Being A Mum . My Mother . Photography . The General
Some Things Really are Black and White
On September 11, 2015 by Speranza
It never ceases to delight me how much one small thing can just alter your entire mood and perception.
Tonight for example, The General and I had already decided that a documentary would be just the thing to round out our simple BBQ fare but by the time everything was assembled, I was already starting to feel churlish about it, not sure if I really wanted to “think” after such a long day at the office and generally, finding all kinds of reasons that we should once more revert to the dreadfully predictable choices provided by Basic Cable.
(It’s a bit like ordering fast food when you are desperate, already knowing what the outcome will be and despising yourself when it’s all over.)
Poetry . Self-Esteem
Ode to the Horse
On September 6, 2015 by Speranza
Most of the news at the moment is, I will venture to say, more disturbing that it has been in a long, long time. No, it’s not because of the internet making us all more aware than we were in years previous – it actually IS worse and it’s full-on terrible. I’m almost afraid to keep up – something I don’t even have to worry about actually since The General and his new Mac maintain an informal news-anchor presence at the kitchen table, constantly updating with bulletins from around the world, a trait which I am not used to but have grown to appreciate; however, I still have to walk that fine line between being a responsible adult who knows what’s happening and tries to do The Right Thing and reconciling that with the thin-skinned, highly strung artist-type who lies in bed at 3 am trying to untangle the finer points of European foreign policy after weeping openly at all those abused animal videos I should never have clicked on, hours before.
But I digress.
Being A Mum . Childhood . Nostalgia
The Stomach Knows Part I
On September 2, 2015 by Speranza
I am visiting my September pasts. I am walking along our street at a lazy pace, the kind of speed which will accommodate my small son’s wish to examine every dead earwig and share a secret with every nudging, neighbourhood cat and inspect each snail shell in case ‘someone is home.’ The sun filters weak coins of light onto our backs but the first indicator that the season is changing comes from within. Specifically, my stomach. Before I even had a chance to be fully awake this morning, the open window carried to me the smell of fresh earth but with a new chilliness that was not there even yesterday and that burnt, peppery smell of leaves that are just beginning to crisp. Already a fluttering of anxiety had begun in my stomach, creeping downwards like a cold syrup, so steady that I could feel it unfurling like a flag. But really, what was actually wrong?
Anxiety . Introspection . The General . Travel
Maine Matters
On August 25, 2015 by Speranza
I’m trying to analyze today what it is about a good getaway holiday – however brief – that really refreshes and accelerates the whole self-actualization process or the struggle to “do better” and slow down. I should just add, that as a real homebody, no matter how much I yearn to go on vacation, when the inevitable prep work presents itself with all its lists, last minute dashes to the drug store/pet food store/ drug store again I always get this panicky, desperate feeling that if someone whispered: “You know what? Don’t go – you don’t even have to go!” I would be hugely relieved to comply. I also feel the need to cram in time to ponder my imminent death from various means and whether or not I will ever return.
Yes, it’s a real laugh riot here during the holiday season!
Uncategorized
Happy Birthday Bodhisattvas!
On June 8, 2015 by Speranza
Last night we celebrated a double birthday dinner for my Best Friend in the World and my eldest, Frasier’s 24 years, a fact that fills me with such strong emotion that I am unsure how to carry it or how to process.
It’s such a cliché to hear so many mums lamenting throughout the years about how fast time goes and since this is one of the worst things that one can say to a new mother strung out on no sleep I can proudly say, that I have never said it myself – honestly – but the fact is? It’s the icy, shocking, can’t-believe-this-is-happening-to-ME truth. One minute I was running down the street with a forgotten lunch bag or volunteering on a school bus trip, breathing in the heady smell of little-kids’-feet and strawberry Chapstick for two hours and now here I am surrounded by colleagues and a Significant Other who are all quoting gloomy economic forecasts, consulting charts and obsessing about retirement. How did I allow this passing of time to happen without holding on to key moments more tightly than I did? When am I ever going to be pretty now? Why do my ankles suddenly swell for no good reason, lending that camel-feet look to every outfit? Will I soon begin cultivating an interest in supportive underwear? When exactly is my writing career going to take off in earnest– and how long can I keep kidding myself that this is even a thing? I mean how pretentious to even try, my inner voices accuse darkly, pointing out the futility of this very blog, as a feeble exercise in self-absorption. Oh and why is it only about shaved or regular slice at the deli counter now, when it used to be about looking up from under my lashes at the swarthy and romance-cover-worthy butcher?
Now the butcher seems to be only eleven and wants me to hurry up, already, between the stone-roast ham or the Black Forest.