Mother and Son

He loves his mother.

He had an image from his childhood in his head of her chasing him up and over hills in the park near their house. In his mind, he can almost hear her laughing with fall leaves colourfully highlighting the world around him. They run together, tossing and tumbling as if they were leaves themselves. He was 8 and felt so warm inside.

She loves her son.

He calls her on the phone in the evening. He would call more often, but he is so busy. At least he sounds very content. She misses him so much. He reassures her that all is okay, that he'll be home soon, that he is happy. She wants to tell him about her fears, her concerns, her health, but she says nothing. Each word he speaks is like a drop of water, hydrating her as she wanders aimlessly through the desert. Goodbyes are said, he promises to call again soon and she holds the phone to her heart looking around the house that had once felt so alive and was now a shell of its former self.

He loves his mother.

Her life had not been easy. The youngest of five daughters, raised by a gruff and preoccupied father and a loving, yet strict mother during the depression. They were poor and always hungry and her childhood was devoid of fun. She fell in love at a young age and never looked back. She had always wanted a child and when he arrived she literally felt as if she was flying.

She loves her son.

They were at the pharmacy. She was buying some medicine for him. He was sick. She remembers the panic she felt, the racing of her heart, the dampness of her sweat, the furrowing of her brow, the coldness of his hand. She tried to summon up the strength to fight off the feelings of doom - "he needs me to be strong". And she was. And he got better, but she often remembered being in the pharmacy late at night, in moments of weakness, just wishing and praying it would all be okay.

He loves his mother.

She had spent years cleaning hotel rooms and never complained once. Early mornings, late evenings, missed holidays, she worked so that he could have everything he would ever desire. She would come home from another long day looked utterly exhausted wanting nothing but to soak her feet and lay her head down, yet she always found the energy to be there for him.

She loves her son.

He was tall, lean, athletic. He had a way with words and an ease about him that drew in others. He would sit around the table, at holiday time, surrounded by aunts and uncles and cousins and be able to keep the company engrossed in his mix of uniquely, bewildering stories. While the family enjoyed the traditional homemade sausages that he had spent the afternoon preparing, she would watch him with awe and amazement in what a wonderful man he had become.

He loves his mother.

Somewhere a song is playing - he can't quite remember it's name. She is in the kitchen making something, anything - the aroma captures him while he works on his homework at the table. He smiles and enters the kitchen to hug his mother as if the only thing that could make it all okay was this single hug. She sang a few words of the song and he felt a tear drop on his hair as they stood there together, being warmed by the oven; a perfect moment in time.

She loves her son.

He looked back and waved. She tried to smile, but was overwhelmed by the moment. The bus was leaving and taking her baby far away. She wished he was young again; her adorable son bouncing off to kindergarten, that he still needed his mommy as only a little boy could. The sounds of the bus leaving the station saddened her and she bit her lip to keep from crying. He waved once more and turned around to find a seat as the bus headed down the long, straight road away from this place. She stood there feeling so utterly alone.

He loves his mother.

The proudest moment of her life, she told him, was when he graduated from university. She had succeeded as a mother. His adolescence had been dotted with bumps and bruises - she felt each of them as if she were a boxer in the ring. She dreamed of a future graduation, even when that dream became fuzzy and distorted at times, and never let go. He knew how much it mattered to her and he had always wanted to give her this moment. It drove him forward.

She loves her son.

The water is running in the video. A bath is being drawn. Her image enters the screen caring a crying, naked baby. It is him. He is but one year old. He hates baths. She gently caresses his arms and legs, soothing him. He loves the soapy bubbles and he giggles and splashes hesitantly at first and then more and more playfully once used to the bath. Shampoo stings his eyes and he cries and grows red. There is loving laughter in the background.

They love each other.

From the first moment she laid eyes on him, her life changed. Much of his first moments of life were spent in her arms. He always felt so cared for, so adored, so blessed. She held his hand, tied his shoes, packed his lunch. And yet, she needed him as much as he needed her. He gave her life; made her laugh as no one else ever could and gave her a purpose that no man or job or anything else ever did. She was always there for him; he had such a deep respect for her -  a previously meek and mild, single mother in a big city dominated by men who grew into the toughest person he knew. Their lives were forever intertwined, like two individual pieces of wicker in a woven basket, twirling around and around each other, supporting and making each other stronger - it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Mother loves; son loves.

