December 25, 2009

Holiday Gang Signs From A Post-Apocalyptic Morning.

Happy Christmas one and all! I wanted to tell you about my abnormally early drive home. As each year dictates, I go to the folks place for Christmas Eve which is when we have our Christmas. Trying to do it on the traditional Christmas morning had become rushed and almost impossible because of the face time we would have to put in at the homes of our relatives. It was just annoying, no time to enjoy it for ourselves. So now we do it the night before so the relatives can enjoy our company to their little hearts content without having us arrive with the demeanor of disgruntled ogres. We may still be arriving feeling less than cheerful right off the bat; it just takes a little bit to settle into the new surroundings of Nana and Gido's home and the abundance of family awaiting our arrival. Back to the origins of the ramblings: after the gift opening, each of us began toying with our respective mountains of new stuff. I was pleased to receive the one thing I had asked for, plus a very large and unexpected surprise. Everyone got what they had asked for in addition to the weird oddities they would never waste a wish on. For example: black 'satin' dorags. My mother is so hip she put it on (correctly without instruction which is phenomenal) and proceeded to throw up the gang signs that only a mother could conjure. Normally after about an hour or so everyone will gather at the dinner table for grilled cheese sandwiches. By the time that would normally occur, we were all so enamored with our new possessions that the grilled cheese portion of the evening was nowhere near as formal as it has been in years past. I had already fallen asleep on the couch on top of the cat's new blanket. It was soft and kept my abdomen warm. I awoke at 4am and assembled my jacket, boots, etc. for the drive home. Floyd needs some Christmas face time too. He also needs to be fed before I leave for the whole of Christmas day. The drive home was a strange beauty, but absolutely comfortable. The icy fog had draped itself onto every inch of the freeway and had spread throughout every nook and cranny of the trees, lamp posts, and buildings. It looked and felt post-apocalyptic. The apocalypse = sheer comfort. Odd indeed. I think it's the stillness of the atmosphere. The quiet. The sense that knowing that there's just you and few others that managed to persevere and survive. The 30 minute drive showed me one pedestrian and 4 cars. A really small amount of survivors compared to a regular day in this booming metropolis. I decided to take the scenic route: the road along the north bank of the river. If there was any place that would feel still and fragile, it would be this road. A piece of a time capsule appearing untouched by the cruel hand of time. Going up the hill to the NW downtown 'core', you can generally always see the university across the river. Even when it's a groggy day of overcast the lit construction crane is more or less always visible. This morning, nothing in sight. It's as if The Fates had reached out and woven their thread throughout the chasm between myself and the university area. A weave so thick that absolutely nothing was in sight, save for a few shrubs and trees directly in front of me. I pulled over to indulge in the moment. I reference The Fates because it felt as if it was their responsibility for the lack of activity and warmth, it was stagnant and freezing, your lungs would be a good testament to the temperature. Everything had ceased to move, not a whisper nor a shudder from any form of life that was evident to exist in this spot, just the sight of my frosty breath.....and the exhaust from my car accompanied by the kind of too loud, slightly hard rock tunes emanating from the vehicle. Oh well, the feeling of being all alone in the world still remains. I cherish it. Now The Fates can snip the life of that moment in time and end it all for good. Or at least until the next apocalypse. Warm wishes and good tidings to you and your kin! Happy Christmas, yo! Breathe.

December 9, 2009

Canucks Unite!

