' father being one of them, all they have to do is look up at him with those big beautiful eyes, smile and say 'I Love You Daddy' and whatever they want is theirs), the threats he/she/they give might as well be as ridiculous as sending them to the moon if they don't eat their dinner.  Time outs.  Alright, so they get sent to the corner but are they really upset?  My daughter just stands there fidgeting with the hinges on the door or mumbling to keep herself entertained.

No wonder kids rule their parents nowadays.  I realize respect needs to be taught and for the most part we teach by our own actions, but at this point no matter how hard I try to display proper behaviour I can't help but wonder if my kids are picking it up.  And what about children without role models?  What happens to them?

My whole day revolves around my kids, my whole life at this point does.  While I enjoy my children immensely, every moment I spend with them is one of the purest forms of joy a person could find, well almost every moment.  But when I find myself constantly reasoning, debating, threatening, compromising, I can't help but feel that I am the one being controlled, and my children are my rulers.

Wednesday, 12 December 2012

Inspiration:1. stimulation or arousal of the mind, feelings, etc, to special or unusual activity or creativity 2. the state or quality of being so stimulated or aroused 3. someone or something that causes this state

All beautiful things come from inspiration.  And yet all things have beauty within them.  Does this mean that every thing of being is born from the bosom of inspiration?

The fact that each human being holds within them their own unique desires and aspirations allows us to live in an exciting world full of the treasures of diversity.  We have all this ipseity to thank for birthing the creation of each and every inspired idea.

But it is not simply the end result of inspiration that is encompassed in beauty.  It is the first spark of an idea that ignites in our brains and fills us with excitement.  It is the narrow path, the winding path, the path full of zigzags, that leads us to the fulfillment of our desires.  And most of all it is the pure exhilarating, invigorating, magnetic feeling, the genuine heart of being inspired.

Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Gratitude: a feeling of thankfulness or appreciation, as for gifts or favours

Perhaps the most beautiful thing in this world that we can share with others and still have for ourselves is gratitude.  Taking a moment to step back and look at our lives, there are so many little moments we can give thanks to.  For starters, I'm grateful that I woke up this morning.  How many people have lost the ability to say that?  On top of that, I'm grateful that I woke up in my cozy warm apartment.  It might not be the most beautiful luxurious house, but it is comfy and it is home and I am so grateful that I even have a place to live.  How many people don't have that luxury?

Despite the fact that all I want to do is keep my eyes closed and continue to chase the dream that is sleep, I am grateful that my two little girls have woken up today also.  Although many moments of the day might turn out to be difficult, a battle over using the potty, a compromise at mealtime, a game of patience at nap time, I am grateful for absolutely every moment I have in this lifetime that I can spend with the two people I consider more precious than anyone I've ever met.

Even though my father is resting in a hospital bed, too stubborn to accept my offer and come live with me, even though cancer is slowly taking over more of his body causing him pain and turning him into somewhat of a stranger, I am eternally grateful for the time I've already had with him.  Thinking back to each and every lecture on what I should be doing with my life, I am now capable of giving thanks for his concern over my well-being.  Remembering all the ridiculously foolish fights over nothing, I can even be grateful for those because in the end they have brought me into the light of understanding and we have drawn closer because of it.  The ability to be grateful for all the moments I have had, all the conversations, all the hugs, even all the tears, allows me to draw a little closer to acceptance over the inevitable.

Gratitude can be found for everything and everyone and once we learn to recognize even the most trying moments in life as a gift, an opportunity to grow and learn, life becomes a much happier place to be.

Thursday, 15 November 2012

cancer: The disease caused by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body; A malignant growth or tumor resulting from such a division of cells

How many people have been affected by cancer?  If it wasn't your own cancer scare then it was your friend, or your mom or dad, or your grandmother.  I find it ridiculously hard to believe that for the one disease that seems to claim more lives than anything else out there, there is no cure.

I personally hate cancer, although I'm sure it would be impossible to find a single soul who doesn't.  Cutting a path of destruction wherever it goes, grabbing children, mothers, lovers, it doesn't care, like any other disease it is ruthless.  But there is something different about cancer, it's relentless, it's powerful, it's all-consuming.

Sure it's beatable and there are plenty of cases where after many days and nights of treatment that ironically gives way to the worst sickness imaginable, steals your hair, and makes you question how any of it could possibly be better than the cancer itself, the cancer is gone, or in remission, or benign.  And just when you are starting to get back into the swing of things and you think everything is going to be okay, it isn't. 

