Pardon The Intrusion

Pardon The Intrusion

pardon the intrusion

prosperous Champion

                but

your spirit is with me

always

like on wounded knee

in the Mojave desert

afore a rooted marvel

arms raised        

                out-stretched

toward the high Heavens

gifting a soft song in your

                honour

pardon my brave resolve

I am

your unflinching friend

heart like a mockingbird

anchorage for your magical

                character

amid an army of affection

                & leafy boughs

if we gathered up all our

words & we spread them

across safe starlit gable

instantly after nightfall

all the burnt rubble would

                bloom

because I am your parallel

steadfast in the poet’s lot

our music tuned to the same

                chord

pardon the intrusion

heartened legionnaire

I only mean to tell you

that even in the ruins of

                poetry

wandering is not an error

home is always a home

built strong until our last

                days

pardon the intrusion

while I profess

these things

to you with willing praise

**

I was blessed with three older brothers, all of whom mean the world to me and have served as male role models my whole life. I am celebrating of them today, on the day of his birth, with a poem. It only seems fitting to honour him, my creative sibling, with a poem.

Happy fifty-teen-ish birthday, TJ.

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

Carol's Party

Carol Shields would be 80 years old today.

It’s crazy to imagine that it has been more than 10 years since she lost a brave and courageous battle with breast cancer. My bookshelves are lined with volumes of her extraordinary works about many conventional things and people: casseroles and scarves and mothers and daughters. My writer’s tool box is full of immeasurable instruments of inspiration garnered from her and from them I learned the redemptive power of writing, to have faith in the movement of my pen, to observe the intricacies of the ordinary, to advance my voice, elevate human connection, foster it and use it to be a better writer; a better person. I learned a great deal about character development from her keen skills and, much about detail, voice, texture and truth. I can only hope they translate, even just a little in the work that I dare to put into the world.

When I learned she was sick, I wrote a long gushing handwritten letter to her in the hospital. I expressed my eternal gratitude for her superlative contribution to Canadian literature, for her exceptional female presence as a writer, for the moments of transcendence while tucked eagerly into the pages of her books, for the lessons, the enlightenment, empowerment and for the words. What shocked me weeks later was receiving a reply on a non-descript plain white postcard thanking me for my kind words, for reading hers and for the well wishes. It chokes me up to think of her in her hospital room scribbling notes to those like me who refused to miss the opportunity to express how deeply she touched our lives: a remarkable woman, even on her deathbed. I will cherish that note the rest of my days.

Her words resonate, then and now. I wish she could still be with us, painting the creative landscape with her beautiful prose and poems. There were so many stories left for her to tell but as life would have it, not enough time.

The works she did leave behind are valuable and voluble. She created literary magic culled from her own life, in her own unique way. She was generous, of spirit, of talent and for that and so many other reasons, a treasure.

Happy birthday to you up in the Heavens, Carol Shields.

We love you always and are grateful for your wisdom and your beautiful words.

In propinquity,

Nic

One Day I will Find The Right Words ...

Jack Kerouac was born on this day, 1922.

Beat Poet.

American Dreamer.

Romantic Leading Jazz Man.

Smoker.

Drinker.

Thinker.

“Nothing is behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.”

Happy birthday to you in the Heavens, Dharma Bum

Happy birthday, Patti Smith ...

"To be an artist - actually, to be a human being in these times - it's all difficult. What matters is to know what you want and pursue it." - Patti Smith

Wish You Were Here

The Heavens claimed him, my Dad.  The days that follow continue to feel surreal and hazy.  My father was a larger than life force.  He was as kind and loving as he was firm and rooted in his firm beliefs that if you apply yourself and work hard, you can have anything you want.  I think that I am still in a little bit of shock.  It feels like he’s away wintering in Florida and he’s coming back.  Although, when my birthday came, a week after his passing, and there was no phone call, I felt the reality a little.  It doesn’t matter that I gathered with my family to kiss him one last time or congregate at the Lions Hall with legions of people who came out to show their support and mourn the loss with us, it still seems unreal.

It was heartening, to see so many people come to help us celebrate his life.  There were so many in fact that he caused quite traffic jam.  The Lions Hall is on Hornes Road and currently in our community there is construction on the main artery so the bulk of local traffic, including transit, travel along Hornes Road.  A friend of mine who works for the city sent me a text message to tell me that complaints were rolling in about the cars parked all along the street and people were really getting frustrated by the jam.  I laughed because there is was again, causing a ruckus.  His last prank and it was glorious.