For the first time (in recent memory that is) I actually felt patriotic. It's not that I've never been proud of being Canadian and I'm not a self-hating Canadian, I just never really FELT Canadian. Or FELT happy about it; no warm fuzzies. But today, that all changed. Roar of the Rings: 2009 Curling Trials. I saw the Women's Draw this afternoon. It was really cool (no pun intended) and inspiring. I should be a curler. A Champ. Picture this: clear ice sheets with the announcer coming out to get the party started. Then pipers enter as leaders of the pack; all 8 teams follow and the crowds of many cheer and applaud. Then an almost deliberately planned silence falls amongst the Coliseum. Not forced, we're just polite like that. The national anthem begins. Everyone sings loud and proud, even the parts en francais. Another part that makes us who we are. Bilingual. Bountiful. As the afternoon games carry on, the Coliseum's level of support and rivalry intensifies. You could feel it in your bones, so much so that it gave you goosebumps. I went with my friend Stephen and we each were cheering for different teams on different sheets. His team was ranked top, but lost by one point. My team won. Victory! Yet they have a few rounds to go in the semi finals in order to see who is going to the Winter Olympics this year. Hahaha, I saw a man with a foam hat in the shape of a curling rock. Very hip. A good day all around. How was yours? Eventful I pray. Funny how a few hours in the presence of athletes and their sport (one of which I never really gave a passing thought to) could change my perspective and give me a renewed sense of being. Yes it's cold outside, but I'll march into it knowing that I, amongst many others, were born to handle it with ease. Gotta get some long johns. ASAP. Going to the Roar made me think of one of my favorite movies: Men With Brooms. Nothing but Canadiana throughout. Curling (of course, now you understand the segway), big comfy Cosby knit sweaters, The Tragically Hip, and Paul Gross: a hunk by nature and a devastatingly true Canadian to the core. Side note of a Gross recommendation: Due South. Just watch it. Nothing beats The Hip. Nothing. Not even the man in the foam hat. Another film I saw a number of years ago is also entirely Canadian in content and phenomenally refreshing: Souvenir of Canada. Based on the book of the same name by Douglas Coupland. You can watch a few trailers here. Go out and venture into your local TV entertainment retail outlet, whichever it may be (I choose HMV to start) and purchase this amazing film. You will thoroughly enjoy it. Let me give you a little taste: you see modern lit interpretations of Native totem poles that are found across this great land, dual headed geese that stand at random and some that grow on the walls. Knits, quilts, tuques, and maple syrup. Can't forget that. It all sounds delicious. What dreams are made of, right? Want to go to a dreamland? Visit the Rockies. You won't see or wish to be anywhere more beautiful. A gigantic playground for the mind, body, and soul. Come play! And don't forget to try our syrup. Breathe.

December 6, 2009

Crepuscular With Drug Infused Sugarplums

My friends! 'Tis the season of boxes, bobbles, and bright sparkly things. Are you as excited as I am?! I should hope so. I seem to find myself lost between the me of present day and the me of days past. This year I am more proud of my Christmas tree than I have ever been: all my ornaments coordinate and I made my own tree topper because I had "lost" my star. Lo and behold, I find the damn thing once I have my elaborately constructed owl topper complete and perched upon his new throne. It was a good thing. The star wouldn't fit the eclectic theme anyways. The owl by the by has been named Crepuscular. The me of days past: instead of unplugging the tree lights and going to bed, I turn off all the other lights in the apartment and sleep on the love seat couch. I must sleep in the fetal position in order to fit comfortably. I choose to sleep there because I like the gentle light that haunts that corner of the room. It's a comfort. Safe for a sweet slumber. Try it, I guarantee you'll love it, at least once.....unless you have an addictive personality which is also wonderfully acceptable. For the first time in my gift wrapping career, when I folded the seam over the side to tape it secure, the pattern of the paper lined up perfectly! How amazing is that?! I couldn't believe it, even though it was just on one side, it's definitely worth mentioning. I took a photo to immortalize the moment. Geek. I never use gift bags, it's such a cop out. There's no creativity in it. Boxes, that's the way to go. Just imagine the possibilities you have with all the different types of ribbon, bows, bells, and glitter! How glorious and exciting! The twinkle in my eye explodes with immense glee. Gushing, just gushing at the thought of how delicious this season is. No matter that it's -30C (or colder) outside, December is the place to be. And it must have snow or it just isn't the same. Wild rabbits. I saw one this evening and he was perfectly white. No gray or brown tipped ears. He was pure and undeniably attractive. I wanted to take him home. Instead of whisking him away to a place of warmth, I stood there and thought for a short while about his life as he cautiously bounced away. Where does he live? Is he concerned about the ice? (I have never seen a rabbit slip on ice. Have you?) Is he cold? <--- I got a wee bit sad when this thought crossed my mind because the worse case scenario popped in my head: nowhere to sleep and freezing. What does he eat now and where does he get it? Has he befriended some lonely homeless man who feeds him fresh lettuce which he purchased with his panhandling earnings? They are family. I smile with the complimentary warm fuzzies and go inside happy with the thought of the small family that exists close by. I love that song. Do you? You should. Jefferson Airplane - "White Rabbit". Ideal for any season, any day, any time. Grace Slick. Absolutely the greatest name ever. Maybe I'll get my name legally changed. Good idea you think? Hmm.....moving onwards and upwards..... My family. A combination of outspoken weirdos with very strong personalities. The holidays are always interesting of course. This year, we have a big twist: family holiday vacation to Hawaii. Dad and I had the same concern: is there enough liquor on that island for all of us? Will we make it through? Eventually we lowered our blood pressures in a timely and safe manner when we were sure that there would be a plethora of alcohol. Disclaimer: we are not alcoholics, it just makes everything more fun and slightly more bearable sometimes, when we need a situation to be bearable. You know what I mean. You probably have the same family. And I'm sure you would have the same concern we did. I desperately need to clean this horrid living area that is my apartment. I must do it before I leave for the Pacific. My one and only is caring for Floyd and they don't need to deal with the mess. I'm a slob. Amongst all the gift shopping for others, I've managed (yet again) to buy more stuff for me. Damn it. I mean that sarcastically and truthfully. I don't need that stuff, but I wanted it and am pleased to have it. I woke up yesterday to the mail being hurdled through the mail slot of the apartment door. To my surprise and sheer joy, the ring I had ordered finally arrived. A beautiful modern ring with an antique charm. Perfection. I bought a small handful of new make up. As usual, I don't need it because I have an enormous amount of make up for someone who doesn't wear a lot of it. I figured, why not? I have a mildly glamorous company/supplier Christmas party on Saturday and I can't wait. Musn't forget to charge the camera battery, that will be a serious accessory for the evening. Many friends and colleagues will be there, cheer, laughter, and spirits will be had and hilarious photos shall ensue. Once again, Floyd is sitting on my lap. It's cute and sweet and he keeps me warm. Better than him laying the keyboard and giving you unintelligible gibberish. Watching "Robin Williams: Weapons of Self Destruction" quite funny, a few old jokes here and there, but funny nonetheless. I still have to see "Gentlemen Broncos", nothing but pure quirkiness there. "Oh my holy crap. Surveillance does. I hate those." I think I'll watch "Fear and Loathing..." instead, I need a fill of White Rabbit and shenanigans infused with drugs. Sounds fun and all in a fire apple red convertible in bat country. Joyous. Well I must depart. Off to sleep like a fetus in the glow of Crepuscular's throne and have visions of sugarplums dance in my twisted mind. Try it, satisfaction guaranteed. Breathe.

