Sunday, 18 August 2019

Lesson Learned, Maybe

I'm having a day!

A weird day.

The first weird thing happened when I'd finished my breakfast of Kellogg Nourish which I'd chosen instead of brioche buns (I know!!)  when I realized that one of the two coffee cups that I use was not in the cupboard, on the counter or in the dishwasher. I started a search, then a serious look-at-every-surface, which in a condo doesn't take too long. The cup was nowhere. I decided that a touch-everything was in order and walked over to the window so as to start from the north end and move through the whole place.  On the way, I caught my foot in the little rug near the door, fell against the shelving and found the glass cup right after the cold coffee had landed on my knees. Why would I have left a cup of cold coffee there? Why had I not thought when I was searching that the shelves by the window had a "surface"?

I should have seen danger and just made a fresh coffee and read a book.  That's usually what I do every day after breakfast.

Instead, I decided to wash my hair. The same hair that I had washed last night because I'd been out in the rain (again, I know!)  We have lots of various shampoos because Dave is Dave and our grandchildren don't want to use shampoo that's especially for senior women, so when I was looking, I came across a tube of  Scintallant Orchid, a temporary colour shimmer spray. Did I have fun! And did I learn that "temporary" certainly does not mean you can wash it out right after you see that Scintillant Orchid makes you look about 10 years older. So, since I was still in the bathroom, I cut the hair at the back of my neck, tried a new foundation, slid a blue eyeliner over my lashes (I should have known better) and cut my toenails. Ouch!!

Clean but somewhat lacking in judgment, I sat at the computer, only to find that if I try to post anything on Facebook, it is posted to my daughter Emily's account. She always forgives me, but I thought I'd just use what little judgment I had left to blog instead.

I can't wait for dinner and an evening which probably includes trying to remember how to get Netflix.

Sunday, 7 July 2019

Yes, "fanatic" is in my vocabulary

Quite a long time ago, my daughter Emily and I were on Sparks Street, or maybe it was the Byward Market. And what is wrong with me that I even thought that was a necessary part of my intro?

At the place where we were, there was a young man with a violin, which he quickly told us was a fiddle, and he threw himself into the music with such joy, toe-tapping and talent that we both forgot to breathe for about 4 minutes.  Or so it seemed. It was wonderful, and we bought the CD, went to each our home and, at least on my part, played it again and again. 

It's going to be wonderful again because at Bluesfest, which is about 200 steps from my place, Dave and I are going to be able to see Ashley MacIsaac.  Not from up close, because we can hear Bluesfest from start to finish from the patio, so we'll walk up the sidewalk that goes by the Bluesfest site. If we're lucky we'll get to actually see him on the huge screen.  Wow!

Look him up if you like to lose your breath while listening to music.
one of my favourites pictures of him

Thursday, 4 July 2019

Too much candour?

So today, I saw something in my bunch of photos and thought it would work in the blog to show that I used to be a blonde, first naturally and then assisted, since I'd heard from one of my granddaughters that she didn't recognize pictures of me from when I was blonde. That, and the photo I'd found led to this story:

About twelve years ago I had grown my l'OrĂ©al-assisted blonde hair down past my shoulders and made a strange decision to get curls added to my look.  It was not really a success, and as I soon had about two inches of uncurled, uncoloured hair next to my scalp, I'd decided to remove both colour and curls from my presentation by having everything "not natural" cut off.

The person who did it for me actually tried to talk me out of the drastic decision into something that would be not so different, although she used the words "necessary for your age" and "mumble, mumble well-thought-out". That approach led me to a very "it's MY hair" thing, and she went ahead and cut off all the hair that was not natural-as-birth, like I'd asked.

Did you know that grey hair can look more like very shy brown, and that getting your cut all one length of less than 2 inches doesn't really give you a style, unless you're looking for "wrong choices for 60 year-olds"? I certainly didn't  know that, but I made a start to save the whole thing by buying several pairs of the kind of earrings that make people just focus on them rather than the hair that wasn't hiding them (so I hoped). Also, given that my dad's hair turned beautifully silvery and my mom's was totally, shiny white, I was a bit depressed and felt they'd done wrong by me, but new earrings can almost always change my sad days.

Dave and I have always been careful not to make comments on each other's looks as a rule, but when I came home, he smiled very warmly and told me he liked my hair. (I'm sure it was for the first time, and really, it knocked me over).

