My Secret

I meant to link this song to last night's post.
I laid in bed for a while and thought about it, replayed it in my mind.
To me, it is almost biblical in its power to heal.
I remember back in the early 1990s when I was hurting over a failed business venture with friends, and I ate a lot to drown my sorrows. I didn't drink but I swallowed miserableness and potato chips in large, equal measures. And I remember a friend of ours, Richard, who could be caustic but was always good to me. He said to me one day, "what has happened to you? You used to be the hottest person I knew and now look at you."
Look at me, overweight in spades, crumbs on my shirt, grease in my hair, sadness and terror etched on my round face.
His words cut me to the quick.
I banished him from my life.
Other people had hurt me worse, but for some reason I focussed my hate on him. It festered in me. It hurt my broken heart like peroxide bubbled in an open wound. Because I trusted him. It's always about trust. Every broken heart is borne of broken trust.
And then one day I sat in the rocking chair in the kitchen, rocking slowly, staring out the window, listening to the radio quiet and low.
And this song came on.
This perfect song.
And I cried like a baby, cried like the tears would never end, cried for Richard, cried for lost friends and ruined opportunities and abandoned fortunes.
And I forgave him.
I remember back five years ago when I discovered my ex was cheating on me and I hit him with a Dr. Seuss book and I bit a cop's thumb and I spent a night in jail and I lost my children, and I remember this song.
I remember driving back somewhere in the dark night, and it came on the radio, and I cried for lost love and lost children and a loss of life as I knew it.
And I forgave him.
This is the song.

Six Ways to Happy

Misty morning on Kiosk.

There is so much sadness in the world.
I'm not even talking about the big tragedies.
Just the personal ones. The small ones. The ones that consume people's lives.
I have my own battles, of course – I mean, who doesn't? As much as I carry on like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, as much as I have to be happy about (and I have so much), there are times when sadness envelopes me in a sloppy, suffocating kiss.
I have come to think no matter what we have to be happy about, it is never enough.
We are always looking for the next emotional high, rarely pausing to appreciate the small happiness we have already.
It does no good to encourage a sad person to count the things they should be happy about.
They are sad because they want to be.
They like it that way. They must.
Why else do they cling to things best forgotten? Why else can't they move on with what is left of their short lives?
I am surrounded by sadness, it seems.
I try to be a cheerleader, to encourage, to share what small wisdoms I have gleaned in the fight to be happy.
These truths are:
1. Forgive those who have hurt you. Never forget. Never let yourself be a punching bag. But forgive. This is the most important thing you will ever do.
2. Get help. See your doctor. Medication can help.
3. Exercise your body and your mind will be clearer.
4. Find something you love to do and do it.
5. Laugh every chance you get.
6. Live passionately.
Even cheerleaders get the blues, however. And sometimes the pom-poms become so heavy that I can barely lift them.
That's ok, though, because I know I am just tired.
Tomorrow, if I am lucky, I will live to fight another day.
And I will be happy.
Because I want to be.

Really? Tonight?

Credit: Diane deGroat

So, it's only Wednesday night, too early to be worried about #fridayflash.

Because I always write flash on Thursday night. Don't you?

But then I realized I'm going camping tomorrow morning. To a place with no cell service and therefore no internet.

Huh, I said to myself.

Does that mean I have to write a story tonight?

But I haven't even got an idea yet... well, sort of an idea... but does an idea constitute an entire story?

Huh, I said to myself,

And hey, the American Idol results show is on tonight.

Can I write a story around the American Idol time frame?

Huh, I said to myself.

And I have to phone my mother and my kids before I go, because I won't be talking to them for four days. Can I phone my mother and my kids and watch American Idol and finish packing and write a story?

Hell, I don't know.

Well, actually I do.

I wrote one.

Whether or not it's worth a hill of beans is really up to you.

By the way, since I will be in the middle of nowhere, I won't be reading and commenting on any flash, either. I do promise I'll be back with clear eyes on Sunday night, ready to see what everyone is up to.

I hope I don't miss much.

I do hope that Lynda and Mark and CJ post a flash. Lynda is just new and Mark is almost new and CJ has been too busy working out to bother writing. But I do miss her stories and I hope she throws one into the ring.

I hope Mom finishes her quilt.

I hope the boys have a great weekend and do more than play video games.

I hope that Peggy has a wonderful writerly time in New York City. Lucky broad. And I also hope she wins that writing competition she's been busy with.

I hope Laura writes about Death and Chronos again.

I hope Laurita and Alan don't think I've been smoking something for writing weird comments on their blog and I sincerely hope Alan's dog is not dead.

I hope Kat gets over that mysterious and evil man she's been blogging about lately. Either that or he comes to his senses and gets back with that sexy woman.

I hope Deb writes lots of funny things about anal husbands and funny golden labs named Lucy.
I hope Lou and Carrie and Liz get feeling better. 

I hope Anthony gets to come out of the basement once in a while and John makes it out of the bathroom.

I hope Mark does well in his speaking engagement.

I hope Aaron makes out ok with all those pot-licking kids.

I hope everyone at work doesn't miss me too, too much, even though I am rather indispensable.

I hope Vic's key works. I hope Leah finds lots of typos in Jason's ads.

I hope the ants piss off.

And I most sincerely hope me and Dave catch lots of big fish.

Oh, I also hope he's not asleep yet.

Good-night everyone. Sleep tight. And don't let the bed bugs bite, ok?

The Fish Are Waiting

Tonight we stowed sleeping bags, marshmallows and deet.
Strawberry jam, Jiffy Pop and enough bacon to start a new pig.
Gasoline, lifejackets, paddles and an anchor that almost, but not quite, weighs as much as me.
Dog food, dog leash, pretty pink dog sweater, just because.
Mepps, dew worms and freshly strung poles.
Axe, pocket knife, compass, granola bars.
Cards, potato chips, high-test Coca-Cola. OK, and maybe some rum. Definitely some Bailey's for coffee.
And a book.
Tomorrow night we throw the boat on top of the Jibberty.
We hook up the trailer, and check the lights.
And run through the list, just one more time.
Thursday morning we wake up before the birds and migrate north, to Kiosk, to Algonquin, to the first trip of this new season, to fat lake trout and blackflies the size of rock bass.
To adventure and bliss.
But that is still two sleeps away.
There is still tonight.
And tonight a blue moon shines through the clouds, shines through the white pine, shines through my window.
It paints the face of my true love with soft light, and the face of my dreams with great expectations.

The Blackfly

OMIGAWD!
I swear I am related to this woman.
Deb, over at My Great White North, just tickles me with her blog. Always funny, wry dialogue accompanied by funny, wry photos, usually of her dog, Lucy, and their escapades in the great white north. I don't know Deb, not personally, but I think we've become really good blog acquaintances and I sing her praises every chance I get.
Today, though, today she blew my socks off.
Deb posted my FAVOURITE song/video in the whole WORLD.
The Blackfly is a quintessential north Ontario favourite. It's been around, I dunno, for YEARS as a National Film Board short but the song was written in 1949 by a guy who was sent up north to do surveying and was overwhelmed by the nasty blackfly.
Do me, and yourself, a favour. Pour yourself a cuppa joe, go to Deb's blog and settle back for five minutes of BIG FUN!
Then come back and tell me what you thought!
Oh, and while you're visiting? You might want to peruse Deb's other offerings. I look forward to her stuff every single day. She is a little known treasure of this place we call Muskoka.
And Deb? Seriously, we have to have coffee some day.
Click HERE.