Cattitude and Gratitude

I am participating in the BarAThon with the blogging group, Blog a Rhythm for the weeks of June 14 to 30th. Today is the final prompt. We made it! Congratulations to my fellow bloggers and thanks for reading and supporting me. Always appreciated! Today's prompt is "The Call of the Wind." I got my inspiration thinking about walking along Point Michaud on the Atlantic, located on the East coast of  Canada in Cape Breton, a place I love very much. The Call of the Wind The call of the wind is beckoning me It reaches out from the angry sea, With a darkening sky and clouds so low The wind is calling and I must go, I stand so still and let the wind blow I should go back but my feet won’t go, Wind rips at my hair and stings my eyes The wind squeals and shrieks, with pitiful cries, I stand on the beach and look at the ocean Watching the waves with their steady motion, Wave after wave crashes on the shore I watch them recede on the sandy

I am participating in the BarAThon with the blogging group, Blog a Rhythm for the weeks of June 14 to 30th. Today's prompt is "Suns and Lovers."  “Is that a new Chica he’s with today?” I asked, squinting against the intense Cuban sun. I reached for my glasses to see more clearly. Both of us hid our pudgy pasty white Canadian bodies under the blue sun umbrellas. Back home we never got exposed to intense sun like this, especially not while working our office jobs for the federal government in Ottawa during winter.  “Yes, it is. I hope he’s paying her well for her escort services. She looks young enough to be his daughter. It’s sickening!” Gabby said, frowning. We watched a balding middle aged man in a skimpy bikini bathing suit that left nothing to the imagination, his big pale white beer belly so white and prominent. He walked hand in hand with a tanned young Cuban woman along the beach. “It was a cheap vacation. What can I say?” I said with a

I am participating in the BarAThon with the blogging group, Blog a Rhythm for the weeks of June 14 to 30th. Today's prompt is "Lord of the Files." I was inspired thinking of all the computer nerds I've worked with over the years in my job as a desktop publisher. Often they lacked in social skills, but on the computer they were boss and we relied on them a lot to solve our computer woes. They were definitely "Lord of the Files." Have you seen that Martin Stiles? Also known as Lord of the Files, Total misfit, what a geek! Pale and pimply, thin and weak, He spends every moment in front of the screen His skin all pasty, with a tinge of green, Most folks dismiss him without a glance They don’t even give the guy a chance, On the computer, it’s a different story That is when he’s in his glory, He works in the room with the massive server Backing up our files with amazing fervour, We can call on him for computer grief

I am participating in the BarAThon with the blogging group, Blog a Rhythm for the weeks of June 14 to 30th. Today's prompt is "War and Pieces." I did a poem for today's challenge. War and Pieces Pieces of shrapnel, pieces of bone Pieces of metal, pieces of stone, Fly-covered corpses, their blood brownish-red Survivors wish that they, too, were dead. War hungry maniacs with evil goals Destroying lives and shattering souls, Power hungry men, they always want more Making life harder for the sick and the poor, Everywhere, despair increases Such is the life, with war and pieces

I am participating in the Barathon with the blogging group, Blog a Rhythm for the weeks of June 14 to 30th. Today's prompt is "Of Ice and Men." I got my inspiration for this fictional piece from my experience living in Gjoa Haven, Nunavut way up on King William Island in 1997-98. My husband, Brian got a teaching job teaching adults for eight very long months. I thought I would go crazy at times, but managed to get through it and even enjoy some moments along the way. I squinted through the dim greyish light onto the vast body of water, now an endless white frozen landscape of snow and ice. The sky and sea blended together like an empty white canvas, so bleak and desolate. The wind tore at my scarf threatening to pull it right off and I had to pull it tighter around my face. Even my Snowgoose parka was no match against the frigid Arctic winter wind. My glasses iced up with each breath I took and I couldn’t see anything so I had to take them off. Now I really c

I am particpating in the Barathon with the blogging group, Blog a Rhythm for the week of June 14 to 30th. Today's prompt is "Life of Pie." I got my inspiration from that old nursery rhyme "Sing a Song of Sixpence" and wrote a story based on the idea. “Hurry up! We must finish these pies for the king and queen’s dinner tonight,” the cook said and boxed Seth on the ears for staring out the window at the birds again. Seth rubbed his sore ears and nodded without a word. He rolled the pie crust out on the kitchen counter but it broke all apart in lumpy pieces. ‘Can’t you do anything right? Just my luck to be stuck with a simpleton like you for an apprentice,” the cook grumbled as he fixed the crust and made it smooth. “I promised my brother I’d train you but sometimes you try my patience.” Once again, Seth said nothing but that was nothing unusual. Seth never spoke.  Before he had become the cook’s apprentice, he had enjoyed long walks in t

