Sunday, August 30, 2015

Tooth Fairy Absenteeism



You would be a Pixie in a fantasy world! Not quite naughty enough for the underworld yet not quite angelic enough for heaven, your spirit would manifest itself within the tiny form of a mischievous pixie stuck on Earth for all eternity. You go against social norms and resist any type of conformity that can constrain your independence, but still find the time to work hard for what you have. As a nocturnal creature you rule the night, often running around pranking helpless humans as a form of fun!


We've spent four days watching it wiggle. It began, quite suddenly, to loosen. That front tooth has gone from a little loose to a craggy, comical near-drop, all in a matter of days. We've spent four days watching her squirm, with anticipation. She looks at it in the mirror every time she sees a mirror. She wobbles it with her tongue whenever she isn't checking it with her fingers (and she is always checking it with her fingers). We've coached her through the fear of pain, and assured her, ad nauseam, that she won't swallow it in her sleep. Every morning she jumps out of bed to see if her tooth has fallen out over night. Every hour, or so, we are asked to see, look, look at how wiggly it is. If I were to count how many times I've checked, I would have lost count by now; and I'm only half of the Wiggle-Judge Panel.

But, for the third time this year, the Tooth Fairy won't be coming to our house. We might get a picture on a cell phone, and a new reality next time we see her. The real transition, that big moment, will be on someone else's doorstop, under someone else's roof. Someone else will hold her hand or rejoice with her when the big moment comes. We will hear about it.

I suppose someone less selfish wouldn't mind so much. And, I suppose, by now I should be used to this whole sharing thing. But I'm not.








Saturday, July 18, 2015

blip


find me on instagram. currently in first place for most boring.




















 








Flux (n): the mind behind afterthoughtcomposer
Fill in the blank:  TO DO LIST(s).
This makes: time important

New project this week:  Brainstorming. Daydreaming. Happy-creating.
Where my mind just went: check-marks, ah-ha moments, happy accomplishment
Fear & self loathing: in check.
Current musical obsession: Christine & The Queens - Christine
Why tell you this, again?  just sssh and go listen to it. tie your soul to the rhythm & get going.
This week’s biggest surprise: I've got a lot of ideas.
Today’s nostalgic observation: Long stretches of time are over-rated. Life is full and won't allow that anymore. Take minutes captive and cram your art into them, even though they're short. Otherwise, you won't create anything.
Where my mind just went: sprints, dashes, late-night owls & words that matter
Coffee & Dreams: "Creativity is often best at night" - @chels_martens

Thanks: to those friends of mine who create as they breathe, constantly; who surround themselves with beauty and the act of making things. To those of you who are unapologetically yourselves, in everything you do. It's very inspiring. To name just a few: Naomi, whose art installation will soon be up all over Edmonton (watch for it!). Chelsea, who turns everything she touches to design-gold. And to my mom, who is currently illustrating what will be our first children's book (due out, I hope, by spring).

Saturday, July 11, 2015

little boat



like the boat  
and the water
I tip    and sway
re-course   and wave
 swell   and stay

like the boat  
on the water
   I leave    the shore
 behold   no more  life's surety

venture out     on the water
hold fast    my sails 
  to  true  things  hail
as best
as    best    I
                         can

then drop them.

Fail.





little boat, big water
big world, small heart;
when the storm rolls in
my little eyes dart
      skyward
      downward
 Oh fright! How Deep!
"I don't swim!" I cry,
    I won't live! Not me.

Despairing, and wearing a hole
through the row I am pacing inside
my little life's boat,  I fret
and I tumble
and watch every   crest,
  with fear! anger! terror! rising up
                               in my chest.






 

this water's too deep
so i drop to the floor
can't hear that whisp
at my little life's door.
can't hear that wave
take a breath   and retreat.
can't feel a hand
plant my sea-sickened feet
to the floorboards.
now the ocean's roar has subsided;
that feet-planter's hand
did come alongside, did
mend the sails, did calm the sea,
and me, and did point
this vessel homeward.


 








Another go   
in a boat
on through life   
big like water

I leave    the shore
behold    no more
          life's surety











fabulous illustration © MB, source
mediocre poetry © afterthoughtcomposer





Sunday, June 14, 2015

landslide

As it turns out, hate is real easy. Comes naturally. Soothes and seethes and stays put as long as you let it. The more you look, the more reasons there are; to hate. Some people, it seems, are begging for it. Survive on it. Being hated, that is.

Listen, I'm a good Christian girl, and I was raised accordingly. In fact, it was well into adulthood before I felt comfortable uttering the word. Now, I admit, I feel the my version of the force with some regularity. Have named it as such, with some relief. And I can justify it, so long as it's even a little bit justifiable. This involves a lot of finger pointing, gnashing of teeth, heartache. Fists that rattle against the glassed in walls of reality. Hate hurts. But, in the absence of healing, there it is.

Really though, what can you say to those, manipulative, who thwart the worlds of others, for fun? What can you say to the thieves, the takers, grace-fakers, back-stabbing gleeful peace-wreckers?  Those people for whom nothing is sacred. What can you say to them? You can say nothing. Or you can hate them. Sometimes, it's an easy choice.

Initially.

Then, like fog and magic, the choice is gone. Before you know it, you'll hate on instinct. You'll remember, with fondness, a time when you did not hate the world. The world? Yes, because it is the world against you. Such is the result of hating one. One is never enough.

Hate isn't, either. It starts small and then swallows you. Meanwhile, all the reasons in the world won't help you on from it. You know that person who used your heart for kindling? Yah. She's still out there, enjoying the fire. She's fine. She's still taking, in fact; it's all she knows. Your hate hasn't changed a thing, about her.

When everything feels lost, if you look close enough, you'll see everything's not lost, after all. Much is here, still. You've more than survived the burning. You've thrived under it. Grown, even. So you'll let go of what happened. Now matter how much you wish you could change history. You can't. She made her choices. Now, make yours.


As a matter of celebration, in the face of the many hands we've been dealt, here's a photo of me & my little one.
Nose to nose, and happy. As we are, today. As a step-mom, I have been shamed,
whether in reality or in my own head, away from sharing this photo publicly. No more.
We three (our family) remain just this: happy together.
Some may try to steal love, but love won't be taken easily.
(C) Doliente Lifestyle Photography