"Ye never know yer luck in the big City"

It would be my Da's birthday today. The Honorable John (Don) Smith. A man of limitless caring, generosity of spirit, and pocket; a big unjudgemental heart - and the owner of the very best type of sense of humour. A wicked jig, swift hand and behind-the-bike-shed titter were also his friends.

A million things remind me of him; these count as a few - the sound of a diesel van, witnessing goodwill, and social, chatty strangers. Hard, hard workers - and someone being nosy through their curtains! Shaving brushes, thick eyebrows, my brothers. My Mam, my Nana. And myself. I am his "daughter runnin' water" and always will be.

"Ah, sure, what are you going to do?" "Moses said "Pick up thy bed and walk!" ("It was Lazarus, Don!," says my Ma for the millionth time. And he laughed. That laugh. With that twinkle. "I'm handsome as ever." (As he looked in the mirror, slickin' down his eyebrows). "Ye little beaut." (When we were particularly crafty or "swifty"-pulling). "Sharden Farrdell" (to my life-long friend, Sharon (Shanny) Farrell - :)). "Yer as ugly as sin." (Ha! To all, but especially to Gareth, his doppelganger). "You just never know your luck in the big City." (When you had hope... when you had reason to have hope. And he always chose to.)

We will always be lucky, because of him.

My Da was, and is, love - and just such great craic. If we can fly his particular type of flag, even a fraction as high, we're doing alright.

I just really, really miss him.

The Art of Sweaty Procrastination

There are a variety of activities one can attempt when you find yourself in residence on the surface of the Sun, or the photosphere, as it were. Some are possible, some are not. Below is a list of things, in no particular order, that I failed at today:

1. Grocery Shopping: I drag my poor cat in from her cool(ish), comfortable, shady spot under her favourite bush. She's not happy. As I leave and throw a glance back to the window, she's sitting looking out at me. If those walls could talk. This doesn't bode well for later. I hop in the truck and head to Trader Joe's. I blast the air conditioning and all is well. I get to Trader Joe's and the parking lot is a zoo. People are honking and there are a lot of red, sweaty faces. I think about cutting off a car that's trying to cut me off, but I see it's my "differently-abled" neighbor, so I don't for those two reasons. I finally park and walk inside. Even walking as slowly as I did, she can't catch up. I know this, and only feel a little bad today. The queues - all eight of them - are a mile long. Eff you, Trader Joe's, for being so delectable. This is what I get for being uncharitable. I turn on my heel and head back to the car. Can't be arsed. Homeward bound. It's friggin' hot today.

2. Clean Bathroom: By clean bathroom, I mean wash the floor. Properly. This means not skirting the mop half-heartedly around the bits you can see. It means moving everything out. Kitty litter box, twice-my-height credenza, bin. All the bits and bobs. I take a crack at it. I start putting things in the bath. Feel good about this one. Pushed the credenza and half the crap falls onto the floor. Avalanche. I fling all the shiz in a half-arsed manner into the bath. I'm feeling less sure about this. My bathroom's teeny and it's starting to feel like an oven. I feel like I want to give up 'til later. So I do. I leave everything and promise the air I'll come back when it's cooler. Just a bit later on. It's just too hot.

3. Bike Ride: My bike is one of three that are chained to my porch railing. My bike is the one that's hardest to get to. After standing in the blaring, glaring sun for 20 minutes trying to remember the combination of one of the two locks, I finally crack it. Then I take a break, mentally gearing (no pun intended) for: - I then hack away at the jungle that had grown through the chains and freedom! Two bikes fall on top of me. That hurt. I finally reach my bike - both tires flat. I oil up the chain and brakes - and half wheel, half drag it around the corner to the gas station to pump 'em up. Success. I hop on and and cycle the few feet back. I hop off and bang my ankle against a pedal. That hurt too. I lock it up to the railing again, already on my way to forgetting the combination. It's just too hot.