I delivered his eulogy to a swelling crowd:

For my Dad:

The word ‘eulogy’ originates from the Greeks and it means ‘to praise’, ‘to speak good words’. I have an endless amount reserved especially for this guy.  I was afraid that I may not be able to write and deliver an adequate nod to him because in the hours and days since he’s passed, I felt like I had lost all of my words.  But when I sat down by myself and starting thinking about him, reminiscing and looking at all of the photos, the flood gates opened.  Still, it is hard to find the words to express how much I will miss one of the first people who ever loved me.

Everyone had their own relationship with Dad and knew him in different and unique ways but on each of us he left a deep, lasting impression.  A perfect example of that is a childhood friend of mine was in touch when she heard the news of his passing.  To her, he was an amazing man, and how lucky was I lucky to have him as my father because hers wasn’t much of one.  She told me that my Dad made her growing years so much fun. I know that would make him really happy to hear.

He was a loving husband, a good father, and grandfather, a brother, a role model, a gutsy salesman, a world class entertainer and jokester, and certainly, everyone’s comic relief.  I’m almost positive, as I’ve heard it a thousand times this week, there isn’t a soul in this room he hasn’t barked at at one point or another. You could always count on him for his ridiculous sense of humor and his infectious smile just when you needed it most. 

As a family, it is true that we have experienced our fair share of setbacks, misunderstandings, and real sorrows but for each of them there are a thousand moments of joy and comfort and closeness with Dad at the heart of it.  And I think that his physical absence will be the truest sorrow we’ll ever know, he was a larger than life presence, a big wonderful personality, he was loud and funny and always on the go.

To me, Dad was the promise of a long talk on a short drive.  He was always there listening and good at helping me see things right side up and I relish that there were even times I was able to do that for him too. The quiet assurance of his voice rocking back and forth against my heart while driving around in whatever car he may be in that day or week made me feel safe and valued.  I thought my Dad lit the sky, now he actually does. 

Dad had an appreciation for the good things in life.  He was well traveled and knew a little bit about a lot of things. You could always find him with a strong drink and a good story, pulling a prank, grilling a steak, hitting a golf ball, watching sports or his favorite shows, looking after others.  Some of the greatest gifts he gave to us kids was the ability to appreciate life, to endear ourselves to others with the captivating Myers charm, with a joke, a kind word, an ear, a hand – a sense of humanity, just as he did.  I look at my brothers and sisters and their kids and it is in all of them.  Dad will never truly gone from us because he is in the things we do and say, our gestures and our features.  And we’ll carry him forward with the utmost pride.  It used to always annoy me, you know, when someone would say, ‘Oh, you must be Lawrence’s daughter.  You must be a Myers.’ I wondered if I’d ever have my own identity but I realize now, it’s one of the best parts of it.

Losing Dad was not unexpected but that doesn’t make it any easier.  He had a quiet dignity about dying.  As he faced his final days feeling as miserable as he did, he occasionally lost his good humour but did not dwell in one single moment of self-pity.  During our private conversations when he was in the hospital, talks I will cherish forever, he talked a lot about how rich and full his life was, how much he enjoyed each day and how fulfilling it is to live without regrets and hoped that us kids could all do the same.  I promised him we would, we had excellent leadership despite the fact that he is the guy who as a kid taught the nuns how to roll cigarettes in the stairwell of St Andrews and then was politely asked not to return to school.

It is heartwarming to see so many people here to celebrate Dad’s life because it was such a good life.  He would hate all this fuss and attention on the surface but deep down he’d love it.  I know you all cared for him and enjoyed the life he brought to your parties.  I can tell you with great certainty that he loved you just as much. 

And Carol, from all of us, I want to say thank you for caring for Dad with your love and your compassion and your promise.  I watched you turn yourself inside out for him and I know with every fiber of his being he felt safe and brave because of all you gave and did for him.

A childhood story of Dad’s was relayed to us not long ago about when his mother was going to the hospital to have Aunt Clara, he was just a wee Lawrence then.  She told him that if he was really good while she was away, when she came home she would get him a brand new bike.  Of course, she never did get to come home.  Now that he’s with her, we really hope he got his bike.