November 4, 2009

Jumbled Thoughts of a Flu Induced Insomniac

I wrote all this in a journal uber early this morning, my weary and heavy eyes couldn't bear to look at a computer screen. That's right, I went all old world nostalgia for you. 4:21am Wednesday I'm already thinking about Christmas: who to buy for and what to get them. I must keep it to the bare essentials of people. Harsh sounding, I know, but I don't have oodles of cash to dole out on every person I've crossed paths with and deem them worthy of a gift. I'm mean. I think it's me just being honest and not mean. Now I'm meandering. 6 people, that's about it I think: parents, sister, and 3 best friends. Although there's one person that could change that number. I'm not a large fan of surprise gifts. You know.....someone you didn't get a gift for and wasn't expecting to get a gift from gets you a gift, so now you have to get them one in order to eliminate awkward moments. Then you get mildly irritated at the fact that you have to go do a rush shop. Geez, Christmas is 7 weeks away and I'm already stressing out about it. Good news is I already know what I'm getting one person, so that's one off the list. Just have to get it. That will come. Tomorrow is more or less Guy Fawkes Day. I watch "V for Vendetta" on November 5th every year, and that day only (circumstances permitting of course). I've successfully changed how I write my capital M's, as in I don't have to actively think about doing it, I can just write the new M. At some point or other I've always changed a letter or two. Maybe it's a subconscious thing: for years I've been on an unassuming mission for what I feel is how I can perfectly execute my native tongue's alphabet. I think I have accomplished said mission.....granted nothing seems to match. It's quirky yet flows with precision and grace. Geez, I sound vain and entirely narcissistic. About my handwriting/printing. Chicken scratch really. Drunk and pretentious chicken scratch. Haha, I'm envious of the handwriting of others, so neat and clean. And the handwriting of some of the other people involved in those others make me glad that my motor skills are "sharp" and I'm not as awkward as I initially thought. Still, my writing is weird, but the M's were the missing piece. Well done. I can't properly hold the pen here due to a teeny laceration. Funny how something so small can do that. The pages look like my hand is being guided by someone else other than my own neurological commands. My duvet seems to slide further and further off the foot end of my bed every night. I have to exert a lot of pulling force to readjust causing me to use up my energy reserves. Currently there's hardly any in them. There's no heroic expenditure reminiscent of "thrusters engage!", it's more along the lines of an old man grunting and wheezing while he tries to stand up from an armless, cushy, too-low-down chair. Crisis averted, warmth and comfort retrieved. I love this movie. It's in my top 3. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. One of my favorite lines is: "Sand is overrated. It's just tiny little rocks." Go figure, I'm unable to sleep when I'm in the perfect nook that's so warm and comfortable. A perfect fit we are. So instead I leave and put on a movie, and suddenly I feel the sleep coming. The opening credits for this one aren't even done. I'm just like my mother that way. She always falls asleep in movies, before it even really starts. David Cross making a birdhouse is sublime and truly funny in it's delivery. I'm going to slip into sleep now, but first a lullaby: ".....Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darlin' Clementine, thou art lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry Clementine....." How somber. I like it. Meet me in Montauk. Breathe. 4:48am Wednesday

