If a flatulent canine emission were visible...

...I am quite sure it would be the color of peanut butter and just as thick. Is that disgusting enough for you? I could go on. There is plenty of odoriferous inspiration sitting right next to me on the couch. Blech.

I think I will now try my hand at a bit of silliness which will take its form as a Haiku:

Keira, you smell bad.
But I love you anyway.
Your smile deceives me.

I giggle to myself and she sighs again. I question who is really getting the last laugh.

I ponder...

Silence. I am struck by how this word does not mean the absence of sound. As I sit I can hear the swish-swoosh of the dishwasher, the tappity-clicking of a keyboard and mouse and the occasional sigh from the dog. If I listen closer I can hear my own breathing, the creak of a chair or a laugh from upstairs. So no, not quiet, yet it is silent. Soft- muted-homey sounds which are a soothing balm to frayed nerves. I can almost feel this 'silence', like it is a quasi-tangible state of being which wraps itself around me, whispering in my ear "Ssshhhh, it's Ok. You're home and you're safe and you're all right. Here with you are those you love; both those in body and those in spirit. Here is peace." I am comforted and I am thankful.

Do you think that maybe this silence could be God?

Fragg-nabbit and Blasted-mindfarnkels

That title beautifully describes my emotional state of being. I HATE writing reflection papers. Why should I have to validate what I feel with how someone else feels? Can't I just be original and write something true to myself? I understand relating how I feel to practice and standards and ethics and all that jazz...but this business of writing an academic diary is driving me around the bend. In fact, it has driven me around the bend. Straight up the driveway to the big crazy house where 14 clowns are waiting to greet me and strap a bright red ball on my nose so we can all run around yelling "meep-meep".

YEARGHRHLKJLFIADHAHAHAH!

*sigh* I better get back to writing. But first, where did I put those size 16 shoes?

"Free and easy down the road I go"

I'm a fan of Dierks Bentley. His voice is low and sweet and I enjoy the music lyrics very much. I know it is country music, but you know what? I am tired of being a closet country fan...I'm playing it loud and proud (well in my earbuds at least).

So it's been a while since I have updated the blog. Since Rusty's death it has been quite a crazy ride. Man I miss that little guy. We brought him home on Saturday. In a paper bag. Still feels so wrong, but somehow it feels a bit better knowing this ordeal is really over now, his suffering is gone and his little soul is free to run around in kitty-heaven.

I was thinking of him last night at 01:00 hr when I was still awake trying to connect the concepts on my concept map that was due this morning at 08:00. When he was healthy he would have come down at least once to check on me and ask "When are you coming to bed? This is an un-catly hour and you should really be curled up beside me right now." I miss that. Instead though I had a Keira-puppy who kept looking at me going "Mo-om, it's really past my bedtime...but I can't go to bed unless you come too". So I sat there, and she sat there, I sighed, she sighed...and it went on like that. Beautiful brown eyes and expressive eyebrows 'beetle-ing' at me from under the chair. My hubby was up with me though, he was doing homework too (and helping me with mine!).




I thank God every day for him. Do you know what it is like to have someone that you are excited to meet every morning and be thankful for every evening...just to have known them for another day? A stranger reading this may think I am expostulating (I had to check that one in the dictionary!), that what we have is nothing more then young love. Well, we have been married coming on seven years now and although we are still young...there is nothing naive about what we have.

So what else? Well the semester is almost over for me. My conference on the weekend went very well. We did a presentation utilizing narratives from the Baby Boomer and Silent Generations with respect to their own health constructs. Very interesting but boy-oh-boy and man-oh-man am I glad to be done! All I have left for this semester is one more 'dang-blasted-oh-how-I-loath-them' critical reflection paper and one community dissemination (which when I think of it will likely have WAY more then 50-75 people attending). Then I start working full 8 hour days again...oiy. Well having a better paycheck in December will be nice...the glass is half full right?

What else? Well I can't think of much more at the moment. The last three weeks have been spent draining my literary mind and pouring words onto paper in shameless splurts and bursts. It is a great feeling to be able to control that stream and channel it into something which is representative of the personal me, not just the professional me. This week is almost over even though it has barely begun. I walk along and I feel a bit more of that "me-ness".

"Ain't no tellin' where the wind might blow"

Finding something to smile about...

...so. Yah. It's hard. I have not slept the night through yet. Keep thinking that Rusty needs some help, wants on the bed or is trying to open the door. I thought I was managing to hold myself together yesterday, considering. Then I found his little green collar. I lost it - dissolved into a puddle of tears.

When I woke up this morning I felt better though. I felt more at peace, like his little presence was somehow present. Perhaps when he was called to kitty-heaven there was an orientation he had to attend before he could come back to visit us. You know, "This is where we keep the chicken" or "Over here you will find the field of litter". I know he would like that.

Soooo, I challenged myself to try and find something to laugh about today. I spotted this message on a t-shirt:

Haikus interest me.
But sometimes they don't make sense.
Refrigerator.

Quite possibly, in fact almost certainly, this is the finest piece of literature to ever grace a textile. I feel honored to have shared a room with it. Amazing!

