the pomegranate tiger

This may have been the quietest Christmas we've had in a long time. We only had our immediate family for dinner and it was so much less stressful. The snow kept falling through most of Christmas week and except for a couple of forays to finish shopping, I remained ensconced in front of my fireplace. Our older son and girlfriend came on Christmas eve and stayed until this a.m. (the 29th). Christmas day, we had gift opening with lots of pictures and laughs, brunch, some Scrabble playing, Rock Band 2, turkey dinner, more Scrabble playing and Rock Band (last year it was Guitar Hero), then more food and munchies. It was lots of fun. Mind you, I didn't play Rock Band, but it was sure fun watching others play it. Oh, and did I mention wine? As usual, (among other things) first son got me books and second son got me CDs: The books: - A Good Catch - Sustainable Seafood Recipes from Canada's Top Chefs by Jill Lambert (foreward by David Suzuki); and - Hard-Boiled Wonderland and t...

I took this picture because it reminded me of the courtyard at the Castel Sant'Angelo in Rome. It looks like a military garrison (complete with cannon in a corner), but is actually the entry to government buildings. There was a huge gate but nobody around, so I snuck around the corner and took a quick shot. A small local craft market: Lovely little house: I could have spent hours here - cold drink in hand, maybe a book to read while lying in the hammock: Heading back: The big hole in this pier didn't seem to bother anyone. Our ship in the background: Home away from home: We didn't have nearly enough time in Bonaire. I wouldn't mind taking a land-based vacation here. At any rate, land or sea next time, we'll definitely go snorkeling.

To make it easier to load, I'm splitting up my pictorial (the lazy writer's travelogue) into separate posts. As previously mentioned, I loved our little stop in Bonaire. We didn't have much time, so decided to spend it strolling along the waterfront area of Kralendijk, Bonaire's capital. I'm not much of a shopper, so avoided going into "town" and the shops. For those unfamiliar, Bonaire is part of the Netherland Antilles and along with Curacao and Aruba form what is often referred to as the ABC Islands of the Lesser Antilles. This is at the beginning of our walk: In the distance you can see black smoke billowing off the water. More about that later. Interesting buildings and architecture along the way: I couldn't quite figure out if this was a bar or a closed restaurant: The water was unbelievably clear (but what's with the black smoke?): We saw lots of parrotfish that swam right up to the seawall: Fisherman and his fish: Fisherman of a differe...

This just isn't right: The snow accumulation where I live is already around 10cm and the wind chill last night was around -20C. Winters in Vancouver are supposed to be mild, a balmy 6 to 10 Celsius (40s to 50s for those using Fahrenheit), occasionally dropping to zero. Instead, we've had a week of sub-zero temperatures and snow (which is still falling, by the way). This has coincided with my return from sunnier climes and this ol' body is having trouble acclimating! I know many of you on the east coast and in snow belts around the globe are wondering what I'm going on about, but you've got to take into account that the majority of drivers here don't bother to put on their snow tires until the first snow flies or slip-slide around with all-season radials until they figure the snow is going to stick around longer than a day. The reason being that many Vancouver winters consist of one 5cm snowfall followed by rain which effectively clears the roads within 24 to 48...

I feel a tad bit guilty saying this, but I am alive and well and cruising in the Caribbean. Today, we were in Bonaire, a lovely, small gem of an island. Some might say it's boring (very little shopping, few shops and restaurants), but I loved it. The water is crystal clear, teeming with colourful fish and great coral reefs for snorkeling and diving enthusiasts. It's been a great trip and I hope to elaborate more when I get back. We've met some interesting people (lots of Brits and Europeans) and we're having a marvellous time. Most importantly, this brief respite has given us a bit of perspective re the economic melt-down (including our retirement) that is happening worldwide. So, to those who have been concerned (Joy, Mary and others), I am sorry that I haven't posted - I will take twenty lashes of a wet noodle. More when I get back (with pictures).

