shuffle step back

My Grandmother carried gold sparkle house slippers in her purse.

Always.

I can recall vividly stealing the slippers before she had a chance to put them on upon arrival, and sliding around the hardwood floor, while she chased me.

I was reminded yesterday of these as I went on a home visit for work. I was in the entry way, unzipping my boots, and the woman whom I was visiting asked me if I’d like a pair of house slippers for my stocking feet. I smiled and said that was okay, as my feet pulled themselves out of the boots to reveal ankle socks, covering my stockings. I came prepared.

I know it’s a Canadian, and British thing to remove shoes before entering your house, or other people’s, however, I’ve always wondered why the US never adopted this. Wonder what the case is everywhere else.

Personally, I hate socks, so I never wear them at home, but there’s comfort in shuffling around the house in slippers.

hurry up, we’re dreaming

What’s the first creative moment you remember?

She asked, leaning forward clasping her hands under her chin, a bemused smile stretched across her lips.

I kept seeing the Cheshire Cat and envisioned a fluffy tail dancing in the background.

I looked around the room and everyone seemed to be staring at the same invisible spot. Equally stumped by the question.

My first memory is certainly not my first creative moment. Although there is something poetic about running away from home at the age of three and having your Grandmother chase you with a wooden spoon. I made it all the way to the railway tracks, at least 10 blocks away from our house before I was dragged back and to the hospital, where my brother had just been born.

The first time I wrote that story out in full detail, was the first time I knew I wanted to be a writer.

Does that count?

Or would it be the first time I made art on my own; ceramic finger puppets. The most practical thing ever. Way better than a pet rock. Although equally dense.

Or what about the made up figure skating routines, the first play I performed in.

The, the…

This is going to take some time. I’ll get back to you.

What about you, what’s the first creative moment you remember?

and a thousand polka dot dresses too

I’ve always had a bit of a fascination with crinolines. I may have mentioned it here before. I cannot recall.

My grandmothers are to blame. They were both dancers, and I grew up going through their closets playing dress up. Running my fingers through the fine fabrics, which never seemed to make their way into my mother’s closet.

When my Gran died and we were starting to sort things out of her house, I opened the door to a closet in her bedroom, and unearthed 50+ crinolines. Some in their original packaging. They were like this giant wall, and I knew if I took one out, they all would tumble-down.

Yet, despite my fascination, and wanting to hold onto tangible reminders of her, my first reaction was to give them all away.  I was never going to use them, my mom certainly wasn’t, why should we keep them? This is funny considering what I do for a living.

you collect like old stuff, right

I recall my dad being taken aback by my statement. I think he wanted me to want them more or something.

I think about the crinolines whenever I take in an object or deaccession one at the museum now. I always leave it for a few months to sit before I make my finally decision, because circumstances could have changed since the original take in.

And I think about all of her crinolines now, and I hope they are somewhere, twirling.

I know one was kept. A purple one. And I know next time I go to California, I’ll probably take it down from the closet, put it on and run through the yard alongside the grapefruit trees like I did when I was a kid.

I love how a picture can jog a memory.

Something you’ve loved today? Or yesterday…its late.

like broken flowers buried in the snow

Today I found a tape recorder tucked away in a drawer at work.

It was the same model of one that I used to have when I was younger, which I stole from my dad under the pretense of using it for study purposes. I did that some – I used to memorize various terms by reciting them into the recorder and then I would listen back to them.

I would also use the recorder to tape songs off the radio – this was before I had a walkman of my own – and I would also make my own audio books, from my own short stories. I would often send the tapes to my gran in California, along with other musings. She would respond back with a tape of her own.

When we were sorting through her belongings we found a closest full of tapes. She used to exchange them with my grandmother and my dad as well. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to listen to the ones I have from her, but I’ve been holding onto one of the ones I made for her. I know one night when my insomnia kicks into overdrive I will press play. There is always something humourous about finding an old photograph of yourself, but there is something very ominous about listening to an old voice.

I made it my pseudo goal for the year to attempt to send more handwritten/made post, and I did. I think for the coming year I might try and reinstate my tape-letters again. Start off with my family first, perhaps. It was something my brother was never a part of, and I think he would get a kick out of it now.