Which takes me back to this photo, taken when I was 20, teaching school and spending lots of time and money for a look that, when I see it now, just says "Take a good look, young Julia...blonde!"

Tuesday, 2 July 2019

And I didn't even swear

I just wrote a long post about which is better, chicken or beef.  That post just decided it didn't intend to be read (maybe because I forgot to take my bracelets off before I started to write, which every once in a while means I lose everything on the screen)

The fun part was that I ended the post with bacon.

Thursday, 27 June 2019

"Music has healing power". Elton John

I love music, and I have always loved singing.  As a young Catholic person, I was always in the choir at church, and as a slightly older person wanting to be noticed, I sang at the Teen Club I belonged to.  One of my most joyful memories is wrapped around a day at the convent school I went to when the nun who was the Music Mother came round our class and asked each of us to sing a few chords.  When it was my turn, she actually jumped.  I was "person of the day" in my class that day.

The year I was 32, I was still in a church choir, sang for my kids, always got up in Karaoke bars and over the Christmas holidays I did so much singing that I "lost" my voice.  I was moving my kids, leaving my first husband and living with an uncle and his family, and I just never did anything about recovering.

I told myself that I still had my voice, but I couldn't manage it very well anymore, and while my love for music still stuck with me, I seldom sang along. 

Then this: I was walking home yesterday and had come to a place in the park where I was all alone, singing (in my head) a song from The Civil Wars, a duo I really love, and I started to sing aloud.  It was so wrong. It wasn't me, and it certainly was not what the Civil Wars had sung.

I have to do one of two things: get involved through YouTube in a process to regain your voice (although I don't think it's aimed at someone whose voice got lost 45 years ago) or resign myself to being a former singer.

I'm just not sure I can deal with failing, if I choose to regain my voice.  And I'm not sure I can deal with doing nothing now that I've made myself think about it.  Maybe I'll accept that music has healing power and give it a try by using others' music to help the healing if I can't regain it.  Thanks, Elton.

Wednesday, 26 June 2019

Some things I wish I hadn't done today

In no particular order:

  • got up at 4 a.m. and decided the day was beginning
  • therefore ate my breakfast at 4:10 a.m.
  • managed with a great deal of pain to take off the rings I should have taken off last night, then washed, brushed my teeth and put the rings back on
  • promised myself to deal with all the books that weren't in a more-or-less alphabetical space on the bookshelves
  • spent time trying to find why in hell I had a book called "The Friday Night Knitting Club, a novel"
  • decided that even though the forecast said we'd reach 30 degrees Celsius by noon, I was wearing black clothes to the Market
  • tried on about 40 hats and bought none
  • got a sunburn on that 4 inches of skin between my neck and my shirt, which would have been covered had I bought a hat with a brim
  • fell asleep in the afternoon, which only happens about 5 times a year, two of which were this week
  • later, forgot I'd put on my pyjamas and went out on the patio to talk to Dave, an act which took place just as all our neighbours were coming home from work
  • read an article outlining why it's OK not to wear a bra, then found it was aimed at people who didn't need them in the first place
There's only a few hours left until bedtime, so I'm feeling like things might just be OK and Dave and I can watch season 2 of the Emmy-awarded series we were watching last night.  Another thing I wish I hadn't done today is forgetting the name of that wonderful entertainment. Damn!

Tuesday, 25 June 2019

Babble, babble

Well, I haven't written a blog in several months, and I was kind of nervous about how I would re-start.  Little did I know.

First of all, I had totally forgotten how to make a blog post.  Really, I'd been writing blogs for about 15 years and I should have been able to get down to business with my eyes closed.  I found I was not, eyes closed or not, so I asked Google how do I get to my blog? only to find out that you had to know the name  of your blog. I've been having difficulties remembering all kinds of things, so I went back to Google and wrote "where is my blag?".  Not surprisingly, Google didn't know where to take me.

I decided that throwing my laptop across the room would not really do anything other than give me short-term pleasure, so I went back to Google and wrote "show me Lorna in Wonderland".  That took me back to to my blog in 2015, but it was my blog, and I ended up reading about 15 of my posts from the good old days, which led me back and forth between satisfaction and dread.

Long story short, I discovered that I had changed the owner name from Lorna to Resurfaced Blagher, which no longer seemed amusing to me.  Nonetheless, I am now able to write, foolishly or otherwise, in "Still in Wonderland" which I have now accomplished.