**

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  I could see my one dear friend in my line of sight, otherwise it was just a wall of people with fuzzy faces.  My cousin Cathy stood beside me and I’m grateful she stayed close otherwise I may not have made it all the way through.  I did it for him.  And as awkward as it was holding a microphone in one hand and trying to steady my sheets of paper on the podium, I just kept thinking he could hear me, see me, and I wanted to do him justice.  I’m told I did beautifully but in truth I can barely remember it.

It’s my 41^st year, my first year without my Dad.  I don’t know what it’ll bring but I am confident he’ll be close to guide me when I need it.  It is one of the many reasons I agreed to spend my birthday afternoon getting a tattoo that represents something important to me, something I believe in.  Dad would dig the concept of ‘Amoria’ – living with intention to love and serve others, Amoria, the Empire of Love, with no physical location but something that is in all of us.  My good friend and extraordinary artist Matt Epp spearheaded the movement and I hitched my wagon to it in a heartbeat.  It’s simple really, love can really rule the world if we allow it to.  I am proud to be Amorian and will happily explain the ink to anyone who asks.  It is for me, it’s for Matt, my Dad and the world I live in.  It is my intention to carry on, to move forward in love, to share that with my people and the world and to carry on my Dad’s memory. 

The world is going to be so different without him in it, but my goodness, Heaven is lucky.

In propinquity,

Nic

A Poet Dances

What I love most about this current story I'm writing is that while I am getting to flex my fiction muscles, I'm also able to still be an active poet.  Poetry is shared back and forth between Imelda and Brucha in a neat kind of way.  It's been writing verse for each of them and I hope their voices come through.  I am currently working on a poem now but I stopped momentarily for a five minute dance party to shake my snow globe and get my mojo focused.

What am I listening to you ask?  There's a GREAT song on Avicii's record that features Adam Lambert and Nile Rogers.  It's the funkiest thing I've heard in a long time.  It's a truly bitchin' track.  If you love the funk of Chic and Nile's swanky guitar riffs, you are going to love it.  It makes my pants get up and dance and it's a true feel-good song.  I wish I had a whole dance floor to sweep with my two left feet but my writing room rug will have to do.

I have a birthday looming.  It's a big one.  Part of me is scared for me, part of me is proud of me.  I think that I have, in the past few years, grown to be a good person, a better person - from love, loss, lessons, and a wealth of experience. I have really worked on my character,  in being kind and just, I have really come to know the true meaning of goodness and am working now on further cultivation of my spiritual self.  I am still a little scared, of the uncertainty really.  Of reaching an age and knowing that there are still things I desire, I long for but know that I can only achieve those things if I continue to better my person.  And that's the beauty of big birthdays, revelation, contentment and and maturity.  As I head into a new decade of my journey, my focus will be on heart, health and creativity.  

Wish me luck.

Back to writing.  After 'Lay Me Down' with the headphones and to get my groove going.

In propinquity,

Nic

Hear My Heart Trumpet

Hear My Heart Trumpet

overlook pages of dis-assembled scribbles

erase literal interpretations of daily deeds

hear my heart trumpet

announcing a sequence of graceful commands

advising a pocketful of stunning photos to dance

hear my heat trumpet

for tiny miracles independent of my original story

for immaculate heavy-lidded choreographies splaying

hear my heart trumpet hear its discourse hear its song

hear my heart trumpet a steady poetic meter

a salute

prepared to pursue the path of reasonable compromise

with someone who is much less suitable to the cause

my heart trumpets

for change

for sameness

for shelter

for dancing

for dreaming

hear my heart trumpet

**

Joyful moments (since Thursday) in point form:

-       my book buying adventure on Thursday (I bought ‘1982’ by Jian Ghomesi, ‘Homing’ by Stephanie Domet and ‘Mr. Penumbra’s 24 Hour Bookstore’)

-       yummy dinner and edits at The Carleton and encountering my Grade 5 teacher, Mrs. MacKenzie

-       arriving home to a package waiting for me from my dear friend Elspeth and inside was her novel ‘Sole’ (on sale now at Amazon.com)

-       making a tattoo appointment to finally fix and complete the only ink I will ever have

