the pomegranate tiger

I've spent the last few days trying to re-populate my blog archives. I could have just hit the 'Publish All' button, but decided that this was a good opportunity to do some organizing and tagging of over three years worth of posts. I began by grouping all the posts that were already tagged as responses to writing prompts. Thus, the "My Scribblings" on the left-hand sidebar. The next step was to quickly review each post and attach appropriate tags before re-publishing. Seems like a plan, but not so easy. I've had a few hiccups along the way. At first, I started with the really old stuff in 2005, then somehow lost track of 2006 and a good chunk of 2007. They were still there. I just kept missing the page they were on. Then, I'd forgotten what some of the posts were about, so had to re-read them in order to properly tag them. (I'm resisting the urge to edit the individual posts, though some of them are in dire need of a thick red pen!). With close...

(This is another piece resurrected from the now defunct First Drafts. It was first posted in January 2006. ) Lydia peered out the kitchen window, trying to get a glimpse of the sky and see what it might portend. Only the usual grey clouds – no sky to speak of. The same grey clouds for the last month. No, that's not exactly true. They were clouds alright and they were grey – but they were always different variations of grey. The light grey of a cool, maybe misty day; the darker grey of impending rain; the clumpy, lumpy grey of possible snow. Today, it looked like rain. Heavy rain. She didn't mind the rain. Other people complained about it all the time. But she found comfort in it. She loved torrential rains best. She loved the sound of the rapid, staccato on the roof and the sound of overflowing gutters plop, plop, plopping outside her bedroom window. Bundled and warm inside, there wasn't a more secure feeling. As a child, she loved walking in the rain. She'd have on her...

. . . not necessarily found. In a fit of frustration, angst and self-pity, I deleted my blog about a week ago. Real life was getting in the way of my blogging. Or maybe blogging was getting in the way of real life. Or maybe it's just the time of year. My ability to compartmentalize seems to be waning (although I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing at my age) and deadline stressors that didn't bother me all that much before are causing, well, stress. At any rate, I decided to shut it down, rethink, reevaluate and just go hide for awhile. Obviously, since I'm here now, I've had second thoughts. The interesting thing is that I have a choice of re-posting all my old stuff (I have it backed up) or starting anew from this point on -- sort of like writing on the first page of a brand new book. I haven't completely decided what to do, but in the meanwhile have some links and gadgets I need to fix.

I saw the following video at The Boomer Chronicle's blog today, Same Sex Couples in California Say, "Don't Divorce Me" about Prop 8 amd Ken Starr's attempt to nullify the 18,000 same-sex marriages in California. In response, the Courage Campaign has prepared a video and letter-writing campaign to the Supreme Court asking Americans to support the fight against what amounts to forcibly divorcing 18,000 couples. Please watch this video. It is wonderful, heart-warming and touching. It puts real faces of real people to that 18,000 number. "Fidelity": Don't Divorce... from Courage Campaign on Vimeo . As a Canadian, my signature doesn't count, but if this means something to you, please go to the Courage Campaign site and sign their letter to the Supreme Court . Time is of the essence as the opening oral arguments will be heard by the Supreme Court on March 5, 2009. You may ask why this Canadian should care about what happens in California. It...

This week's prompt for, Sunday Scribblings is Art. They pose the question: What do you make of art? ugly beautiful meaningful incomprehensible It's junk! It's amazing! Art begs a response The progeny of creativity, it speaks to the soul If the soul begets creativity and creativity begets art Does that mean without a soul there is no art? And if a creation provokes no response, is it still art?

(This is another Debra story. I started writing about her as a lark last June 2008 for a writing prompt. If you want to start at the beginning, click --> here . They read in reverse order, so start from June 20, 2008. I have no idea where it will end, but will continue when and if the mood strikes.) “Where is HERE?” Debra demanded. “Looks like a beach.” Trust Charles to state the obvious. Deb was getting annoyed. No. More than annoyed. Pissed off. No. More than pissed off. The pressure of a can’t take it any more, screeching at the sky, gut-wrenching primal scream was building from somewhere in her core. Clenching her fists, she screamed silently inside her head. Not that it was silent inside her head, but Charles couldn’t hear it. Inside her head, it was a long AAAAAAAAAAAAAAArrrrGh!!! with full glottal stop. She turned and with steely determination smiled at Charles through gritted teeth. “Yes, I know it’s a beach. But what beach? Why? And you didn’t answer me. ...

regrets a retrospective wish list litany of could haves and would haves and if only I had knowns of service only to melancholy and late-night insomnia not the light of day ole blues eyes had it right

It's cold, wet and rainy -- and it's Super Bowl Sunday. For those of you on the other side of the pond(s) who have never heard of the Super Bowl, it is a BIG DEAL championship football (the one with pads and helmets) game in the U.S. It's estimated that 100 million TV viewers will tune in to watch all or a portion of the game or half-time show. For non-football fans, the biggest draw is the half-time show and the half-time commercials. These commercials cost advertisers some 3 million dollars for a 30 second ad. We can't see the ads in Canada (unless on a satellite direct feed) so I'll have to wait for them to be released later. Still, I may tune into the half-time show just to watch Bruce Springsteen do his twelve minute set. Otherwise, I'll give it a pass. My Ramblings New blog to check out: A Literary Cocktail You won't be sorry. It's well-written, witty and about -- well -- you'll see. A year ago today, I blogged F is for Family or Faking I...