That's the thing about cancer, it seems as though once it's made itself known, it doesn't like to be beat down, so it returns, with a vengeance.  But that's the thing about the human spirit, no matter what is thrown our way, no matter how horrible, or impossible, or completely unrealistic something may seem, we all have that inner fighter, ready and willing to take on the ultimate fight when it is our survival that is at risk.

So, cancer may have taken my grandmother, it may have affected my friends and my father, but at the end of the day, I know that all of this only makes me all the more willing to fight that bastard of a disease should it ever come my way, and the only thing I have left to say, the only thing I will ever have to say about it is.....F YOU CANCER!!

Tuesday, 23 October 2012

araneous: transparent; delicate; like a spider's web

Sometimes I feel araneous. 

At times I am transparent.  If you knew me you would be able to see right through my words, my actions, my silences, my inactions.  Perhaps even those who don't know me can read my body language and pull out what's really behind every twist or turn, every flick of my hair, every smile or sigh.

I am also delicate.  I'm an emotional hurricane destroying everything in my path.  I'm a tiny timid turtle hiding in my shell, away from everyone, away from everything, away from the world.  I'm a weeping willow, my limbs drooping and sagging matching my mood.  My heart is fragile.  My feelings are easily trampled.  My hopes are easily dashed when attacked.  Despite my strong front, my attempt to hide my vulnerability, I'm but a humble wafer cookie, easily crumbled when prodded too roughly.

I am like a spider's web, transparent and delicate, convulted, intricately woven.  But I am human, and perhaps I am foolish to believe such a thing but, I believe all humans are delicate, all humans are complex, and all humans are capable of being transparent.  Therefore, I believe all humans are araneous.

Wednesday, 17 October 2012

arduous: requiring great physical or mental effort; difficult to accomplish; strenuous;hard to endure; harsh;hard to overcome or surmount; steep or difficult

When I think of arduous tasks, I never really think of something that I enjoy doing as being arduous.  However, the more I think about it, the more I realize that my greatest passion, which I've only recently begun pouring my whole self into, is quite arduous.  But perhaps this is a good thing.

Good things in life are worth working hard for and maybe I wouldn't feel quite so gratified if I hadn't had to spend countless hours straining my eyes staring at a computer screen, numbing my fingers pounding endlessly on the keyboard, and frying my brain trying to catch that one word I've been trying to think of that has eluded me effortlessly. 

If things came too easily I'm sure I'd either sit there staring in disbelief, or end up convincing myself that I don't deserve it since I didn't put enough work in.  So, although at the time an arduous task may not be an enjoyable one, at the end of the day I'd like to think it was at least worthwhile.

Wednesday, 10 October 2012

prolix: marked by or using an excess of words; unduly prolonged or drawn out; too long

I myself have been guilty of being prolix at times.  Perhaps anyone who isn't a mute has had a moment of prolixity.  At least, for the most part, I am aware of my prolix moments, and knowing I have so many words I need to or want to expel in order to explain myself or tell a story, I always find myself speeding up.  The longer my speech, the quicker I speak.

If I take a deeper look into the meaning of prolix though, I wonder if giving a simple explanation, even though it may require a plethora of words, I wonder if it is truly verbose.  If I explain something without an excess of words, despite the fact that I may go on for five minutes, is it unduly prolonged? 

But then if we look at it from the view of anything that is too long, then anything could be considered prolix, depending on many different points of view.  At some point, anyone could find anyone extremely or even minutely prolix. 

 But alas, looking back at this posting, I think I may have just been a bit prolix.

Wednesday, 26 September 2012

bereavement: the condition of having been deprived of something or someone valued, esp through death; a period of mourning after a loss, especially after the death of a loved one

Admittedly, my word this week is slightly morbid; however, drawing my inspiration from everyday life, sometimes life offers up sadness, or grief, or in this case bereavement.

I love the definition I have found for bereavement: the condition of having been deprived of something or someone valued.  So simply stated, so succinct, so profoundly presented.  I am sure that anyone who has ever lost someone who is special to them, feels as though they have been deprived of one of the most valuable blessings in their life.  Perhaps that's part of what makes letting go so hard.  We feel like these people who are a part of our lives, belong in our lives.  Sometimes maybe we even feel like they were stolen from us.  Or that their lives were stolen from them.

