Hair's The Thing

I recently discovered - in a Christine Columbus kind of way - a new hair product. As with all things new that I "discover" and try and realize it's worth sharing, I shared it. I still use it, but, not as much as I did when I first started. The reason is a simple one: I like to wear my hair in many different ways. Ease of flexibility is one of the reasons I've never done the sister locks/dreads thing.

There is a certain satisfaction for me in being able to do all sorts of things with my hair: afro, chiney-bump, cane-row, pony-tail, press and hot-curl, press and pony-tail... You catch my drift. Little did I know at the time of my purchase and new interest in this product, that, as one of my sis mentioned, "It's a whole natural-hair industry out there!" I think my reply was along the lines of: "I don't want to be a part of an industry! I just want to not go "Ow! Ow!" when I comb my hair!"

My mom (one of my earliest hairdressers) had cut my hair when I was about 16-yo. You see, it had gone through the relaxing process and, true to stressing-about-exams form (at least, that was the governing theory), much of it had started breaking. So, she did what had to be done. I sported a low 'fro for much of my Lower Six year at Wolmer's Girls. On a recent trip to Jamaica, I came across a photo I had taken with Isabel, an exchange student from Spain. We were enjoying a hearty laugh, but, I could not have looked more boyish if I'd actually tried. Very low-cut hair, small boobs... The more things change. Oh! I digress.

Years later, on the last lap of reading for my degree in English at the UWI, I had to cut it low - again. Same reason: exam stress. My story. Sticking to it. Those days saw me in more chiney-bumps than the average bear. I had someone do it in twists for the graduation picture at the assigned studio. (I did not attend the graduation.) During the two years of doing the MA in Communication (without the 's') at SUNY, I wore my hair in a variety of the ways mentioned earlier. After graduation (I did attend), I relaxed it again. The Rochester, NY weather did take its toll, but not as much as an exam stress would have, I imagine.

Some time after moving to Canada, I decided to give it a break from the relaxing. These temps don't play! Plus, there had been the stressful period of unemployment shortly after relocating. Take my word for it. That is a horse of a different pigmentation altogether. So, first I tried weaving in hair. You  know, where it's sewn in? Worst. Mistake. Ever! As in, ever! I had never done that before, and that was the first and the last time. As the hairdresser took out the weave bit by bit, my resolution grew firmer and firmer. That thing was nothing short of damaging to my hair. It was a tad traumatic for someone who was severely lacking in adventures of the hair kind - never bleached it; never coloured it...  Anyway, moving right along.

On a subsequent visit to Jamaica, I had a talk with my hairdresser. She cut it and did the short twists. In a few months, it had grown so fast - beyond even her expectations. I've kept it unprocessed and I do like it. This is no hurry-come-up decision. It was, as before, borne out of necessity. But it has...grown on me. Badam tsss! :D  Here's the thing (Monk voice), I honestly don't think I could manage the "black women's hair industry" thing. For a moment I did consider selling the product, but, I...I talked myself out of it. I hear lingo describing hair types and all I can think of is that I give my hair 5/5 Ows! I am thankful, however, that the variety of styles I wear, (see above) I can do myself. Saves me quite a bit. Plus, they all suit my face. I have that kinda face. Lol! That reminds me of a scene in a Monk episode - Mr. Monk Goes to the Theater - where he joined the line-up for the speed dating. One of the women says to him: "I like your eyes." Monk goes: "Well, thank you. They came with the face." Hahahahaha!!! Ahhh #ILoveMonk.

Anyway, it did still hard fi comb! Another one of my sis told me about the Curl Enhancing Gelly product. After the second or third time trying to convince me (I was sure it wouldn't work on my 5-Ow! hair) we placed an order. In the comments section: Please hurry. Hair emergency. And, hurry they did! I'm happy with the purchase and would definitely recommend it to anyone wanting to try for soft twists that last a while. Funny. This came to mind.

Now, to colour it red!

Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

Getting it off my chest: The uncovered cough

It is no secret. I have quirks. As do you. No, I’m not seeking company –as one might do in, say, misery. See, misery loves company. I don’t suffer from these quirks. Au contraire! (I’m also learning French.) I’m okay with them; have come to terms with them.  I wouldn’t say I enjoy them, per se. The familiarity of them overcompensates for any measure of discomfort – or misery. I’m good. I’m good.

My quirks (yes, I own them) are not without reason. That is my story. Things have to make sense – except when they don’t. Let that one simmer for a bit.

