Gifted

I spent a rainy Saturday afternoon in October creating these gifts for my dear-hearts in the West. My Halloween party was that evening but the rain kept me close to home so I took advantage of the down-time to make something, collage art, for my pals. I decided it might be fun to create something for them this year, a little something specific to each of them that has a little part of me included.

For Ruthie, I created a collage of Sting's lyrics. She has long been a fan of him as a writer and a rocker and I thought it appropriate for her. I had a lot of fun making it, listening to a collection of Police/Sting. It was a killer playlist. Her collage has clean lines and when I started making it I realized Sting often repeated lines so they made for perfect chunks to create the collage. Thanks, Sting.

For Terri, I looked to Thich Nhat Hanh. I made her's a 5x7 size, something she could easily set on her work desk, as a reminder that she is loved and that life is for the lovely, should she ever have those days she just isn't sure. This one was fun to make because as I was snipping and gluing and piecing things together a small poem formulated from some of the things I was amassing. It is hard to see so you can read it below; a poem written by me and Thich Nhat Hanh, just for my sweet friend.

You Are Here

do not 

turn yourself 

into a battlefield

each human being

is a multiplicity

life bursts forth 

with miracles - a glass

miracles everywhere

if you live in awareness

it is easy to see

a speck of dust

a heart that beats in rhythm

ears that hear a bee fly

a ray of sunshine

a flower

a leaf

a caterpillar

laughter

raindrops

or a thunderclap

become your best - 

calm, fresh, solid, clear and free

you just enjoy it

**

In propinquity,
Nic

Wilde Night

 

‘We are all in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars.’

~ Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde

I had the most delightful birthday this year.  It was every bit the surprise and exceeded every expectation.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to stay at The Waverley Inn on Barrington Street, in the same room Oscar Wilde did while in Halifax on October 8^th, 1882 for his North American reading tour. This year, I was astonished to find a birthday envelope from my buds on the West Coast arrive ages earlier than my birth date. I opened it, confused, wondering if maybe that had lost their marbles and thought it was already December. Enclosed was the Oscar Wilde book De Profundus, birthday confetti, and a hand-made card, the kind that usually makes a welcome appearance at Christmastime. I was reading the verse inside, still befuddled and then it struck me, for my birthday, they had booked the Oscar Wilde room at The Waverley Inn for me as a gift, giving ample time to make additional plans.

As I live and breathe! Holy snappin’ scones!

Needless to say, I was flabbergasted and wowed and grateful and thankful and touched and beholden and and and ...

I arrived at The Waverley Inn on December 5^th at 2:10pm. I stopped for a few minutes outside to admire the festive holiday decorations outside, life-size but crackers, Santa in his sleigh, and larger-than-life baubles. I pulled the heavy front door open and spilled into the charming demeanor of the foyer; it welcomed me like a warm hug from an old friend. I drank in every last detail, the parlor arch festooned with greenery, the Rockefeller-size Christmas tree just beyond it, the chandeliers adorned with sparkle and shine: holiday cheer as far as the eye can see and the heart can handle.  

I acquired my fancy room key, ascended the regal staircase to the second floor to arrive at a door with Oscar Wilde’s named engraved on a plaque. I was smiling so wide my face hurt. Inside, the room was an old Victorian revelation! A decadent feather bed surrounded by antique finery and window treatments. I was giddy, like a school girl sitting next to her crush. And then there was Oscar’s portrait, displayed boldly above the writing desk where I’d spent time scribbling, card-tagging and reading. Home for the night, comfy cozy, and breathing was easy.

The Waverley Inn is so lovely and large that I found it difficult to sit still for the first little bit so I went exploring. I encountered a woman who was tending the rooms and we struck up a friendly conversation. She took a bit of a shine to me I think because she took me around and showed me several of the vacant rooms. Each one I entered was more beautiful than the one before. And, if someone of note stayed in a room, their name was also engraved on a plaque just like Oscar’s (P.T. Barnum stayed in the room right next door to me!). While peeking at the rooms, she proceeded to tell me that a psychic had stayed with them once and told her in that particular room, there was an abundance of positive energy. She shared this with me after I commented on how warm and livable it was. Seems I picked up on the mojo immediately. Instincts are still intact despite my being old as dirt!