November 2, 2009


Alright alright, now my mind is racing, so you're in for a real treat: 3 posts in one day! I'm tired but not sleepy, my back aches and am so restless I can't lay down. I've decided to watch Mary & Max again. It's so wonderful that I've fallen madly in love with it. I'm deeply attracted to films and television programs of odd and disturbed people/characters, they're more honest and truly relatable. This movie makes me smile, inside and out. Floyd's sitting on my lap. I love it when he does that; just relaxes and doesn't try to eat my crackers or knock stuff off the computer desk. I've thought of something for me to do in the near future, an art project of sorts. I have so many framed pictures that I don't necessarily like anymore, so I will take them out and replace them with my own photos. I know that it sounds exceedingly simple and unexciting, but it will be fun and more involved than that. My project was just a tangent that stemmed from one of my most prized possessions: a framed picture that my most treasured made for me for Christmas last year. I would like him to make me another. I also thought about how not too long ago he asked me with such enthusiastic curiosity about the blog that you are reading. I see now that he had hopes of me showing it to him right then and there. I have not yet shown it to him. Purely because his opinion matters most to me and I'm worried of what he'll think of this. Then I gave my head a shake when I thought further on it: He's an artist and doesn't show any of his work to me until he's ready or when it's ready enough to be exposed to new eyes and ears. That takes courage and strength. I need to be strong like him. Unafraid. Well, here I go, jumping in with both feet, I'll send him the link. Hahaha, look how brave I am, a link! He can look in his own time and let me know what he thinks, if he wishes. I ran out of milk. Perhaps I'll go for a brief walk to the store tomorrow to get some, maybe make some cupcakes too. I'm getting tired of Campbell's chicken noodle soup and a severe lack of sweets to satisfy that darn sweet tooth of mine. I think I'm past the uber contagious part of the swine, but still, the walk will nevertheless be brief. Anyhow, on with the wedding studies and Mary & Max. Aspies for Freedom! Breathe.