'Tis the season for unsolicited gifts in the mail. In my neck of the woods, it starts after Halloween runs straight through Christmas. I'm sure I'm not the only household that gets unsolicited freebies from charitable organizations. You know, stuff like Christmas cards, note cards, calendars, notepads, and enough address labels to plaster my entire house. Given that I hardly ever send anything by post anymore, the address labels are practically useless. Yet, over the last number of years, they keep coming and coming and coming. Sometimes they're from organizations that I already support and sometimes they're from organizations that I've never heard of. Usually, there is a nice covering letter either thanking me for past contributions or encouraging me to support their much needed work or new project; they go on to say they've enclosed a "gift" for my invaluable support; and they all have one purpose - to prey on feelings of guilt (because m...

At some point someone will put up the worldwide numbers about who and how many people followed and watched the US election night results. I suspect the numbers will be unprecedented. What I do know is that on election night, Canadians were more than slightly interested in the outcome. Almost everyone I know was either watching TV coverage or following the election results online. My son without a TV went to a neighborhood pub and watched in a party-like atmosphere and when the results came in, everyone cheered, clapped and stomped; here, at home, I watched with my husband; my younger son followed on the internet between working on a research paper; people at the NHL hockey game in town listened with earphones on their radios and when the results were shown on the Jumbotron over centre ice - the hockey fans stood and cheered. We watched John McCain concede defeat in a most gracious and conciliatory speech and we watched Barack Obama deliver an inspiring and hope-filled speech for Am...

We are not doing Halloween this year. There, I've said it for all to see and now will have to follow through (I'm a brown-noser that way). When our boys were young, Halloween was a big deal. There were Halloween parties at school, costume parties at the rec center and the annual neighborhood haunted house to visit. We'd put a flying witch on the door, carved pumpkins on the steps and ghosts in the front window. Costumes were different every year and usually made up from whatever was around (no pre-made store-bought stuff). The number of trick or treaters has been slowly dwindling over the years. Twenty to thirty years ago, we'd get well over one hundred children coming to the door. Sometimes we'd run out of treats and have to recycle some of the candies from our boys when they got home. Ten years ago, we'd still get around eighty to one hundred. Last year, only twelve children came and half of them were neighbours and their friends from across the street. We end...

Here's another poll with very similar results to the one I previously posted , but with a larger number of respondents: If The World Could Vote I know the results are meaningless in regard to the actual outcome, but I think they show something meaningful in another sense. I've been reading comments from (mostly) Americans in various forums and blogs that discount the results. The comments range from accusing respondents of wanting to elect a "terrorist" to destroy the U.S.; to "ulterior motives" because everyone hates Americans; to it's not their country so it's none of their business. My opinion is that these and similar polls, blogs and articles are evidence of a general feeling of frustration - and okay, anger - by those outside the U.S. that Americans don't really care about what happens in the rest of the world unless it's of direct consequence to the U.S. The feeling is that the U.S. tends do anything it bloody hell wants, regardless...

I know it doesn't mean a darn thing, but I voted at The World For . It made me feel better - sort of. If you want to cast your "mean nothing" vote, you can do it on this ballot:

If I had one wish for my life's journey it would be to inspire someone, anyone - whether my children or complete strangers - at least once in a lifetime. I looked up the following poem by Walt Whitman after reading this post on Berry Blog (Charlie is a former teacher). I remember only two teachers in my life who inspired such depth of feeling. O Captain My Captain O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying m...

I've finally changed to a 3-column layout. I've been meaning to try it for some time, but the previous customizations seemed too time-consuming and I was too lazy. The other day, I found a quick, easy customization using Blogger's "Layout" functionality. The instructions are clear and simple, and for those of you who are intimidated by tech talk, you don't need to understand html. If you've always wanted a 3-column blog, try it. It's at Three Column Blogger and has fixes for the more popular Blogger templates.