I’m coming from the “favour ain’t fair” and “God works in mysterious ways” angles. Yes. Two angles – at once.

Now, let’s take a look at a few of these quirks, and see whether you can relate. And, if you simply can’t, whether you can, at the very least, understand.  If you can do neither, I’m happy you dropped by and so on and so forth.

The Uncovered Cough

Everybody coughs. Whether it be because of a cold, or allergies – as one does whatever it takes to scratch one’s throat – or an anti-choking reflex. Everybody coughs. What everybody does not do, apparently, is cover their mouths while coughing. I find it challenging to think of a personal habit that annoys me more. The GO Train is where I encounter most of these transgressions. People sitting next to me; across from me; two seats down the aisle. It doesn’t matter. As soon as this abominable act is carried out, I cringe. I don’t have “a mini heart attack” as someone tweeted after observing a woman’s reaction on the train the other day. And, again, I state for the record, it wasn’t me. That tweet was not about me. Though it kinda, sorta coulda been. Let’s move on. I cringe. And, not only do I cringe, the power strip on my cough-radar subsequently operates at maximum efficiency. I listen out for the next uncovered cough and when – not if – it happens (because, you know, those things come in twos and threes, if not an outright fit) I execute Plan A.

Plan A – The Exit

I leave the area. Whether it be that car of the train or the platform as we wait for the next train, I skidaddle on my saddle. (Reference to the artist formerly known on Snoop Dogg in the role of rap artist Murderous in Mr. Monk and the Rapper.) If it occurs as I walk down (or up) Bay Street, well, one hears a cough behind one, one does not look around to ascertain whether it’s uncovered. One immediately walks a little faster.

Plan B – The Ask

Plan B is put into action if I am in proximity to the offender, and no other seat is available. I turn to the individual or tap the uncouth being  on the shoulder and politely ask, “Could you cover your mouth when you cough, please?” Now, I already know the answer to that. Yes. Yes, they could. On one occasion, the persona non grata who occupied the seat next to me simply stopped coughing. I thought, I should patent this! Beat the profits out of Dayquil. Just. Like. That. Heyyy!  On another occasion, the person was sitting in a row in front of me. I leaned in through the space between the head rests and asked her to cover. She didn’t glance back at me in acknowledgement. Meh. She did, however, cover the next few times. Mission accomplished.

Now, I know I’d mentioned taking a look at a few of my quirks, but, given the extensive treatment of the uncovered cough, I’d rather not get into the others. For example, I’d rather not get into the utterly disgusting habit some folks have of spitting on sidewalks, leaving others to look at that gross mass of phlegm. Ugh! Who are these people? I can’t believe we breathe the same air! (Mr. Monk and the Astronaut)

Neither will I get into the fact that the hangers have to face in.

And the DVDs have to be shelved in alphabetical order.

And the tweets have to be without grammatical or spelling errors. Have you seen the placement of some apostrophes, lately? Oh, the humanity!

And the dishes must be placed in the sink. In the sink. For the love of sanity, not on the counter. In the sink. Just saying. No. As a matter of fact, I’m not #justsaying. They should be placed in the sink.

Of course, there's a reason for all these...preferences. I have to live with myself.

Claudia

www.cyopro.com

www.twitter.com/cyopro

Freefall Writing: I fell. Hard.

"It’s not the number of times you’ve fallen, it’s the number of times you get back up that matters."

"Look ma! No hands!"

"It's not the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop."

"Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!"

We’ve all heard them. Many of us have experienced one or more of those famous lines at one point or another. The one that had me thinking, though, was the last one: “Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” And, even before getting deeper into that, just now, it reminded me of a rather apt song covered in a spectacular way by Tina (the head) Turner: “Help” 

Yeeaah. I’ve fallen. In love. But not in love with anyone. Nope. Technically, in order to be in love with someone, you have to be in it together, no? Yeeaah. So, no.

Fallen in love by myself. And, that sucks, and blows – at the same time.

Ok. Seriously. You can perhaps tell I’m about to have a Pity Party. I'm allowed one day. You coming? If not; if you think this is gonna make you feel kinda cute and intrusive, now would be a good time to stop reading.

