I helped Colin out with his Fearless Freelancing site yesterday. I was just reading through some of his advice on marketing and networking. I'll definitely have to read more. His specialty is speech writing. Can you imagine hearing others speak your words as if they were their own? I can't. So often I don't feel I have the ability to put words in my own mouth effectively...
Following up on my last cheerful entry, and seeing as I'm awake, I grant you a new slice of life: the bee and crocus. This is what I love digital cameras for. I watched bees at the crocus patch in my yard the other day, and took quite a number of mundane and even bad shots. But a few were pretty good, I think. At least there was some great detail of the bees.
Haven't gotten around to setting up a gallery yet but I plonked a few of the photos here.
I bought a Nikon Coolpix 4300 just before Christmas. I'm enjoying it. Good to have jumped into digital finally. I think I made an okay choice. At least now I'm familiar enough to shop more effectively next time. And of course there will be a next time :)
I just realized that it's been two years and a few hours since I lost my grandpa Art. Strange for me to be awake at this time, and thinking of him. I hadn't remembered the date until about an hour ago.
Quote (more or less) from my diary Feb. 23/02:
Kenton woke me just after 1 a.m. to tell me the hospital had called and I should go to him. I started crying right away. I thought how can I do this? How do they know it's time? Maybe it's not...We got there by 1:30 a.m. He was unresponsive, eyes open but not blinking, hardly moving. His (right?) eye would mvoe a little but it was like automatic, not following me. He had an oxygen mask on. They said the night before he'd gotten blue in the fingers and somewhat unresponsive. So I didn't know, would this be it. Could he hear me? Did he even know I was there?
What do I say? There's no words for his meaning or my love. I asked him if it's time. Said 96 years is a long time. Maybe it's time to go.
I just mostly held his hand and stroked his head. Lots of moments I wasn't looking at his eyes. I happened to be when one tear fell from his right eye.
Kenton told me Art had only breathed 6 times in the last minute (2:17 a.m.).
He said "He hasn't breathed for some time now".I was too busy searching for connection in his eyes to have noticed...
How incredibly fortunate we both were. To have each other. For me to have been there at that time. For him to have lived and died pretty much on his own terms. Even though it was difficult at times. How priveleged I am to have known him.
I don't remember meeting him. I think I was maybe five. He had a boat in our marina - converted fishing boat. (Named "Athalia" after his wife Natalie. Tilly.) He always said we'd met when he asked us if we liked lemonade. "Why sure" we'd said. He would chuckle, "From then on, I had regular customers."
I'm amazed that it's been two years but the grief can feel so fresh sometimes. So much of what I am I owe to him.
I love mozilla but god help us, there is a reason IE has most of the market share. Problems I've had with Mozilla lately:
Is there no perfect browser?
Reay alerted me to the results of the The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. (Apparently he's the guy that wrote "It was a dark and stormy night...")
The winning entry begins: "They had but one last remaining night together, so they embraced each other as tightly as that two-flavor entwined string cheese..." I've been in that embrace. I think I was the white cheese -- I'm no bland cheddar.
But seriously, folks. These entries are hilarious. Like this one by Nicholas R. Eaton:
Although Sara could believe the brassiere she had found was from a mix-up at the laundromat, that the lipstick on Bill's collar really had been from a cramped elevator, that the stiletto heel was indeed something the cat dragged in, when she pulled Chloe's unmistakable prosthetic arm from under the bed, she realized she had been played for a fool.
On that note, it's bedtime.
So my last post was vague on specifics, kind of intimate about feelings. I always struggle with what details belong on my site. How much of my life fits into varying degrees of privacy?
Most of the world doesn't care a damn about my life; there's way more interesting things to put before our voyeur selves than my life. With most of the remaining people, I would share far more detail than I'd put on my site. So what's the difference if they read it here? But that last portion, the ones that just sort of know you but not on a really deep level... I guess I consider them when I post and I think "would I want them to read this"?
Do you have a personal site? What are your self-censorship theories?
I've had an exciting week. Mostly in a good way. It's only Wednesday but I feel like it should be Friday, so much has happened this week.
A few weeks ago I felt like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Now I kind of can't sit still or sleep a lot of times because I'm so excited. Though don't get me wrong, I still sleep like a boulder most of the time ;)
Amazing the feeling of relief when you think your life is turning upside down & out from under you. And it doesn't.
Amazing what can happen when you just put your intention out into the universe. (Sometimes I am *so* my mother's daughter.)
OK, so I'm a latte-sipping suburbanite*. Get over it. No, I'm not American, but I am (surprise, surprise) anti-GW. Read his resume for a laugh and a cry: pdf or html
*I cringe at helping to boost this rant any higher in the search engines. But hey, that's the web for you.
Another weird dream last night. I don't remember the order of things but pieces:
I'm planning to quit my job, move to Victoria with Aleria and go to school. Only I've left the apartment planning to her and I don't think it got done, where will I live? Maybe this is a bad idea.
Leaving some place in the night, I'd kind of been held captive but they don't appear to be chasing me. I'm walking and running through hilly, unfamiliar neighbourhoods. Then I'm following some little people up a mountain. Rock climbing. We make it to the peak, they scramble over like it's nothing. I sit there clutching rocks for dear life. Some are loose. I look over the peak down at the back of some big statue head, maybe it's Buddha. It's in a little village.
I reach out for a branch to hold on to while I get over the peak, but it's deadwood. I disturb a freakingly large snake that's in the tree a few feet from me. Luckily there are two snakes in the tree. With my stick I poke them into fighting each other and forgetting about me.
Such weirdness.
I had a long weekend; took Friday off. I think I slept for half the weekend. Wow, it's nice to be well rested. When I get lots of sleep, I remember dreams for a change. Unfortunately that means a head on collision on the Queensborough bridge in the middle of the night last night...
Watched "Swimming Pool". If anyone out there understands the little twist at the end, please enlighten me. I'm confused.