4. Go to the Beach: Just no.

5. Watch Telly: Taking the lazy, slug-like way out, I decide to watch some On-Demand. I plop down on the couch. Horror strikes. Where's the remote? I stretch along the couch to as far as my right arm goes (which, being almost Carnie-Folk short, is really not that far). I stretch along under the cushions. And then repeat with the left. I get a sinking feeling. No telly for me.


6. Pet Lois: I try to entice my cat to sit on the couch beside me. I make a few, lazy, high and low-pitched 'come here' noises. I pat the sofa and say things like "Come on, Lois-Pois" and "Up here, up here." After thinking about it for a few minutes, probably ten, she jumps up. I lay my head back against the cushions and tickle her ears. All okay so far. This sort of thing is often touch and go with her. As I start to pet her noggin and back, and ponder the benefits of this activity, and the correlation of same to the lowering of the blood pressure, she quietly turns her head and sinks the teeth she has left, into my hand. Not enough to hurt, but it's a warning for me to not get too crazy. Who am I, Lenny? This, I know, is also payback for making her come inside earlier. See? If she could talk, she'd say "It's friggin' hot." Oh, and "You suck." That would be the translation. She gives me the hairy eyeball for good measure. Nice.

7. Ceiling Fan Maintenance: After Lois jumps down, I point my eyes heaven-ward and attempt full chagrin. As I'm not religious in the slightest, that being an absolute understatement, I catch sight of the dust on the blades that need cleaning. That's not going to happen, of course. But in this moment, I wonder if the fan is spinning in the right direction. The spinning doesn't seem to be doing much cooling. Is the switch supposed to be up or down? It's Autumn yes, but feels like Hades Summer home, so which is it? This might be something. I reach for my laptop, which is, incidentally, within pipsqueak arm's length, and do a quick search. I am educated! Up for Winter, down for Summer. I have a vague recollection I've read this before. In fact, truth be told, I google this every year. However, I uncover a most excellent way of never having to search for this again. Up for North, down for South. Hurray! I feel so accomplished. I'm still not cleaning the blades today though. And it's too hot to change the direction of the switch right now. But when it's cooler, and I can drag a chair under it so I can reach, I'll absolutely know which way it's supposed to go. You're very welcome.

8. Take a Shower: It's just not happening. See #2.

9. Read a Book: To belabour the point even further, it's just too hot to move. Let's just get this out of the way right now; my bookshelf is too far away. Brainwave. I open up my iBook app., and read the 20 page sample of Russell Brand's "My Booky Wook." I giggle a bit. Well there you go, that was ten minutes of external inactivity, apart from giggling and jiggling; that should count for something. I feel like I might want to read the whole thing, but I like actual books. Booky wooks. I like pages. I like flipping. Real flipping where you can feel a draught. It's too hot to go to Barnes and Noble. Foiled again.

10. Taking the Lazy Over-heated Way Out to 10: This took a lot of energy -

















And tomorrow's supposed to be hotter. Wonder if I should call in sick? Wait, we have air conditioning at work. Done.

Post Scriptum: Ooh, here's my remote!

Sighing and Oy Veying - with Jazz Hands

I'm full of secrets these days. Bloated.

I tell you, it's tough being me. I say that with only half my tongue in my cheek. And I know! It's tough being me for more than the usual, obvious and rudimentary reasons. I know. I can hear the tittering from here.

Anyway, these secrets. Some are of the most delicious and excellent kind. Some are not. Some are just the way it is. Some make me want to bust a gut; some, make me want to smoke a cigarette, or full-on carton.

Regardless, I am a very, very good keeper of special and precious-to-people stuff. People tell me things, or I happen to guess. I'm a good guesser. And although I have never, ever laid claim to having even one well-developed muscle in my entire body, I have one really solid shoulder. Two, actually.

I don't know what it is. I think, that despite me going through my day with a seemingly Pollock-painting like personality, I am ultimately very, very private and protective of self and the things that mean the most to me - and those I love. Maybe people who consider me a friend, inherently sense this about me. Of the people I consider friends, there are but a couple that I tell almost everything to. There are none that hear it all. That sounds awful, but it has nothing to do with my trust in them, and much to do with the way I'm built. It's a good thing they're not like me, because I would torment the living daylights out of them. Bugger it out of 'em. All's not fair. For my part, I can be expansive and encompassing, and soft and broad. And short-fused, prickly and maddeningly elusive. I'm so glad these friends like me anyway; and I'm so lucky that I get to love them.

