This is my hood?

Photo taken here. 

Someone left this, uh, important message on a sidewalk barrier.

What do you suppose it means?

#deeppeoplewithsharpies

Wordfuse (Snacks Edition)

Sometimes one may need to disengage disengorge from snarfing down all the majority of the junk food in the damn hotel honour snack bar.

Things that are most likely the devil:

Can't. Resist. Freakin. Cheezies.

the hotel "honour" snack bar in my room.

"For your convenience during your stay, we've provided an honour bar which will be replenished daily. Please present this form upon departure at the front desk. All items are $2 each... If charges are not posted prior to checkout, your credit card will be late charged. [Neener neener.]"

#passiveaggressive
#cheeziesaddiction
#missvickies99%fat
#eatingakitkatrightnow
#the4foodgroupsaresugarsaltfatalcohol

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

sometimes, when I read a book, a particularly useful book, I have a tendency to do this sort of thing.

#stickynotedependence
#mayaswellhighlighteverything
#norhymeorreason
#overzealousmuch?
#theressomethingwrongwithme

Just lower your standards.

Some people don’t believe in miracles. I guess I understand that. I can’t prove miracles happen any more than the next person. Nor can I disprove them and that’s why I’m open to them. In theory.

Now don't think I dismiss theories as less important than facts. For example, we all drive down the highway based on the theory that drivers are going to remain on their own side of the line. Sadly, that is a theory, not a fact. And yet we keep on driving, sometimes even blissfully singing to the music as we go. 

So anyway, since miracles are not really provable, I wonder if we should be more interested in the miracles' effects rather than the miracles themselves. You know what I mean right? That appreciation for the wonders. That sudden rush. That joyfulness. Isn't that what's more important? And we need plenty of that in our lives. We just do. So here's my pea-brained suggestion: just lower your miracle standards and then I honestly think you will see miracles do indeed happen. All. The. Time. Examples: 

True story: we were sitting around the campfire one evening not long ago when someone pulled out the fixings for s’mores and then suddenly out come these JUMBO marshmallows. Have you seen these things?! They look like toilet-paper rolls! I had to take pictures. Miracle!

True story: I recall at least once my wife told introverted me that I had no choice but to go to some big social event that I absolutely did not want to attend and then what happened? It was cancelled. Miracle!

True story: I was nervous about a meeting I had to go to recently but when I returned home for supper my wife was actually DEEP-FRYING potatoes. Miracle!

True story: our plumber told us our new dishwasher would magically stop leaking. It did. (I think it did.) Miracle!

True story: my son lost his wallet a few times so when my wife noticed it in some random location yet again, she hid it. Her goal was to teach him to be more conscientious and responsible but when he finally noticed it was missing, she couldn’t remember where she hid it. The “lesson” sort of failed but then about a week later, he found it. Miracle! 

True story: sometimes people read my blogging drivel. Miracle!

Sometimes

Get help.

My Uncle Perry always smelled funny.

And when he banged on our door late some evenings I would always turn off the TV to watch him. Not because I wanted to. I had to. He was his own TV show. Not a sit-com though, not a comedy at all. Yet I laughed. And so did my parents, but I noticed my Dad shake his head and stare at the floor sometimes. I guess I learned from my Uncle Perry that sometimes people laugh because there's nothing else we can do.

Uncle Perry was loud. And big. He liked to slap his hands on his knees. Sometimes he would want to dance with my mother. They would waltz around the kitchen and my Dad would drink his coffee and open and close his fist. I felt sorry for my Mom turning in circles and circles, her brown curls bouncing, her chin pushed toward him, a smile painted on her face. When it was over she would reach for her cigarettes while Uncle Perry sat with his elbows on our kitchen table, his head hanging down like something almost unhinged, like a flower long past blooming and about to drop from the stem.

Maybe he was crying?

How would I know? This was thirty years ago. I was just a kid sitting in the living room hoping he wouldn't come in there. Sometimes I think I still am.

This is my hood.

"Never bend your head. Always hold it high.
Look the world straight in the face."
~Helen Keller
Thanks Pickleope & Nubian.

Wordfuse (Misunderstood Edition?)

I'm talkative. Often gregarious. I work with people. I am a leader in a variety of ways. I can speak publicly. I want to make you laugh. I'm assertive. I'm not afraid to express my point of view. Sometimes I don't even know when to shut up. I'm social. I have a minor in Drama. I even dress up for Halloween.

But more than all of this I am truly an introvert.

Although I hadn't yet learned the word, I absolutely knew this when I was a child. My hiding place was the roof of our house in Saskatchewan, one particular nook where I could disappear. I found it so comfortable there. You'd be surprised how rarely people look up. It was perfect for an introvert like me: hiding in plain view. In the middle of things yet not.

As much as I loved being alone then (still do), immersed in my imagination (still do), my thoughts morphing like clouds (still do), I wanted intimacy too. Still do. I crave it. People don't understand this about introverts. So I became an extrovert. And thank goodness I developed a lot of very useful people skills over the years even if it was exhausting.

But I don't play those games much anymore. And when I do I feel sort of fake. So I smile. Step back into the crowd, out of the light (onto the rooftop). Be standofftothesideish, not standoffish. Nor aloof. Or snobby. Please don't think that about me ever. I hate snobs. I detest pretension. It's just that now, in social situations, I know I'm not going to become friends with everyone. And I don't want to. And I certainly don't want to be the center of attention. Even so, I still want to know you.

Extroverts siphon their energy from others. If they don't have those sorts of opportunities for a while, they become bored, anxious, even angry. At least this is how it seems to me based on the three extroverts I love and live with. (Well maybe one of them is a little like me?) I am the opposite. Yet I must remember this about them, be understanding. At the same time though, I hope they don't forget about me because although I may not be outgoing, I am certainly ingoing.

Things one should never outgrow:

Thanks, Mia. 

marshmallows, especially toilet-paper-roll-sized marshmallows used to make s'mores.

Little Liebsters!

I like this word. (I like to imagine Heidi Klum saying it to me.) Apparently it means "beloved" or "dearest" or even "my love." I'm going to start calling my teens my little liebsters in hopes that it will make them docile.

In the meantime, I humbly thank both Life of Riles and Less than Perfect for cranking their spotlights over to my blog. I too would like to shine some light on my favourite blogs so simply look right, scroll down and find my blogroll. They're my little liebsters too but they don't usually back-talk me. If you'd like me to be more specific, I offer three blogs that intrigued me today.
1. Nostomaniac ~quirky times nine and she loves calculator watches.
2. Semi-Coherent Thoughts ~a bit of a micro-blogger; self-described social commentator.
3. Munk Davis ~I like the way he thinks too much.