Extension cords in a bundle are heaped on the mudroom bench and three garden rakes lean against the wall in the television room. A truck load of new lumber wrapped in places with duct tape and hammered with a few nails landed in my back yard and helpful neighbours have carried it away to repair their own projects. Other things such as a fat suit and a play sword have just been returned to a dance group. A few useful things such as a small carpet, flashlights and a one dollar charity shop lamp ended up in my son’s apartment. Some things were trashed and some were donated. A few boxes of things are still in the car. A rehearsal hall fan, purchased by me is stored away,somewhere. These things, related by their usefulness in a recent play directed by my son seem almost charged still with some kind of weird energy, like the props and costumes in my years and years and years old dramatic play collection, now totally dispersed. My long acquired collection was for school kids. This recent collection was for theatre.
Something else has arrived here waiting to be dealt with when the energy builds to face it. A form of anti-climatic mood lingers around the place like a distant relative, familiar, welcome enough but a bit tiring after an over extended stay. Time for it to go, run along, clean up after itself,” toodle-loo” and close the door. Routine needs to be enforced and motivation in the form of new projects, hard work and completed tasks should alter the clingy mood sighing to itself in the little piles of stuff in the mudroom and also in the back of the car.
Tomorrow is a new day. Up at sunrise. Clear the decks. Green tea (gag/trying to be healthy), journals, coffee ( finally), emails, scrambled eggs ( with hot sauce) and toast, garden rakes and extension cords. Then clean the car and put the boxes in the mudroom to sit for days and days and days.
Filed under friends, health and wellness, history, humour, inspiration, motivation, retirement, routines, storytelling, theatre, weather, writing
Days seemingly start to drift by very quickly this time of year. My lack of real work schedule makes my night owl sessions of reading, writing and watching late night costume dramas blend the hours of the day rather out of sync with the lives around me. My writing style is also different as evidenced by my last couple of poetry type excerpts. Relatives and friends are voicing some concern about my well being. Reassured that I am only being creative they seem to be relieved. There is a certain decorum to be kept in my writing voice, apparently. My new online readers seemed to enjoy my little spurt of eccentricity though so it may spurt again from time to time.
I’ve taken the following approach. Lay low and write. This keeps me off of committees and sometimes free of other responsibilities. Journaling about stream of consciousness helps. Reflecting through writing explains a goal process that is underway. Notes scribbled and assembled may sort themselves into an outline of sorts. Posting a blog or two from time to time is somehow a release and also a connection. I can feel the comfort of a returning thing, this writing voice, doing it’s scales and breathing exercises, finding it’s pitch once more.
Almost to the point of exasperation I tried last night to find something worth watching, in my estimation ,on television. Every once in a while I just like to chill out and watch something interesting. My taste in programming is more along the lines of history, literature, music, art, theatre, cooking ,science and comedy. Enjoyable to me are programs that teach me something, remind me of something important ,encourage me to dream and enjoy a fantasy, make me laugh and sometimes make me cry. Anything with a nice dog in the plot and I’m quite happy.
Instead of getting a steady fare of programming that appeals to me the offerings are a huge boatload of violent, shallow, absurd and dysfunctional stupidity. To be fair I don’t think it has been too much different in the past. I was just too busy, polite and wet behind the ears to notice.
With all the talent, skill and creativity out there in television land one would assume there would be more quality programs. It is provoking enough to inspire this opinion piece and oddly enough, I’m the last one usually to rant. Can you tell that I am approaching my sixtieth birthday?
Books have been my go to entertainment when the television blinks rubbish. Sometimes the books are not what they seem but at least they give my intelligence the benefit of an exercise. The joy of reading something worthwhile relaxes and inspires. In my own mind, I can stage the setting and characters to suit the plot and decide if I will see it through to the conclusion, or not.
Of course, there are always films. Don’t start me up on films.
Documentaries, I like.
Sorry ,I’m Canadian and getting older.