One of the hardest parts of dealing with bereavement is most definitely hearing 'the news'.  Sure, I heard the words come out of someone's mouth, or I read the text or email that someone has written, but do I really believe it?  Right away, I feel my hand reaching for the phone, while I tell myself it's not true.  If I could just call them, they would answer and I would know this wasn't real.  But something stops me from making that call.  Knowing that if this is indeed real, I wouldn't want to hurt their family members by making them explain everything to me once again.  What makes this stage even more difficult is distance.  If it's already been so long since I've last seen them, or I've only been in touch through phone calls, emails, letters; it seems so much harder to wrap my mind around the thought of not being able to reach them anymore.

After some time, I have to face the fact that this isn't some horribly cruel joke, and that wave of sadness that has constantly been on my heels, trying to overtake me, finally catches my heart with it's fingertips, slowly engulfing my delicate organ entirely, wrapping it up in pain.

And then of course the anger comes in.  It's not fair!  Why is it that some die and others live?  But the one question burning within me personally is: Who or what decides when each life will end?  I can't help but question everything about life, and even what happens after life.  But I'm only left wondering.

Once the anger subsides, it seems like I must make way for blame.   I blame myself.  I blame the doctors.  Sometimes maybe I even blame the person I lost.  But perhaps blame isn't fair.  Maybe, if it's our time, it's our time, and if there's nothing we can do about that, then it's nobody's fault? 

Finally releasing the burden of blame, I try shaking off the mountain of guilt that is slowly piling upon me now, weighing me down.  I should have told them this.  I should have done that.  I should have visited them more.  I should have been there for them, at the end.  This part of grief is my least favourite because if only I'd known, I wouldn't be left wanting to say goodbye.  But most times we have no warning, and we're always left wishing we'd called one more time, or gotten those pictures sent sooner, or taken every possible opportunity to let that person know how much we care about them, and appreciate them, how grateful we are to have them in our life!!

I know eventually I will reach a place where I will no longer feel such an immense sadness when I hear this person's name, see their picture, or smell that perfume they always used to wear.  Eventually all of that will dissipate and I will be left with fond memories reminding me of the warmth and love I felt, and still feel, for this person, bringing smiles and the occasional giggle with them.  This is the hardest place to reach, but I know I'll get there..... eventually.

In the meantime, I can't help but wonder if we would be better off knowing exactly how much time we have, for then we would most definitely make the most of it.  But then I wonder, would we really?  Maybe the fear and anticipation leading up to those final days would only make things worse. 

There really is no easy way of dealing with death, and I'm sure that death will forever haunt us with it's partner, bereavement.  Even though we know and we say, it's a fact of life, that doesn't make the pain go away.  It doesn't make the tears stop pouring.  And it doesn't make us stop missing whomever we lost. 

In the end, death at least makes us realize how precious life really is.

Wednesday, 19 September 2012

quixotic: preoccupied with an unrealistically optimistic or chivalrous approach to life; impractically idealistic

In order to truly understand the word quixotic I think one must have read Don Quixote by Cervantes, an old fashioned yet extraordinary book.

Lately I've been feeling quite quixotic myself, although perhaps not to the same degree as the person who coined this term.  Admittedly I've always been a dreamer, I've always believed that everyone should have a dream.  For what is life without something to reach for, to wonder about, to hope for?

However, my dream (well my latest dream) has been taking quite a hammering this last month or so, and after receiving blow upon blow (or in this case rejection letter upon rejection letter), my poor dream has been smashed to smithereens and is scattered about on the floor at my feet. 

My question to myself is whether or not I have the courage, the heart, or the energy to pick up those minuscule pieces and attempt to string them back together, to perhaps carry on with hopes of success through another avenue.  Or would it be safer for my weeping heart, and better for my aching exhausted eyes which have produced far too many tears over one topic, to just let this dream slip through my fingers and force my soul to find something else to be passionate about? 

Or perhaps, like others, I should just give up on dreaming altogether?

Well, with the quixotic spirit behind me, channelling Don Quixote and adapting his lackadaisical, headstrong approach, I decide that I am going to continue pushing forward.  At the end of all this, even if things do not turn out the way I envision, at least I will be able to look back and know that I did all I could, and like a true knight, I did not back down.

