I was at a spa recently and found myself standing in front of a wall full of nail polishes and was asked to pick which one I would like.
How do I do this, when I can no longer see the colours and shades, or even scarcely recall what they looked like?
This week, for Song Lyric Sunday,
Helen went with a band which brought back some memories.
So Cold
is not my entry for the week. I just came across it when listening to Helen’s choice and I did feel the singer’s intensity. I suppose it is helpful for getting out feelings of aggression or frustration with life, like the things none of us can control, like losing sight or loss of a loved one or any number of things.
Not wanting to follow too closely to Helen though, here is my official song choice:
I have had a deep connection to this band for years, getting me through multiple hospital stays, over and under the trials and beauty of loves…ah!
Then, a friend of mine since we were ten years old applied to medical school in Ireland and my dream of visiting became a reality.
This friend, she stood with me at that wall of colours I could no longer see and she went with her favourite purple and, though my first instinct was my favourite red, I ended up choosing navy blue.
***
“So Cold In Ireland”
Here is a story
of hope and of glory.
He’s eighteen years old
and well I fell in love.
But after that,
where have you gone, from me?
The one that I loved endlessly.
We used to have a life,
but now it’s all gone.
Mystify…
Does it have to be so cold in Ireland?
Does it have to be so cold in Ireland, for me?
Are they ready for me?
Where have you gone, from me?
The one that I loved endlessly.
We were to have a child.
Yesterday’s gone.
Well I knew the time would come.
When I’d have to leave.
Go on.
Look what they’ve done to me.
They’ve taken my hand…
And it’s killing me.
Killing me, killing me, killing me!
Does it have to be so cold in Ireland?
Does it have to be so cold in Ireland, for me?
Are they ready for me?
But I’m afraid I’m returning to Ireland.
I’m afraid I’m returning to Ireland.
I see, that there is nothing for me.
There is nothing for me.
My friend was visiting family and friends like me, back here in Canada, but maybe…it may be that this is no longer her home anymore.
Now the holidays are over once more and she has officially returned to Ireland, to her life. Her daughter is Irish and I love that. It is her home, possibly their home, forever. I will miss them. I miss Ireland.
This time of year I don’t get depression as such. I just feel the time of year and blue felt right, but even blue nails don’t last.
“Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. a
link hashtag happiness
weapon. A beauty bomb. And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one.
It would explode high in the air — explode softly — and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air. Floating down to earth — boxes of Crayolas.
And we wouldn’t go cheap, either — not little boxes of eight. Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in. With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest.
And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination.
~ Robert Fulghum
With all the reality TV run amuck this week, disguised as politics. With an unarmed mental health worker getting shot, right in front of his autistic client. With violence in Munich and Afghanistan and Syria.
I read the above quote and the image of that made me want to spread colour and vibrance and imagination. It made me want to create.
I don’t mean that to come off sounding disrespectful to anyone I know there.
I just do not know how things have arrived at where they are. I can’t do anything about it. I feel like I am taking a front row seat to the spectacle of this election and I am afraid, so I tell myself I am thankful that I have at least some distance.
It’s not all that comforting frankly, but I’m just starting my TToT list. I’ve got nine more to go.
To be a Canadian, living here in Canada.
Honestly, as much as I do love a lot about the US and highly respect many people there, I am thankful to be living in this country.
I say it, I think it, and I feel it in my heart, any way you slice it. Luck of the draw. Again, the comfort is short lived, but it’s something. I don’t know what else to say.
I couldn’t resist the line in the title of this week’s TToT, the one the GOP nominee kept repeating: “Believe Me!” and I don’t. I just can’t believe what I’m hearing.
For a Canadian, female writer, whose blog I love to check in on.
“To be responsible is to be forced to confront vulnerability. That is my observation about growing up, generally. The older I get, the more fragile the structures around me seem. The more tenuous. The more invented , in a way. What I mean is that the security of everything I hold precious and dear, even my beliefs, is supported by a certain level of cognitive dissonance, but also by the suspension of disbelief. To dig in, to help build, to get my hands dirty, to make or unmake, is, for me, to witness the complexity and arbitrariness of experience, of life itself, against which there can be no absolute assurances of safety and security.”
She writes about having lost her own physical voice from illness, but I believe it speaks to a bigger way in which so many people feel like they don’t have a voice to speak up for themselves.
For comedians who make me smile when the sadness threatens to overtake me.
Speaking of British comedy…there’s nothing better than Last Week Tonight’s John Oliver being interviewed by Jerry Seinfeld, for his show “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee”.
With Oliver’s signature British humour and Jerry’s own unique brand of comedy, which he’s perfected for these fascinating interviews he conducts, with the sound of a soft trickle of coffee being poured in between clips of their coffee shop chatter and banter.
For the developing of my violin muscle memory and “sul ponticello”..
I’m loving the possibilities and more of the terms I’m learning.
Sul ponticello is a style of playing, where you move the bow up closer to the bridge of the violin. It makes a higher sound with harmonics, or so I’m told and have read.
It’s like what’s often said about writing. It’s important to know the rules so they can be broken properly. I’m getting there.
That I can apply for a passport to see the world.
Who knows what will be going on in the world at any later date.
When I do use my newly acquired passport for the first time, who knows who will be running the country I will be flying over to get to Mexico.
So many people are afraid to travel, to leave the familiar of their everyday surroundings, thanks to perpetrators of violence and intolerance and the spreading of fear. I am lucky I can apply for a little booklet which allows me to explore place away from my immediate home.
Of course, I must pay attention to the very real concerns I face as a visually impaired traveler, while at the same time not allowing so much uncontrollable nonsense stop me, getting in my way. I wish that for all of us.
That I have writing group friends who show their concern.
I wasn’t feeling up to attending my writing group this week, which I hate to have to admit. It has slowly grown to be one of my favourite things.
So, imagine my surprise when I received an email later that night from one of the members, checking up on me, making sure I was okay.
I remember listening to my friend, who was in medical school at the time, telling me a few stories of her classes. It was often more graphic than I was looking to hear, but that’s the reality of medicine, which I have benefited greatly from.
Now, of course, any story of Frankenstein is going to an extreme, but it explores the issues of life and death, challenging mortality.
This film was brilliantly done and the actors played their [parts very convincingly. Also, the descriptive narration I found was some of the best I’ve heard.
For the heartbeat of hope.
It beats in time, with rhythmic steadiness, and I hold onto that. It translates into a very real hope for the future, for so many.
It’s how I am able to go from sadness to euphoria, all in one week.
For beautiful lyrics to explain these times we’re living in.
They say that these are not the best of times, But they’re the only times I’ve ever known, And I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own.
Now I have seen that sad surrender in my lover’s eyes, And I can only stand apart and sympathize.
For we are always what our situations hand us… It’s either sadness or euphoria. And so we argue and we compromise, and realize that nothing’s ever changed, For all our mutual experience, our seperate conclusions are the same.
Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity, Our reason co-exists with our insanity. And though we choose between reality and madness… It’s either sadness or euphoria.
How thoughtlessly we dissipate our energies. Perhaps we don’t fulfill each other’s fantasies. And so we’ll stand upon the ledges of our lives, With our respective similarities…
Her Headache 
