The world is moved forward by people who believe the impossible. Air travel, space exploration and many of the things we enjoy as part of our everyday lives were once considered impossible by the masses. “Reality” is created by our perception.
I love romance. It’s those simple things in a relationship that matter the most… finding ways to show them how much they mean to you. It’s that gentle kiss on the cheek or the hand gently rubbing the small of my back or the “I love you” note left on the
counter. If guys only knew how simple they have to be to make things wonderful.
It is fear which creates the mask, and fear which keeps it in place. The mask is hiding our true and most beautiful self from both ourselves and from the world. In its place is a mask of un-beauty.
In order to find our authentic self we must align ourselves with facing fear by digging down to the deepest, most hidden part of ourselves, that fearful place where we dread what we think is hidden.
When we dig deeply enough into our hidden nature we find not darkness but light – and the realization that our safety lies in actually letting down the mask and being seen – in being our true authentic self.
“A kiss can be a comma, a question mark or an exclamation point. That’s basic spelling that every man needs to know.”
Ahhh coffee …. the potion of sleep resistance.
(► Me before my morning coffee.)
The air had a distinctly smoky smell to it this morning. We are surrounded by a thick haze as a result of the wild fires burning around us.
The winds shifted Wednesday through the night and smoke filled the area. It’s still very smoky out and smells like burning wood. The air feels very
thick and dirty, making it hard to breathe today. I’ve shut all the windows to try to keep the smoke out of the house but it still smells in inside. According to the news, it’s going to stay smoky until Sunday.
Out of a total 72 wildfires burning in Alberta, 19 are out of control. The largest one north of my town continues to rage out of controlat over 100,000 hectares.
1st Pic: Sky at 8:40AM today
2nd Pic: Sky at 9:30PM last night
Today is the last day my husband will wear glasses. Do you think he’ll feel like a probing victim of an alien abduction during the procedure? Only the probe will be in his eye. After the surgery will it feel like Mama forgot to use the tear free shampoo?
I am nervous for him but I understand that without his glasses the world is a hazy, blurry mess. I’ve noticed even when he takes his glasses off he attempts to push the non-existent frames up with one finger. Wonder how long it will take for that habit to die?
I wonder what it will be like for him to peek at the clock in the middle of the night … to look at the night sky and notice of how clear everything is … to lay on the sofa not having a pillow push his glasses askew … to go to the beach and be able to wear regular sunglasses … to be able to see clearly without having frames in the way … to hug me without the glasses pressing into his face … no more smudges that needed to be cleaned frequently … no more waiting for glasses to defrost when coming in from outside. The reality is that each of these individual pleasures and many more are things I take for granted. This procedure is going to dramatically change his world.
I imagine in the mornings, out of force of habit, he’ll still reach for his glasses on the night stand, but they won’t be there. What a great start to his day.
You’re free baby!
Spring has finally arrived and I am loving it. I love spring it’s definitely one of my favourite seasons. The weather is so beautiful. Warm but not hot and sultry and there is a nice breeze blowing. The sun is shining, windows are open, flowers are blooming, the pollen is spreading … and I’m sitting here inside in front of the screen trying to gather my thoughts.
The best quote I ever read was by the actress Maura Tierney. It has become one of my favourite quotes, one of those simple things that has none of
the inspiration or power that Churchill or Benny Franklin would add, and none of the shit you’d expect from Dave Berry or George Carlin.
It was this:
“We are less afraid of aging than of you watching us age.”
This is one of my all-time greatest fears. Growing old is incredibly frightening, growing old gracefully something that I yearn for, much like Old Yeller was keen on that final drink of water. If I have one girly prayer that can be answered, it is this: “Dear God please let me grow old gracefully. And if you’re into extra credit points, if you help keep me from having that turkey neck thing I promise to stop sitting around thinking of inventive phrases using the word ‘fuck’. ThanksGodokaybye.”
See, it’s harder for women. Men? They get distinguished. Women? We just get rode hard and put up wet. Men get salt and pepper hair. Women get told by Andie McDowell (the Queen of Botox) that we should use Clairol because we’re worth it. Never mind what we’re worth, the hidden message here is: “Go ahead! Use Clairol and see if you can clean yourself up.” Men get sports cars and wear turtlenecks with leather jackets. Women get stretchy trousers and sensible shoes. Men get an earring or flashy sunglasses. Women get housecoats and show up in public with pink sponge rollers in their hair.
Like many things in life, including that ever annoying “monthly”, longer life expectancies and the aging thing is yet another way that women get screwed. Because it is SO GREAT to imagine living out our years in a retirement home after our men have kicked off, fighting over Wendell the Wonder Dweeb in the Willow Grove Home for Retirement because he’s the only man left alive in there, never mind his collection of beetle carcasses.
Look at how Hollywood (ever the mainstay of reality) phrases things – the 64 year-old Harrison Ford is of considered “Rugged”. The gorgeous 65 year old Diane Keaton (an opponent of plastic surgery) gets things written about her penchant for menswear fashion instead of her beauty. It’s impossible to win when men are expected to age and women are expected to not just stop the clock, but beat the fucking thing senseless while turning it back in a haze of liposuction and gym visits. Men pack 6 packs when they’re younger and when they’re older layer upon layer of dormant, relaxed ab muscle is ok. Women are considered to be “letting themselves go” if we get a small love handle.
I worry about this myself. I don’t want my husband to look over at me and think: Hmm. She’s getting some Crow’s Feet. May be time to patrol the latest clubs for her replacement.
Not that he would. I don’t worry that I’ll be traded in for a younger model (no really, I don’t.)
No, my fear is getting older in front of the eyes of someone who I want to view me as immortal. I want my husband to think I look young and healthy (pay no attention to the gallon of Oil of Olay in the cupboard, baby.) I want him to think I have smooth buttercup skin and a twinkle in my eye like moistened dew. I want him to think that the firmness in my thighs will be there forever, that my skin will never ever be like saltwater taffy that he can hold onto it and I can walk into another room, using my skin as a windshield to stop the cats.
I don’t want to grow old in front of his eyes, mostly because he hasn’t grown older in mine. Maybe the truth is, I’m not growing older in his eyes. It’s my own eyesight that is failing me.