Browsing Posts published in 2018

Baby It’s Cold Outside

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Brrrr. Finders, the temps are dropping faster than my saggy hindquarters. All the leaves have turned, some glorious, some just withered and crispy waiting for the North wind to whisk them away. I’m working away here, tick tacking on the old laptop making good headway into a second book while sending my first around the world, which gets me to thinking about just how cold it really is out there. Tragedy steeped in hatred at a synagogue in Pittsburgh. A Brazilian president that makes Trump look like a sweet feminist auntie. Migrants inching along a perilous path seeking refuge from terror now unwitting pawns in political strife that feels like a herald of the end of days. On and on and on. It’s all so…depressing. And the shrink in me does not use that word lightly.

It’s hard to think about my doodles, but what else can I do? What else can any of us do but carry on? The minutiae of life will not be put off by a world that seems to be cracking apart. That laundry pile cares not for your righteous rage and indignation (speaking of which I just read Rebecca Traister’s Good and Mad and it’s a mad piece of good). The fridge will not be magically replenished while you protest. The kids must be fed no matter who wins in the next round of pivotal elections held around the globe. Bills gotta be paid even in times of tyranny. And so it goes.

You all know that this space is about joy and today I’m looking for inspiration. A little humanity in the insanity. Reports of random kindness, sappy videos that will dissolve me into a puddle, puppies and rainbows and unicorn sightings. The silly, the obscure, the unexpected, and the mundane. I’ll accept anything and everything even goofy pictures of your cats, creatures for which I harbour a deep seated mistrust. Dig down and find me the joy that I know is out there hidden under all the vitriol.

I’ll get the ball rolling with this. A meaningless ad for a meaningless product that somehow makes me feel hopeful and alive. Joy is where you find it, right?





…it’s the humidity. Oh, this wet, soggy armpit of a city where I now find myself. I tell you it borders on heinous to be a menopausal woman in this town right now. I’m like an oil slick from the moment I open my eyes until I lay my head down again to flip flop around like an old fish between the sticky sheets. It’s been weeks now of weather that people who are clearly suffering from some sort of derangement call “lovely.” I tell you I’m no good for it. Even at the height of my estrogen-filled heyday humidity and I were fierce foes. But here’s the best part: I have A/C. Its the only reason I’m still alive.

I have all the vigour of a very long and skinny wet noodle. I’m supposed to be writing and I am, I am, honestly. I finished a novel recently (please direct all prayers, vibes, and voodoo to the publishing powers that be) and I’ve started in on another, but the inside of my head is as muggy as the outside world. So I’ve turned to the words of others: Less by Andrew Sean Greer, Tin Man by Sarah Winman, The Path of Most Resistance by fellow Newfoundlander Russell Wangersky, and I have been momentarily revived and inspired. Then I step out into the wavy searing sunshine and a new round of wilt sets in.

They say we’ve a few more weeks of this mess to endure, and I suppose I shouldn’t grumble. It’ll be sleet and snow and power outages galore soon enough in my part of the world. So, distract me for a moment and tell me what’s happening where you are. Tell me what you’re reading. And tell me your secrets to keep cool. From my window I can see a young boy gleefully running through a sprinkler in nothing but superhero underpants. He’s the picture of glistening, goosebumpy joy. I’ve got a black thong and a pink shower cap at the ready. Cover me, I’m going in.





When last we met I was banging on about my first attempt at fiction writing. Full of hope and optimism I was. Oh, bless me. Turns out my fluffy beach read wasn’t pleasing to a single soul. Now it lives in a little blue folder on my laptop screen where even I agree it belongs. It was late autumn when I finally decided to put it aside. The leaves had turned and Old Man Winter was poking his gnarly fingers in my direction when I decided to see if I could do better. I tick-tacked away desperately trying to block out all the malaise found in the real world. Anytime bad news passed before my eyes or wormed its way into my ear I developed a bizarre syndrome, a cluster of symptoms—fatigue, irritability, restlessness, a twitchy eye and facial grimace, and a strange urge to let fly a stream of profanity every time Trump or someone like him spoke—for which the only cure seemed to be slipping back into the world I’d created on my screen.

While the wind blew and the snow swirled, I wrote and wrote and the next thing I knew I’d written another book. A book that may be prominently displayed on a bookstore shelf someday or simply take up residence next to the first one in the blue folder, but a book nonetheless. The early reviews from test readers are good and it’s caught the eye of a couple of publishing folks, but as everyone knows, even JK Rowling had to grow a skin thicker than a rhino when she started shopping her little wizard book about. Where it will go from here is a mystery.

For now, the weather appears to be turning although given that there’s still snow in my garden I’ve decided to start in on yet another book. I shall emerge at the first sign of a daffodil and not before. At any rate, whether I wind up a published author or a deranged hermit or both, I’ve found a way to cope with what goes on outside the walls of my house. What have you found?


Hilarious Kermit The Frog GIF-source

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