Two of my closest favorite friends have a new baby boy in their life today. Kai came into this world after only two hours of labour. Tomoko and Ian arrived at the hospital at 4:30AM. Tomoko was fully dilated! Wow! Kai was born at 6:30AM Pacific Standard Time. Kai weighs in at six pounds 11 ounces, is healthy, drinking lots of milk from mother and bears a striking resemblance to his father Ian. Mother and Baby are healthy and feeling good. Kai decided to pop out and say hi to the world a little early as he was not due until January 1, 2007.
Congratulations you guys! What a wonderful Christmas gift you both have braught into this world.
I love you 😉
Fat and Skinny Santa to the left was etched and later printed in 1993 by me.
1. Thirteen is a word. 13 is a number. They are both written in the Roman Alphabet. They can both be read using English recognition… except 13 is universally recognized as far as worldly understanding goes.
2. There is a Thursday Thirteen becoming widely popular in the blogosphere.
3. At thirteen you have 7 more teens left.
4. The number thirteen comprises of both the number one and the number three written in arithmetic.
5. At thirteen I forgot who I was. At nineteen I rediscovered myself. At one I knew. At twenty-six I spoke to the other side. At age thirty-three I will know, that you are reading this.
6. Thirteen of you will read this.
7. 13 X 7 = *
8. It is really hard right now to not go to a search box and type thirteen in it.
9. I typed 13 instead.
10. Thirteen of you blew out candles today.
11. Thirteen of you are wondering why.
12. Thirteen of you said no today.
13. Today is October 13, 2006. Thirteen of you are reading this today on October 13, 2019.
14. Today is December 22, 2006.
15. I initially wrote this post just over two months ago. I added number 14 and fifteen today after seeing it unposted in my dashboard. It is something you did not know about me and finishes out the cube or does itâ€¦
*image created using Flash and Illustrator in 2000
*I have chosen to not tag any others.
Having been tagged four times over with the same meme I thought it best to write out twenty things about me that you may not know in four parts of five. Those who pung (pinged) me were Jecklin, Tony, Franky and Range.
The first five are about family and tradition.
The Old General Hospital I was born in was imploded in 1995. Click image for implosion.
My grandmother turns 93 this year on Christmas Day. She has two living sisters who are in their nineties’. She lives independently in her own apartment. Go grammie! I love you!
Christmas Eve saw my family and I routinely visiting my great aunt Sister *Loulabelle at the Convent. It was a gothic maze of gorgeous wooden and plaster architecture in which we were only permitted to travel into visitor allowed rooms. Next stop was my mysterious great uncle *William’s. His apartment was an eccentric living history museum! Then on we went to the Cathedral for mass. After preying my heart out we travelled to my Grandmother and Grandfather’s where much of the family spent Christmas Eve. It was always crowded with family too many to count. Usually around midnight we would travel back to our own family home and each open one gift.
In grade three at the age of eight I concluded that Santa’s handwriting appeared ever so similar to my mother and father’s. My mom politely asked me to keep it a secret from my brother. I advised my parents to not use the same wrapping paper or penmanship when wrapping gifts from Santa. My brother being two and half years younger, still needed to be protected from the truth. Man, it was one of the hardest secrets I had to carry. I think at age 11, I began hinting that Santa was not real; that he had lived long ago as Chris Cringle but that his spirit still visited us every year. I may have begun pointing out that mom and dad’s handwriting appeared to look a lot like Santa’s to my brother. I was the older sister and could not carry the burden of “knowing” any longer.
My favorite gifts to open were the one’s located in my stocking. I’d gather to guess that it was also my brother’s. One year my brother and I awoke on Christmas Day, wondered downstairs at the standard 4:00AM wake-up time to find many many more stockings than we could carry. There was one for our collie, one for each cat, one for my grandfather, one each for mom and dad and our own. We had a tradition of carrying them all upstairs to to our parents bedroom all at once to open them in bed. We sat dumbfounded not knowing how to accomplish this task. The stockings seemed extra heavy this year and we would not break the tradition of bringing them all up at once. How this tradition began I have long sense forgotten. We sat for an hour staring at the Christmas tree and gifts all the while becoming all the more excited, frantically waiting for 5AM to chime from the hallway clock. That was the time we thought it would be safe to awake our parents from slumber. At five o’clock, my brother peered over to me while I at him, both wide-eyed and crazy, we gathered up the eight stockings tenuously gripping four a piece. Not once, not twice but perhaps thrice we needed to stop and help eachother pick up fallen wrapped miniature gifts. We heaved them onto our parents bed yelling “Wake up it’s Christmas!”. At the same time we felt bad but really, we couldn’t help it as either of us hadn’t slept at all that Christmas Eve and knew come 11:00AM we, the Doyle family, would all be napping.