January has been a crappy start to the New Year. Crap-py. I can hardly wait for February to begin. I am chomping at the bits! I wanna be able to refer to all this – if at all – as happening "last month." Then, later, "a few months ago." Until, of course, we get to the "last year" reference. Usually – well for the past umpteen years – I adore a New Year! I love it. After a really bad break-up years ago, I experienced a most glorious shedding of the old and welcoming the new when January 1 hit the following year. I felt light! Like scales of negativity and sadness and the bad and the ugly, between December 31 and 12:01a.m. January 1, had miraculously disappeared. It was an awesome feeling! So, no matter how crappy stuff gets during the year, I know, come December 31 into January 1, if I'm still around, I’m gonna come out feeling light, new and fresh!

I felt that way on January 1 this year, too. Had a bit of an inkling about something, truth be told. But, for the most part, I was looking forward to wonderful – until a few days later. Apparently, I had fallen. And, on that fateful afternoon, I realized (a) He did not want to catch me – for reasons that he shared (b) He did not catch me – I fell on my butt. Wanna kiss it? (c) I had had a hard fall – harder than I'd cared to admit, actually, and (d) it was time to give up – on ever being loved. Ever.

Note the distinction: giving up on ever being loved. I did not, and will never, give up on Love Love. I believe in true love (as tautological as that sounds). I have beheld true love in action. I believe it is amazing and has power and can bring on a sense of belonging like you’ve never experienced before. I believe it is a beautiful thing and it makes the world livable and gentle and soft. I believe true love between two people makes them feel like they're home. It makes them overlook each other’s faults because they realize neither is perfect and they are happier together than apart. I believe in that love with all my heart, and I will continue to believe in it, and write about the virtue and blessing of it, until the pen has to be pried from my cold dead hand.

But, I don’t think I will ever experience it.

My heart is now more band-aid than heart. This time around, my eyelids were constantly puffy. Crying every night is wont to do that, I s'pose. I put on a brave and smiling face as I honoured a commitment to attend an event sometime after. The guest of honour greeted me with a hug, and a kiss on the cheek. We took a picture together. When I looked at the pic, in the words of Shaggy, It wasn’t me! I was smiling, but my eyes were not. I was just thankful that, if anyone had in fact noticed, they'd been too polite to say stteo, “Your eyes look different..."

I can write this here because, y’know, it's, as we'd say at work, approved content – approved by me. Plus, no identifiers. If he happens to visit this my home in cyberspace, well, then, he'd know. He'd also know I haven't got it twisted. He made my heart glad. He was kind and thoughtful – a gentleman, indeed – and I responded to his kindness and thoughtfulness. I think that's what knocked me over and caused me to fall. I believe he has a good heart. And, someday, he will make someone a loving and wonderful husband, and their children a loving and caring dad. He's a smart, take-charge man and I believe he will be an exemplary, God-honouring head-of-household.

Besides, this is not even the tip of the ice-berg that makes it to my prayer journal. No siree. This is a drop compared to the whole ocean; a snowflake, compared to the whole avalanche… You catch my drift. So it was. Days were for working; nights were for crying and writing. Anyone reading, and can relate, well, just know you’re not alone. Some fall in love with their person and it’s requited and just great. It is. No cynicism. Falling hard in love by yourself happens to the rest of us. Not so great. Sounds like you? Take heart. Your time is coming. When your ship comes in, you will be not be at the airport. You will be exactly where you need to be at the harbour. You go, you!

I used to live in the hope that true love would come my way and sweep me off my feet and it would be effortless and beautiful. As Monk replied, when he was temporarily blinded in that episode and Natalie was trying to console him that the Dr. had said he’d soon regain sight so there was hope: “I hate hope’s guts!”

Sounds about right, right about now.

Writing it right out of my system. #writeorsuffocate Remember?

Of course I am a person of faith and trust that God knows what He’s about. How do I reconcile this? Easily. The fact that my desire is in His hands and He is holding my heart and He orders my steps, yet He has not granted me this desire, must mean He has other plans. Or, He's fulfilling the desire in a rather winding and crooked way. We always say He grants our desires – as it says in Ephesians – exceeding abundantly above all we ask or think. He does. And, it sure seems like He’s taking the desire and doing something else with it. And, that’s fine. Not like I’m giving Him permission and saying, “Oh, it’s okay, God. That’s okay with me.” No, what I’m saying is, “God, You know. I do not. And that’s okay." I believe in my band-aid covered heart that He can and will take me through this process and on into the upcoming stages and phases and seasons of my life and will not for a moment forsake me. 

