You see, after years of perfectly contented couch potatodom, we have suddenly taken it upon ourselves to paint our entire house – all ten rooms of it. Read the rest of this entry »
Monthly Archives: June 2012
I’ve discovered that there are two types of people in the world: jacuzzi types and non-jacuzzi types. Let me explain:
I used to love science fiction, back in the days when the folks I thought of as giants of the genre – writers like Isaac Asimov, Jerome Bixby, Robert A. Heinlein, Zenna Henderson, and John Wyndham, to name just a few – were on every bookseller’s Best Sellers shelf. One of the most prolific, and most-loved, of my favourite authors was Ray Bradbury, who passed away earlier this week at the age of 91.
Bradbury’s stories were part prose poetry, part haunting imagery, always fascinating, with a sense of mystery about them that was addictive. They were obviously created by a writer whose own sense of wonder and magic was alive and well. Read the rest of this entry »
I know why, of course. I had one, single, paltry cup of coffee yesterday morning, which I absolutely should never, ever do, being wildly sensitive to the caffeine in the stuff…but oh, I do so love DH’s coffee! Read the rest of this entry »
Last summer, DH and I spent three weeks animal-sitting their two pets while Younger Son and his wife vacationed in Europe: Gannon, an enormous, much-adored Alaskan Malamute, and Iago, a small, eleven-year-old black cat with a big personality.
Sleeping over was nothing new to Gannon, who is a regular visitor to our home and has been since he was a puppy. DH likes to walk him while his owners are at work, and he normally brings him back to our place for at least a little treat, some lovin’ and a quick snooze before returning him to his rightful owners.
We like to tell folks that we have joint custody.
However, Iago has never before graced our home with his presence, so although I’ve been a cat person for lo these many years, I was a bit concerned about how well he would adjust to being in a strange home. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s the force of the thing that shakes her -
wakes her, awestruck, from her sleep,
this mighty blast of lines and shapes
and colours and plans and schemes
all bright and jumbled together,
glorious fireworks spiralling every which way
over the boundaries of her mind
in grand unruly splendor!
Is it like this for everyone, she wonders,
or merely her penalty for having kept
the door to her own creativity
so safely locked and barred
these many barren years?
Will she be able to contain it,
this wild extraordinary profusion,
this pyrotechnic wonder -
or will it turn on her, consume her,
as casually as a Mayfly caught in
the path of a blowtorch?