These are the first five. I will tag Communicatrix. Tomorrow another female will be tagged. You are it!
I find myself travelling outside to the deck. I stop. I look forward to a horizon of mountains and cloud. All that I knew has changed in an instant. Really I don’t even know what questions to ask. Is there any questions I can ask to the world. I asked. The clouds and mountains remained. The city lights are still shining. My home is quieter than it has ever been tonight. Silent memories ebb out of the walls from where the furniture used to be just five hours ago. Roxy is here. She is the dog I am caring for, for three and a half weeks while her owner is in Winnipeg visiting family for Christmas. Missy is here with me although hiding in the studio closet curled into stored blankets. Roxy got out of the vet hospital two days ago. She almost died from a pancreatic attack. A full week she spent in intensive care. She is happy, eating special canine food and has been prescribed metronizidol.
Missy is a little confused. I have have dog-sat Roxy on two previous occasions. Feline and canine seem to get along just fine.
I am at odds at forming thoughts. Everything happens when you least expect it. The bed is gone. The desk is gone. I have left before, a long long time ago. The memory of that day six years past became an awkward reversed reality of packing and stuffing bags and boxes. This afternoon he opened the door, walked over and sat down beside me. Fuck. He is physically not living here anymore. He left today. I cried. ohhhh. It hurts. This feeling in the centre of my chest. It aches, it feels good, it cries, it quiets. It fades away. It begins anew. I wish the mountains could talk to me right now. I am alone. I can only imagine what is going through Eric’s mind. He looked so scared yet determined to do this. He made a decision. There was no talking about it. I knew deep inside there would be no talking about it.
This reality I find myself in is in flux. What is constant to human beings? Love is constant. I asked him to be good to himself. I said I would be good to myself. That is what I am doing. I don’t know the answers. I don’t want to know the answers. Another day maybe. I miss him. I wanted to help him pack but couldn’t. I felt desparate, then confusion. Then moments of clarity, of why things begin and end. Overwhelming sensations of loss gripped my being. Anger was very quiet. I am ok. I am alive. I began thinking of hurting myself, but that is just dumb and those fleeting thoughts of a behavior that is no longer a part of me, I said goodbye to today. There is no reason for me to hurt me. Neither one of us did anything wrong or right. We lived together, we loved eachother, we shared and cared and grew with one another.
My heart hurts. I love you hun.
Hopper 7 (left)
Black ink on handmade paper
Artists Statement –
Pepsi stained and all.
Hopper 8 (right)
Red and black ink on handmade paper
Artists Statement –
A full glass of pepsi did indeed fall on this miniature journal. I like the effect it left on many of the pages within. Sometimes accidents, have a creative purpose afterall.
Currently I blog for both the Blog Herald (BH) and The Blogging Times (TBT) and of course, on my own site. I began blogging at BH after I emailed Matt Craven asking for a job as a contributor. Matt was one of the first bloggers I trusted in the blogosphere. Shortly after, I was contacted by TBT to write for them. Immediately, I thought about conflict of interest with BH. Almost three months of blogging for both sites have passed. Both Minic Rivera and Matt Craven have been nothing but cordial with me and my blogging insanity.
BH has recently been sold to the Bloggy-Network, however will be run independently from it, managed by Abe and Angelo of whom upon introduction were friendly. Some of my co-writers on BH have chosen to leave BH to pursue other interests. We were all offered to continue writing for BH before the news of the sale went public. I believe that that was nice. At the same time I was becoming very self conscious and keeping a lot to myself online. Many bloggers feel that transparency is key to successful blogging. Many others disagree. I’ve observed that bloggers are only transparent to what they can be transparent about in regards to their own personal blogging, not about their business blogging. Even then, nothing gets put up online until one person hits enter.
I am the only individual blogger, blogging on both TBT and BH of all other contributing bloggers to both sites. After writing some ideas on paper last night I realized where the dilemma lies for me with such contribution. To be honest I don’t actually see their being competition between the two sites. TBT is a little bit more colourful while BH is a little more tech talk. These are initial thoughts of mine. I’d like to expand on it later. A lot of my fear was only perceived, learned from the past. I carried that fear online with me. Like with any fear of you don’t face it, you will still be afraid.
Clear communication is one of your desired goals, but so much is going on that it’s easy to forget what the main message should be. Write down your thoughts before you utter them to help you regain focus.
source – Astrology.com