(The Chinese Room)

I soon parted ways with my new friend and continued to explore. Each of the long hallways was lined boastfully with old incredible antique pieces and so many more elegant holiday embellishments. I can’t recall where I found it but I came upon an old Remington typewriter. I snapped a picture of it and snuck a feel, gently placing my fingers on the keys. I joked with my friend that on sight, I drooled on the carpet. It was a beauty and I was pleased to have encountered it. It’s too bad it wouldn’t have fit in my overnight bag! Hee.

My day was full of goodness. Not only did I have a special place to lay my head, I had a fantastic meal out with my buds at Mongolie Grill. We built our own personal stir-fry. I went nuts and added chicken, prawns AND baby scallops to my mountain of veggies tossed in peanut sauce. It was my first visit and I really enjoyed it but more importantly I enjoyed the company of my chosen family. I arrived back at the Inn to a flower delivery from my buds out West! I had just finished feeling weepy and grateful after reading my best bud’s card and opening her generous gift, coming back to the fragrant arrangement only prolonged my sob-fest. I felt loved and that is never a bad thing. They were a challenge to take home the next morning but I carefully transported them and they are proudly perched high on a shelf in my kitchen far away from my cat’s clutches! Anything new in town, she chews on. Bugger.

Back at the Inn, I chatted with my big brother on the phone, soaked in a hot bath, tucked into my book (Mitch Albom’s ‘The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto’) and then crawled up into the big feather bed and sunk in for a relaxing sleep. The Waverley Inn is directly across from Bearly’s House of Blues and my room was in front, directly above the entrance, so I fell asleep to the sultry thump and twang of the blues. Of course, I slept with my window open as they keep the Inn hot as Haiti and I prefer the cool when I sleep. It was, in a word, Heavenly.

I confess, I woke around 5am and likely rattled the whole place awake with a rather violent sneezing fit. I gather it was the abundance of feathers both in my pillows and mattress. I forgot to bring Benadryl just in case.  I did tire silly old self out and fall back to sleep but it was a small price to pay for a deep contented sleep, the likes I have not had in months on end. It was a good feeling, to be free, momentarily, of stress and responsibility. And for that, I can never thank my beautiful West Coast buds enough.

I shot out of bed around 8ish, threw on my hoodie and my sock monkey slippers and scuffed on down into the basement for breakfast. They have a lovely dining room, which at this time of year, was sparse with patrons, so I basically had it to myself. I helped myself to a cup of freshly brewed coffee, a nip of orange juice, ham and cheese quiche with fruit and yogurt. I sat quietly, listening to the Christmas music playing overhead and daydreamed. I thought about what it must have been like in 1882, in Halifax, when the two spinster sisters, Sarah and Jane Romans ran the Inn. I am sure that Oscar Wilde, with his hats, capes, velvet green pantaloons and wavy hair, caused quite a stir when he breezed in. For a figure so stylish, it would have been a strange sight for the time period and I’m sure the sisters had interesting opinions of their most famous guest.

My evening with Oscar Wilde was exceptional. It was peaceful and exciting, entertaining and soulful, calming and invigorating. All at once. I spent much needed quality time with my ‘self’. I hummed and mused, read and wrote, laughed and cried, slept and dreamed, rested and danced. All at once. This is an extremely rare occasion for me, I am sure it is for most of us, so I made sure to appreciate every single second. I am uncertain if even I can describe with words, just how much the gift meant to me. The stay, the time spent alone, the time spent exploring, dining with my people and sleeping to dream. Nothing else has ever compared to the feeling I arrived with or the one I came away with. That is my wish for the people I love, to have that kind of day, birthday. We all deserve it.

To my West Coast buds, incredible women, thank you. Your generosity is astounding and I am a thousand steps beyond grateful, not only for your dazzling gift but for your kinship and the extraordinary way you impress it on my life.