For a change of pace from all the election news I've been following and to indulge in my favourite pastime of procrastination, here's a Blogthings query (thanks to Joy from Babble On ). What's Your Name's Hidden Meaning? What Ellen Means You are friendly, charming, and warm. You get along with almost everyone. You work hard not to rock the boat. Your easy going attitude brings people together. At times, you can be a little flaky and irresponsible. But for the important things, you pull it together. You are relaxed, chill, and very likely to go with the flow. You are light hearted and accepting. You don't get worked up easily. Well adjusted and incredibly happy, many people wonder what your secret to life is. You are very intuitive and wise. You understand the world better than most people. You also have a very active imagination. You often get carried away with your thoughts. You are prone to a little paranoia and jealousy. You sometimes go overboard in interpretin...

Even though I've been back for awhile, it's taken some time to get back to blogging. It seems like so much has happened both in the world and on the home front that I've been feeling overwhelmed. I even stopped reading my favourite blogs and forums. I forgot how blogging can be therapeutic at times like this. So here are some odds 'n sods that have been on my mind lately. I seldom post anything political on this blog, but came across the following video on Tamarika's blog, Mining Nuggets . It's a piece by Keith Olberman talking about Sarah Palin and pretty accurately encapsulates my thoughts and feelings about the Governor of Alaska: I've been following both the Canadian and American election campaigns. The Canadian election was called on September 7th and, thankfully, we get to vote next week on October 14th. We've had to put up with just over a month of political campaign rhetoric and we're already talking about voter fatigue. Yet, I wonder ...

Quietly contemplating Quixotic causes And the Quintessence of life. Or in short: Quietly questioning.

I had to add this video of K. D. Lang from her performance on the 2005 Juno Awards. It's my favourite version of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah and makes me cry every time I see it.

In 1 day, 6 hours, 35 minutes, 40, 39, 38, 37, 36, . . . seconds, I will be flying off to Hawaii (see this earlier post --> from February ). I meant to put up a Sunday Scribblings post about the continuing saga of Debra , but, alas, between procrastination and the inevitable bill-paying, mail-canceling, arranging for someone to take the hanging baskets lest they die a horrible parched and thirst-quenched death because they need daily watering (why does our friend always gives us hanging baskets right before we go away in the summer?), and packing, well, -- I didn't. I will be gone for about a month. I don't anticipate being back here to post unless I get very inspired (maybe Debra is on a Hawaiian beach) and can drag myself off the beach and into a cyber cafe.

I am the queen of procrastinators. I can procrastinate with the best of them. I could be a professional procrastinator. From outward appearance, I don't look like a procrastinator. Most people think I am very organized, detail and goal-oriented – accomplishing what I plan - and a glutton for hard work. The thing is, I fool people. Whereas it's true that I am organized, detail-oriented, et cetera, like the true procrastinator that I am, I leave everything to the last minute. My endless list-making - which makes me appear as though I'm doing something - is, in fact, one of the keys to my procrastination. Here is my sad and sorry saga: Open an Excel spreadsheet Make a list of things to do (master list) Make sub-lists that detail how I will accomplish the master list Go online and research the things I need to do Bookmark sites I think are useful Take a few detours online via Wikipedia and embedded links from said sites Make a list of the sites I have found online Cut a...

They seem to me amazingly carefree. They have saved up for this trip and they are damn well going to enjoy it, despite the arthritis of one, the swollen legs of the other. They're rambunctious, they're full of beans; they're tough as thirteen, they're innocent and dirty, they don't give a hoot. Responsibilities have fallen away from them, obligations, old hates and grievances; now for a short while they can play again like children, but this time without the pain. - From Margaret Atwood's Cat's Eye (1988) I came across this passage while looking for another quote in Cat's Eye . It embodies much of how I feel about getting older. I'm not sure exactly when the transition occurred; whether it was a definitive moment or a gradual loosening of binds, but the freedom to enjoy for the sake of enjoyment, to be who I am without worrying about how I look to others only came with my added years. It certainly wasn't evident in my youth.