Love.

If I Was in Charge of Science

I'd love to see scientists come up with a half-bush/half-of-a-different-bush hybrid. We'd then be able to enjoy all of the luscious green foliage of a really wonderful bush combined with a totally equally cool but radically different bush just for those who enjoy the juxtaposition of different bushes and for those who are bored in this singular-bush world in which we live.

Could someone take a break from saving the environment to invent a machine where I can put two food items in and out pops a delectable cross of the two? I know what you are thinking - why don't you just put two pieces of food in your mouth at the same time and chew? To which I reply, I don't tell you how to eat your food so please don't tell me how to eat mine (unless you have a recipe for some great marinade). Do you happen to have a pickle and banana and are not interested in eating them together because you aren't crazy or pregnant (I am NOT saying that pregnant women are crazy, just that they have interesting food combinations that appeal to them, their wide range and unpredictable nature of their emotions and...I have no idea how to finish that sentence) but you do want to eat them and satisfy not only your sense of taste but as many other senses as well without cramming both in your mouth as a big bite of banana and pickle is not what you are in the mood for. So, in my mind, you'd throw the two items in, you'd press a few buttons and out would pop a piece of food never before seen by humans - it would have the appearance of a banana, the aroma of a banana but with the crunchy, garlicky, dilly, juiciness of a wonderful pickle. You could also make a pickle that you could slice into your breakfast cereal bowl as it would only look like a pickle but taste like a perfectly ripened banana. I'm sure it would take some getting used to - the juxtaposition of the conflicting smell and taste, but over time the combinations would be seemingly endless and as I continue to think about this I am questioning if this is an invention worth pursuing after all. 

It would be great if somehow someone took all of the fish in the sea and gave them large, comically-sized ears. This would have no practical purpose aside from making most people a whole lot happier and driving up aquarium ticket sales around the world. Plus it would provide that one fish who had always dreamed of being an ear, nose and throat specialist to not get burned out on just working on noses and throats. If we can help that one fish fulfill his dream of working on other fishes' ears then we must.

Those technology whiz kids should build a computer that can not only solve every possible mathematical question that humans can pose but find a way to either eliminate the need for all math or make the equations sexier. I'm not sure what impact the two extremes of sexier math or no math would have, but I think we should take that brave step (or series of steps I'm honestly not sure how much walking is involved) towards the future.

Figure out a way to get those slugs to do things just a little bit faster and harder and, while you are at it, I would suggest renaming them as the current name is just not helping. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe a name that would get them all angry and pissed off would also help them rid their reputation for being sluggish. I suggest Steve. Then, once we have these Steve's working harder and faster, I say we put them to work improving our country's infrastructure as well as building some new statues and monuments - maybe a pyramid or two?

Please continue developing and expanding the field of animal magnetism. It would be so useful (and awesome!) to have lots of magnetic animals to aid us in our beachcombing efforts (I mean, I was walking the dog already, may as well put him to use), using house pets to help pick up those annoyingly easily spilled iron filings (why do I keep so many iron filings around the house in the first place is a conversation for another day) and when trying to attract the opposite gender who happen to be wearing clothes that produce a magnetic field which will almost definitely be a fashion trend in the future.

It is high time that we had a cat-dog. I'm actually shocked that we don't have one of these potentially, domesticated super animals that could provide me the sloppy companionship and panting friendship of a dog with the endless purring and lap dominating of a cat. I imagine this cat-dog would get a bit annoying what with the endless whining and barking and shedding and hair balls...why did I think this was such a good idea in the first place?

And while we are on the subject of hybrids, I'd love to have all of the bloodthirsty ferociousness of a shark combined with the fluffy adorableness of a little bunny rabbit and then slowly and surely amass an army of these overly cute lethal assassins who would be fully ready to swim or hop at my command.