-       curling up in a rain storm with blankets and pillows with movies and tea after a long Friday

-       seeing my dear friend try on her wedding dress for the first time

-       spending the whole day browsing for bridesmaid dresses with her

-       hanging out with my mom and talking to her

-       watching Eat Pray Love

-       sleeping in

-       enjoying a coffee and the sunshine with my best friend on the Halifax Commons

-       visiting my dear friend Sharon on her birthday

-       writing the enclosed poem while listening to the new Civil Wars record

-       new sheets fresh out of the dryer to rest in on a Sunday before a Monday

-       daydreaming

-       praying

-       counting blessings

-       text messages that make me laugh outloud

Happy Sunday.  Back to work tomorrow, one long week before Word On The Street.  And, I hope to have a good deal more written on ‘Too Much To Contain’ before then.  Fingers crossed.

In propinquity,

Nic

Jackson Pollock's Floor

Jackson Pollock’s Floor

Frank built the Guggenheim

a grand mastered structure

on an uncertain foundation

a convulsive innovation spelled

in an inverted ziggurat scheme

all this

so that Jackson Pollock might

concentrate a lavender mist for

a taut composition on the floor

to mount on a clean (W)right wall

full impasto/abstract expression

chance effect/unique freedom

drip drip drip

syntheticresinpaintalkydeenamel

greensilverblueblackyellowmarine

so that Jackson Pollock might

heavily influence a discerning eye

stir a little bit of pride in your protest

art built for a vast emotional aftermath

large-scale retrospective/comprehensive exhibit

it is romantic to recoil from the images

have stark dreams in the open rotunda

name them/number them/sell/parade

manipulation of art/careful compliment

those with heightened superior gifts

settle into your quaint country-sides

jangle the gables of your suburbs

force a tight perimeter around your cities

so that you might

walk the length of Pollock’s spotted floor

in your bare feet with your soul showing

**

Headstrong hump day!  My marbles are all falling out and I’m desperate for a little bit of outside sunshine (yes, it’s sunny, or partly here) and quiet.  I’ve got an hour left of my work day and then I think it might be beneficial to park myself somewhere with some tea, a nibble and read my book.  I started reading ‘Dear Girls Above Me’ by Charlie McDowell last night and got through half.  I forced myself to stop reading and turn my light out.  It’s funny and fresh and I am enjoying the male narrative in a modern setting that utilizes the aspect of social media and worldly romance.  I also bought ‘The Birth House’ by Ami McKay.  I loved her second novel, ‘The Virgin Cure’.  I am reading her work backwards but hers is worth reading.  Her writing is stunning. 

I also discovered I had more vacation days left at work than I thought I did.  Woo hoo!  I’ve submitted a request to make the Labor Day weekend an extended one and then for my December birthday day off.  I enjoyed having it off last year so why break tradition.  I’m a Wednesday child and this year, my 40^th, falls on a Wednesday.  Woe seems appropriate, no?

I polished this arty poem while I ate a bite of lunch today between phone calls and emails.  Hugh Jackman tweeted a photo of Jackson Pollock’s floor the other day and it just stuck with me, I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I wrote this poem.  I am fascinated by his artwork and always find it sad that someone with his natural artistic aptitude and his penchant for changing the rules, he died so young.

Pasta for dinner tonight?  Why not.

Stay smart.

In propinquity,

Nic

Ode To Elspeth for a Summer Birthday

Ode To Elspeth for a Summer Birthday

your most famous

literary representation

is your brave nature

your most remarkable

traits are your talents

for propinquitious jargon

for incendiary word pursuits

for an unending inspiration line

for courageous creative conjuring

your most noted qualities

a fortuitous heart

a tender humanity

a gifted storyteller

a magnificent muse

a faithful friend

your most deserved accolades

cannot even accurately measure

your splendor

your wealth

the essence of your kind being

celebrated by your adoring audience

&

is written in calligraphy

is written in shining stars

for all to witness

every woman

every angel

for the world

for the ages

for the Heavens

forever

**

I am celebrating my fellow creative today (like all days), my dear friend, Elspeth Grafton.  She is a marvel, a writer, a script supervisor, a brave heart and an inspiration to me always.

Happy birthday, friend.

In propinquity,

Nic

Hello, stars.

Hello, stars.