I love watching So You Think You Can Dance . There. I've admitted it. I not only love watching it, I think I'm more than a tad addicted. These past few weeks, I've planned my Wednesday and Thursday evenings around the airing of both the performance and results show. Not only do I watch the original broadcast, but I watch the numerous re-runs throughout the week. If that weren't enough, I go onto YouTube and search for videos of my favourite performances. Once I find them, I replay them over and over. It's all rather pathetic, I know. I've been watching So You Think You Can Dance (SYTYCD to the diehards) since the first season (it is now season four). In past seasons, during the early rounds, I enjoyed watching the dancers adapting to different styles and choreographers; seeing who improved; who didn't. It would usually take me awhile to decide on any real favourites . However, this year, I picked out Katee Shean and Joshua Allen as my favourites...

(Continuation of a previous SS story ). Not your usual pick up, that's for sure. But who said Prince Charming had to come on a white horse? Besides, she'd always wanted a ride in a hot-air balloon. As soon as the gate snapped closed, Debra had a brief moment of self-doubt as visions of a news broadcast flashed through her mind, Witnesses said it looked like a giant fireball as the balloon climbed into the sky and then plunged into the RV Park near the U.S. border. "Oh, stop it! It's only a dream! Enjoy yourself!" She had a habit of thinking the worst. It was a way to shield herself from the inevitable disappointments in life. Her life philosophy went like this: If she could think of the worst case scenario in any given situation and it didn't happen, then she was ahead of the game; wasn't she. Debra could still hear the strains of "Someday My Prince Will Come", but it was morphing into something else. She couldn't quite put her fing...

Along the lines of rambling and thinking out loud (my disclaimer regarding any coherent conclusion to this post) , I was reading Rhea's post on The Boomer Chronicles, Lets Ponder Adult Children Who Move Back Home , where she says: I remember as a young adult going back home temporarily after I’d already gone away to college. It was murder for me. It sort of forced me back into ‘child’ mode. Have any of your kids left home, then moved back in? Is it temporary situation, or is it permanent? Why did they move in — were they between jobs, just trying to save money, or to help you out around the house? Any tips on how to make this type of living situation work? . . . and I couldn't help but wonder if this is a uniquely modern-day (i.e. 20th – 21st century) problem, if indeed it is a problem. There was a time when the family home was the family home once and forevermore – until sold or lost through misfortune. Daughters would move out if they married to live with her husband and his...

“Look at those bear feet! They’re bare!” He's looking at me like I'm nuts. He doesn't get it. Not even a groan. He really doesn't get it. Maybe he'll never get it – my weird, off the wall, blurtings - what I think is funny. But he's so nice! Nice guys don’t come around all that often; or if they do, the rest of the package ain’t so hot - the package with wife and two kids. Let's see. He's kind. He's a gentleman. He's gainfully employed. He's single. But - and it's a big but - he has no sense of humour. At least not my kind of humour. I like to laugh. I need to laugh. What if we could never laugh together? What kind of relationship would that be? Don't get me wrong, I don't spend my life thinking everything is full of yuks. I also happen to be a pretty big cry-baby. I cry over practically anything that moves me. Now, that's another thing, he never knows what to do when I cry at a movie. He'll mumble an uncomforta...

Over the past week, I've been thinking a lot about happiness, prompted by two of my regular cyber-haunts: On Sunday Scribblings , the writing prompt, happy ending , provoked eighty-seven responses (at last count) -- some very touching and insightful, some questioning whether they even believed in happiness or happy endings. On a discussion forum, someone posted an open-ended, "The meaning of happiness _______" fill-in-the blank question, giving rise to responses ranging from a simplistic "choose to be happy and you will be happy" to the very specific, "Freedom makes me happy". This was my response: Quote: Noun: happiness 1. State of well-being characterized by emotions ranging from contentment to intense joy; 2. Emotions experienced when in a state of well-being The longer I hang around, the more often I see myself in the above definitions. It's not a constant state – more like fleeting moments that stretch, meld, dissipate, then reappear when I l...

