Reality's Dream

Snowflakes gentle themselves on my tongue as I lie in contemplation
The snow angel cradles my thoughts of awe and bittersweet
I watch the inky sky and white flakes with fascination
Crazy ideas warring with common sense make my heart skip a beat

Come sanity and turn my world back right-side up
Lend me a reality that helps me know how life is good
Banish pointless tears - pour out that angst-filled cup
No longer the little lamb lost in the wood

Sing out winter's cold and joy to all the little girls and boys
And hold on to the hope - no matter how painful it seems
Tear myself away from captivating screens and technical toys
Lie back in the snow and find reality's dream.

Ode to February

I think that I shall never see
A month as bad as February
As months go, it's a nasty sort
It's only merit is that it's short

It celebrates rodents near the start
Then in the middle - nothing but heart
Which really sucks for we who are single
Who'd rather hibernate with pringles

Oh February, February, how cruel thou art
Take your cutesy woodchucks and fluffy hearts
And go stuff yourself you wretched month
While I curl up on my couch, and on pringles munch.

Life is but a dream...

I've been having weird dreams lately.   The weird part is how normal they seem to be.  My dreams have been so based in my regular reality that they feel more like memories.  It's driving me nuts.   For instance, one recent dream entailed listening to a friend tell me about a new job that he just got.   It took me several DAYS to realize that that conversation had actually been a dream and that he did not in fact have a new job and was, as far as I could tell, still quite happy with his current one. 

It's very startling - realizing how alike memories of life and memories of dreams can be.  In fact, I wonder what made me even realize that this particular episode WAS a dream.  I feel now that I KNOW it was a dream but am uncertain what triggered the knowing (it wasn't, for instance, because I'd seen or spoken with that friend again recently).

Now, I wonder if it's ever happened that I dreamt something that is but which really is NOT.  Perhaps there are "facts" in my head that are not actually real but only feel that way because I dreamt them - and the only reason I haven't figured this out is because they're so innocuous as to not matter much.  Oooh ooh! ooh! ...or what if MOST of the ideas/facts/thoughts I have in my head are simply based in dreams?   (that would explain a LOT.  hehehe) 

Is life but a dream?  How do we KNOW it is not?   I realize that this is not a new idea.  But perhaps that is only because we dreamt it.    :o)

The Agnostic Secretary - Part 1

This is the prologue of the "book" I'm supposedly working on.   I like it a lot - it's just writing the REST of it that's proving mind-numbingly difficult.  Anyway, thought I'd share....

The Agnostic Secretary - Prologue

Everyone jumped at the sound of the crashing crockery.  But as the chatty cafe patrons turned their heads to see what the coffee shop guy had dropped, bodies froze in terror, eyes widened in disbelief, and jaws dropped open.  

All eyes followed Temper as she moved further into the cafe, and marched over to the counter. 

“Give me a coffee….make it strong” she demanded.  

There was a further crash as the now empty tray dropped from the coffee shop guy’s numbed fingers.  With shaking hands, he poured the hot drink then, shuffling through the scattered shards of broken mugs and teapots, he zombied towards Temper and carefully set the mug on the counter in front of her.  Almost of its own volition, his arm slowly raised and he pointed a finger over Temper’s head…. 

“U---uh”… he stammered, “Th-there’s a….”   He tried again.  “Um…. you have a….” The coffee shop guy shook his head, braced himself and tried again.  “How can I put this….y-y-you have…..uh… it’s raining….I mean… you’re… uh…. raining?”  his voice faded away as Temper glared him into a quivering mass of silence.  She surveyed the rest of the room with angry eyes – daring anyone else to speak up.  No one did.  

