the pomegranate tiger

A few idle ramblings from a Sunday afternoon; jotted down before, after, between, and during the hockey game, the Oscars, and Heroes : A rebuttal for the next time an angst-ridden teen whines, “It’s not fair - I didn’t ask to be born!” What if we did ask to be born? What if there's a universe full of souls with no corporeal existence. What if these souls float around observing other universes, but can’t participate? -- Kind of like Nicholas Cage in City of Angels before he decides to become mortal so he can touch Meg Ryan; except these souls don’t even have an angel body like Nicholas Cage; which was invisible to people on earth, but a real body to his fellow angels; which is why you know it is Nicholas Cage, in the first place. Okay. So what if these souls get bored just floating around observing , thinking, not really doing anything; and since they don’t have bodies and all, there’s nothing to wear out, so they last forever; and with the prospect of their lives stretchi...

(This blog was prompted by reading Wenda's post today .) It seems that we (the royal we of the "bloggers-who-like-to-write" variety) all have moments of self-doubt about the validity of our endeavours. Many of my favourite bloggers have gone through periods of: Is this interesting; is this boring; is this just too stupid to post, am I wasting my time, and who cares anyway? Sometimes, they delete their blog. Sometimes, they say good-bye and tell you why. Sometimes, they just stop posting. I'm a nosy and curious person – always have been – probably borne of living in multiple families and households at a young age. I learned to be a good listener; and by way of listening, learned a lot about human nature and about how people tick. It's stood me in good stead in the things I've done in my life. I've found that blogs are the closest thing to eavesdropping and getting inside the hearts and minds of thousands of people you'd never get to meet in t...

For some reason, when I write flash fiction, Lydia jumps herself onto the page. I'm not even sure how I came up with the name. I finally did an internet search and found that Lydia was a kingdom in an area of what is now modern day Turkey -- not the name of a person at all. The closest thing to a person is Lydia of the "tattooed lady" fame. I'm pretty sure I didn't have that Lydia in mind, but she must be buried somewhere in my subconscious because she keeps popping into my stories, unbidden. My guess is that she's somehow become my alter ego. At first, I wasn't going to bring Lydia to this blog, but what the heck; she seems an integral part of me whether I like it or not, so here's a bit of an experiment for me. Please meet my friend, Lydia: (A version of this first piece was on First Drafts last year, so if it sounds familiar to some of you, not to worry): When Lydia awoke, she was filled with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Janie was comin...

It's always a bit of a crapshoot when you read a book recommended by someone else. I touched on this before in this post (Jan23-06) where a friend was reading a book by an author I recommended. I anxiously awaited his opinion – but – it never came. I was upset and annoyed. I've come to terms with it, but now I find myself in a similar situation. For those who don't know me, I love reading. In the past, I'd read anything I could get my hands on; newspapers, magazines; fiction, non-fiction; even the backs of cereal boxes, in a pinch. I read everything from entertaining fluff to philosophy. There were very few books that I could say I absolutely hated. The optimistic side of me could always find something positive in what I read, even if it were a "been there, done that" and don't need to read him again. As it turns out, I've become a little more selective in my old age. I've developed more interests and seem to have less time; and I get the horrib...

Snippets and images: Everyone walks. It’s late at night and the streets are still clogged with pedestrians. Families out for an evening stroll; three generations strung along the narrow cobblestones; mom and dad pushing a stroller; toddler hanging onto mom’s coat; grandfather with black-scarved grandma on the crook of his arm, ambling along behind. Hordes of tourists – though not as many as in the summer, so I’m told – necks craning up, left, right. They can’t get enough (I can’t get enough); sights, sounds; one minute in a bright piazza, cameras flashing all round; next minute round the corner, a dark alley-like street with the only light coming from candles on the tables of the sidewalk cafes that seem to spring from every available doorway. Narrow streets (what would be deemed alleys or laneways at home), alternate with wide-open piazzas centred by fountains, obelisks, statues or any combination thereof. Sidewalk cafes are everywhere. It seems every restaurant is also a sidewa...

Well, as you may have guessed, I've been back for awhile and I’ve made several attempts at a vacation report. I just couldn’t get it right. No words seem to capture everything I experienced. In a nutshell, I had an amazing, wonderful, eye-opening, splendid trip. Not enough time, of course, but that's always true when you're having a good time. In retrospect, I'm sorry it took me 'til this time in my life to get to the other side of the Atlantic. Perhaps it was meant to happen this way – I'm not sure I'd have had the same appreciation in my younger years. But back to that report. I’ve been mulling it over in my head and thought I’d try something different. Stay tuned.