Linda: Why don't you just get rid of it. Jack: What? Linda: That (pointing at his old rugby sweater). You said you'd get rid of it. You were going to take it to the thrift shop. Jack: I'm thinking about it. Linda: What do you mean 'thinking about it'? Either you are or you aren't. Jack: I like it. It's not like I wear it when we go out or anything. What's the big deal? Linda: No big deal. It just bugs me when you say you're going to do something and then don't. Jack: It's comfortable. It's good to have something around that's comfortable. Linda: And what about the new one I bought for you? Jack: That's different. Linda: What's different about it? Jack: It's not as comfortable. Linda: What do you mean not comfortable? Jack: I said "not as" comfortable. It's broken in – comfortable – I can relax in it. It's good for lounging around – when I can't find somethi...

Debra liked the demented, the dark and the surreal. It reflected her personality. From a young age, she’d realized there was no such thing as happy endings. The pursuit of happiness was for the delusional. To the world, she presented a hard, been knocked around, can take care of myself, so don’t fuck with me veneer. She didn’t believe in fairy tales -- unless they were told by Tim Burton. Yet, in the back of her mind, she harboured the faint hope that there might be a happy ever after for her. Of course, she never allowed anyone to see this hopefulness. So, now, here she was lying on a white sand beach. She couldn’t remember how she got there. She looked down at herself. She was dressed all in white; white slacks, white blouse, white pumps. She strained to remember something – anything. It was surreal; a scene from the Twilight Zone. Wasn’t there a scene like this in Contact where Jodie Foster’s character meets her dead father on a beach? Maybe she was dead. Maybe she wa...

All I remember is how I forgot What he was wearing that night In such a rush out the door. No chance for my usual 'Bye-take-care-I-love-you wave. So when they came to ask I couldn't remember. A Two for Tuesdays bonus prompt. For MADD and Dry Grads everywhere.

If left to my own devices – no job or early morning commitments – I'd be up most nights until dawn. I'm a night person. I like the solitude. I like the stillness. I like the wrap-around black coziness and the inky-black eeriness; the disconnectedness that sometimes leads to hidden and surprising insights to my soul. Perhaps, these insights were there all along, submerged below the surface of my daytime consciousness – unable to break through because of the noise and clutter of everyday life. I don't know. What I do know is that those niggling, back of the brain feelings ignored during the day because I'm too busy or too pre-occupied, break out full blown at night. The solution to problems, so unanswerable during the day, becomes obvious and self-evident at night. Thoughts and feelings, long ago forgotten become unforgotten. At night, all things seem possible. The line between reality and dream; conscious and sub-conscious thin and fade in those late-night hou...

Oriental, the opposite of occidental. That’s what I was called when I was growing up (along with some other more colourful epithets) until Asian became the modifier du jour. I’ve never really understood the vagaries and inconsistencies of modifying people by geography. Nowadays, the terms Asian or African, either in hyphenation or not, are used as all encompassing descriptors of people who may or may not have been born or even set foot on said continent. It supposedly indicates one's ancestral origins – no matter how many generations removed. Yet, we don’t call someone European unless they in fact are -- at the present, in this generation -- from Europe. e.g. Someone visiting from Europe or just landed from Italy – in which case we’re just as likely to call them Italian. Let’s look at this scenario: Here is a diverse neighbourhood with a multitude of ethnicities. Most of the families have lived here for several generations. Why do we say that Mrs. Sandhu is South-Asian; I’...

Life Here comes the ball Whizzing down the lane Straight as an arrow To that sweet spot Strike zone. I've got it Feeling good I'm gonna knock it out of the park. Oops, Curve ball. Strike one. Here comes the ball . . . More Sunday Scribblings

"Quitter!" "Who's a quitter?" "You are." "Just because I don't want to do something anymore doesn't mean I'm a quitter." I don't quit. I give up. Sometimes that's what you have to do. There are times in life when what you are pursuing just isn't worth the time, aggravation and effort anymore - perhaps the pursuit was the real endgame; when you've given it your all and there's no more to give, short of your life or your soul; when it's time to wave the white flag; when it's time to graciously step away and say, "Sorry folks, but I'm done". It's not a bad thing. This is another one of those things I wish I'd known when I was younger, but then again, maybe it's something everyone needs to learn on their own. For Sunday Scribblings

I came upon this Youtube video from a forum I frequent: Love it when Lenore says their hours are "Every Saturday nine to five; anytime by chance; anytime by appointment."