I guess if I think with my head for a second, if indeed it's meant to be that one person, it really can't work out with anyone else. *shrugs* I enjoy time together. And, as Gibran said, "Let there be spaces in your togetherness." I like time apart doing things I love. I like taking a genuine interest in and supporting what he's about; being his confidante; focusing on what matters; putting myself out there and knowing I can trust him with my vulnerability.

Ha! I see how far that has got me.

A girlfriend of mine had told me once that maybe I am too nice; that perhaps that's scary. She did add, however, that for the right person, it won't be. :-) My resolve is to treat him like a king; pray for him; make him laugh; show him I am a trustworthy, supportive, and caring friend and lover and partner and queen. He may or may not be six-packing like King Leonidas, but, king. Like, God’s-man-for-me and God's-gift-to-me king. I imagine he'd get me; would read my writing – there's a quote for that. It says something like, as a writer, you shouldn't be with someone who doesn't support your writing. I imagine he'd love me self-sacrificially; treat me with honour and respect, and be the leader in our home – even if I bring home more bacon. And, yes, I'm worth every bit of that. I also imagine we would, with wild abandon, know each other; explore each other's temple and honour the divinity in each other. A lot. There must be chemistry.

But, alas!

Hm. The first thing that gets impacted when I sense the inevitable are my wit and words. I simply can't keep sharing them as before. And, you know how some women appeal, and ask him to reconsider? To use that line from Dorothy in Jerry Maguire: That's not how I'm...built. During that conversation, my heart was saying, "Ask him, ask him, ask him...please!" My head was like, "Whatchya talkin' 'bout Willis?! What's the point?" I see no point in asking someone to stay when he has already made up his mind that he doesn't want to. If there's someone or something else more...'ow you say, (French accent), "stimulating"; catering to his sapiosexuality – or whatever else is being catered to – I am not wired to fight that.

So, what do I do? I do what any self-respecting, band-aid-hearted, gracious, kind and beautiful woman would do: Throw in the towel – I'm done! Share what I can for relatability – slicing my heart open does not hurt as much as having it broken. And, having fallen by myself, get back up and move on.

It’s what I do. 

It’s like my job. And, like my job, I’m good at it.

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Okay.

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Okay. Maybe one more time. Not right now. Clearly. But, I mean, if Mr. Right-for-me is on his way – he might be stuck in traffic, or a tree (It's a jungle out there!) – for his sake, and ours, I'd want to love like I'd never been hurt. The last thing we'd need is baggage that can't fit in the overhead compartment.

After all, hope has a way of floating, and seasons have a way of changing. #SitStillMyDaughter (Ruth 3)

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Okay, folks! Okay. Party's over! No, there are no to-go containers. Thanks for stopping by, but, you have to go now. You don't have to go home, you just have to go. :-)

Me? I'm gonna go load the dishwasher, then get comfy in the chaise sofa and watch a movie.

Which one? Love, actually. ;-)

Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

SoMe Pressure

Does it feel like your attention span is waning these days? Like, it's becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with news coverage of not just the local, anymore, but the global? And, every minute of the day is prime time? And, does it feel like, because people are now interacting with and listening to you, you have to post smarter/achieve more? If you've answered yes to these questions, know that you are not alone. That may or may not be comforting.

There is a constant, nay, continuous demand for our attention from one source or another. I need not go on about the plethora of these sources - online and offline. What I would like to focus on a bit is that demand from Social Media. (Of course, this only works if you do, in fact, use at least one SoMe tool.) And, the attention-grabbing is one thing. But, look at what eats up your attention. It may be something that is of little interest to you, but you still spend a little time to read it or listen to it - just because it's there. Those subjects that are of much interest to you? Those are the blood suckers. And, there's a very real pressure that comes with participating in these media on matters that are of high interest. Most people like to play cool and invincible. Yeeeaah. I gave that up - the little that I had of it - a long time ago. Now, I'm just the perfect human being - flawed, blessed and highly flavoured. Chocolat.

I realized recently, as I scrolled though my Twitter timeline, I was beginning to feel "a way." (That's a legit Jamaican description of feeling deeply offended/shunned/disregarded... Context matters to the definition.) I have been writing for a while and have made the distinction between a writer and a published writer. But, man. Reading about some of the achievements of those who've had their works published, started to make me feel like a small fish in a pond, catching a glimpse of the big ones in the sea of published writers. Sure, there is much to learn from writers on my TL. A lot more to (a) fuel my anxiety and impatience - what is taking me so long? And (b) wonder why some folks are writing what I'm already writing - albeit in secret. I then remembered a quotation attributed to Abraham Lincoln: “Hypocrite: The man who murdered his parents, and then pleaded for mercy on the grounds that he was an orphan.” No one had forced me to follow them. And, I could, after all, choose not to follow any more writers.

