Three Bagels

Three Bagels

Christmas Eve morning and I’ve set off to begin my day. I’d planned to stop at a City Cafe for wood fired bagels. Just three, as a treat (along with the many other treats) for over the holidays. I open the door to the bakery and the place is crammed with bodies. I scoot around to the far side where there is a pocket of space to get to the box that holds the bagels and then I realize all these people are in line for bagels and the box is empty. Back I go to take my place in line with empty brown bag in hand. Where my original choice begins to wobble. I only wanted three, is it really worth it? And then I hear from myself, “Yes it is, just wait.” The room is warm from the open oven, the smell of fresh bread, flour misting through the air, the radio playing a choir singing Christmas carols fills the space that is left and everyone waits patiently. For a moment from observing those ahead of me who are already sporting full bags, I think, “Bagel Hoarders.” And then I hear from myself, “It doesn’t matter.” And it doesn’t. We will all get what we need, in due time. I remain to stand and take it in. The woman making the bagels appears oblivious to the throngs of bagel lovers standing with open bags, watching her every move, monitoring her. Is she good at what she does, is she fast enough, how does she know when they are done, there’s no timer going off, is she doing...
Which Route Do I Take?

Which Route Do I Take?

I’m driving on a street in the city. Today there has been some construction, which wasn’t there the last time I traveled in this direction. But it’s the city and it’s summer and what is one way today isn’t necessarily the same way tomorrow. I’m following two SUV’s. I also drive an SUV.  There are  two lanes and in one is a huge piece of asphalt cut out of the pavement, then a gap follows where in the next lane there is another piece, the same size cut out. Each piece is a few inches deep. The first SUV maneuvers through like a veteran contestant on “The Amazing Race” around the one section with the utmost precision  through the gap and on with their journey. The second SUV comes to an abrupt stop attempting to drive through the cut-out ever so slowly as to not cause damage to their vehicle. It’s focus, only on what is directly in front of them, not even entertaining an alternative route. I am given the same choice.  I can take the hole in the pavement or I can move smoothly through the gap never having to slow my speed.  Yes!! I choose the easier route! I leave the second SUV behind driving gingerly through the hole in the road. It felt good to know I had grown to allow myself an easier experience. There would have been a time that I would have been the SUV that took the more difficult route, so entrenched in struggle. But no longer. Here I am in a “Yahoo” moment! The reality inside the vehicle left behind...
They Didn’t Wait For Me

They Didn’t Wait For Me

Runners on, that don’t run — but they do power walk and I’m out the door. On the way to Rockway Gardens to enjoy the tulips. I arrive and something is terribly wrong. Where are my Monet pallets of colour? Am I seeing things? All I see are overturned beds of earth. Dark, clumps of earth. Dirt, just dirt. How did this happen? Spring took forever to arrive and then ‘poof’ it’s gone. I’m thinking the gardeners must have just pushed through the season, it’s not right, that they didn’t wait for me. The tulips, they didn’t wait for me. Once home, still sure that I’d been robbed of my tulip moment, I pull up last years tulip photos. There they are under the date, May 18th. Today is May 28th. Ten days. I’m ten days late.  That night I walked along the street and breathed in the heady fragrance of lilacs and lily of the valley and looked up to the near full moon. This I wouldn’t miss. So many moments we want to experience, but it falls into the category of; ‘I’ll do it later.’ Sometimes later is too late. We miss the moment. I sit with this and mullonder. A mull and ponder, hence mullonder. I ask my daughter, Holly to take in the film, The Book Club and she’s working. “You go ahead Mom,” she tells me. Then I get a phone call and the kids have a ball game that night and she’s working. I ditch the movie for baseball and then another call comes in. “I’m done early now, all is well, you...
Is It Really About A Camel and A Piece of Straw?

Is It Really About A Camel and A Piece of Straw?

He walk’s back and forth waiting, waiting to hear the one thing, the one more thing that will be that moment that validates his need to pounce and begin the attack. It’s not the one thing that is the source of the attack, it is what’s been brewing inside for days, months, perhaps even years. And so it is for the camel. It’s not that one extra piece of straw that breaks its back. It’s the heavy loads of straw day after day that the camel is forced to carry. Then one day, one extra piece of straw is added and the camel, turns its head towards its owner and through his eyes says, “Really? Well, screw you, I’m done!” The camel folds his knees under him and collapses to the ground. Long before we ever reach that moment of graceless lashing out, at an unsuspecting soul, the innocent bystander or even the guilty party; our inner self has alerted us to an imbalance. The Divine Voice that whispers, “Yoo-hoo, yes you. You’ve outgrown this friendship. This job; you know it’s not a good fit for you. Your relationship; you’ve been unhappy for how long now? That shirt, I know you’re not blind. Can you not see that the buttons are ready to pop? So either put the donut back in the box and start walking or buy a bigger size.” Everything from having to experience sugar withdrawal to perhaps investing in a lawyer to get through the Big “D” (divorce), to having to find a new BFF and therefore, have no one to go to the movies with...
Doesn’t Anybody Love Me?

Doesn’t Anybody Love Me?

There are times when I feel a Sarah Jessica Parker character and I are kindred spirits. Don’t be alarmed, I’m not talking Carrie Bradshaw from Sex in The City, we all know that would be an elaborate fantasy. This is more Meredith Morton from the 2005 film, The Family Stone. It’s Christmas and she arrives at her boyfriends family home, the Stones, where she is to meet everyone for the first time. She can do nothing right and everything just goes from bad to worse. No one likes her, they’ve decided this before they’ve even met her. They set her up to fail as they are all in need of a good laugh. Criticism abounds, so they can feel better about themselves. At one point she is covered in an uncooked egg dish she had planned to make for Christmas morn, she crashes a car and in front of everyone finds out her boyfriend doesn’t want to marry her. Then on top of everything, she is feeling complete shame for having got drunk and woken up in her boyfriends brothers bed, to be told that he didn’t take advantage of her and had slept on the floor. More rejection! She throws her hands in the air and in a tearful voice, cries out, “Doesn’t Anybody Love Me!?” There you have it. Sarah Jessica and I have bonded. And then it’s Christmas eve morn and there is a knock at my door. I’m still in my robe and slippers, I’m not sure if I’d even brushed me teeth. “Dear Lord, who could this be?” It’s my dear friend, Tonya. She’s...
A Good Growl Says It All

A Good Growl Says It All

  Mae is now four, but her ability to growl started a year before at the age of three. When Mae didn’t feel in the mood for conversation rather than ignore you, turn away or simply look at her feet she took to responding with a sound that came from deep inside of her and vibrated from her throat, “Grrrrr!” Now I’m not big on coaxing and I don’t believe in bribing, so I was content to be at peace with the Growl. What is it we tend to say to the quirks of children? “They’ll grow out of it.” However, Mae has continued to grow and her growl has remained to grow with her. As I said, coaxing and bribing I don’t do. Instead I felt there was merit in the Growl so when Mae answered my questions with a “Grrrrr” I replied with a “Grrrr.” Back and forth we go, rather like duelling banjos. No strings to strum, just vocal cords        to orchestrate. We’d compete in loudness and the ability to create different levels of sounds from inside us. Back and forth, back and forth until one of us caves and collapses into giggles. Mae then abandons the growl and talks. We discuss what she’d like to amuse herself with now and go about our time together. Mae’s Growl has advanced to somewhat of a dialogue. It’s not just to express that she isn’t interested in conversing. It’s also to vent when she’s not happy, to release frustration, to get your attention, to announce intense dissatisfaction. I too have to admit I’ve taken the...
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