I had a really good conversation recently with a friend. We talked about our pasts and experiences, and loves, good and otherwise - and although I pride myself on my stealthy brass band maneuverings, he noted that he felt I was quite guarded with my heart. I was a little taken aback, as in that moment, I had been somewhat exposed as a baton wielding fraud, and he, as quite the perceptive chap. At the time, although surprised, I hadn't minded so much, as is the case with that good ol' in vino veritas; but as the wine wore off, the truth part felt too naked and known. To the listener, probably no big deal; one man's trash is another man's treasure, or vice-versa. There are probably a lot more people like me than I'm lead to believe. Than I would know.

I love people. Love people watching, and observing. I love that we never really quite know what's going on behind closed doors. Behind the curtains. Sometimes beneath, there are bells and whistles and sometimes, there might just be some surprises and secrets. The good, quiet kind - if we're really, really fortunate. Sometimes when the shades are pulled open, and the light lands and dances on those darker nooks and crannies, the person standing holding the sash somehow recognizes everything they see. I like that idea.

Well, it's that time. Late enough. Blinds closed. Curtains drawn again. And I realize I've lied already. Maybe more than once. The one I will admit to: there is, after all, someone who knows everything. My cat. And she's not talking. I think.

Oh, and she wrote this, not me. She just can't type. Or so it would seem. She's a crafty one, that moggy. She just never leaves those curtains alone. And that might not be a bad thing after all.

It Goes A Little Suh-im Like This...

A Friday evening, full of promise. End of week, and pregnant with possibility.

It's a story as old as time. There once was an empty stomach...

You see, you take some alcohol... You open gullet. You swallow said alcohol.

You open mouth again. You repeat. Several times. I mentioned empty stomach.

You open mouth - to speak. Neurons misfire. Words sound drastically different upon exit, than inside head.

Food? Possibly. Although, too late. Collateral Damage. Done.

More words.

Bed.

Wake up. World is dark and has a Tim Burtonesque tinge. Mouth tastes like keys. Cat appears much, MUCH bigger than I remember. She Hakuna Matata's around the place. Her paws are loud. And she looks at me like I'm dinner.

Cursing ensues. The really bad kind.

Leave home. Two very blond kids speak loudly in a language I have never heard, and jump all over my body. They seem merciless. And rotten. Even their hugs and kisses are evil.

I curse inside my head. Outside. I appear focused on too much blond. Too bright.

Tummy is on a cruise to the Bahamas. From Australia.

Meet usually soft-spoken friend - who is loud and boisterous this day, in a zen-like, although today, loud and clanky restaurant. Eat some rocks and drink loud, Niagara Falls water.

Home. Friend. Chitchat. Friend creaks loudly on cushions made of tin foil and is wearing rocks for shoes.

Bed.

Curse.

Doctors Without Borders in Haiti

They do such great work. Doctors Without Borders has lost their three hospitals in Haiti to this earthquake. Please help these amazing men and women help the people in Haiti struggling to survive.

The link directly below will take you to a donations page. Please imagine if it was your family and friends suffering such devastation in such a way right now. It doesn't bear thinking about. So, if you haven't managed to donate in any way as of yet, and I'm sure many of you have, please consider Doctors Without Borders and/or Yele.org (details in my post from yesterday).

Doctors without Borders - Donations to help in Haiti

Let's get cracking and help in any way we can. Every penny counts.

Thanks.

Please Donate to the Yele Haiti Earthquake Relief Fund

Please donate to the Haiti Earthquake Relief Fund. Even if if you can only manage a dollar or two, or a couple of Euro... Every penny will help. It's a very desperate situation. Those poor, poor people. :(

Yele Haiti Earthquake Relief Fund

And direct link below to donate via internet or text message:

Donate

Let's do what we can...