All posts by sammee44

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About sammee44

I am a West Coast Reader and Writer who enjoys the big and little things in Life. My philosophy is--if you don't enjoy those precious moments and savour the joy, then how can you appreciate the little things that crosses your daily path?

New Year’s Resolutions

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I’ve just discovered something interesting. Just because we have started a New Year, it doesn’t mean a lot of us are stampeding to make positive changes or promises in our lives. I find this interesting because every year, I solemnly make myself a promise to lose weight, get more active, write that book, reconnect with old friends and a myriad of uplifting, optimistic stuff that always sounds great and makes an impressive list. After the month of January flies past and that first successful flush of actually doing some of the list passes, the resolutions goes the way of the dodo bird—extinct, or maybe that’s extinguished.

Thinking about this further, making New Year’s resolutions is a bunch of hoo-hah just so others can feel righteous that they have made a list and plan to carry it through the entire year. Hearing about their intentions is supposed to make you guilty enough to produce a list of your own.  Guess that also makes it dangerous to your health–think of all that stress in sticking with your resolutions.

This year, I’m not falling into the trap of making any New Year’s Resolutions. After all, what’s the point of making a promise to yourself if you don’t keep it? Mulling this over, I have decided not to make any more resolutions–ever.  From now on, if I feel like going to the gym, I will. If I want to indulge in eating chocolates all day, I will.  Realistically. I probably won’t–maybe nibble a few to satisfy that chocolate craving. . .and to ease that chocolate guilt, head for the gym, maybe.

It’s been said that a New Year signifies “New Beginnings.”  I like to think so–it’s a clean page to start anew; but, what about all the unfinished stuff from the Old Year? Because if you think about the projects left unfinished or incomplete, how important were they to begin with?

I find that projects with deadlines or projects that are important to me are definitely tackled first.  Anything else is either filed away for later or “garbage.”  It’s easy to file stuff away, but so difficult later to purge those hard-fought words, the witty repartee, the catchy beginnings and/or the clever endings, the numerous bits and pieces of writing meant for future books or short stories. Filed stuff were meant for something but like barely worn clothes in your closet, if it hasn’t been used in two years, toss it. Just close your eyes ands turf it out. I shred my stuff. After all, if I don’t read it, the recycling man can’t either!

January is just beginning. Did you make any resolutions? Once I purge my files to make room for 2015, I’ll be fine.

Hm-mm, some of these bits and pieces look like it may have possibilities—I’ll just start a new file. After all, some stuff you can’t simply close your eyes and toss. . . .

Rainbow Moments

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I love “rainbow moments.”  Rainbows are so beautiful but fade too quickly, so the moment has to be enjoyed immediately.

When I see a double rainbow, it makes that moment even more special. If you are lucky enough to have a rainbow moment, the image is forever etched in your heart and stored in your memory.

Rainbow moments can be anything that makes you feel good and you just have to smile. And, it’s never a tiny smile, but a big, wide ear-to-ear grin. You get that mushy feel-good feeling. I had it the day I got married and saw my partner-for-life, patiently waiting for me with the biggest smile on his face. I got it the day I held our grandbabies for the first time. Rainbow moments are when I see the first signs of Spring, enthusiastically popping forth–the exuberant purple crocuses, the white snowdrops and the sunny daffodils. Rainbow moments are when the babies finally let go of the coffee-table and take those first few steps towards you–with their look of triumph that they could stand upright and move, all at the same time!  Rainbow moments can be a smell that takes you back to a cozier time of pot roast gently simmering, the scent of fresh bread baking and the fragrance of apple crumble, wafting its aroma of cinnamon/brown sugar as it cooled on the counter. Rainbow moments can be as simple as meeting an old friend for coffee and thinking how Fortune smiles at such a lasting friendship. I have so many more rainbow moments tucked away in my treasure box of cherished memories. And so many more memories to be collected.

I would like to wish all the Chocofigbee Readers as well as all the bloggers that I follow and enjoy, a truly Happy, Healthy New Year. And may you encounter many Rainbow Moments throughout 2015– Happy New Year!

When Words Don’t Flow

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Louis L’Amour, one of my favourite writers for Westerns—as in cowboys and the Wild West—was asked the secret of his prolific stories. He simply shrugged and said, “Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.”

I always loved that quote. I have it typed in big block letters besides my computer. But I realized that sometimes the water can be turned off, for whatever reason, and nothing flows from the faucet. When that happens, I follow Rule Number 17 from my archaic writers’ guidebook. I turn off the computer and head for the great outdoors. I realized long ago that if the page stays blank for more than 20-minutes and the mind is totally devoid of any rational or irrational thoughts, it’s best to take a break—and that’s what I did.

