writing with purpose daily

I just wrote that and I don’t get the concept. Mostly because I don’t do it. In the age of texting lol and idk and such I am attempting to recapture my gradeschool grammar. I can’t remember it, grapple with recalling it and even worse, often fail at executing it. It’s a wonder I can remember “i” before “e” and the like. Hell, it’s amazing I can manage to spell at all anymore.

This is the sad state of my English, the only subject I did well in, actually excelled at, once upon a time. My latest endeavour into folly is the notion that I could actually write a book. When I thought about it more I thought about perhaps delving into bad poetry, or better yet give the haiku a shot but then reason prevailed when I realized I could not disguise poor, nonsensical writing as esoteric poetry. It just seemed wrong. So I am hitting the www at large and Pinterest for outline strategies, writing tips and skills, anything that might…oh crap what is the word…facilitate (yes!!) the bit of writing fancy I might  undertake.This is no mean feat. I’d rather go out in the garden and do some weeding or find a box to move. At least I’d be doing something.

So as I listen to a grasshopper flap its way across the parched landscape and feel the warm breeze move past me, I ponder, I think, wonder and even give my head a shake or two, but there is a determination that persists. It speaks to me and says “Let’s give this a go, finallt.” There’ll be no marks for execution or style, just a kudos now and again for having stayed the course. That will be the toughest trick of all. The toughest I’ve ever tried and I’ve downhill skiied before. Is that relevant? Probably not. It’s just flip and for a moment I thought pretty damn clever.

02.15.17 Memory is imagination

I remember that night, or at least parts of it. A friend posted a photo on Facebook today and I remember that evening. It made me smile. I remember a lot of that time and those memories sustain me. My memory now is not nearly so reliable. There’s four of us in the photo. My friend Jay and I are pointing at the camera with the wide smiles. You can see the unbridled joy in our faces the other two not so much. Perhaps they were reluctant to go. Probably. It was very late, going on 3am. I probably chose to ignore their reluctance being that one of them was my boyfriend of the time. Even though there was a lot of wine involved a part of my brain recalls it as if it were–well not yesterday–but part of my very recent future. I can tell you I’ve not had a night like this in recent history. That evening was a bit of a blur but when I saw that picture it was as if I was transported back to that time. A good deal of some of my best social memories were forged in my 5 years in Toronto. I know they can’t be replicated and I know that much has changed. People have moved away and moved on but still I am wistful for those times. I tend to the sentimental. I can’t help myself.

We arrived at the party very late; in the wee hours after having attended a couple other parties. As people are wont to say, we were well lubricated. The cab arrived to the address and we spilled out, laughing and carrying on fresh with memories of the gatherings we had just left. It had been a fantastic evening. It could have ended there but none of us were ready for bed just yet. We had left the previous party before we intended so we could get to this address, thinking that party might end before we got there. We were on a mission.  It was destination number 4. Regular social butterflies we were.  The address had been given to us verbally so we questioned that we had arrived at the right place; none of us were entirely sure especially since the home the cab pulled up to was shrouded in darkness.  Undeterred we strode up to the door and rang a bell hoping it was the right one. It was. The party was in the upper rear of the house explaining the why of the darkness. We joined it in apparent full swing. The small loft was packed with people and I confess the names of any of them I was introduced to didn’t stick including the vague bit of memory of the host. I was in a little bit of heaven when I saw there was a karaoke machine, but I couldn’t get my hands on the bloody thing. After a some serious merrymaking and laughs, the two less than enthusiastic compadres called it a night so we piled back into a cab to ferry us home. I’m sure I fell into bed and asleep in moments. Yes, those were the days.