Whisker Kisses and Furry Head-bunts

There is a hole in my heart in the shape of paw print. My carpet slug, our furry purry, the breadloaf with two cat boobs, Rusticlese, Rustocrates, Rusticles…oh Rusty!

I walk through the house and I hear a grinding-watery sound. Yah, I should go check on the water fountain, maybe bring some more…maybe just go turn it off. Funny that it should be allowed to still run when he is not here anymore. How can there be water for him? How can there be cat kibbles left uneaten? He is gone, yet there is a litter box which still needs to be emptied.

So I go into my bedroom and pick up a sweater. “Darn cat, there is hair all over…” Yah, maybe I should try and save a piece. Do you think that is weird? The I.V. bag is gone from behind the bathroom door. His chair is empty and there is a pile of towels and rags at the bottom of the stairs that I still need to wash. Funny that this towel smells so much like him. I only had it wrapped around him for an hour.

We could not have asked for anything more peaceful. The euphemism “put to sleep” is really quite accurate. I knew what to expect for him, I had no idea what to expect for me. Holding him, seeing the blue barbituate…his body was the most limber it had been in weeks. I held him. He was not cold. He felt like he did 10 minutes ago, but he was gone. It was quiet, dignified and peaceful. All the things it should have been. But it hurts, oh how it hurts! I know it was right, DAMN it! I know it was right but everything just feels so wrong.

I took a shower. No Rusty. You know, almost right up to the end he would sit on the edge of the tub? Skin and bones, wet through, eyes screwed shut and little pink tongue going to beat-60 in the hopes of catching a water drop. He was not there this time.



Aye, now here is the really dirty part. How do you explain to a dog that her playmate is gone? She knew something was wrong. Washed his face every chance she got over the last few days. Spent all day ghosting around us, watching us with worried eyebrows. Now that he is gone, she is pacing the house. Is he under the bed? No. Is he on the bed? No. Why is Rusty’s room door closed? He must be in there. No. Is he in the bathroom? No. No he is not.

All cats have two outfits: A suit or pajamas. Either one, or a combination of both, are worn for varying amounts of time, depending on the personality of the cat. Rusty wore pajamas just about all the time. I am wearing mine too now. Tonight will be hard with no little warm body snuggled up against me, to “murgle” whenever I move. Mind you, I guess now I can try and sleep the whole night through.

I suppose he is in my heart. In our hearts. All I can feel right now is loss. Over the next few days we shall reminisce and remember. We will try to feel closure. Thanks be to God for family, for friends and for Rusty.

Blood Pressure Clinic

I have a secret. I am falling in love.

Tomorrow I am doing a blood pressure clinic with my community. It is just one of several different clinics we have been facilitating...but I can not even begin to explain how amazing this experience has been. The world is so diverse, and full of uniquities (yah, that's my word baby).

Tonight, well tonight I just feel free and it 'tis a grand feeling. For those of you reading this who have felt what I feel, you know it. For those of you who have not, you will. It is the feeling that things might just actually be all-right and the feeling that "damn-it", I do have control. And I like it. My soul flies, my mind races and my heart is lifted. All is well.

Star Trek: Freakin' Awesome

Yah...so I am pretty stoked about the new Star Trek movie coming out. For those of you are completely uncool, here is the site link: http://www.startrekmovie.com/

It got me thinking of all the funny things about Star Trek, and there are a lot. Check out the following pics and giggle along with me!

I yam Thank-full

Yessireebob, I am full of thanks. For my husband, for my family, for dear little Rusty and rambunctious Keira. I am grateful for how full my life is.

This past weekend we went to my Grandma and Grandpa's place for Thanksgiving dinner. After supper and visiting, before night fell, myself, my husband, my brother and my dad went for a walk around the property and I took the opportunity to take some photos. I can not begin to describe how much this place of my memories means to me. There is something magical about the smell of the fall air and the sound of laughter through the kitchen pass-through.

My mind is my space.

My mind is my space and it is a place I like to call my own.

Or is it?

You see I have all of these ideas, all of these creative expressions which I feel compelled to explain, to provide, to expose and to CREATE. Yet, I do not express them. Therefore, is my mind my space or does it belong to someone else?

If it was something I could truly lay claim to, would I be fearful of what others would think? Would I quietly write to myself, hoping to be unnoticed but still hoping to be asked, then only to deny to others the music that my soul sings softly to itself? Is it denying others? No, I do not think so, that would imply a sense of arrogance which I do not intend. You see I think it is ultimately denying myself. Another person on the planet will likely not be affected by my writing or my not writing, but I will be. You may say this "turtling" is then a method of self preservation wherein I can become the hermit and nothing can harm me. Crazy? Perhaps. But even you can not say you have not felt the same.

You see, nothing which we think is private actually is. These feelings which we feel so isolated by are so commonly held by the multitudes that it is laughable that anyone should ever feel original. But aren't we original? Hmm, that is a tough question. I would like to believe I am, but how can I when all around the world exclaims that we all have more in common then we believe. So perhaps our personal reality is original and the individual manifestations of these realities are common. Would that not imply that our personal expressions of our reality are not the property of ourselves; our psyche, but the domain of the public?