Tuesday, 11 September 2012

quinquennium: a period or cycle of five years

When we try to look ahead at our lives, wondering what they will be like, generally we only look as far as the next quinquennium.  Taking a moment to look back at my life, the last quinquennium has brought me so much change.  Starting in the small town of Krasnoyarsk, Russia working as a nanny, I learned a lot not only about the Russian culture, but about myself as well.  I survived a car accident, but still was not strong enough to stand up for myself and tell people how I really felt, too afraid of hurting anyone's feelings.  Fed up with grossly unhygienic living conditions, after eight months my travels took me to the south of France.

Now living in Nice, working again as a nanny, I have grown into my skin a little more.  I'm finally starting to develop a sense of who I really am, what I really want, think, or like.  Having been away from home for a while, no longer am I influenced by my mother's opinions.  Through all the experiences I've had over the last year, I'm becoming more capable of speaking my mind.  The more I am around my current employer, the more daring I become.  After spending Christmas day in the kitchen doing dishes, eating the scraps of this rich family's meal, my reserve is crumbling quite fast.  With an altercation nearly every month that I have been working for this family, I now have no problem standing up for myself, and despite my commitment to spend a year here, it is time for me to move on after just five months.

Finding myself back home in Canada, ready to set down some roots, life itself has other plans for me.  Upon discovering that my grandmother is ill, a move from one end of the country to the other ensues.  It's all for the better though since I was having a hard time finding work.

It takes me a full year to settle in here, find a place I'm happy to live, a job I enjoy, friends to go out with.  But it's the next three years that bring the most change.  The biggest change to my life thus far, and the greatest part of my life as well.  Nine months of waiting somewhat impatiently, my first daughter is born.  Another fourteen months later, my second daughter is born.  Looking back on the last quinquennium, I never would have guessed that I would have gone from travelling about with no responsibilities, not a care in the world, to becoming a mother of two darling little angels.

Despite all the ups and downs, all the trials and tribulations, all the good days and bad days, I wouldn't change a thing.  With my children in my life, I am looking forward to the next quinquennium even more, and the one after that, and the one after that.  And now I ask you..... What will your next quinquennium bring?

Wednesday, 5 September 2012

ort: usually orts; a scrap or morsel of food left at a meal.

We've all had orts, well maybe not all of us.  But those of us who have should consider ourselves lucky.  For those of us who haven't could and probably would willingly live off of our orts to at least have something.

Orts are a sad thing when you think about the sheer volume of everyone's combined.  They would probably be enough to feed all the starving people in the world.

We're lucky to find ourselves in possession of orts.  Not only unlucky, but possibly starving to find ourselves without.  So in the end, are orts a good thing or a bad thing?

Sunday, 2 September 2012


I stumbled upon this today.  For all of you writers out there:

Deana Barnhart is getting together with some agents and offering up a wonderful opportunity.  Take a look at her blog here:

Starting with a good ol' meet and greet, here we go, here's me:

-Where do you write?
Anywhere and everywhere.  When an idea hits me I just hope that I have a pen and paper so I can write it all down before it escapes.

-Quick. Go to your writing space, sit down and look to your left. What is the first thing you see?
A mountain full of blankets.  My most visited writing space is on the couch in the living room.  Next to it is another couch, home to those useless froufrou couch pillows and at the moment a duvet and a couple of blankets.

-Favorite time to write?
Whenever I have the chance, but mostly in the late evening once everyone has gone to bed and I can enjoy my quiet time for the day.

-Drink of choice while writing?
Probably a tea.

-When writing , do you listen to music or do you need complete silence?
Generally there is music on in the background.  I think I would find it far too unusual if there were complete silence, and therefore harder to concentrate.

-What was your inspiration for your latest manuscript and where did you find it?
The beginning of my novel came from a dream.  From there, I spent my spare time daydreaming in order to develop the rest of it.

-What's your most valuable writing tip
Oh, there's so many!  Write everything down.  Don't take a chance, because you could forget it.  Even when you don't feel like writing or don't know where to begin write anyways, you can always erase it later.  And my personal favourite, based on my own horrible experiences with computers: write it out first, then type it.  Not only does this mean that if something happens and your work accidentally gets erased, you'll still have a copy, but I find it a little easier to edit as you transfer the written copy to typed text.