If you wish it so

I will shape every

lovely word

quietly congregating

in your warm heart

set them into the stars

so that the keenness

of their true meaning

might whisper
                in your ear

whenever darkness falls.

Only if you wish it so.

**

A little poem off the cuff.  Slightly romantic but nothing special.  Just a few thoughts, a few words on something that resembles love and loyalty.  Two things I believe to be precious commodities, two things that are far too rare.

So, it's John Taylor's 53rd birthday today.  Yes, that John Taylor, from Duran Duran.   I have a lot of love and deep respect for him.  In addition to being the wallpaper on my adolescent bedroom walls, he has served (both in Duran Duran and his solo efforts) as a huge portion of the soundtrack of my life.  Not only with his music but the music I was turned onto because he liked it.  Same can be said about art, books and films.  I love how inspiration is, a long succession of moving sentiments passed down from one blown mind to another.  I admire his creative spirit, his fortitude, is attitude and his art.  I am grateful mostly though because through him, his decisions and and music, I met some of the most incredible people who live in all corners of the world, who have become my extended family, my heroes.  These women and few men remind me that this big crazy world is still beautiful and that there are always things to be grateful for even when the chips are down.  I have watched these people get married, have babies, be present to celebrate their accomplishments, support them with hardships; and for the few we've lost, Bec and Lisa, we remember.  The friendships I have formed have elevated my life, made me better and they continue to inspire me to be better still.  John Taylor made all this possible.  That, is a beautiful thing.  He is the man.  And for that and because he's just a good egg, I wish him a very happy birthday today.

It's the eve of my four day weekend.  I took vacation days tomorrow and Monday.  I have some errands to run, one of which is to apply for a passport.  After I hit publish on this little ditty I have to do my check-list:  birth certificate, passport photos, form fully filled out and most importantly my money.  The goal is to take a week-long trip south with friends as a late birthday present for myself and my friend Colleen.  My birthday is in December, hers is January, exactly one month apart.  For this milestone, we're planning a girls getaway in the Spring of 2014.  Sad to say that it'll be my first official grown-up vacation.  A real vacation.  Exciting stuff.  That's the current plan.  Who knows what next year will bring.  If all else fails, I'll hop on a plane west and go visit Ruthie, one of my most important comrades gained from the Taylor times.  Anything is possible.

On the writing front, I got another little chunk written this week.  Slow going but I'm enjoying the process.  I'm hoping these four days off will be productive.  And of course, this is Matt Epp weekend!  Sunday night at The Carleton!  Yayayayayay!  I'll be on inspiration overload Monday, just you wait and seeeeee.

Still feels like a work night because I'm pooped.  Brewing a small cup of vanilla tea and crawling into bed.  I won't turn the TV on tonight, instead I'll use the time to reflect, count blessings and send my prayers up.

Hug your people.  They need you.

In propinquity,

Nic

Keep Calm and Write Something

My current work in progress, ‘Mute’, has been a slow meandering process.  I have been side-tracked by real life and so a lot of the time lately I have had lots of thoughts, notes and mini meltdowns but just not enough energy and/or time to get everything down on paper.  What’s more, this story is not unfolding like any of the others I have written in past months.  I am writing sections all out of order and while I find that to be a daunting task, it’s been a fascinating challenge.  This story is also requiring me, courtesy of my characters, to write outside of the box.  I have written a few different things that are important to the scope of the story (at least that’s what my characters are telling me).  It’s coming in small parcels and not in a linear fashion which requires me to ponder and ask them a great deal of questions.  There are always surprises.  I love that about writing, the unknown.  It certainly keeps me on my toes.  I do look forward to when this one comes together and I am able to share it with you.  For now though, they remain all mine.  I can say with all honesty that I don’t mind that so much either.  Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that I belong to them?

It’s Friday.  After a long work week, I hope to regain my lost artist date from last weekend and get out somewhere tomorrow in the sunshine, settle somewhere with my pen and my fictional friends and see what else comes up.  My artist dates are my saving grace, they truly are.  I also have some letters to return so my pen moving in that regard will also fuel up the creative tank, it always does.

I could have shared a poem today but it’s not the polished diamond I want it to be yet so I will save it for another day.  I may even tuck it in my writing book for tomorrow and polish it while out in the wild (so to speak).  No written words today save the bloggy ramblings but it’s a new month and I’m plugging away carefully at my current project, careful to not let the weighty elements of real life stifle my flow.  The characters are still with me so that must be something, yes?