Suddenly she sighed - her shoulders drooping and head down.  Staring eyes might have softened at the sight if it wasn’t for the mini rain-cloud.  Imagine a cartoon stickman with a perfect little grey rain cloud painted a finger’s width above his head.  This looked exactly like that.... except it was hovering over a tall angry red-head named Temper.  A torrent of rain poured from the fluffy circle of grey.  From time to time tiny sparks of lightning flashed and little growls of thunder emanated from the almost cheery darkness.  So much rain!  It poured and poured and poured - down over Temper’s long red hair, soaking every inch of her body, down to her rain-drenched sneakers. But there was no water puddling at her feet…. the water just seemed to stop, the floor remaining perfectly dry – it was mind-boggling….a miracle even. 

Temper sighed again then picked up her cup and moved slowly towards the exit….the cloud followed her. She suddenly turned back.  The cloud swished back matching her movements – still not spilling a single raindrop.  

“How much do I owe you?” she asked the coffee shop guy.

“A dollar sevent…..uh…n-n-never mind.  It’s on the house” he answered.

Temper nodded a curt thanks (rain-cloud dipping and rising with her head movements) and turned to leave.

“Wait!” yelled the coffee shop guy.  She turned back and raised a quizzical brow.  “Uh…I just gotta ask about the…um…well…I was just…uh… wondering about the….”  He faltered again. 

“My rain-cloud?”  She asked dangerously. 

He gulped.  “Uh yeah….the r-r-rain cloud”

Temper gave the coffee shop guy a scathing glance.  The coffee shop guy fainted.  Her eyes slashed through the rest of the cafe customers’ gazes.  They, as one, leaned back with a whimper. 

“God’” she spat, “has a Ju-ve-nile sense of humour”. 

With that, she and the little rain-cloud stormed through the door and moved out into the clear, starry night.  

Writing - sometimes like pulling teeth!

Nothing like starting a blog to suddenly bring on a bout of writer's block!  I keep having ideas, get a few words into the first sentence and then crumple up the page (metaphorically speaking anyway... though I'm frustrated, I'm not yet ready to crumple up the laptop) and toss it into the metaphorical trash bin.   There's almost too many ideas in my head right now and I can't seem to concentrate on just one - enough, at least, to write down something meaningful about it.

One of the things that stops me is the fact that writing turns out to be so damn personal - I'm reasonably new at this writing thing and was surprised as all heck at how much of one's self is often revealed in the words.  I'm very comfortable hiding behind my clown thank you very much.  So why am I still writing (and revealing)?  I guess it's my newest challenge.  That and staying put. Tricky tasks indeed!

Seriously?  Writing (and sharing those written words) makes me wanna throw up.  I'd rather travel to some far off land and sing in front of an audience of a thousand strangers any day.  Oh well...at least I seem to have conquered this particular episode of writer's block.  :o)

 

Watching Wolfville go by

I spend an inordinate amount of time sitting in local coffee shops and watching the world (or at least my little piece of the world - namely Wolfville) go by.  Sometimes bits of it comes in and chats or smiles at me or gives me a hug.   Sometimes it just leaves me to myself to read or check my email.  Once in a while it bites, or can be mind-boggling boring, or belabours moments of bittersweet.   But mostly it's cosy and joyful and I can't imagine wanting to move from here.  This is odd because "moving" has been a major part of my existence for most of my life.   Things change, get bad, get stale, throw a teaparty and I decide to move.  By my personal chronological clock, I'm way overdue for a move (by almost two years!).  

Perhaps "stay" is the new me?  We shall see...

In the beginning...

This is my first foray into the blogging world - hallelujah!  Since I have just recently begun identifying myself as someone who writes (not quite a writer yet), I let my friend Liz talk me into beginning a blog.  The blog title is the name of the book I'm working on (and may possibly complete in about 20 years) and is purposely ironic considering I work for a church.  They believe in God, I believe in people - it seems to work out swell.  :o)

This year is going to be mostly about getting the new (and first) three-act musical I've recently written produced and then hopefully published.  I plan to sing my heart out as much as I've ever done and... WRITE. May you all have a productive year that is especially creative and joyful.

- Donna-Lynne.