I was reading about a driverless car idea that is being worked on. What a great idea! Those people who think up those ideas are so smart! But I do see some issues that will need to be ironed out. For example, it could lead to a whole series of driverless cars cutting each other off and driving dangerously. My question is how will they argue? Lots of beeps and honks and flashing of high beams, I guess. Is that an actual language for cars? Could they differentiate between happy honks and beeps and angry ones? Maybe that sort of subtlety will be lost on all cars or on only certain cars creating a divide amongst them. As much as I want to lay in the backseat eating popcorn and letting my car do all the driving, I don't want to see the cars fall into castes or cliques unnecessarily. I also can see that pretty soon after the cars are in charge of the driving the cars they may start developing an attitude or even expecting a tip. And then, invariably, they will start texting on their phones while driving and cops will pull them over and struggle with how to ticket a car for an infraction. But that will seem easy by comparison when the cop cars themselves start operating sans driver and then we will have driverless chases, cop cars stopping for coffee and doughnuts and then being frustrated at being unable to consume them as they have no mouths and then putting them under the hood by instinct rendering themselves undriveable leading to more coffee and doughnut time and putting on some extra weight around the middle. I can imagine police cars arresting offending civilian cars and feeling conflicted because, in the end, they are all cars. But again, smart guys, great idea! Keep 'em coming!

I also think it would be great if scientists could invent a spray that would act as a sunscreen, bug repellent, mate attractor, flu shot all-the-while providing a refreshing pine scent giving me the allure of cleanliness.

And why hasn't someone invented a serum that not only compelled the ingestor to tell the truth but also also to tell one amazingly convoluted, yet compelling in both its detail and implausibility, lie each hour on the hour. This would be great for entertainment sake, would make the truth that much more satisfying in comparison and would help all of us set our timepieces.

I'd love for one of you scientists to come up with a laser that we could shoot at each other or at ourselves if we were able to set up a series of reflecting panels that would give us skills that we didn't already have. Note #1: I will only be interested in using said lasers if the probability of incineration was zero. Note #2: I still fully expect the lasers to make the cool science fiction-y sound effects that we are used to from the movies, but still, just to be clear, not able to kill me or burn me, unless the skill I learned was really fabulous thus counter-acting the burns. Note #3: They should still look like the futuristic ones we see on our screens but, once again (sorry if this is redundant), without the ability to harm me in any way unless the skill I want to learn involves a little bit of harming (not quite sure what kind of skill that would be). I just feel really strongly about not being hurt.

How about some sort of sensor I could stick in my tea that would let me know when I can sip without scalding my tongue and causing me, in the short term, to lose all sensations in my mouth and, in the long term, never approach a cup of tea with the same youthful enthusiasm and carefree approach towards liquids again.

Spray on towels! You cannot tell me that is a bad idea! At the beach just coming out of the water shivering? BOOM! Spray on towel! Just took a super relaxing bath and realize the towel rod is empty? KABLAMMO! Spray on towel! Looking to win that game of towel monsters by simply outnumbering your son and daughter and smothering them with a sneak attack? POW! Spray on towel! All alone because you alienated everyone you know as you keep spraying on towels? KONG! Spray on towel and keep spraying until your tears have stopped and you have enough towels to both keep you warm, thus saving on heating bills, and have enough towel-friends for a good game of twister.

I certainly hope someone is working on a contraption that can help me so I don't have to touch so much stuff in my daily life. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a germaphobe, I just want to focus on my other senses for a while and my fingers are a little tired too.

Here is one for you - a pill that enables the ingestor to very quickly gain a lot of weight in one or more isolated areas on their body - like the right thigh or the ears or an internal organ. The newly enlarged body part would also increase it's value or usage or ability to do whatever it does proportionally to its new size. Imagine how awesome it would be to have a huge kidney that really filtered things and became the envy of the other internal organs that usually make it feel so small or really large left foot that would be perfect for kicking down doors, stomping out forest fires and making scary sets of differently-sized foot prints for leaving on the beach and un-dried sections of concrete to suggest the existence of a local monster to freak out the locals or really large teeth just so I could have the world's largest smile, because, in the end, that is the only thing that matters.