Tuesday, 28 August 2012

torpidity: apathetic, sluggish, or lethargic; unable to move or feel

After just over seven months of nights filled with broken sleep, days filled with endless activity, and little rest between the two, I am feeling extremely torpid.  When one is lost in a mode of sluggishness with no option to relax, where is one supposed to pull their liveliness from?  There must be some sort of untapped stores of energy within us that we can call upon when there is nothing left, when we are running on fumes. 

I'm sure we've all been there.... when we've been up all night, haven't slept for days, been working non-stop, and we feel like there is no possible way we will be able to carry on about our day, let alone even move our legs those few extra steps so we can plunk down on that nice squishy chesterfield.  But somehow, from somewhere within us, we find a boost in our verve.  And for a few moments we feel like we have enough stamina to not only make it through the next few minutes, but to carry on into the evening and forget about our little rest on the couch completely.  So where does this indefatigability come from?  I'm sure if I really delve into the scientific answer I will find something about dopamine and serotonin levels, but nonetheless it amazes me that the body is capable of pushing itself to such limits.  Why?  It isn't necessary for survival, it's purely based on one's personal will.

However, despite my desire to enthusiastically go about my day, it is with great torpidity that I pull my tired butt out of bed and begin my morning routine.  Sometimes it seems that no matter how many different ways I try to snap myself out of this zombie-like trance, I just can't seem to shake the lethargy that consumes me.  I am waiting for that oomph to hit me, throw some added zeal into my day and make me forget my exhaustion altogether.  But the more I focus on finding that extra bounce that I can stitch into my step, the more elusive it becomes.  Then, just when I feel like I'm going to break down into tears from the pure lassitude that devours me, when I am no longer looking for what it was I've been searching for, I suddenly find myself with the vivacity to go on about my day.  Ironically, it just takes getting my mind off of that which I seek in order to find it. 

Tuesday, 21 August 2012

inept: awkward, clumsy, or incompetent

No matter what it is, when we are at the beginning of something new, there is a certain amount of ineptitude that arises within us as we move forward towards mastering our new hobby, craft, or skill.

But is it fair to consider ourselves inept at something we don't claim to be an expert at?  I think that a certain amount of awkwardness is expected from almost any novice in any field.  But for how long are we considered a newbie?  For as long as we label ourselves as such?  If this were so, then there would be no reason to feel inept, to feel as if we don't measure up, for we could forever linger in the learning phase.

Considering oneself as a beginner for an extended period of time could really work to one's advantage.  We are more willing to allow ourselves to make foolish mistakes, and we are also more willing to learn from those bumbling blunders.  We are more open to the advice and suggestions from others whom we consider have mastered whatever it is we are trying to get a firm grasp on.  And most importantly, as a plebe just dipping our toes into the water running off the fountain of success, we are all the more ready and willing to prove ourselves capable, and therefore have a heightened sense of fiery motivation urging us onward.

I would rather look at myself as a rookie forever and always and accept that I am going to feel inept from time to time, than believe I have reached a state of perfection in which there is no room left for me to learn or grow or improve.  But, perhaps I can get rid of any and all feelings of ineptitude if I look at the whole situation through the eyes of someone who genuinely wants to advance, someone who is striving for a state close to perfection believing that true perfection will never be possible, someone who feels no guilt in making mistakes because they are expected of amateur.  I am an amateur and I claim my title proudly, opening up myself to the freedom of oopsies, uh-ohs, I didn't mean to's and a whole lot of 'it's okay she's just a newbie'.

Wednesday, 15 August 2012

What If? Blogfest

I stumbled upon this fun contest and decided I'd give it a go.

You pick a fairytale (I picked Cinderella), and here's the fun part..... you ask yourself  'What If?'

Then pick one of the following categories:
-Best Plot Twist
-Best Love Story (I'm a sucker for romance, so yep this was my choice)
-Best Tragedy
-Best Comic Relief

Then you write a scene(s) illustrating a new detail of the fabled fairytale that changes
our perspective. 300 words max.

Here goes:

A Secret To Share

After the jubilation of festivities surrounding their wedding day, Cinderella sat down with her new husband.

Expecting to hear words of love and excitement over their freshly stated vows, Cinderella became nervous when the Prince said he had a secret to share.

With glistening eyes and a lump in his throat, Prince Charming slowly began:

“Cinderella darling, now that we’re married there’s something I must tell you. Please don’t look too much into it, for it was nothing more than a one night stand, but since I would like to start our union off on the right foot, I really must tell you …..’