For me, the break-away from the keyboard, is a method for me to get re-energized and re-inspired. Hubby and I put on our rain-gear to do a morning stroll through the Village and around our neighbourhood. We strolled past Cobb’s where the scent of their freshly baked mince tarts and cinnamon bread logs wafted into the street. We paused at Nicholas Randall’s Gift Shop window to admire their lavish display of possible Christmas gifts, but what caught our eyes, tucked in the far corner, were a tiny trio of mischievous camels, decorated in tiny beads and Middle Eastern costumes. Beside them, regally waving a teeny-tiny gloved hand stood the tiny figure of the British Queen. Next store, The Gallery on the Avenue always has a striking window. That day a spectacular abstract with its bold colours of golds, greens and blues dominated. Placed to the right of the painting were two vases of a turquoise hue, one slightly taller than the other, complementing the abstract perfectly. Moving along, we paused at Ivy’s Bookstore with its display of children’s books in the window and a huge bin of greatly reduced books outside. Of course, we had to sort through the books to see if anything was worthy of our wallets. Starbucks was doing a brisk business when we passed by. A group of carollers were singing “a cappella” in front of the bank and pedestrians dropped change, for the homeless, into their pot. The sounds of “O Holy Night” followed us down the street, past the Pennyfarthing Pub, Roger’s Chocolates, shoe store, barber shop, two boutiques, the Side Street Gallery with its many locally crafted jewellery, soaps, wood-work, paintings, weaving, pottery and much more.

Crossing the street, we made a dash through the Library to see if we could find any new movies for us to watch that evening. We then continued our walk down residential Monterey Avenue eventually turning onto the path through Bowker Creek Park. Bowker Creek’s lively inhabitants of ducks were busily attacking duck feed tossed out by some kindly neighbour. As the Creek winds along, Hubby and I followed the peaceful path through trees, ornamental bushes, parkland and over a small stone bridge.  More ducks, joined by cawing crows and seagulls, all made their presence known as we passed. We listened intently for our favourite duck we had named the “Laughing Duck” because he had this amazingly deep belly-laugh when he quacked. Often, he would do this just as we passed by, but that day, no belly quackle herald his presence. Over the last stone bridge and following a path that cut through the High School’s parking lot, past the School Track, the Rec Centre’s covered indoor tennis courts, around the outside of the Municipality’s Work-yard and finally the street leading home.

Returning to the computer, I could feel the logjam of frozen words sporadically tumbling on the page. It wasn’t an easy flow, but for now at least, the faucet dripped. . . . . .

 

Go Away, Christmas Blues

humour,

Now that we’re getting closer to the “Big Day,” I seem to be losing some of my momentum. Two weeks ago, I was out there, enthusiastically elbowing my way through the crowds and picking out a few things for the family. A week ago, I was doing my baking–the mince tarts, the fruit loaves, the shortbreads,–but somehow, between then and now, I’ve lost the oomph that’s needed to carry me through to New Year’s.

I think it’s very important when you start getting into the Christmas Spirit. I use to pop on the music, haul out my already decorated teeny-tiny tree and start my baking—usually mince tarts because the smell of the spices really gets you going. This year, all it got me was the thought that maybe, I started a tad too early because the mince tarts are gone,  only a few shortbreads are left, and we’re already nibbling the fruit loaves. The thought of what’s left to do on the pre-Christmas list is too depressing to think about. So, to cure myself of this blue funk, I did the next best thing to winning the lottery—I borrowed my best friend’s 4-year old twins.

First, we checked out Christmas Village, a miniature village set up behind a huge downtown corner window. It showed Santa’s Workshop with little elves scurrying hither and thither, trying to complete their toy orders to fill Santa’s sleigh.  There was a miniature train winding around and through the Village, its engine huffing and puffing up the steep hill and finally to the Station. The more the girls and I stared, more details became apparent—the horse-drawn buggy with the coachman nodding to everyone he passed; the elderly lady who had dropped her bag of oranges and the little boys who helped to pick them up; the children skating on the pond; the little dog running with the red ball in his mouth; the baker-man passing out cookies from his tray; the tiny houses with lights winking and blinking inside; sporadic puffs of smoke from a few chimneys and much, much more. The twins were fascinated and so was I.

Our next stop was “Tiny Chapters,” a children’s bookstore where we were  just in time for Story Hour.  After that, cocoa and cookies at “Maisie’s,”  then the Children”s Choir and toy-store in Market Square. The joyous sounds of children singing was the perfect ending to a fun day.  The kids and I had a great time. I got re-energized and my best friend enjoyed an unexpected “free” afternoon sans twins.  AND, I’ve got my oomph back so I’m good ’til after New Year’s. . . .