And while we are on the subject of pills, how about one that would help me remember every detail about everything that ever happened to me and even add in cool information about the activity that I didn't know in the first place. Like there was that time years ago when my friends and I went out for pizza. It was so long ago that I barely remember what we talked about, what we were wearing and what we did afterwards. I take one simple, easily digestible pill with minimal side effects and then all of a sudden I remember everything! And I mean everything - clothes, our order, EVERYTHING that everyone said as well as also being given intriguing historical information about the restaurant, pizza, shady business deals of the owner and being informed that our waitress was also studying to be a dental hygienist at night school and was only working at the pizza restaurant to help pay the bills and as a favour to her sister who was married to the owner as he had a few people call in sick. With just one little pill you'd have so much detail it would make your head spin and you'd also know exactly why it was spinning, how long it was spinning for and how fast. Now, you may wonder why anyone would want to take this - aren't we all enjoying our blissful existence full of partial memories and vaguely remembered conversations and always wondering if you know that face from somewhere? Sure, but wouldn't it be cool to be a literal walking encyclopedia with a perfect memory who knows everything about everything even the painful things you've buried deep deep down and would love to forget?...on second thought, this doesn't sound that great after all. Sounds like you'd be an annoying know-it-all with no friends and an addiction to pills.

I, for one, would love to have some air conditioned clothes. I could then have a cool, breezy look about me all the time which I can only imagine will lead towards a small group of like-minded citizens to follow my lead. We will be the cool, breezy people who never have to endure the embarrassment and discomfort of sweat stains, or damp underwear, or stinky socks. We will be those happy, airy folks who always look fresh and smell like lilacs or roses. We will be those envied people who are always comfortably dry and happy and it will only cost us hundreds and hundreds of dollars and our souls.

Someone needs to drop everything they are doing and make me some pet food that doesn't look and smell and taste so appetizing! It's not my fault - I am often weak and hungry and I just get down on all fours and devour the food like the animal that I am. I am not proud of it, but I am also not ashamed. I am who I am and that is someone with zero impulse-control especially when around delicious, mushy, scrumptious pet food. Do I need to be eating it? No! I should be consuming the "people food" that is in the fridge. So, get on it and stop making it so great. And while they are it, I think that it is high time that someone makes some pet food that can give my pets the ability to dance. I really want to have dancing pets. And also ones that smell better and don't whine so much.

I'd appreciate if one of you smart guys could perfect the vacuum. Now don't get me wrong, the vacuum in its current state is satisfactory and fine. But let's face it- it's boring and never quite gets the rug or carpet or house pet totally dirt and dust free and for those of us who want that, vacuums are hugely disappointing and a constant source of frustration along the lines of taps that leak, shoe laces that come untied and education for education's sake. What I would like in my new-fangled dream vacuum is to have a multi-level portable machine where each level satisfies something deep inside of me. Allow me to explain. Level 1: a throwback of sorts to the current state of household vacuums. I would never use this level to clean with - instead I would only flip to it occasionally when I want to remember the past in all of it's not-quite-totally-clean glory. Level 2: this level would be the most used - a super-strong suction for those of us who are stuck in our current regularly, vacuumed world. All dust and dirt would be instantly sucked up and any small items the family wants to keep would need to be kept out of the vicinity of the suction tube as it would be that powerful. I imagine that once freed of dust and dirt in the household overall happiness would skyrocket thus having a huge impact on the worldwide sale of tissues outside of cold and flu season. Level 3: not sure how often or under what circumstances this level will be used, but in level 3, all small to medium pieces of furniture, pets, items on counters or shelves within 10 metres would all be suck into the large tube. Glasses, earrings, paintings on the wall, prized collection of pelts all gone. I'm sure that someone will come up with a use for this newfound power and that we wouldn't live in fear of accidentally turning the dial to this level, and I'm sure someone will call into radio shows bemoaning the invent of this level in the first place while the host will counter that the coffee table was probably a garish eyesore and your long-haired cat mostly just shed and whined anyways up until the moment they got sucked away. Level 4: a level that would need the utmost caution before being used and, I would surmise, a signed consent form and an agreement not to sue the company in case of accident. This level would be used when someone wants to just start over - you would only need to open your front door, lean back and press the button and seconds later, empty house. This could also be used to empty the pool, literally; to get a choice of any parking spot you want by clearing the block; to actually vacuum up your enemies after decades of having to be metaphorical. Based on this power, glue companies would have to up their game as people would need some way of guaranteeing their prized possessions couldn't be sucked out the window by their neighbours. Philosophers of the future will contemplate the existence of a level 5, a level that doesn't currently exist but which all vacuums aspire to reach. Level 5 would be the level where we can only hypothesize what existence would be like - as the vacuum achieves perfection, would we also, in turn reach a higher plain of existence and knowledge or would be constantly at risk of being sucked into oblivion.