His palms were sweaty and his voice was a bit shaky. He grabbed Cinderella’s hands, looked deeply into her eyes, and finally spilled out the words he’d been trying to cough up.

“I slept with your sister.”

He’d uttered the whole sentence almost in one breath, and as he sat waiting patiently for his sweethearts’ response, he took a moment to calm his breathing.

After several minutes filled with anticipation and an emotion close to dread, Cinderella finally spoke.

“Well sweetie, I forgive you. Whatever happened before me isn’t something I can control. But I believe that a marriage should be based on trust, therefore, I also have something to share.

Now it was Charming’s turn to distress. What kind of secret could this beautiful, innocent creature possibly be holding?

Cinderella quickly blurted out what she’d been so longing to tell him.

“I was born a man.” she said, leaving poor Prince Charming flabbergasted and in a state of pure confusion. Would he be able to come to terms with the fact that his trophy wife was really at one point, male? It was going to take quite an explanation for them to overcome this newest revelation.

Tuesday, 14 August 2012

inamorato:a man who loves or is loved; male sweetheart or lover.

Soul mate, kindred soul, heart's desire....... I'm sure at some point in our lives, we have all wished for, longed for, hoped for that one true love, that knight in shining armour that is going to come in and sweep us off our feet, our other half that will complete us and lead our lives to fulfilment, to the point where we have nothing else we could possibly want for. 

But what about a sweetheart, a honey, an inamorato?  We seem to have fewer expectations when it comes to them.  They are the ones who will be there to cuddle with us on a rainy day, console us when we get into a fight with our best friend, canoodle us when we are longing for passion.  But what else does their job entail and how are they any different from the above mentioned?

Soul mate or inamorato?  Are these two things one and the same?

I have to admit that I don't know if I've ever experienced that can't-live-without-you kind of love.  However, I most certainly have experienced that can't-quite-seem-to-let-go-of-you kind of love.  Therefore, it is tough for me to truly understand what real love is.  Does it include ridiculous fights that start over minuscule matters and escalate to the point of calling in police officers to mediate the situation?  Or constantly picking up shirts, socks, shorts, and a number of other miscellaneous items that are laying all over the house, waiting for you to hunt them down.  Is part of being in love selfish?  Or does real love mean that no matter what is going on, you will go out of your way to help out your partner, even if that means stepping away from the baseball, basketball, or hockey game?  Maybe love is different for all couples and it simply includes what one is willing to put up with.  This certainly takes the glamour out of the vision I hold when I hear the words 'soul mate'.

When I think about love, I imagine it as being a state in which you accept someone unconditionally.  (But I wonder if this is really possible when egos and expectations are involved.)  I would also think that two people who are in love would spend the majority of their time wrapped up in each other's happiness, passion, and tenderness.  What little disagreements they do have must surely be solved quickly and easily without yelling.  Little moments or subtleties are cherished even more than verbose, over-the-top displays of affection, because with real love there is a deeper understanding that goes far beyond words. 

Appreciation, acceptance, respect, even humility are all parts that make up real love.  But these are things that can be found just as easily in almost any positive relationship.  Therefore, no matter how much I want love to be able to take my breath away, give me goosebumps, swell my heart, and make me feel complete, I can't help but wonder if such a thing as one's soul mate even exists.  Is there really only one person out there who can offer me everything I want in love?  Or is there even one at all?  And as I sit here staring at my computer screen, eating my watermelon, I am questioning if I have found my one true love, or just another inamorato.

Thursday, 9 August 2012

quiescent:being at rest; quiet; still; inactive or motionless

I definitely wish my life held just a few more quiescent moments. 

As I run around all day, chasing after my two darling, yet forever mischievous daughters I try to escape to a quiescent corner of my mind, hoping for a moment to breathe.  However, I am greeted by a thousand little thoughts stirring and buzzing about.  Yes, I know that I still have to decide what's for dinner.  And yes, I am worried that the cat's been out all night and still hasn't come back.  And yes, I am already thinking about all the things I have to do tomorrow.  But can't I have just one tiny moment of silence.  One simple second of peace. 

Admittedly, I can feel my frustration escalating.  The harder I search, the more that little wink of serenity that I am so longing for, alludes me.  If only it were as simple as removing myself to another room, but those darling little monsters will soon follow.  And if they don't follow, than I know I will just have thoughts of 'what are those crazy bugs, full of curiosity getting into now' to add to my already too-full mind. 