I am particpating in the Barathon with the blogging group, Blog a Rhythm for the week of June 14 to 30th, a fortnight of blogging as they say in India. I almost forgot that a fortnight means two weeks. Such a fun British term. Today's prompt is "The Fault in our Stares." The theme for the week is "Seven" which I have no idea how to incorporate into today's post, other than this memory took place in the 19 SEVENties. There, I did it! PHEW! This is a memory I have of volunteering as a candy striper in a hospital when I was about thirteen.  A loud garbled cry comes from the small shrunken man in the hospital bed. He drools from the side of his sagging mouth, his red tinged eyes pleading, as he tries to get my attention. I have just started working as a candy striper and Monsieur Couvrette scares me with his pitiful cries and pathetic look. Most of the time, I try to avoid him as he seems so angry. He lies in the bed, sad, helpless, shrive

It's the last day of April and the final day of the April A to Z Blogging Challenge. Yay! I made it all the way through.  Since I like winging it and writing my post on the day it's due, I never know for sure if I'll complete it but I'm happy to say I did all 26 posts. Turn off Facebook and turn off the phone It’s time to get into the writing zone, I long to feel myself drift away And forget my troubles of the day, Getting in the zone is not that easy I even get a wee bit queasy, What if it’s garbage and sounds really bad? Wasting time always makes me mad, And then it happens, I’m in the zone My world takes on a different tone, Time stands still and I cease to hear All the sounds, both far and near, In the zone, I feel the bliss Like a lover’s magical kiss, The words start to flow,  I get them down fast Who knows how long the zone will last? It’s like nothing else I’ve ever known When I lose myself in the writing zone!

This poem was inspired by my own delightful experiences with menopause and nightly hot flashes and sleeplessness. So much fun! YAWN! Yolanda can’t stop yawning, no matter what she tries Sometimes she’s so tired, she breaks down and cries, She yawns reading a book and yawns when she talks, She yawns on the computer, she yawns on her walks, Yesterday she was yawning and today she is, too What’s a poor exhausted gal need to do? Her coffee habit has become an addiction But it still doesn’t cure her yawning affliction, Yolanda is fed up with yawning but can’t seem to quit Some days she’s so tired, she feels like s*** She screws up and forgets things, it can really get bad Annoying and embarrassing, it makes her so mad, She also gets nightmares that give her a fright She’s forgotten what it’s like to sleep at night, The day she feels rested, she’ll break out in song Until then, she’ll keep yawning all the day long. I am participating in the A to

“Get away from the window. They’ll see you,” my mother hissed as I stared at the moving van across the street. “Look! There’s a girl about my age,” I cried with excitement. Since I turned 12, my younger brother was even less appealing to hang out with and I longed for a girlfriend. “I’m going to invite her over.” “No, Anne! We don’t want you associating with them!” my father said, anger clouding his face. “Why?” I asked, confused. “They’re Muslims,” he said. “So, what difference does that make?” “They’re different from us. They don’t live the same way we do. I bet they don’t even speak English.” “That doesn’t bother me. I want to know more about them,” I insisted and opened the door. My father stepped into the doorway, blocking my path. “No. I don’t want you going over there and that’s final.” Our eyes met and he gave me one of his tough father looks. Finally I backed down and went to my room to do my homework. My parents were so fearful and narrowminded.

Sara stepped out of the shower and onto the scale. She frowned at the numbers that screamed out at her as if taunting her. Winter had not been kind to her weight. She pinched the extra rolls that jiggled around her stomach. It felt like an extra heavy sweater that she couldn’t remove. How Santa could be jolly with his little round belly was a mystery. Her stomach was just plain gross. Looking at her full length reflection in the mirror, she felt nauseous. Who was that middle-aged fat lady staring back at her? She peered into her closet wondering what to wear. All her summer clothes seemed to have shrunk while they’d been in there for the past six months. That was it. She would join the gym and start a diet right away this very minute. She peered into the fridge looking for some healthy fruit and vegetables to snack on. There wasn’t much to pick from, a few bruised apples and some limp celery. She would have to go grocery shopping. Then she spied some chocola