Although I guess people don’t have the devices anymore to listen. It seems like the life span of technology keeps shrinking. Hmm. I guess I could go digital and make a CD but somehow that doesn’t feel the same.

Did you ever exchange tape-letters?

lawn darts

Every generation has different toys. Some will become classics, and some will forever be questionable. I’m sure somewhere still at my parents house there is a collection of California Raisins figurines packed in tightly next to my Whiz Kid computer and table-top pin ball game. The 80s definitely had some very questionable toy choices, which is why my brother and I would have the most fun picking through my dad’s old toy collection.

I recall this Secret Spy briefcase that would provide hours of amusement. Inside the briefcase came a large toy weapon, which my parents removed and we were just allowed to play with the camera and the briefcase. We didn’t remind them that the briefcase itself shot plastic bullets (oh did those hurt), they soon became wise and took all the plastic bullets but it was still a fun toy to create different scenarios with. Heck, even with just the camera and periscope we managed to have hours of fun. Then again we also spent hours with Lego’s building things and making up new rules to made up games like Can’t Touch The Carpet. It didn’t take much to put us into our own little world.

The reason I got to thinking about kids toys today was after I saw this link to a product called Silly Bandz. They are rubber bands in different shapes…am I missing something here? Anyway…

What were your favourite toys as a kid?

you sprung me, I’m grateful…what now, kid? which way, love?

Oh Stars, you are my winter listening.

With the frost thick on the grass it’s time to get out Set Yourself on Fire. For now though, a tune from In Our Bedroom After the War.

here comes a regular

I live in the ground floor of a house, and my landlord and her family live above.

She reminds me of someone from my past. So much so its kind of scary. The same physical attributes, mannerisms, even the same clothing style.

I didn’t notice it fully until last night when I was leaving for the evening, and she was standing in the driveway watching the children play on the lawn, while attempting to train their new dog (who I am stealing for my own, they just don’t know it yet). She saw me coming, smiled and gave me a somewhat exasperated look towards the kids and dog and it was something in that look that made me stop in my tracks, and I saw my old friend so clearly it was almost blinding, and that just wasn’t because the sun was setting.

I stopped and chatted with her and played with the dog and listen as she vented a bit, and again attempted to figure out again what exactly it is that I do for a living. Her expressions and references make me smile, I feel so at home whenever we chat, and I think she enjoys that I am a bit of a puzzle to her. She offers me tidbits of advice on the long distance relationship and we talk 90s music.

She shares so many resemblances to my friend B, it hurts. It makes me miss my friend of yesterday who is lost in that space, you know the one? Between then and now. I wonder if this is the universe telling me that everything is cyclical. Things are reborn into other things…

Or something like that. Yeah, something like that.

I know this will be on your stereo. Even though I don’t, I know.

where the long shadows grow

I was climbing through the hole in the chain link fence at the Boy’s apartment, heading to A&P, listening to some new tunes when I had a weird deja vu moment…

Rewind two and a half years ago, its sometime after midnight on my last night in my apartment in Kingston. Ali, Annie and I are up to drunken shenanigans in the parking lot. Another chain link fence, another trip to A&P, and I believe a top hat was involved.

I wonder what ever happened to that hat?

Moving causality, I guess. This reminds me I need to replace my cane too.

On a somewhat related note; we were having a discussion the other day, if Mr. Peanut where to speak what kind of accent do you think he’d have?

I reckon British, however the Boy disagrees.

Thoughts?

my dream girl don’t exist, at the age of five she slit her wrists

I bought Living in Clip.

You bought a Pearl Jam album you already had.

On the way home you pointed out that Pee Wee Herman doll I hate, in the window on Princess.

I wonder if its still there. It was when we graduated.

At home the stereo at eleven, in the dark, in daylight.  J tried to drown us out by turning up Primus.

I still hate them.

And he still hates Ani and Tori.

I’m pretty sure you still love Pearl Jam.

cause I do my best work with the mannequin brigade

wow. has this ever been a shitty weekend.

hope yours fared better.

you know what isn’t crap though? green day’s kerplunk album.

i now like it better than dookie. albums change taste over the years, don’t you think so?

yet boys in eyeliner…sigh…still heart breakers. still…