Just when I am on the brink of disaster, ready to explode, after hours of trying, those two little monsters have finally gone to sleep.  If only I could just sit down and enjoy a cup of tea while I relax and stare at the wall.  That's right, no TV, no music.  I really do just want one quiescent moment.  If only!  But suddenly, despite the fact that he's had all day to discuss with me whatever is on his mind, 'Darling Dearest' becomes Chatty Cathy.  Oh, how I wish there were a mute button.  I'm only half listening to what he has to say, and still wishing for my moment of quiescence.

Finally, whether it's due to the late hour, or that last bottle of beer running empty, Chatty Cathy retires for the night.  Although, it has taken all day and it is nearing midnight, I finally have my moment.  The room is not completely silent.  I can hear the slow mumble of the baby swing moving back and forth.  The fan is still whirring to its own tune.  Even the apartment itself is making a few noises, quirks and spurts are coming from the fridge, the walls, the floors.  But in this moment I am mostly motionless.  I am at rest.  I am quiescent.

Saturday, 4 August 2012

poignancy:a state of deeply felt distress or sorrow; "a moment of extraordinary poignancy"

As I sit and ponder what is surely going to be one of the greatest losses in my life thus far, I can feel an immense and intense poignancy taking me over.  As this feeling washes over me, I can feel the tears starting to well up in my eyes.  This leads me to my next thought.....Why is it that our emotions are connected to our tear ducts? 

Returning my attention to thoughts of my upcoming heartache, I can actually feel a tightening in my chest.  My heart is actually aching.  So now I'm thinking: not only is emotion linked to the tear ducts, but it is also linked to that oval-shaped, life-sustaining organ that beats within my chest.  When I feel sadness, it feels pain.

Lost in my own 'moment of extraordinary poignancy', I know that if I allow myself, I will fall into the abyss of a depression so deep, I may never be able to find my way out.  So I fight back those tears that are trying so hard to force their way through the barrier of my eyes and pour down my cheeks.  And I take a few deep breaths, hoping to fight off the pain that has found its way to my heart, where it gently caresses my precious organ deceivingly, holding it prisoner.  But, despite all my efforts, I know that eventually the pain and the sadness will win.  Leading me to my next question.....For how long will my poignant feelings take me over.

Wednesday, 1 August 2012

pettifog: to bicker or quibble over trifles or unimportant matters.

How many of us have walked away from a disagreement thinking "was it really all that worth it?"  Aren't all arguments pettifogs then??  If we look at the definition, we see that a 'pettifog' is over unimportant matters..... Well, in the end of a disagreement, once we have calmed down and looked back on it all, we realize that it probably was a trifling matter we were disagreeing over in the first place.  We bicker about whose turn it was to feed the cat or walk the dog, whose job is harder; the homemaker or the breadwinner, which one of us gets to decide what to watch on TV tonight, where your partners eyes really were wandering.  The possibilities, and the quibbles are endless. 

But for a minute, just for the sake of comparison, let's take a look at the 'larger' matters people feel the need to get their back up about.  Is your partner drinking too much really that big a deal?  Yeah, maybe it is.  Especially if he's in his 30's, has two kids, and gets so drunk, he pukes all over himself.  Is your sister's disrespectful behaviour towards your grandmother really all that bad?  Yeah, maybe it is.  Especially if your grandmother is the sweetest woman in the world (which, I am sure most of us believe our grandmothers are), loves you unconditionally, and wants nothing more than to be a part of your life.  And what about when your mother sent back all the pictures she had of you, right from a baby up until now, along with anything and everything you've ever given her, including all pictures of the newest love of you life- your daughter.  Was that really so disgusting and heart wrenching that it would warrant you never speaking to her again?  Okay, maybe that one can be the exception.  But for the most part, all those other things don't really matter in the end.  All those other things become pettifogs when you start to look at the big picture. 

Life is a short and precious thing.  We don't know how much time we've been given.  Some of us have been granted way less than others, some way more.  But the amount of time we have, isn't what matters.  What we do with the time we have, does.  So for the sake of spending each precious moment thinking about, and being a part of what really matters, and what is really important to us, let us believe that all disagreements are trifling matters and therefore in essence....... pettifogs!