To my chosen family, I love you guys more than I care to mention. I am so fortunate to have found you in all the 7.3 billion humans on the planet. You bring so much happiness into my days and I will forever be thankful for that. My circle of friends is small but it is mighty and that you are among them is important to me.

My Mom was really excited to hear all about my adventure upon my return home. I snuggled in with her and showed her all the pictures and recounted all of the moments. She’s the best cheerleader anyone could ever ask for.  I enjoyed sharing it with her and she loved living vicariously through me via a grand kindness bestowed by darling friends.

Nic and Oscar’s excellent adventure sadly ended but won’t soon be forgotten, its effects still ripple through me, that’s amazing.

In propinquity,

Nic

Ode to Flânerie

Ode to Flânerie

artist-poet

idle about town

making short notes

taking quick snaps

roaming aimlessly

by languid stride

fervent wanderer

wholly detached

amateur detective

utterly enthralled

astride my heart

a poised calm

pleasurably free

airy perspective

artist-poet

idle about town

a Flâneur

brazenly unaided

delightfully so

**

My dear friend Ruthie introduced me to the word Flânerie. Its meaning simply: aimless idle behaviour. Much like many an artist date. It’s an enjoyable word, it rolls off the tongue like a dream and then sets into motion the glorious act of bumming around without a plan, putting you in adventure’s way, following any whim. I have done this countless times, participated in such a manner and soaked up every single glorious second of it. I have always been grateful to consider my artist dates an exercise in flânerie, always grateful to my dear friend for sharing the essence of it. I am an absolute Flâneur, no question: unapologetically so, so unapologetic that I wrote this silly little poem as a way of shouting my love for flânerie from the rooftops. And, as a thank you to Ru.

Roam free, fair-weather friends!

In propinquity,

Nic

Let Me Be Frank

Saturday was a good day.  It was a breezy one.  I collected myself for what Ruthie would call a decent dose of flanerie, aimless idle behaviour (aka adrift on the winds of adventure).  I put my ear-buds in to ward off the wind and headed to downtown Dartmouth to visit the art gallery and shop I’ve been hearing such wonderful things about.  My first stop was ‘Kept’.  I fell in love the second I walked in.  It is full of wonderful sundry gifts, jewellery, and other neat things to feast your eyes and spend your hard earned money on.  I was in the market for a few little trinkets for Christmas gifts which I found.  I completed the West Coast Santa box there.  I also got myself a neat Leonard Cohen print and some cards for card tag.  I exited before I maxed out my credit card and went next door to ‘The Dart Gallery’ (word play for art gallery in Dartmouth).  It’s a bright, inspiring space complete with an in-house pet bunny named Huxley.  There, I bought one Christmas gift for my bud and purchased myself a fabulous piece of music-related pun art.  A cheeky take on Sgt. Pepper by artist Ben Jeddrie.  It lives right on my writing desk next to the photo of my published poem in the first Open Heart Forgery anthology that Kiersten took for me and my Mary Magdalene print from Patti. 

These are my gifts to me from Saturday:

Cohen print from Kept and 'Sgt. Pepper' pun art by Ben Jeddrie

There was one painting that I kept coming back to. It is called ‘Boredom’ and if I was the kind of person who had a spare $600 odd dollars kicking around I’d have brought it home with me too.  It really captured me.  I will have to settle for a picture of it I took on my phone that is now the background on my laptop.  Isn’t it fabulous?:

'Boredom' 

I wanted to have a bite of lunch at Celtic Corner but when I cracked the front door of the pub it was noisy with sports and sports fans so I crossed Alderney Drive and parked myself at The Wooden Monkey.  I had pasta with scallops.  The pasta was made with quinoa and it was finished with parmesan cheese and cream.  It was also beautifully quiet.  I sat peacefully overlooking the chopping Halifax Harbour and listened to the music overhead.  Was perfect.  If you’ve never been to the Halifax or Dartmouth ‘Monkey’ you should go.  And if you ever leave enough room for dessert, the tofu chocolate pie is to die for.