I must admit I have no answers. All I have is the music of my soul, the sound roars in my ears and I will contain it no more.

I now see my words laid before me and my confusion of ideas still feels tangled, yet somehow more tangible, and I believe I can sleep now.

Adieu.

"I got DOWN-Town..."

I hear that song in my head often now. You see, I am student community health nurse this semester and I am working with a population in the Downtown East Village. So far I have not really had much interaction with my community other then my initial assessment, mostly I have been dealing with other community leaders establishing a history of the area. Throughout this blog I have posted a few of the pictures from my walk around which touched me. Not necessarily because of its reflection on the community (although all of them are, some more then others), but just because they plucked at a resonant chord in my soul.

I am brave. I have been downtown BY MYSELF now many times. I have even navigated myself from Marlborough Mall all the way to University and then home using nothing but the transit and my UPass. For some, this would not be a big deal...for me = huge deal! I have only gotten lost once and had to call my wonderful husband for directions on how to find 7th Ave downtown Calgary (yah, the big street with the C-Train running down the middle of it!). I feel somehow that everytime I go downtown myself, dressed like a young professional that somehow I am inching forward to reaching my dreams, even though if you asked me I am not sure I could definitively explain what those dreams were. Do you know the feeling I am talking about though? That sense that you are pulling yourself forward, using all your strength while crushing your fingernails and bruising your knees but you are so happy because you know that it is worth it. It is worth it. Four words that can change your life you know?

Yes, this semester I am doggedly happy. I feel peace in my heart; below my clavicle and a little to the left a contended little sigh emerges which surprises me to know end (If that sigh was audible to anyone but my psyche...I promise I would see a cardiologist ASAP). Weird you know? After two years of University to only NOW really FEEL I am doing the right thing.

So I go "DOWN-town" I take a step further. I go "DOWN-town" I feel a mite better. I go "DOWN-town" and learn something, something, something I did not kno-oh-ow before.

"down-town"..."down-town"...

Heathenly spelling.

My apologies for my heathenish spelling in the last post. Obviously I had been dipping into the Buckley's far to much. For that I give myself the mark of the red pen, not unlike the mark of Zorro in that they are both marks...of something...but quite dissimilar in that they represent two very very different things.


Cheers for the evening, I will post more tomorrow!

Buckley's is the devil.

I have decided that nothing on this planet can taste quite as atrocious as Buckley's cough syrup. Answer me this: How can something be lemony, sweet, salty and mentholatumy all at the same time? It is just not natural. There is a reason why it works, it makes you scared to ever cough again because you will have to drink that liquid bile again. Do you want to know the worst part about it? The damn stuff actually works.

I have decided that if an elephant and a seal ever came together to produce offspring, it would sound exactly like I do today. I bark and I blow, snurf and snark, hack and cough. This flu has been one of epic phlegm proportions. Sound disgusting? Well it is. I feel so sorry for my husband who has to wake up in the morning and look at me. I accidentally turned on the onboard video cam on my new lappy this afternoon and screamed when I saw myself. What a horror! Red eyes, red nose, pasty white skin...oh it was not a good sight. Oh well, I guess everyone has to take their turn right? Right?

On to some more not so goocky stuff, I have decided that I like to paint my toenails. Growing up I never had the patience to wait for nails to dry before I set off on an adventure. Consequently I wound up with painted nails emedded with carpet fuzz, dog hair or lawn clippings (almost as an attractive thought as my snotty nose isn't it?). However, this summer I have vowed as part of the goal to start taking care of myself to keep painting my toes. Why painting my toes you may ask? Well, because every time I look down at me feet during they day, which is fairly often, I am surpirsed and think to myself; "Hey, my toesnails look cute in pink". How can you not be happy for five seconds when you think that? Honestly, if you can derive the smallest mote of happiness from something as inconsequential as painting ones toenails, then why on earth would you not do it more often? I think next time I am at the SuperStore I will look for a funky brown color and time how long it takes before one of the men in my house tell me I have "poop-toes".

Life is fun.

MacBook-a-licious

I am convinced that I have the sweetest husband. Ever.

You see, for two years now I have been attending the U of C as an undergrad in the Faculty of Nursing and have been using ye olde pen and paper the entire time. This semester I have my clinical practicum in community health and my group project is the largest to date. Pen and paper, although traditional, would have left my little fingers as nothing more then bloody little stumps by December.

This morning, my babe bought me a laptop. He knew that I wanted one but that I would never go and spend the money on myself. So he did. I am so thrilled and now I can blog wherever there is Wifi...which conveniently is the entire University campus.

So, in conclusion (yes, I do feel the need to announce my conclusion as poor writing etiquette as that may be) I would like to dedicate this blog to my husband, the love of my life, my soulmate and† best friend and now, my laptop guy.

A tip of my hat as I walk by...

I have a goal.

Expressions of my personality, pictures of my mind and descriptions of my heart.
Sound pretty far out? Perhaps, but as a firm believer in therapeutic writing this outlet shall be a safe haven for the simple scratchings of one woman in a beautiful world.

Are you interested? Stay tuned and I'll give you a tip of my hat as I walk by.