the pomegranate tiger

It is unwise to be too sure of one's own wisdom. It is healthy to be reminded that the strongest might weaken and the wisest might err. - Mahatma Gandhi I read the above quote on Moto’s discussion forum and couldn't agree more. Somebody once told me he thought I was wise. I don’t want to be called wise. It’s too much responsibility. I don’t want people to think I have all the answers. I don’t want people to think that just because I write down my beliefs on this blog that I think I’m wise. If anything, my constant introspection and sharing of experiences reminds me of some of my greatest follies. All I have are life experiences that I’m willing to share with whomever might want to listen. I think my grandfather was wise -- though he likely would have disputed it. He lived into his nineties – a long and varied life; immigrating to Canada at the age of eighteen, teaching himself to read and write English, living through the BC gold rush, the building of the BC railroa...

I often feel in awe of the wonderful bloggers out there. The clarity, honesty and excellence of their words make me feel totally inadequate. I think, how did she do that; how did she make me laugh so hard, cry, get angry, rethink my position? So here are just a few thoughts about some of my favourite blog writers. I won’t name names, so you can all imagine that I’m talking about you – because I am: - A's individual blogs are precise photo captions. You wonder how she can capture the essence of how you feel in her words. Each picture-phrase is a vivid snapshot. It’s like watching a kaleidoscopic slideshow, never knowing what’s coming next, but with the assurance that it’s going to be insightful or funny – and definitely wonderful. - B's words flow in an unending stream of colourful descriptors and run-on sentences. The funny thing is that her run-on sentences don’t seem run-on at all. Phrases and descriptions ripple along, sometimes gently, sometimes caught in an e...

At eighteen, I thought I had things figured out. In reality, I was clueless. My plan was to go to university, graduate with a degree in nursing, then spend the next few years working on the S.S. HOPE, a peacetime hospital ship that brought healthcare and education programs to countries around the world. Little did I know it would make its last voyage the year I graduated. It ends up it didn't really matter. I met my husband-to-be while in university and we married the year I graduated. Since then, my life has taken all sorts of twists and turns. I’m a romantic idealist at heart, but I’m pragmatic when it comes to everyday life. I tend to carry on, no matter what happens. I figure, there’s not much choice – sit and mope - or live life. Yet, it would’ve been helpful to know at a younger age that there’s no such thing as life going according to “plan”. Life is messy. I think it’s a disservice to young people (to me, young is anyone under 30) when we give them the illusion they can p...

For our recent vacation, my husband and I took a cruise. You can do as little or as much as you like and it's one of the most relaxing types of vacations I've been on - a great place for a people-watcher like me. I love dancing and watching others dance – all forms of dance - ballet, jazz, ballroom, it doesn’t matter. As long as there’s music and movement, I’ll watch. So while on this vacation, I mostly watched the sixty-plus crowd dance. Why this age group? Because they can really dance. Almost every night and on every special occasion, they’d be the first on the dance floor. They did it all: foxtrot, cha-cha, rumba, salsa, waltz, jive. They did it with verve, enthusiasm and energy – especially the jive. I was in awe. All these grey-haired seniors dancing and boogying as if they were still in high school. Then it occurred to me – they’re probably the last generation who really learned “how” to dance as a matter of course when they were young. I grew up in the fifties and sixti...

Well it's been over a month since I last posted a blog! I didn't think I'd be away this long. I was on the verge of posting a few times. One of them started out like this: I'm not in a good mood. I'm tired –- Drop-off-the-face-of-the-earth and sleep 72 hours tired. I'm tired of reading/hearing opinions of overly pompous literary critics, self-professed, angst-ridden neurotic artistes and egotistical, pseudo-intellectual blowhards who think others are stupid just because they don't agree with their enlightened opinions . . . You can see why I decided not to post for awhile. I was tired from working 12 to 14 hour days for 15 days straight. It was the kind of tired that makes me very, very irritable – a can't see the end of it, what's the fricking use kind of tired; a don't you dare walk in my shadow, can't you see I'm tired, get out of my way or I'll rip your head off and feed it to the garbage disposal kind of tired. Soooo, I thought...