Monkey art on The Wooden Monkey wall.

By now many of you are aware that my Dad is very sick.  These past few months have been fantastically difficult and emotional.  My father has always been a bright and vibrant man, full of energy, pranks, and laughter and firm insights.  Despite his smallness and frail form, I can still see the signature twinkle in his blue eyes.  It especially comes to life when something makes him laugh.  He spent his entire life entertaining people so I take a lot of comfort in being able to entice a chuckle from him now.  Like when I showed him the photo of Erica and I done up like Mexicans for Halloween.  He almost lost his teeth he smiled so wide.

I admit that up until the last week or so I’ve been holding up pretty good.  I’ve been realistic and logical and adult about it.  I fear now that my heart is starting to slowly overthrow my brain.  For example, I was sitting at work the other day busying myself with my daily tasks and broke out into a full-blown panic attack which can only be attributed to not allowing myself to be emotional about what’s happening.  It took me several minutes in the bathroom to be able to catch my breath, regain my composure so that I could return to my station and continue working.  I’m not good with big crowds lately, not good with being alone and when I’m out and about I’m not good with that either.  I don’t have the words to express how I’m feeling and don’t want to fill the ears of those I love with my strife because I dislike being a burden.  However, it is building up and seeping out.  So, in typical me fashion, I wrote it out.  I started writing this poem the day of my panic attack and finished it today.  I didn’t have the heart to go back to it until today.  My bravery came from thinking about so many people today, on November 11^th, who lost their loved ones to war.  I thought about my dear friends who have been through losing the patriarchs of their families.  I thought of their eyes, their hearts and their willingness to be beside me and I finished.  My Dad is a proud man and would probably hate this blog post but if he hadn’t had an important hand in making me I wouldn’t be able to write poetry and use it as an outlet for my pains and my glories.

Some of what is in this poem are his words, most are mine.  My one collaboration with the first man I ever loved:

 Let Me Be Frank

let me be frank with you I am almost ready to expire

this last fever is juddering my words out slowly, softly

into a reliable memoir you will all thumb through in time

regrets do not overwhelm me the dark rum has run dry

and my farewell highlight reel has surreptitiously circled

I would like to burnish a bit more and I hope to be remembered

if for nothing else other than sweeping curls of laughter I initiated

let me be frank with you I am almost ready to sing a sweet goodbye

an old man once young inching onward, nearing man-made Nirvana

to transfer the burden of sentiment into a simple refrain on the wind

let me be frank with you while my night is muted with sweat and ache

I want to tell you this: in my final refuge I am what I am surrounded by – Light

**

I love my Dad.  I’m scared to lose him.  And when I do, I am going to be terribly sad poet but I know that he’ll be in everything that I do.  That is a comfort.

In propinquity,

Nic

Broken Hero With a Poet's Name

Sunday. November 2^nd, 2014.  The first day of the time change.  Gaining an hour of sleep they say.  For me, it’s one less hour of sunlight that I require.  I am now facing those several months where I will be getting up in the dark and going home in it too.  While I do enjoy the nighttime, sunlight as I get older tends to hold more promise and it alleviates the seasonal blues.  Must buy some vitamin D.  It doesn’t help that it’s cold as a witch’s teet today and has been pouring rain all weekend.  Such is Fall, just like cool cousin Spring.  I have had enough of sitting around, I am going to get out today and stretch my legs and browse around, hopefully get a visit in with my Dad if he’s up for it and then prepare my noodle for the return to the 9 to 5.  I daydream about a retreat every Sunday, a quiet place to think and write and wonder.  I think I’m just longing for a vacation.  A real one.  Not one where I just don’t go to work, but one where I am away from my daily life, somewhere other than here.  I’m still hoping for a trip down South in the Spring before my bud moves to Newfoundland.  We planned for it last April for our 40^th birthdays but circumstances prevented me from being able to have the time off.  It HAS to happen this April.  I long for a real grown up vacation.  I work my tail off.  I deserve it.  Most importantly, I need it.