Imelda at Greenish Lady tagged me for this meme: Rules: The rules of the game get posted at the beginning. Each player answers the questions about himself or herself. At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog. Ten years ago: Thank heavens, I still have my 1998 calendar because my memory for these things get a bit fuzzy. Here goes. May 1998: My husband had his one-year post-cancer surgery check-up. It was negative – much to our relief I was running around participating in my older son's Dry Grad events and fundraisers; and driving my younger son to and from orthodontic appointments (x4) I went to a performance of "Stars On Ice" starring: · Kurt Browning · Brian Orser · Steven Cousins · Ekaterina Gordeeva · Josee Chouinard · Shae-Lynn Bourne & Victor Kraatz · Isabelle Brasseur & Lloyd Eisler · E...

Shadows. I'm not afraid of dark and light flickering on the walls of black cats and shadow people poltergeists and ghosts campfire, Halloween and Grimm's tales unbidden from the mind and things that go bump in the night. I'm not afraid. They disappear at first light Don't they? For First 50 Words

Mother's Day has passed and I've spent the last few days reading blogs and articles about mothers. It has put me in an introspective mood about my own mother. Mother's Day is one of the few occasions I think about my mother. The other times are when something significant happens in my life - like the birth of my sons, the death of my father – or when someone comments on how much I look like her. This latter happens less often now as I get further past the age when she died. My grey hair and increasing wrinkles are gradually obscuring what was once clear and unmistakeable. She died when I was about twenty months old. I say "about twenty months" because I've never received a straight answer from my relatives about the exact date. Her gravestone only states the year of her death. From overheard stories, I've gleaned she became ill around Christmas and died shortly after in the following year. Thus, my guess. I have no memories of her. What I know ...

“Nothing.” “There’s no such thing as doing nothing.” “I’m just reading.” “There. You see? That’s not nothing. Reading is something.” “Okay, okay. I’m not doing nothing. I’m doing something; and that something is reading. Happy now?” “I only asked a simple question. Why can’t you just answer a simple question?” Lately, all their arguments started like this. For First 50 Words

I was out walking with dh on one of our port stops last week. On vacation, we like to walk as much as possible and consider ourselves quite fit. We walk at a fairly good clip and tend to overtake and pass most saunterers. This walk was along a popular scenic route in Victoria and several other couples were walking a few metres ahead of us. We were slowly gaining ground on them, when suddenly, one of the couples stopped abruptly in front of us, mid-intersection. We skittered quickly around them - a truck was coming - and we said "car coming" as we passed. The stopped couple, meanwhile, was looking up at a tree; totally oblivious to the truck trying to turn the corner. Now, I must give credit to the truck driver who didn't honk or yell, but rolled forward slowly, waiting for them to get out of the way. They didn't. Not until their companions yelled at them, did they look around and move out of the way. My dh turned to me and said, "I hope we're not like...

I like to think I'm open to new ideas and the use of new technology. I hum along using current technology, perfectly happy and rather smug that I've mastered new gizmos and the concurrent jargon when, WHAM, it's obsolete. The shift-over starts insidiously enough. A few brave souls try out the new technology. It's usually clunky, not that efficient and prone to problems. More people jump on the bandwagon and the technology improves. Then it's like a switch gets flipped. One minute everyone is using the old ABC, the next, they're using the new XYZ. Think about the switch-overs of vinyl LPs to cassette tapes; cassette tapes to CDs; typewriters to word processors; VHS tapes to CDs/DVDs; dot matrix printers to laser; rooftop TV antennas to cable. The list is endless. I'm not exactly sure when everyone else changed from using rotary dial telephones to push button touchtone phones. I only know that our family must have been one of the last holdouts for rota...