In other news, I reserved tickets for Matt Epp’s return to Halifax at The Carleton on June 23^rd.  I will be accompanied by two of my dearest friends and my sister for this show.  I look forward to this show because it’s his CD release and he’s coming with a great artist called French Press to open for him.  I hold Matt’s work in the highest esteem and regard him as one of the most tender and enlightened artists in Canada.  His shows, for me, equal certain inspiration, absolute spirituality.  His work is uplifting and I’ve really enjoyed watching him soar from his early beginnings in Winnipeg to being so well respected and received, working with other world class talents and sharing his gifts, his love for music and his eternal goodness with us.  In addition to Epp’s show, I have Old Crow Medicine Show on May 31^st to look forward to, The Standfields at Casino NS the very next night and Matt Mays will be rocking the Halifax waterfront on June 8^th with the Red Bull Tour Bus.  There’s nothing like a good dose of live music to whip my creative senses into a wild frenzy.  What makes it all that much more amazing is I’ll be dancing the nights away with some of my best people.  That makes my heart happy.

It’s Friday.  The sun is shining.  The evening ahead will be spent with some of my other best people and then hopefully a restful sleep for my artist date adventure tomorrow.  Maybe I’ll even see best people tomorrow if I’m lucky.

Keep calm and weekend on!

You can tell everybody this is your song …

In propinquity,

Nic

Oh, and a BIG birthday shout out today too to Jeff 'Wise One' MacNeil, UBER talented musician and all around jovial guy.  Sure do miss seeing him play.

Gracias!

(Me, 24 hours old, 1973)

For the first time in a very long time, my birthday felt like an actual celebration.  In years past, I have had lovely birthdays but for some reason this year felt festive, with renewing qualities.  I felt a surge of pure love and I accepted every once with an open heart and a smile on my face.  This getting older thing isn’t so bad when you have a clear perspective on what matters in life and leaving the refuse in the wasteland where it belongs.  Being free of burden and letting go of things that inflict nothing but pain makes one feel alive.  Feels so nice to be alive and for one day, appreciated just for being here.  I believe everyone deserves a moment to shine and while I have always had an issue in the past with the attention, this year I basked in it, allowed it to wash over me and it restored my faith, especially in myself.

I owe many thanks to my dear friends and my crazy family for a fantastic day.  I woke up to lots of love that led me to a leisurely lunch with my best friend Erica and then some Christmas shopping.  Next, I enjoyed cake with the littles that turned into a bona-fide dance party in the kitchen.  Imagine a handful of elementary age kids breaking it down to LMFAO’s ‘Sexy and I Know It’ and PSY’s ‘Gangnam Style’ (both songs my request I might add) and you have a barrel of monkeys.  My face is STILL sore from laughing at their antics.  To top off my day, spent with so many people I love, I ventured to my brother’s house to help decorate their Christmas tree.  My sister baked shortbreads while my niece Chelsey and I busied ourselves with the task at hand.  Their tree is so beautiful, white twinkly lights with several of their ornaments red and white or clear.  We laughed our asses off, drank hot chocolate and when everything was done, we all sat back and reminisced which always leads to shenanigans and is cause for my heart to swell with affection.  I can’t declare our family is perfect, nor am I but there is nothing more precious than family, the one we are raised in and the family we make for ourselves with who we choose or perhaps who choose us.  Friends and family are the deepest riches we accumulate.  Nothing compares.

I don’t have any poetry today, just a mere thank you to those who touch my life – those who are blessings and those who were lessons.  It’s all the same thing to me. I am grateful. To those who know me well, you know who you are and to those who lift me up when I need it.  

I’m also a touch sentimental today too because in addition to it being my name day (St Nick’s day – victory for the people!) it’s the 95^th anniversary of the Halifax Explosion where two ships collided in the Halifax harbor and leveled a large portion of the city.  My heart goes out to those who perished, those injured and those who are/were left behind.  As I mentioned earlier today in a Facebook status, this anniversary is a stark reminder of how precious and unpredictable life is so we should appreciate each moment we are allowed.

Be kind to each other.  Be fair and be loving.  Always.

In propinquity,

Nic