I did get up this morning when it was still dark.  I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t get my noodle to settle long enough to rest.  I read Ru’s blog last night and a line in the preface to the new piece she posted stuck with me, ‘a broken hero with a poet’s name’.  I haven’t written a thing in weeks.  And since this line stuck with me, I thought I’d try to use it as a beginning of a poem, inspired by her creative wisdom.  I hope she doesn’t mind.

This is what I wrote.  Unedited and raw, in Sylvia Plath’s ‘blue hour’ and in the pouring rain:

Broken Hero With a Poet’s Name

I encountered a broken hero with a poet’s name

the weight of his dark eyes evoked an eccentric peace

I put him in a clamorous setting on a critical piece of paper

the noises, crashing cymbals, tambourines, vociferous voices

I wish it had been more of an airy dream under weeping trees

our happenstance was a mere trace of the truest North

a romantic’s naiveté where the moon is always just the moon

the broken hero with the poet’s name propositioned my fate

gone longer than he was present but not without a quiet farewell

I encountered him in the place where I was supposed to be

the stark adequacy of his small oblivion touched me for hours

the broken hero with the poet’s name

entered my emptiest spaces without a word

and re-wrote the laws of chaos into exquisite verses

I sing them now against the wind and into the sun

**

A little writing exercise to flex my muscles just a little bit.  I abandoned all of my stories and characters that were present and I feel really bad about that.  I do try to work but lately I haven’t had the heart for it but I feel like I should be a responsible writer and force myself to do it.  How can I even call myself a writer if I don’t do it each day?  I am desperate to be back in that place where I was prolific and productive, churning out stories faster than I could ever believe.  That was an amazing feeling, a happy time in my creativity.  I hope to have that back.  No, not hope, I WILL.  Right?

Oh, and Halloween was a gas.  We went as happy Mexicans.  I was stunned at how unlike myself I looked.  I was stunned by how much I looked like my oldest brother.  The comments and laughs our costumes got were fun and eased my worried self for a few hours.  Grateful for that and for my friends.

In propinquity,

Nic

If I Should Fall Behind

I have been unusually neglectful of The Paper Teapot of late.  My work life, private life and sleep deprivation are preventing me from being my best self, my creative self.  I even sat down the other night with a glass of wine and attempted to write a poem that has been nagging me since I was in the thick of the crowd at the Blue Rodeo concert (which was amazing!).  I tried working it out and ended up writing another new poem that reading it back now I see is absolute trash.  It seems I have lost my groove again.  Darn.  The timing couldn’t be worse with two characters waiting in the wings.  They aren’t talking to me I think because I am not fully present and am instead distracted by those pesky things called numbers and details and worry for a family member.  I haven’t been sleeping well but I do try keep busy and productive in other ways even though I’m not creating: reading, letter/postcard writing/concerts/artist dates.

I have some things to do today but later my goal is to reconstruct the sucky poem to make it something worth posting.  I was successful in acquiring some new stationary that is fun and I can’t wait to use it all up so there’s an excuse to go buy more.  I found Duly Noted again after they moved from Quinpool Road downtown to Brenton Street.  That is a good thing!  I also bought a new pen and it was used on a giant pile of mail anxiously awaiting the mail man tomorrow.  It was a peaceful thing, amassing that pile, destined for a few special mailboxes.

Friday night I ended a rather long work week with an excellent triple bill of rock ‘n’ roll at the Seahorse Tavern:  The Navy Brats, Adam Baldwin Band and Gloryhound.  I was content to be in the underground, sweating out the week’s toxins with a gaggle of rock-heads.  My ears were happy to be full of noise other than ringing phones and my self-loathing while trying dearly not to make mistakes while learning new tasks.  The Navy Brats in particular were outstanding.  Organic, from the gut, honest rock fodder.  I loved them and will keep my eyes open for any future shows to attend.  I really loved watching Adam Baldwin whip the crowd into shape with his set.  I also loved looking around and watching faces in the crowd belting out the lyrics of his original material that can be found on his recently released ep.  And then there was Gloryhoud, back home after working on their new record on the west coast.  We are always happy to have them home to rock us and they never disappoint.  I fell into my bed content and filled up with the goodness that comes from a solid rock event.  Music is a good healer.