Or, I could do what I did when that feeling kicked in: Remember why I write.

That did it for me, really: #writeorsuffocate. I also write to "use it all up" in pleasing my Creator. I write a blog; novellas; short stories and poems. It will all come together. There is no need for me to look around at others. As Joyce Carol Oates put it: "Don’t be discouraged! Don’t cast sidelong glances and compare yourself to others among your peers! (Writing is not a race. No one really ‘wins.’ The satisfaction is in the effort, and rarely in the consequent rewards, if there are any.) And again, write your heart out." Of course, this assurance goes for whatever your area of interest. You do what you do when you do it - and how. Use it all up.

Still haven't got the attention thing down yet, though, while on, say, Twitter. All kinds of news from all over the world come at you in a single scroll. What stands out sometimes is the range of emotions I can go through in one move of my thumb. Somebody won something; a writing tip; someone was killed; a quotation about kindness; a pic of a cute dog... It takes a concious effort to stick to what you went there for. If you're busy doing something else and are just "popping in for a bit"? All the best with that. I grabbed the following from a Monk episode from IMDB. It's kinda long, but, it's the scene that came to mind when I thought of "range of emotions." One of my favourite scenes, by the way. :-)

MONK. Season 5 Episode 7 "Mr. Monk Gets a New Shrink" Writers: Andy Breckman and Hy Conrad

Dr. Kroger questions his abilities after a patient becomes the prime suspect in a murder. He decides to retire but a distressed Monk is convinced someone else is responsible.

Dr. Charlie Kroger: Adrian, I cannot continue to practice anymore after today. The police think that one of my patients killed Teresa Mueller. I should have seen it coming. I didn't; I missed it. This is all my fault. 
Adrian Monk: This isn't happening. This can't be happening. 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: Adrian, I promise you I'll get you another doctor. I'll call you next week. 
Adrian Monk: Okay! So it's not true! You're not retiring! I mean, you can't because... He can't retire... 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: [to Natalie] This is step one in the grieving process: denial. 
Adrian Monk: Damn you, Charles! Damn you to hell! I hate you. I hate you! You are dead to me. 
Natalie Teeger: That's not denial. 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: No, step two, that's anger. 
Adrian Monk: Okay. Okay, we're all adults here. We can work this out. I can hire you full time, all right? Put you on payroll. 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: This is step three: bargaining. It usually doesn't go around this quickly. 
Adrian Monk: Why me? Why is it always me? Everybody's always leaving me. 
Natalie Teeger: Depression? 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: Yeah. 
Adrian Monk: This can't go on. I mean, it's just too much. Okay, you're right. It's not the end of the world. I'll just have to find another doctor. I owe you so much. Thanks to you, I think I can get past this. Thanks, doc. 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: And finally, acceptance. 
Natalie Teeger: Thank God that's over. 
Adrian Monk: He can't retire! The man can't quit because he's not a quitter. 
Natalie Teeger: Wait, what's going on? 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: I don't know. It's like he's starting all over again, like he's in a loop. 
Adrian Monk: I hate you for this, Kroger! You are dead to me! You understand me? Dead! 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: I really should be heading home. 

Claudia 

www.cyopro.com

www.twitter.com/cyopro

"Leap and Annette will appear!"

I've mentioned in this space, more than a few times, that I love Monk.  Yes, the television series that came to an end...was it last year?  I watch the DVDs all the time so, for me, it's still on.  Gonna have to Google it.  (Has anyone ever said, I'm gonna "Bing it"?  Anyone?)  The year when it last aired is all a blur - pretty much like the final scenes on the tele as I watched through tears.  Yep.  I cried when Monk ended.  Bawled.  Ok.  Cried and sobbed.  I was heart-broken that there would be no more new experiences to go through with him, his quirks, his persnicketiness and his sheer brilliance.  The creator (Andy Breckman) and writers were gooood.  Tony Shalhoub was impeccably stellar as he headed a great cast.  I was a tad miffed when Bitty Schram was replaced...wait.  Where am I going with this?  This is not even about Monk!  I really want to get to one line - ONE - from one of the episodes. One.  But, it's kinda like that when I start talking about Monk.  Ahhhhhh.