Santa Catalina is awaitin' for me" I'm sitting in the lobby coffee bar. Classical music is playing in the background and I'm settling into this peaceful oasis, gazing out the windows, savouring a caramel macchiato. But wait, two couples have converged and are sitting immediately behind me. They are starting a loud conversation - a very loud conversation. They are trying to explain the history of Avalon and Catalina Island to the barrista. I keep hearing snippets of conversation about Wrigley and Wrigley Stadium, dances and casinos. I'm having trouble concentrating. Aaaak. I cannot write. Okay, I've now moved two decks up to a lounge with windows looking out to the Promenade. My fellow loungers (loungees) consist of readers and one couple who look like they're waiting for somebody. The man across from me has a leather-bound journal on the table in front of him and is reading a book by Michael Connelly. I can't quite make out the title, but he seems fairl...

It's May 1st and I've made it through another tax season. Didn't I write a similar post last year? Like my grandfather, I'm repeating myself more and more - something I swore I'd never do - sometimes realizing it - just as often, not. I didn't take into account slower brain synapses and all the convoluted pathways (from all the deep thinking, no doubt) doubling back on themselves in endless automatic playback loops. I just made that up - but it sounds plausible, doesn't it? Anyways, I'll have to go back and check. I digress. Where was I? Oh, right. Finished tax season. In the midst of it all, it seemed like we'd never see the end of it, but we always manage to get everything that needs to be done, done. Somehow. At the moment, my brain is still decompressing. About forty-eight hours ago, my head felt about the size of a twenty pound Halloween pumpkin with accompanying demented, fixed, jack-o-lantern grin. I actually slept in to 7 a.m. this ...

I'm still here and barely keeping head above water. The legs are kicking, the arms are flailing. Just when the water reaches burbling nose level and threatens to overtake horizon of lower lids, a determined scissor kick thrusts me just high enough to breathe again. One more week until tax season is over and I can really breathe a sigh of relief. Every year it's the same. People wait until the last two weeks to bring in their stuff and we're inundated with a seemingly never-ending deluge of paper forms, receipts and what passes for the average person's attempt at shoebox accounting. My biggest beef is with people who have so-called "easy" returns and think they can have them done right away. Even the easiest returns take time. It's the equivalent of hundreds of people showing up at a restaurant - all at the same time, all expecting to be seated and served right away because they just want a simple hamburger and fries. Can't be done. Meanwhile, I ta...

If my life were a dance it would be a free-form interpretative dance; a go with the flow, make it up as you go kind of dance. It would be adaptational and look a little like Isadora Duncan meets Twyla Tharp and American Ballet Theatre. See more from First 50 Words

Arms out Joyous Running Balls to the wind. Eyes wide Heart-thumping Leap Into the black hole of unknowns. Accepting Expecting Love Pain Loss Sorrow Knowing Mortality hovers. Running Leaping Regardless Is fearless. Another Sunday Scribblings prompt .

** I posted a slightly different version of this video yesterday. For those of you who follow American Idol, you'll already know that Jason Castro, one of the contestants sang this version of Over the Rainbow on Tuesday night. It's a version originally done by a beautiful and wonderful Hawaiian singer named Israel Kamakawiwoʻole . He died in 1997 at the age of 38. For those who have never heard the original version sung by Iz, please watch and listen: . . . to remember him and because it's so beautiful.

Found the following on Dancing For Beginners and just had to share: Bathroom Sign In the men's room at work, the Boss had placed a sign directly above the sink. It had a single word on it -- "Think!" The next day, when he went to the men's room, he looked at the sign and right below, immediately above the soap dispenser, someone had carefully lettered another sign which read -- "Thoap!" - author unknown AND in the gents toilet at a small bistro: "We aim to please you ... will you aim to please us?"