2 Big Celebrations On This Day!


Weddings, H1N1, and Ted Danson

Well well well, hello again fellow citizens of the online world. Yet again, I've let my duties as a blogger slip tremendously out of reach for quite some time. Perhaps that's not a bad thing. I don't mind necessarily, hopefully neither do you. Seeing as how I've been less than inspired as of late (very late), I'm just going to ramble, which is what I think (subconsciously initially, now turned an obvious acceptance) I originally started this damn thing for. So here's some little tidbits of what's been going on: I've "gone back to school". I took (for the most part have finished and am currently studying for my final exam) a Wedding Coordinator Certification course. It was wonderfully intense and filled with more things to learn than I had anticipated. Oddly enough, proper table settings and dining etiquette was one of my favorite parts. I say it's odd because it's extremely rare that I go to a fancy place for dinner where I have to be a tad more polite than I already am ;). Now if ever a time arose that I would eat somewhere so fancy that I could appropriately critique the settings and manners of those around me like an immensely snobby and elite socialite, I would be all over that like a fat kid on cake. I look forward to that meal. (*Note: this photo was from a general image search of 'wedding table setting'; quite nice, I spot some errors from what I was taught, but still very posh. Must make mention that it was a photo found on a public domain of Jenna Bush's wedding. Pretty!) I've very recently been infected with the H1N1 flu virus. It has been an experience in itself. At first, I thought I was just getting a cold, so I thought: "No big deal, it's just a cold. Inconvenient, but simple." I was sorely mistaken. Swine flu hits hard and fast (well it did for me anyways). It seemed to come out of nowhere on Thursday, when just a day and half prior, I thought it was a little cold that I could handle like a big girl. Nope, I was a big baby, a pale sweaty mess of a person who felt the most comfort lying on the tile of the bathroom floor. Symptoms (for those who are curious) are just your general flu symptoms but intensified about 25 times. I couldn't stand up without blacking out, so there was no way that I could get myself to the doctor. I summoned my mother from her work and we ventured into the realm of extreme illness. The ambulance came and I'm so glad that I got two very handsome paramedics (Bill & Shane) to come to my rescue. They were polite and had the same sense of humor as myself. It made the whole thing bearable. To Bill and Shane, thank you so much for peeling me off the bathroom floor and putting up with my inane chatter about how ridiculously intense the show "Trauma" is. I was in the hospital for 9 hours. It went by faster than you would think, but only seeing a doctor twice in that time, it became apparent how short staffed and screwed up our medical profession is at the moment. I understand that if the triage area of emergency is overflowing, that you need nurses in there to help facilitate patients and whatnot. But if there are simple cases (like myself) that can be taken care of quickly, I would think that they would finish me off and send me out in order to free up a bed for someone who needs it more than I did at that point. It's not that I'm unappreciative of the care I was given, but I would've happily given up my bed if I was able to, to the 18 month old kid who was crying so hard he was screaming. The "fun" part of it all aside from the paramedics (I guess someone was looking out for me in one way or another), was that I had a few firsts: my first IV and first x-rays. The IV was neat, a wee bit painful at the start but once the nurses (Monica and Leanne, thank you too!) hooked up the IV fluids, I could feel it running through my system. It was a cold feeling and it ran up my left arm and down each digit of my left hand. It was tres cool (no pun intended). To cut a long story short, I've been in the doctor prescribed quarantine of my apartment since Thursday night late. I have two and bit days left. I missed out on my favorite holiday, well one of them anyways, and am running out of food to eat. It's unfortunate, but I'm feeling a hell of a lot better than last week. Oh well. In my prescription isolation, I've discovered a new tv show that has captured my interest and is holding it rather well. "Bored To Death" is what it's called, and yes the irony of it's title is obvious to the time that I discovered it. It's awesome! And it reminded me of how great Jason Schwartzman is, that Zach Galifianakis will never be not funny, and that Ted Danson is incredibily delicious in this role. Could be the sharp suits, perfect white hair, and unscrupulous nature, but it's tantalizing all the same. It's about a writer (Schwartzman) who gets dumped because he drinks too much and smokes too much pot. In his hurt and shame, he places an ad on Craig's List that he's an unlicensed private detective. He's more or less successful in his cases and completely unorthodox. FYI: he only drinks white wine and doesn't smoke as much pot now. In this time away from the world, I've discovered what people matter to me and whom I matter to. It's surprising to say the least, but I like it. I'll leave it at that for now. Moving on..... My amazing friends, Jen & Steve, brought me some masks and movies: masks to reduce infection of others that may come by my humble abode, and movies to pass the time. Out of all of the ones they brought, I was most excited to watch "Mary & Max". A claymation movie about a little girl in Australia who chose a name at random from a New York phone book to write to a potential pen pal about where babies come from in America. Pop cans? No, they wouldn't fit through the hole. She doesn't know because in Australia they come from the bottom of beer glasses. This random man is an atheist Jew with Asperger's syndrome. Just imagine all the great letters they write to one another (they were fantastic!). It's funny and tragic. Very dark and heart warming. I fell in love with it instantly. Well I must part with you now. I need to continue studying for weddings, watching Bored, etc. I'll keep you posted. I want chocolate. Damn. I will leave you with what Max would say every time he brought his letter to the mailbox: "Go in good health." Again, I spew out irony. Breathe.

August 28, 2009

Something I've been thinking about a lot lately.

Someone very important to me showed me this photo and said that he agrees with what it says. I've been trying to decipher what I think of it. I agree with it as well, to a certain degree. I think. I should keep thinking on it. What are your thoughts? Share!

August 27, 2009

Bookman and I: A Few Moments In the August Sun.