Anywaaaaay, in one of the episodes, "Mr. Monk, Private Eye", Monk's assistant, Natalie, forces him and opens up a Private Investigation office.  Monk is not amused. He doesn't think they will do well.  Natalie encourages him, telling him that her "Grandpa Neville used to say, "Leap, and a net will appear!""  Monk asks, "Who's Annette?"  Later on, she has reason to ask him whether he can swim.  He tells her, "I took a correspondence course.  They sent me a certificate."   Well, toward the end of the episode, as he tries to escape "the guy" by jumping overboard from a speeding boat, he consults the wallet-sized card with swimming tips, and repeats the mantra, before chucking off into the blue.

Leap and a net will appear. 

I realize that there is a little similarity in tone between this post and the ending of my previous post.  But, I really wanted to expound on this idea here.  The month of August - in by-gone years so unrecognized, so under-the-radar - has become a special one for me.  It marks the anniversary of the start of this blog.  I was inspired by my mom - I needed quite a bit of encouragement that year.  To a large extent, I was also inspired by Usain Bolt and his sizzling 9.69s run to win the Men's 100M in the Olympics in Beijing in 2008.  It was a shot-in-the-arm to poop or get off the pot.  For a while, I was scared to death about writing for public viewing/criticism.  But, the fear of NOT writing; the horror and suffocation I felt in not having an outlet to publish, beat the crap out of the fear of criticism or ridicule.  It was write or suffocate.  So, even though I had not yet - and, up to this point, still have not - published a book (one of my dreams), I took the leap and began publishing in cyberspace.  I set up a personal schedule of posting three times per month: the 8th, the 18th and the 28th.  I keep to it, even if it means hitting "publish" at 11:58PM, because, well, I simply must.  "Serious writers write, inspired or not.  Over time they discover that routine is a better friend to them than inspiration." (Keyes)

The net appeared.

Whaddya know?  I didn't die.  I didn't sink.  I didn't fail.  Instead, I was caught up in the bouyancy of sheer pleasure and delight; the kind brought on by making a creative adventure of that which you know is yours to do.

I'm big on being inspired (even if, for the writing, routine is regarded as a better friend).  For, inspiration is not just applicable to writing or other creative work.  It's applicable to life; how we live. And, I firmly believe that sometimes, you just need to be inspired to get up and do what is yours to do!  I'm occasionally reminded of a few lines from "8 Mile" starring Eminem (you heard me): "So here I go it's my shot/ Feet fail me not/ This may be the only opportunity that I got."  Then, "You better lose yourself in the music, the moment/ You own it, you better never let it go/ You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow/ This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo."   (No, I didn't "Bing it".)

The athletes are at it again in the XXX Olympiad in London.  This time around, Usain Bolt delivered a "scorching" 9.63s in the Men's 100M (as one paper reported it), setting a new OR.  Olympic Games newcomer, Yohan Blake, did Jamaica proud in 9.75s.  Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce won the Women's100M in 10.75s.  Asafa Powell - the man who started this round of Jamaica's track domination - and Veronica Campbell-Brown made their presence felt, too.  Indeed, most times, you only get one shot!

 Now, guess we just need to figure out the other part of the duo.  We've heard of "Annette".  But, as my sis asked the other day when I used the same encouragement on her, "Who is "Leap", again?"  LOL!



Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

The Day She Shout Out Loud

She convinced herself that there wasn't anything wrong in doing this.  There's a community for it, why not give it a GO?  (If you knew her routine, you'd get it.)  After all, one never knows, does one?

So, she submitted her Shout Out to the (perceived) widely popular evening newspaper:

OK. It's now or never.  I've mustered up the appropriate amount of courage and the butterflies are flying in V-formation.  LSW; originally from Jamaica; [inserted age] SBF; MA degree; great job w/govt (& love what I do); closely-knitted family (we actually like each other); never married; hope to be; no children; want children; Christian; love to journal/write/blog/tweet; baggage? outdated carry-on; laugh a lot; happy; gym 2-3x/wk; romantic; movies at home; like cooking n dancing n bowling n Monk; hate doing laundry (just sayin'.)  Ready to love (n be loved by) Mr. Right-for-me.  “Opposites attract but likes stay together.”  Could you see us getting and staying together? And, most important, do you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ?  There.  I said it.  (Shout) Out loud. Tee hee.  S.O. folks, if you want a wedding invitation, you’d better post this! *crosses fingers* - Monk Fan [inserted email address]

Three days later, they published her ad, with edits.  The kind that were agreeable.  She wrote and told them so - as well as thanks for publishing it, of course.  After all, one should be thankful for free (personal) ad space, mustn't one?

