To me, having a pedicure is a bit of an extravagance and although I deeply enjoy the experience I am not always comfortable having someone crouched over me, whittling and scraping away while I sit in a giant, puffy chair like I’m Lazy-Boy Royalty. I’m also quite shy about the entire process so when I pulled up at my usual place (meaning the place I have been exactly three times before) and saw the “Closed” sign, I was so disappointed I very nearly just went home. However, this is winter, my feet are not at their finest and I wanted to raise my spirits with a splash of vermillion, so I drove to another salon since where I live and let’s face it, there’s a nail salon literally every few yards.
Once installed, I like to stare into space and not think about anything for a while as my feet soak in some hot, floral scented froth knowing before the end of my visit I will be called “Bee-u-tiful lady” at least twice. Someone will also sincerely tell me that the colour I chose is an excellent choice.
Regardless of the truth involved in either of these statements – I really like hearing it. Continue reading
I know very little about my mother’s family and lately I have fallen prey to searching ancestry.com which is, apparently, rampant among the aging Boomer population who are all trying to stoke their ongoing fascination with the past (and indirectly death), by desperately trying to get something, anything, down on paper that will both document and preserve their own life’s relevancy. And lest anyone is about to point out the irony of a self-indulgent blogger snidely calling out other people, I absolutely agree. But I don’t think this is very unusual; no one wants to feel that when they duff off their mortal coil that’s it, do they?
But, let’s leave that for another post. Continue reading
Often I find myself unable to sleep or feeling anxious (alright, super anxious) for no good reason and then, as I sit upright in bed and see the narrow, silvery light coming through the window in my bedroom making that long stripe across the floor, I suddenly realize that oh yes.
A full moon cometh.
And although I will feel relieved that there is an explanation, that special brand of anxiety and weepiness will stay with me a few days more. (Incidentally, a quick google search for “full moon and anxiety” will show that I am not alone although some of the sites are not actually as scientific as I would prefer).
I have similarly noticed at my place of employment that The Public is also hugely affected by this event (don’t get me started) and we have now taken to marking the Lunar moment on our big schedule in order to better prepare ourselves. (After all, etymologically speaking, the root of the word “Lunatic” is “Lunar” so, you know, “moon” so the reference should be fairly clear). It’s definitely not a coincidence. And, it certainly tends to enhance the marbling of ‘crazy’ in those who are already raising it to an art form). Continue reading
I’ve just finished reading Patti Smith’s M Train and three days later I am still feeling empty and sad that it’s over. This book is billed as a memoir but it’s so much more than that, brimming with poignancy, wise but careful observations and a simple, child-like take on the many things that she encounters in her everyday life. And, let me just say, that the writing is exquisite.
Consider the following:
We want things we cannot have. We seek to reclaim a certain moment, sound, sensation. I want to hear my mother’s voice. I want to see my children as children. Hands small, feet swift. Everything changes. Boy grown, father dead, daughter taller than me, weeping from a bad dream. Please stay forever, I say to the things I know. Don’t go. Don’t grow. (page 209, M Train)
It was also surprising to me that Smith is perhaps not the “angry” poet I was expecting as some of her earlier punk music/work might suggest; rather, she looks after her cats tenderly and is clearly a gentle and devoted mother. Her way of seeing and reporting beauty in the everyday is very Buddhist to me and her rapt devotion and understanding of all things Bloomsbury (she’s actually photographed and stayed at Charleston House and Monk’s House – both lofty ambitions of my own!) also resonates with me since I absolutely share that fascination and am no stranger to cherishing a special piece of rock or a translucent piece of china with a cheerful, chintz motif myself. Continue reading