My little darlings, it's been too long. And for that, I offer you my sincere apologies. In my absence, I wonder if you've thought about what mystic wisdom I should return with. I've wondered the same. I've been thinking of various things and observing different people. For now I'll just share one, save the rest for future posts my fellow bloggers. And now, a little story. Here we go: Today I went for a walk with a friend of mine in the River Valley. We saw the usual things: runners, cyclists, young couples, old couples, new friends, and old friends, etc. After an hour or so, our walk was almost complete. As we were making our way up the hill, I saw a man, sitting on the wooden railing that surrounds the landing of one of the staircases on the hill. His shoes were off, jacket casually slung over the opposing wooden railing, wearing a faded charcoal t-shirt and cotton running shorts with light blue socks. At a glance, you'd think he was a runner taking a break. But upon a longer than average glance (something that some people might consider as starring. I don't know, I felt I was looking while passing. In a non-weirdo way.) you'd see that there's more to him. I began to wonder. Late 50s I'd guess for age, fancy reading glasses resting on the tip of his nose, and an old leather bound book in his hands. A professor or scholar is what I imagined him to be. With my ever degenerating vision, I tried to catch a glimpse of the title of his book without looking like some weird stranger starring at him. To the misfortune of my curiosity, I couldn't see what it was, but I did see that the lettering was in gold. Faded and cracked. Worn out from many years of existence and it's pages turned over and over and over again. What a wonderful journey that book must have been on. Now the book of brown leather and worn gold letters bask in the August sun, sharing it's tales once again with a man just enjoying a peaceful evening. How comforting it must be. If you were me, what would you do? Just walk on by after the autonomic reaction to look at a stranger and think nothing of it? Would you approach the man? Ask him about his book and have a delightful little conversation in passing? I probably would have if: a) I wasn't with my friend, and b) I wasn't a nervous, indecisive, procrastinating chicken-shit. I imagined the conversation would have been fun. Intriguing, a delectable addition to the warm almost autumn (yay!) evening. He would tell me of how he came across the book in his grandfather's study when he was just a wee lad. Pop-pop. He'd tell me that's what he called his grandfather. A small grin and quiet chuckle would follow as he had a moment with his memory. To change the direction of the subject, so as to not seem rude, he would ask me about my grandfather. I would say that my Gpa has worked hard for a number of years to build a family tree by delving into many photo albums and old newspaper clippings, journals from relatives past, and traveling to Scotland to visit those still living to swap stories and photos. Stories and photos of their youth and their present families. Gpa is also really good with digital cameras but can't seem to get a grasp on Facebook yet. It's new, but he will know more about than myself in a short while. A quick study he is. Bookman and I would draw the brief but deep topic of discussion to a close, wish each other a good night and enjoyable reads of books to come. No names were ever exchanged. Two random souls met over the question of an old book; our paths crossed for a moment and then it was gone. Simple, but I would hope that it warmed the cockles of his heart like it did mine. A dream within a dream. The reality is bookman was relaxing and taking it all in. Being casual and laxidazy in the space he had temporarily claimed as his own. Space to share with his antique friend. I would like to have more evenings like the bookman had. And the adventurous life the book must have had. Even though nothing verbal was shared, I'll do my best. You too. Breathe.

August 12, 2009

to you from me.

This is one of the best photos I've ever taken (as is the one in the previous post). I must admit, I was nervous when I took it: I couldn't see the screen on my camera very well because of the angle the sun was, I didn't want her to move and ruin the shot but I didn't want her to notice I was taking the photo. In regards to composition, there wasn't any real composition, it was a fluke shot that kind of follows the rule of thirds in photography. This is my friend Allison. Beautiful, non? Here's my shameless promotion: she has a blog too! And she's also the spark of inspiration for me to start one. You should check hers out, it's real nutritious:

the beginning.....for me, for you.

Ever stop to think about the reality of things? The whys and the hows of it all? Or just to touch a flower without thinking of where you are going and if whether or not you'll be on time? I'm sure you have. I do. Whenever I can. And isn't that horrible? 'When I can'. I should just be doing it; just put everything on hold for a moment, just a moment. To stop and look around. Drink it in. We should all do it. We shouldn't have to 'make time'. Computers, cell phones, mobile internet, all of that. All of that takes us away. It's meant to keep us connected, all the time, connected. Granted it works in tracking each other down whenever we want, wherever we are, where you are. It's supposed to keep us in touch with the world, when I feel that it takes us away from actually experiencing the world. Ironic that I say this on a computer. I'm sure we've all had that thought. On more than one occasion, I've seriously thought of unplugging. Only for a while of course. Heaven forbid I miss out on something that occurs on a technologically structured social interface rather than go out and be social, face to face. A true interface. Breathe. I try. Another argument could be that all of this wonderful technology certainly is a blessing. It does keep us connected. Together. From far away lands or from around the corner. We can communicate quickly and efficiently to plan to spend time creating moments and memories. To come together and share. Together. Breathe. In short: am I a hypocrite? Probably. More importantly, are you one? Probably. I'm going to continue capturing the moments I stumble into that need to be cherished. Drink them in. Savor the taste. Breathe. Don't forget.