Pens

humour,

I love pens. I especially like pens with ornamental or novelty heads at the end. I have a few that are squishy so in those moments, when the pen is willing but the paper is blank, I can get inspired squishing the alligator’s head so that his cheeks and eyes bulge alarmingly. It doesn’t really inspire any great thoughts, just creates a bit of distraction. I also have a pen that, if you bash it against the palm of your hand, its green bulb flashes on and off—another distraction for a few seconds. My favourite had a goblin head but it fell off one day when I was writing like fury. The replacement pen with the squishy monkey-head with pink rubberized hair wasn’t quite the same.  And the weight of the head made the pen top-heavy so that writing was a chore. My bug-on-a-leaf pen is cool but it feels awkward when I write so I tuck it in my pen-cup, along with all the others. I have three pen-cups, all stuffed with pens of fine, medium and thick tips, black markers, highliters of various colours, permanent pens for writing on tapes and DVDs—the list goes on.

I find pens are important. You can never have too many because when you need a pen in a hurry, there they are—ready when you are.  And have you notice when someone lends you a pen, it mysteriously ends up in your pocket or purse?  Or, vice-versa.

Recently I bought a package of regular pens–these were the Bic’s ultra-round sticks with an easy glide. I like these pens because they start immediately—no scratching on a pad to get the ink started.  I’ve left several lying around but they seem to mysteriously disappear, so someone else must be enjoying them too.

Of course, with my collection of pens, I have to have my pads of many colours. Notepads not only have a choice of lined or unlined pages but now comes in different motifs, colours and cute slogans or messages.  I like “Sex is Better than Coffee But Chocolate is the Best” or “Don’t Tell the Boss, Send Him a Memo” or my favourite phone message pad, “Monkey Business Only.” My sticky notepad has a message too.

The other day, I had this crazy inspiration and just had to jot it down before I forgot it. I wrote it on my lime-green sticky pad and tucked it in my purse. Later at the bank while searching in my purse for my bank card, my sticky pad fell on the teller’s counter. Prominently across the top, in big black letters was “This is a Stick-up” and in much smaller letters, directly beneath, “Stick Me on Anything!”  Thank goodness the teller had a sense of humour and didn’t panic.

Okay—enough kabbitzing–back to work!

A Christmas Line-up

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I wrote this in 2012 and the long Christmas postal line-ups remain the same, 2 years later!

Have you ever noticed that when you’re with a crowd of people, there is always one person who is a take-charge-let’s-get-it-done kind of person? I don’t mean this in a negative way because it’s nice there’s always someone willing to take the helm when the Captain is away; who has the initiative and guts to create a bond of camaraderie among bored, impatient strangers in long line-ups, especially the long post-office lineups.

I like to chat with the person in front of me and the person behind me when the lineup is long and the people seem friendly.  I was the 18th person in the post office line. Margaret, a robust motherly type, was the lady in front of me and as I–along with everyone else–quickly realized, Margaret was not a patient, silent, anonymous liner-upper.  Margaret was a creative take-charge-stay-happy-won’t-take-long kind of person. Joyfully and loudly, Margaret began to sing to the tune of “Jingle Bells” her own lyrics: Crawling along this line; Carrying gifts and cards today. When will we ever see the end, I really cannot say,  then bursting into the “Jingle Bells” chorus. There were 17 people ahead of me and 10 more behind, but Margaret quickly whipped us into a noisy impromptu choir. Well, by the time I got to the head of the line, everyone was smiling, humming and singing along.

Thank you, Margaret. You made this lineup the best one I’ve ever stood in.  I envy the people in the next lineup you stand in because they are in for an unforgettable treat!

At the moment, I can’t seem to get “Jingle Bells” out of my mind. . . .

Nuts and People

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I finally opened our house-guest’s gift tin of roasted nuts—the “gourmet” tin with no peanuts, but plenty of almonds, cashews, pecans, Brazils and pistachios. Lightly salted, nicely roasted and totally yummy. Settling into my comfy chair, I breathed in the aroma of  roasted nuts. Selecting one, I nibbled and thought about how nuts are like some  people. Now, I didn’t say “people are nuts” which has a totally different connotation, although I do know a few who are off the charts in humour and temperament. But I digress.

As I munched my way through the tin, I contemplate the almond—-sleek, elegant, refined. With its distinguished bronzy-tan skin, it stands out in the crowd.  Cashews have a looser personality. It’s the “fun” nut, if there’s such a thing.  |Cashews are more liberated and not as restricted as the almond.  Pecans have a duel personality. You can eat them whole or break them in half. As smaller pieces, you get more pecans for that fabulous crumb topping.  Brazils are the “hunky” nuts.  They’re the gym-buddy that enjoys his work-outs and eggs you on; the big guys who break a path through the crowd for you, the body-guard.  Then there’s the pistachio, petite and green. In its own dainty, green way, it makes a statement in the nut tin.   It yells, “Eat me first!”

Whoa–I think I better get back to the serious business of writing.  Blame this on the crazy holiday season of December.   Nibbling these nuts makes you kind of well, nutty. . . .