Oh and I almost forgot.  I ordered myself some fun business-like cards for writing last night.  My uber talented photographer friend Shelley Wyman (be sure to google her and peek at her work) posted on Facebook about her order and hers were stunning.  She designed her own but I opted for a design that was available on the site for my first try and will work on something else for the next time.  I ordered a pack of 50 with a few different designs.  They contain my contact info and blog website.  You know they do come in handy when you meet someone who is also an artist.  It happened to me one night when I was at The Carleton.  I got talking to someone at the bar and either of us had anything appropriate to swap and instead wrote website addresses on bar napkins.  This will rectify that issue.  I thought about it then, making business-like cards and Shelley’s post kicked my arse to get ‘er done.  Now I wait patiently for my order to arrive in the mail.  Pleased as punch and look forward to seeing them.

I have blogs to catch up on, a poem to fix and a new story to write plus a handwritten review for Ruthie since she sent me a copy of her latest work.  I look forward to tucking in and offering my thoughts much like she did with Town & Country.  I felt so proud of my efforts on that story after reading her response.  I am happy the work resonated and I also love that my circle are seeing themselves in the women I wrote about.  They grew upward from the love, influence and impact my friends have on me.  Friends are electric and should be celebrated, the true friends that find their way to you.  They are the reason magic exists and that is worth putting into words.  Even if it is through the worlds and wisdoms of fictional characters. 

Coffee is gone, CD has long since ended.  Time for me to face this Sunday and make it matter.

In propinquity,

Nic

How To Write Good

I saw this the other day and saved it to share here.  After reading, 'avoid alliteration always' I busted a gut and couldn't stop. I'm still plugging away at my projects and writing poems while managing daily life and other sundry affairs.  I keep conjuring up humorous tidbits to throw in 'Other Pearls' (which is Binnie Blessing's story and partly my story).  They are adding up but the trick will be fitting them in their proper place.  I am still a little unnerved by the fact that I'm not writing pages of story and still jotting but I'm still being creative, thinking and feeling, listening and observing.  Those things still count.  I've also been blessed with another bit of Ruthie's prose to read.  I hope to find time this weekend for reading that and doing some serious writing.  Oh, and I still haven't tried the haiku I threatened to write.  Maybe I'll do that tonight.  

Short and sweet today.  Like me.  Be good.

In propinquity,

Nic

Fill Your Paper

I've got no poetry today.  I'm working on a few little things but they are still seedlings and as far as prose is concerned, I'm at a standstill with 'Large-Hearted' as well as brainstorming other new pieces.  It's ok for now though, I was thinking since I'm feeling strained, it was time to crack the books.  By that I mean read a bit.  I was mulling over choices for my next purchase when suddenly I receive a large envelope in the mail, Ruthie's latest short story!  Perfect timing me thinks.  It's fantastic and so I rushed home today to put pen to paper and wrote all of my thoughts and gushy feelings to her.  I was so excited that it's already in the mailbox waiting to be picked up!  

What else this week, oh, Alice Munro is retiring.  Bummer.

Also, if you could, keep my best friend's mom in your prayers.  She started her first round of chemo this week.  Sweet June deserves all the love and positive energy you can muster.  

Oh, I keep threatening myself to a Haiku challenge.  I can't write them for beans.  Maybe while I'm brainstorming, jotting and praying I'll work on the little beasts.

Short and sweet today, like me.

And before I forget, Sheree Fitch released a non-fiction piece on Fierce Ink Press today.  She is worth reading and supporting.  Check it out.  There is a Kindle Edition and an EPUB.  It's an important piece and some of the proceeds are going to a good cause.  

In propinquity,

Nic

PS - Isn't the above Wordsworth quote marvelous?