Opinions?!?! I've Got Opinions!

I have lots and lots of opinions - not sure why, but I am trying not to question myself as there is a queue. And, I guess the word has gotten around that I have some thoughts and feelings and ideas about a wide variety of things and what has started happening recently is that people are often stopping me in the street or while shopping and are asking me my opinion on things. I am happy to share. This is the first in a series of my opinions on a variety of topics that I have been asked about recently. I hope you find this educational, instructive and definitive, and if you do not, then please consider lowering your standards.

Here is my take on...

...superfoods: So, I have been told that there are these foods that are labelled "super" as they are really good for you. I don't have a problem with that per se, except that it seems like a very exclusive group, or club that is really hard to join and I just happen to have a thing against those kind of clubs. You know the ones I'm talking about - those ones where if you don't have the right clothes, or car or annoying accent, you can't get in. And now some genius thought up one for foods?!?!? Sounds unnecessarily elitist to me - who did those foods (or the more human members of its fan club) have to pay off to get in? And if it was the foods themselves doing the paying off, then "how" is my next question. By now, we all know the members of this clique: the "unblemished" blueberries, the "incandescent" kale, "accented" acai berries, the "bedazzling" broccoli, the "king kong"quinoa. If I was one of those previously-thought-highly-of foods that didn't receive an invite, I'd be fairly annoyed. "Like what is so wrong with me?" I'd think "Just yesterday we were all pals in the garden or the grocery store and now today you are walking around like you own the place. And another thing, how and when did you start walking?!?!" I just don't know if creating a manufactured divide amongst foods is the way to go - anyone remember the caste system? Another thought is once you are a member of this club, can you leave? Are you always super? Do they get time off to just be a regular veggie and visit the relatives? If not, it is more of a prison and less of a club. I want to come out right now and say that I am staunchly against imprisoning food! There is no way that is a good use of my tax dollars. The "super" part also seems to be wildly misleading. It makes it sound, to someone like me who goes out of his way to be as literal and easily misled as possible, that the foods are not only good for me but that they also have powers. I would love for my food to have powers, although it may make me contemplate eating them for their nutritional value or only using them for their powers. And when I say "using", I don't want it to sound like I would be a malevolent master and the food my lowly slave - do I look like I could be that evil and have a slave? Don't answer that! That day, last week, when you saw me I didn't have any beauty time in the morning - doesn't mean I am pro-food-slavery. Also, I may be "way out there" and considered a little "off" and "one to keep an eye on" (only when you aren't in the middle of a two-eye activity - I don't mind you watching, just don't get hurt. Safety first!) but I am way above being an evil master or even a good master to some food. I'm not that weird. Or I guess I should say not that weird anymore. Thank you Doctor Evans and the wonderful Nurse Peters!

...gravel: In one sense gravel is just a field of small rocks and if that is how you see them that is all well and good. Honestly, I don't know how you can sleep at night. Uh huh? Oh really? You put your pillow over there and your alarm clock too? Well, now I know - thanks for sharing! With those images in my head, I don't think I'll be sleeping much for a few nights now. Back to the gravel. Don't you see that if seen very close up gravel is essentially the same as a bunch of big, scary rocks seen from quite a distance? And, if that doesn't freak you out, the next time you walk by a field of gravel, I challenge you to get down on your knees or, better yet, get off your high horse (word to the wise: that ridiculously large horse you prance around on looks out of place and makes you appear aristocratic and hard to approach. If those were your goals all along, kudos to you) lay down and get yourself a bit dirty and what will you observe? Those tiny, completely-innocent looking pieces of gravel look like big old, grown-up rocks and boulders from your new perspective. Either way you look at it, don't underestimate these pebbles we are "using" to cheaply cover our elementary school playgrounds with- they are not just small, less powerful and intimidating rocks (I mean they are that, just not only that). I believe they hold within them the ability to be so much more and if we sit back and relax and incessantly sip our iced tea as our elected officials insist (all-the-while denying us enough requisite sugar to make the drink at all palatable - I don't know about you, but I voted for those officials as I believed they would be a whole lot more liberal in the dispensing of sweeteners) then those pieces of gravel may have the last laugh (or one of the last laughs if I happen to be in a particularly laughing mood that day). It also bothers me that no one holds gravel in high regard or has even attempted to hold it in high regard or any level of regard. It is the least we can do and sometimes it is important to do our least except when there is a potential for free kittens or when there is a potential gas leak and then we should always do our most or at least appear to do our most before fleeing the scene. During elementary school, many a day was spent running up and down the school gravel field kicking balls (or having a series of balls kicked at me repeatedly of which I only partially deserved) both real and imaginary. So much of my youth was spent on or in the vicinity of gravel and though I stood there on many occasions breathing through my mouth (I had yet to learn to nose breath), inhaling in copious amounts of dust and then sneezing and wheezing for hours afterwards, I never blamed the gravel or the men and women from the gravel manufacturing plant or those who made the decision that a grass field was either too aesthetically pleasing or too expensive, no, I blamed my cousin from Philadelphia. What a piece of work that guy is - let me tell you! I'm pretty sure he hates gravel as well.

...glossy photographs: I need to set the record straight, I'm not against glossy photographs at all. I am just not a big fan because, as an already glossily-foreheaded person, glossy photographs just accentuate my already way-too-shiny features making me look more surreal than I can handle. And I have quite the surreal threshold in the first place. I can see how a matte finish is helpful for some of you with a "cloudy" complexion who are looking to appear more exciting in photo albums your descendants may be forced to look at when visiting their grandparents, but for those of us who have no problem with sheen, gloss just seems redundant and quite wasteful and I, for one, am thinking of the little children at home all alone while their parents are slaving away working overtime at the glossy photo paper finishing plant just so little Bobby and Susie can have sturgeon caviar on their blinis or the newest video game where a team of Navy Seals slaughter surprisingly sentient killer whales who are determined to enslave all of our sturgeon and put a moratorium on all blini and other pancake production thus driving up worldwide production of waffles and french toast just after they purchased all breakfast diners. I am sorry if I think it is more important for those kids to have parental supervision so they can't eat all of the frosting or at least spread out the consumption of the frosting over a week or just spread it out on some cake to at least reduce the sheer amount of frosting in any one sitting. I just think allowing too much frosting isn't sending the right message to the youth of today, just like too much gloss is sending the wrong message to whom or whatever beings find remnants of our photographs sometime in the far future. The great-grandchildren of our great-grandchildren will hope that the alien oppressors, who are pretty nice considering they are in the world-taking-over-enslaving-great-grandchildren racket, are impressed with the pictures they find and don't just toss them into the proverbial fire or any actual fire as I often do if I happen to have extra photos stuffed in my pocket when I happen to walk past a dwindling fire that needs something, anything, to keep going. True story: I often stuff my pockets with paper and photographs in an ill-advised, poorly-thought-through attempt at cheap insulation - instead of making me warmer, it makes me just wish I had purchased both the discounted high-powered shredder and the matching leg-warmer/sweater combo that I turned down as I really wanted to impress my friend who is quite against sweaters for reasons that are either beyond me or ones I haven't quite got to yet on this long highway called life.

...reigns of terror: Now don't get me wrong, I hate terror. Actually, that's not strong enough, I abhor terror in all of its forms. Even the word terror makes it sound scary  -good job whomever named it, but bad job whomever came up with the concept and then sold it to the highest bidder. Reigns, on the other hand, aren't all that bad. There can be good reigns, but for some reason they are usually associated with things we don't like: terror, fear, overt politeness. As far as established reigns go, reigns of terror are definitely in my bottom 5 and have next to no chance of moving up unless some of the other slightly more popular reigns take a turn for the worse and drop in popularity (I'm looking at you reigns of maniacal iron workers, bacterial growth, and sweet pickles and their bastardized cousin, relish). One reign that is good are reigns of rain as that is good for the crops. I try to always consider the crops and the farmers who reap them. Although, reign implies that it goes on for a long time and that it is both unwanted and forced on us. I don't love rain, but it is okay. However, if all of a sudden rain took a turn to the darkside and went on for a very long time, stayed when it was no longer wanted and forced itself on us even when we were screaming and crying for enough then I would have to contemplate changing my opinion of it. I'm directly implying that rain would have to be aware of its own reign and I have no evidence that that is at all possible, but I'm not ruling it out either. I have learned the hard way not to rule things out (I actually threw away all of my rulers and straight edges in hopes to avoid this). Anyways, reigns of terror really suck - they make life much less enjoyable (unless you are in charge, but then you have no real friends) and they make it very hard to keep dentist appointments and trips to the florist.Taking a historical perspective, reigns of terror started out on a relatively good note. They were initially very useful in keeping otherwise peaceful, well-behaved agrarian societies from causing too many problems, which they were prone to do - must have been the way they looked at everyone sideways. The reigns of terror came in and they helped create great monuments and other important civic structures by tearing the ridiculously lazy townsfolk away from their kilns, hearths and doll shops and putting them to work with the only known con being lots and lots of sweat and the occasional owie. Now, this was all well and good until reigns of terror were taken over by some really not so great people who took all of the amazingly great things about them and added in all of the killing and the blood. They claimed they were putting the capital T in terror and that before the terror should have really had quotation marks around it, which was quite a novel suggestion as it was at least two centuries before that really caught on as a way of speaking sarcastically. Once lives were lost, reigns of terror lost any chance at being remembered fondly or remembered at all, what with the death and all  -aside from the really amazing clothes and sense of style the rulers had. I'm not sure why there is often a direct correlation between megalomania and power and a knack for choosing the correct scarf/sweater combination. Imagine if they had had better childhoods and were hugged more often - they could have been the leaders of the fashion world and been loved and adored by men and women and been the life of the biggest parties in Paris, Milan, Tokyo and New York. But no, they got just a little too carried away with power and trying to crush everyone. "We didn't want to crush you when we were kids, we only wanted to win the soccer game and take the pretty girl to the dance" we'd say to them if we had a chance  -talk about being misunderstood and having them get a tad bit too angry at a fairly easy to solve communication issue. Luckily, they are fewer and far between these days since we are all so civil and mature compared to our ancestors. They were so uncivil and so grayish brown in the photos that have survived. I'm not saying being grayish brown would make you less refined, but it wouldn't help. But, they aren't all gone - there still are some really really bad dudes in power today subjecting their people to horrors and I wouldn't wish reigns of terror upon anyone except for my second cousin, twice removed. He knows what he's done.

...contemporary dance: I guess it was just a matter of time before we had to either phase out or close the door on the era of ancient dance which gave me the energy to get through some tough days growing up. I may understand this natural progression but I just can't say that I am huge fan of this wave of popularity about all things contemporary, especially dance. I may be alone in remembering the glory days of dance gone by, ones that those ultra-modernist culturally snooty elite that we all see around town these days with a scarily, rapidly increasing frequency would like us to conveniently forget. I made a promise to my great aunts-in-law (or to one of my great aunts-in-law as there is a good chance one had a previous engagement as I left the invites to the very last minute. It just slipped my mind as many activities with my great aunts-in-law do- that is the way it is with planning events involving relatively obscure relations) to curtail the amount of information I conveniently forget as it was growing to proportions that could have been troublesome if my troublesome category wasn't full at the moment with a three month wait list. All items/people/objects/metaphysical constructs that appeared to my receptionist (an alphabetical rotation of stuffed animals with size occasional trumping name based completely on the stuffed animals proximity to me which is, in turn, based completely on my dexterity of the moment which is, in turn, based on a random number generator I accidently stumbled upon when I accidently stumbled on my way to the dry pantry for some late-night crackers. My family has quite a intricate history with random numbers that is equal parts incredulous, annoying and demanding-an-amazing-soundtrack-opening-up-multiple-options-for-off-off-broadway-production-if/when-my-obviously-empty-threats-of-an-endless-stream-of-emails-containing-cryptic-codes-of-numbers-that-are-in-fact-generated-randomly-from-a-great-website-I-stumble-upon-from-time-to-time-usually-when-hungry-with-a-hunger-that-only-crackers-stored-dryly-can-come-close-to-satisfying (they do)). But some of you may wonder "what is your issue with contemporary dancing really, or are you just enjoying a few moments in the spotlight?" To which I answer (after hours practicing in said spotlight which drove up my electricity bill to previously unforeseen heights that make me briefly question if a limelight would have been more cost-effective) it is highly possible that my "issue" (to use your word, and I am trying as often as I can to use other people's words when talking instead of my previous practice of using their numbers which almost always caused them to raise a red flag which was a problem at first because no one had one, but that was quickly solved as it had given me a great idea for birthday presents and allowed me to clear the spare bedroom of all of those extra red flags I was keeping on hand "just in case") with contemporary dates back to my youth when my father, a contemporary dancer's contemporary dancer, was shunned and isolated by a clique of popular, mean contemporary dancers - they wouldn't even give him the time of day! And while it is true that neither them nor he really understood what that meant, it hurt him as did many other abstract expressions when used verbally by dancers and other artists towards him. I was too young at the time to do anything about it, but I remember him coming home, dejected and spending hours gracefully and beautifully moving about the house to somber, yet uplifting music usually featuring the piano, and feeling his pain and anguish and I remember vowing to bring down contemporary dance from the outside as I have always avoided being inside on sunny days.

A Love in Colours: Sky Blue

The breathtaking blue sky seemed to go on forever in every direction. Kites were being flown by fathers and their kids, adult birds were returning to their nests mouthing worms to feed their young ones, and thin, wispy clouds remained as a distant reminder of the rains of the previous few days. This spring afternoon featured a sky that was almost surreal, the kind that one could lay on the grass and stare up at for hours upon hours, which they did. They lay there, saying but a word, lost in the blueness of the sky, next to each other, the only people in the universe.

His heart had just skipped a beat and he finally fully understood the seriousness of the often overused cliche. She was stunningly beautiful and he was at a loss for words. He was not panicking as he was certain that after a short period of time he would either find his words again or they him. He was also silently cursing himself for misusing and abusing the word "beautiful" on countless other occasions when referring to nice looking girls whom he previously had anointed with the highest level of physical praise when he should have been reserving it solely for this rare type of woman that he previously had only seen in his imagination. His eyes darted away, he quickly pinched himself in four separate locations in quick succession and then slowly looked back just to make sure that it wasn't some sort of small, localized mirage appearing in front of his history lecture room at the university. Who was she, he wondered? A visiting lecturer from some far-away pristine land of beaches of white sand? A new student whose main purpose in life was to prove to all other students that it was indeed possible to possess both highly advanced neurological proclivity as well as perfect skin and flowing hair? A sign that he both needed new glasses and had zero interest in filling the prescription if this was the result? Regardless, he needed to meet her and ask her about her noticeable lack of any skin blemishes, to know her name and favourite drapery patterns and to take her out for an evening of fine dining, whispering by candlelight and the taming of wild horses if that happened to come up organically. Time seemed to stand still. He had been stuck there, watching her from a far, and almost missed his chance as she started to walk towards the bus loop, but thankfully as he began to fall in her direction as if felled by a large axe, he put one foot in front of the other as his parents taught him during his formative years and he ran after her.

She was not looking to meet someone, or at least she had convinced herself of this after writing lines saying this all weekend, No, she had learned the hard way what happened when she allowed herself to be distracted by all of the cute, hunky guys who made her jaw drop and almost walk into walls only narrowly missing as she had to stop walking due to the pain in her slightly dislocated jaw. With her newfound focus, she strode towards her first class of the new school year and what an interesting class it had been. Proud of herself for both not making a fool of herself too profoundly on the first day and for leaving that door open just in case she decided to strategically act the fool in the future, she left the class and saw him. He was adorably trying not to stare at her by pretending to read a book that he was holding upside down or he was actually reading the book upside down and was just showing off his skills. She instantly remembered that he had spoken up in class a few times and was clearly quite bright as well as doing something in his free time, she wasn't quite sure what, that made his muscles fill out his shirt just so. She briefly contemplated sashaying over there and either saying hi or kissing him with such force that he would either need medical attention or be interested in grabbing a coffee sometime. He was quite cute and she had a soft spot for cute guys that was sort of like the top of a cantaloupe when it was perfectly ripe - she quickly made plans to buy a cantaloupe on the way home for a refreshing mid-afternoon snack. He clearly seemed interested and she prayed that he would make his move. After waiting as long as she could and running out of ways to seem occupied while standing facing a nearly empty bulletin board, she decided to go home, as staying there any longer and he would think she was a little too interested in the empty wall. It was only the first day of class, she reminded herself, there was lots of time to get to know him.