The Itch

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Have you ever had the itch where you saw something that made you curious enough to want to see more?  Or heard someone singing a haunting melody that you wanted to follow the notes and just listen? You know, that wild impulse that comes out of nowhere, grabs you by the heart-strings and have you throw caution to the winds? That crazy, zingy feeling that has absolutely nothing to do with brain cells, logic or sex?

Good–you have.  Wasn’t it a grand feeling to do something utterly wild and free, for once, forgetting the sensible shoes and common sense? To follow your impulses?  That, my Friend, is the itch.

You don’t have a lot of people following their itches. Most are little kids who love the freedom to explore their world and of course, lack the sensible routine of their parents. Or, they’re usually retirees, who have the leisure time to scratch their itches whenever they have one.

But to so many others, the simple truth is when there are limited hours of the day, we don’t. Even when there is the time, we still don’t. So it’s with a sense of joyful glee when we actually succumb to the itch on stolen time–our stolen time.  And because it’s so impulsive and yet feels so right, we enjoy it all the more. I think we should indulge in our “itches” more often as long as it’s fun and legal.  I have to say that in case any crooks are reading this and nodding their heads thinking they have an itch to rob a bank or something. . . . .

The Distracted Writer

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I’ve never thought of writing as a lonely profession, but I do consider it a profession filled with challenges and distractions.

I love reading all types of books, both fiction and nonfiction—thrillers, murder mysteries, romances with a good story line, histories, adventures, travel and biographies.  Thanks to other online writing buddies, I now include some sci-fi and paranormal romances.  I’ve never thought about what writing genres I favour because if the story-line grabs you by the eyeballs and holds your attention to the last satisfying page, who cares what genre it was.  The only thing that matters was a darn good story that kept you glued to the pages.

I keep trying to write some kick-ass thriller but somehow my hero/heroine is a “foodie” with an attitude.  Martial art moves may connect purely by  accident.  And my vision of Uzis, Berettas, sniper-scopes, missiles and fast cars are replaced by a paring knife and  fork as the weapons of mass destruction.  What is it with my keyboard?  I want to create mayhem, violence, lots of blood and gore, but what ends up on my screen is warm and fuzzy.  Sigh, that’s one of my challenges or maybe, that’s my calling. . .

Distractions are plentiful.  After immersing myself in my character’s dilemma and plunging him/her into more trouble, it seems Nature calls. I’m not referring to bathroom breaks, but the need for food and the great outdoors beckons—especially if it’s great walking weather.  To further distract me from my keyboard, there’s family demands, house and garden stuff as well as email and checking out my other bloggers.

There’s people to see, places to go and there’s research—there’s always research.  I love research, the delving into all sorts of information treasures.  It’s pure gold when the info path leads you down numerous roads, plunging you into fascinating areas of new information that should probably be in another book or future story. Historical research material with carefully bundled correspondence are especially distracting.  Most times these beautifully hand-written letters to family and friends often gives a glimpse of daily lives recorded from a past era.  Other times, it requires a great deal of squinting and guessing to decipher someone’s penmanship—was it a personal message or a business one?

See, distractions, the bane of a writer’s existence as well as another challenge—the challenge of finding more time to do some serious writing. . . .

Hugger-Muggers

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As the Holiday Season approaches, I am re-posting my earlier comments from 2012—nothing has changed. Hugger-muggers are still out there!

I’m normally a non-violent lady who enjoys the quirks and foibles of her fellow man, but the one custom I’m not fond of is being bush-whacked by a hugger-mugger. Have you met any? I’m sure you know at least one or two. The reason I’m venting now is because another social season will soon be upon us and there are hordes of hugger-muggers ready to launch their hugs at any given moment.

Generally, these people seem very congenial and friendly until they clasp your hand and haul your unwilling self towards them to give you the mother of all hugs—up close and personal.  I’ve checked my etiquette book and this is one custom not covered well.  Chinese people are usually not touchy-feely unless it’s someone we know well—like really well.  But in social gatherings, meeting some strangers for the first time and discovering too late they are hugger-muggers, makes a person think murderous thoughts or at best, a violent solution like a knee to the you-know-where.

Hugger-muggers are very sneaky people. They always look so ordinary and normal until they get hit with any excuse for hugs at social gatherings.  Give them a glass of wine or two or three and hugger-muggers are in their dangerous zone.  This is when their hands tend to roam all over as part of their friendly hugs.  Hugger-muggers do not read body language well and will translate a verbal “no” as “yes.”

So, to all hugger-muggers who are perfecting their hugging techniques—take note. I’ll be wearing my Kevlar vest, my stiletto heels and bringing my 6′ black-belt, 4th degree, martial arts husband.  I may be short but I won’t be defenseless if confronted by any hugger-muggers. . .