While in the bath today, a seahorse formed in the soapy water. It was moments before it stretched into something unrecognizable...and what are the chances of this ever happening again, so you'll have to take my word for it. That'll teach me to go anywhere without my camera.

My Mother, before my Father came along, had a boyfriend who gave her a seahorse. A real, tiny, once alive seahorse, suspended in a resin mould as a gift. What a gift. Did he know that seahorses are monogamous and mate for life? Poor thing, it never worked out.

The seahorse looks delicate and slightly shocked. I used to love it when I was young and I've since taken it to my apartment where it now lives atop my bookcase. Thinking of it now, it seems strange I don't think of it everyday, this sea creature stolen and encased in a plastic tomb, sharing my home. How far away and alone it would feel if it could and were alive. I shall give you more notice oh little horsey of the sea.

For my last birthday, my boyfriend at the time wanted to buy me a bluetooth. And while I can certainly appreciate hands free talking, somehow I feel that gift giving has gone downhill. Truth be told I'd be horrified to receive a dead sea creature, but wouldn't turn my head at say, something glittery and pretty like this...

How awesome are drinking glasses from the '70's...?!
I'd say very. I'm always tempted at goodwill and garage sales to take them home. If only I had room.
Here is my favorite picture from this summer. A canoe, a lake, a sunset, a dock, while looking through a green warbley moulded glass. I loved this glass so much, even before the very stiff margarita was in it, that I almost took it home with me from the cottage we had rented. Settle down, I didn't.

But how much could the owners have loved it if they kept it at their rented out cottage?!

warm fuzzy goodness

Is there anything better than this poem?

To those of you unfortunate enough to not really know...this is a perfectly true description.

Ode To my Socks
-Pablo Neruda-

Mara Mori brought me
a pair of socks
which she knitted herself
with her shepherd's hands
two socks as soft as rabbits.
I slipped my feet into them
as if into jewel cases
knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin.

Audacious socks,
my feet became two woolen fish,
two long sharks of lapis blue shot through
by one golden thread,
two mammoth blackbirds,
two cannons,
thus honored were my feet
by these celestial socks.
They were so handsome that for the first time
my feet seemed unacceptable to me
two decrepit firemen,
unworthy of the woven fire
of those luminous socks.

Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
to save them the way schoolboys
bottle fireflies,
the way scholars hoard
sacred documents.
I resisted the mad impulse to put them
in a golden cage and daily feed them
birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
Like explorers in the jungle
who hand over the very rare green deer
to the spit and eat it with remorse,
I stretched out my feet and pulled on
the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

The moral of my ode is this:
beauty is twice beauty
and what is good is doubly good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool in winter.


(translation by Robert Bly and Margaret Sayers Peden)

These are some socks I am currently working on...

I have strong feelings for the Ocean. I was recently by the sea and each time I was in I became poetic and dramatic. It was involuntary...I was so overcome with the Enormousness of the sea.

FASCINATING INFORMATION
There is more sea than land
Ocean Tides are partly caused by the moon
The ocean can kill you with its bare watery hands

Much to the horror of my friend, I was found saying things like, 'Great swelling sea beast, we see your power', and 'Respect the Ocean!' and 'Rolling, Toiling Creature of Sea' and when I felt a rip tide or was surrounded by seaweed, 'It wants us to join, it wants to swallow us whole...we just want to visit, Oh Sea'. This happened every time I went into the ocean. Every time. I was reminded of the book The Shipping News and the Film The Whale Rider.

On the last night of the vacation we went to the boardwalk and after a few glasses of wine I announced that I wanted to go right up to the water. I went alone because my friends didn't want to get sand in their shoes. No judgements and I dearly love my friends, but I was utterly flabbergasted that they were perfectly happy looking at the ocean from a distance. OK, sure, I didn't expect them to want to roll in the sand like I did, but how can you resist the sea? Luckily I was alone because more babbling of poetic declarations ensued. The full moon peaked from the clouds and the tide was high and I was overcome with the forces.

Sometimes I feel like an expert of Biology.

THE TRUTH

I am not

I do have pride though from a high grade on a digestive system biology test in grade 11. The story of how I received the high grade is better. How I received the high grade...I studied. This wasn't a common practice of mine, studying, so when I did for once and found the subject interesting, fascinating even, I was thrilled with the whole process.


Especially considering the study conditions. I decided to settle down on the floor against a couch in a spare room in a friends house on Halloween late at night. Friends were up to no good of one kind or another in various areas around the house.

NOTEWORTHY

Being involved in a good time was very important to me then

receiving high grades were not even remotely important

Little me studied how food travels through your system from the chewing to the poo-ing and I was riveted! Saliva enzymes break down fat! The esophagus is a muscle (sort of)! How everything connects and has its purpose!

I like to remember myself that night marching to my own drum beat...sitting in a quite room while a party erupts around me, lit on fire by the sheer magic of science. I am like the look on this mans face.