OK. It's now or never.  I've mustered up the appropriate amount of courage and the butterflies are flying in V-formation.  LSW; originally from Jamaica; [inserted age] SBF; MA degree; great job w/govt; closely-knitted family; never married, hope to be; no children, want children; Christian; love to journal/write/blog/tweet; baggage? outdated carry-on; laugh a lot; happy; gym 2-3x/wk; romantic; movies at home; like cooking n dancing n bowling n Monk; Ready to love (n be loved by) Mr. Right-for-me.  Opposites attract but likes stay together.  Could you see us getting and staying together?  S.O. folks, if you want a wedding invitation, you’d better post this! *crosses fingers* - Monk Fan [inserted email address]

Then, she waited.  A pastime that had become familiar...

Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

"How does a person get to be that way?"

I'm not sure what triggered my move to check Roger Ebert's review of a particular movie. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure of the name of the movie right now, but, that's an aside. What I AM sure of, is that I hit upon a link to Ebert's blog and, well, the next thing you know, I was being drawn into a simply warm, engaging and beautiful piece of writing. The title of the top-most entry caught my eye: "How do they get to be that way?"

See, years ago I read for my degree in English. (They probably should have named the B.A. degree after the name of the department - Literatures in English. Way cool. Anyhow, I digress.) One of the required texts was "Annie John" by Jamaica Kincaid. Of all the lines and quotes and what not in that text, the one that had always stood out for me was this: "How does a person get to be that way?"

Since then, I've used it at every precious opportunity. Precious because, well, thankfully, they have been few and far apart. For there are times, indeed, when you can only shake your head in amazement, as you seriously ponder the phenomenon which you have the pain (usually pain) of beholding. At those times, I simply think it - sometimes out loud. I articulate it to no one in particular and try to situate the world back on its axis.

Of course, occasionally, I, too, am reminded that, well, how should I put this? Stteo, the world doesn't revolve around me. Not everything nor everybody will acquiesce to my every want. (Oh well.) I resort to thinking of how came I to this place? (Another (less-used) bit from "Annie John"?) And, in pretty short order, the answer comes. A quick glance and reflection - usually in chunks - over my close-to-forty years and the answer is clear. I came to this place by virtue of the fact that I have been becoming the me that I am today from the get go. It's all about the journey and the choices I made - and continue to make. For e.g., I chose, from an early age, to make Jesus Christ the centre of my life. That right there explains a humongous amount of the who, what and how I am. I choose to be neat - my place, though small - must be tidy and look, as Mommy says sometimes, "presentable." And, ooh, I dunno how much of it is Monk - the one I love for several reasons, but, least of which is not that I so totally identify with some of his preferences... We shall call them that.

So, when I stumbled (refreshingly) upon Ebert's title, I immediately got to reading. And the more I read, the more I thought about not only mentioning him, and that entry, in this blog, but also about making a link from my blog to his. Now that'd be a first.

While I ponder that, do enjoy Ebert's entry.


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

Today is a better day!

I'm all smiles as I write this because, it's not so much that today is a good day? It's more so that yesterday was a wonderful day!!!

What, pray tell, could have brought on this episode of ecstasy? Well, no less than the fact that I applied for my job! :-) Too funny.

I have been working, since January 2010, in a new agency - within the government of Ontario - under contract. The contract has since been renewed. Joyfully, however, the position was advertised as a permanent one about two weeks ago. There are four in all to be had - three perm and one temp (12-month).

Taking nothing for granted - not the fact that my immediate as well as senior managers have constantly praised my work; not the fact that they have copied other members of senior management while doing so; not the fact that colleagues have shared with me what they have heard about me from senior managers nor the fact that I was the second Advisor hired in this position and have been working hard - I worked long and hard, with nuff prayers, on the application. I submitted it yesterday and it did indeed feel like a load off my shoulders. Thank You God!

Apparently, too, I was right in my approach. Someone mentioned to me that just because we (three of us) now occupy these positions, does it mean that they will automatically be given to us.

Hmm. Communications, Public Relations, Outreach and Education. As Monk would say, "It's what I do - and I'm good at it." :-)


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro