Parting Of The Seas

Barbara: This is a phenomenon I notice all year long, but I notice it particularly at holiday time

(is “phenomenon” the right word?) and I couldn’t resist asking if you’ve ever noticed it yourselves.

First, let me set my phenomenon-question up: I have this thing I do whereby I “ask” for a parking space if I need one and it never fails: a parking spot appears where and when I most need it (I remember discussing this phenomenon on one of your blogs recently, but dang it if I can remember which one). Anyway, I’ve become rather “famous” in my little circle for my Parking Fairy miracles. Don’t ask me who I think I’m asking. It’s not God. If I believed in a super-deity, I would NEVER waste his/her time on my parking dilemmas. But whoever/whatever it is, it/they are kind and benevolent enough to grant my parking wishes. (Okay, I totally remember comparing parking fairy stories with Hollye, am I right?—and her question, which is another of my own, is why don’t I feel entitled to ask the Publishing Fairy or the Casting Fairy or the Producing Fairy for their help. Anyway, I digress…)

So, this Parking Fairy goes around sprinkling her fairy dust and I believe with all my heart that she/he manifests some kind of universal control. Which brings me to my actual question:

When you’re out and about, rushing to and fro, trying to get chores done, trying to get home on time, knowing there are a million things at home that also need tending, have you ever noticed that sometimes the seas of cars or people around you either part to make your journey easier, or they merge in your path to make you stop, hesitate, and wait? I notice this happening all the time and it kinda freaks me out.

Let’s say I’m grocery shopping. I’m wheeling my cart down and around aisles like a possessed amasser-of-goods, and everywhere I turn, someone appears out of NOWHERE wheeling their own cart which they stop RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME so they can examine the plethora of cereal boxes with fixed and determined concentration while their cart blocks the ENTIRE AISLE and I have to “excuse me”, “uh-hmm”, and “do you mind” for a seeming shopping-hell eternity before they realize I am fumbling madly, which causes them in turn to (absolutely mortified and apologetic) finally scoot themselves and their cart out of the way. And this happens not just the one time that day, but literally every aisle I need to navigate.

Or conversely, I am in the same grocery-shopping-mode, but the opposite happens: every person around me elegantly and magically moves out of the way. Like we are part of some elaborate, synchronized shopping choreography. Every item that I want and need is in stock and, on my drive home, every light turns green as I approach.

Both scenarios require effort and work on my part, but some days are satisfying, effortless-effort and some are maddening, frustrating, slow-me-down challenges. And just as I noticed this phenomenon, I began to wonder if those “frustrating” days aren’t somehow a good reminder that I might need to slow things down a bit and welcome the hesitations and waiting. When you think about, there’s nothing essentially wrong with “slowing down”, is there? Especially in these crazy times.

So what do you think? Grand scheme or random luck?

(And what if this same question was applied to life in general? Sometimes every light turns green and things roll along smoothly, and sometimes, seemingly apropos of nothing, everything blocks your way and nothing happens the way you want or need it to. So when your way is blocked, are you being guided to slow down, take a breath, and reassess?)

Deb: When I was a “younger” girl, my Dad and I would be driving from, say, downtown and he would announce that we were going to make every single light. And I would marvel. How I would howl with laughter when my Dad would start to slow the car down to a snail’s pace from a mile away if he saw that the light ahead was red and even if we were going one millionth of a mile an hour he would not actually have to stop. I thought of how difficult that would be today and how people would be all over our asses honking and cursing. I have to honestly say that I have not thought of that in 35 years, Barb, and your story prompted the memory, so thanks.

Me, I think I have mentioned before that I have great shopping karma. It always works out for me. Parking lot karma has not been granted. I am out there with the rest of the slobs taking my chances. Sometimes I get the best spot and sometimes I drive in circles, desperate and searching.

And if I am frantic and hurried, do I slow down and take a breath and let fate have its way with me? You bet I don’t. I use every dirty word strung together in the most imaginable way. Get’s me through it, yes it does. 

What I Noticed

Barbara:Today is Thanksgiving in Canada, but the thought of writing a post about all the things I’m grateful for—while very worthwhile (I am a huge fan of gratitude, HUGE)—felt kinda, how do I say … uninspiring. As a wholehearted devotee of the emotion, gratitude is something I try to revel in daily, not just over turkey and mashed potatoes.

But as a somewhat beleaguered possessor of an always-churning, usually-racing, problem-solving, conundrum-facing, event-replaying, needless-worrying, very busy mind, I thought I would use Thanksgiving as an opportunity to shut the ol’ blabbermouth of a noggin up and just plain notice stuff. Little stuff. So I took my dog for a walk through the urban residential area where we live and I opened my eyes.

I noticed that on a beautiful warm autumn day a lot of men like to wash their cars. But not one woman seems to.

I noticed that swarms of gnats can suddenly appear out of nowhere and enshroud your head, getting stuck in your eyelashes and down your mouth. I noticed how really gross that is.

I noticed that if several bright red splotches on the ground appear in my peripheral vision, I will immediately and without doubt assume there was some horrible crime for which these splotches of fresh blood are the only remaining evidence. But then on closer look, I noticed that sometimes fallen maple leaves can turn so vividly red, they look exactly like splotches of fresh blood. I also noticed that I can feel quite embarrassed at my ridiculous assumptions even if no one else is privy.

I noticed that a lot of cyclists like to wear the Lycra outfits favoured by Tour de France athletes. I wonder why. I noticed not everyone looks very good in skin-tight Lycra. But then they’re exercising, so good for them.

Down by the lake, I noticed that when swans tip their heads and upper bodies over to troll for food, their white elliptical butts look exactly like elegant vases bobbing on the water.

I noticed that a woman’s perfume can waft across the air from quite a distance, even if it is very delicate. I noticed how much I like the scent of delicate perfume.

I noticed that most people when they pass you will not look at you, but if they do and you smile at them, they will usually (but not always) smile back. One older woman’s face went from dour and angry to the most angelically beautiful smile I’d ever seen. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. I noticed how I didn’t like the people who didn’t smile back.

I noticed the house by the lake that’s been abandoned for the thirteen years we’ve lived here has its garage door open and its years of ruined contents spilling out. Maybe someone will finally fix the place up. I noticed an old pillow by the gate on the grass; it still had its pillowcase on and was spattered with grime and dust. It looked like a nap by the gate had been intended then abandoned many years ago. I noticed that the house still looks like it’s haunted. And maybe the house is haunted because nothing except the pillow and garage have changed in all these years, even though the house is on a beautiful property with a primo spot by the lake.

I noticed that when two young brothers play in the leaves together, even if they are talking about monkeys flying in the sky, they can still have unabashed, unconditional love pouring from their eyes. The kind of unrestrained expression you almost never see pouring from grown-up people’s eyes.

I noticed how good it feels to shut my brain up for a few glorious minutes to notice things. Especially after turkey and mashed potatoes and a serious helping of gratitude.

Have you noticed something interesting today?

Deb: I noticed when I was reading this that my puppy was whining. I noticed my husband’s top lip pushes out when he dresses a turkey and in that moment I took time to notice how much I love him. And not just because he is doing the turkey. I noticed that the pilot light on the fireplace behind my head makes the sound of a tiny roaring fire when not on. Kinda like a fireplace in a mouse’s hole. I noticed that the birds outside who are scavenging the last of the apple berries on our tree all have different personalities, except for the ones that don’t. I noticed that when I hold in my pee while I am completing a task I am really proud of myself, even though someone said it isn’t good to do that. I noticed that when the sun hits our green and white variegated leafed bush just right, it looks like snow. I noticed that my camera charge light is on, which means I can take some pictures at our goddaughter’s birthday today. I noticed that her gift is wrapped but I haven’t yet signed the card. I noticed in the sunlight that the grey jacket I wore today does not match the plaid colours in my new pants. What I thought was a grey stripe, is pale yellow. I further noticed that I don’t care. And I certainly noticed that Thanksgiving ROCKS. Gorgeous warm weather, sunlight, and a smattering of cloud, the leaves giving off glorious colours, the smell of turkey and a beautiful table. And plenty to be thankful for. And thanks to Barb for inspiring me to notice too. I watched the wee Bairn chase a red leaf today on our walk and noticed that I was laughing out loud.

Happy Thanksgiving to all our Canadian and British friends! Gobble Gobble. Or Tofu Tofu!!!

And in a Thanksgiving-inspired homage to “the bird”, here’s a truly amazing bird for us all to admire (you have to watch to the end––it's astounding) (PS thanks, Cheryl, for sharing it with us!)

At The Paws Of My Master

Deb: I am learning life lessons at the paws of my master. Her name is Bairn. Our wee Bairn, which in Scotland means baby or child. Cute has come to town and she’s peeing all over our hearts.

Wee Bairn

We get a new puppy and, like all of us when we get a new pup, we think of all the things we will have to teach her, but we forget just how much she is going to teach us. About life. She is going to remind us to be curious every single second of the day. She is going to show us how to play and play and play. She is going to demonstrate the importance of stretching every morning when we wake up and after every time we have been still for a while. She will amuse herself with a falling leaf or a butterfly or a piece of fluff backlit by the sunlight. She finds wonder in all things.

Every day is brand new to her like she just got here. She will show us how to follow our instincts, blindly sometimes, even if it means maybe getting hurt. She is going to hop hop hop on her way across the yard cause she is so damn happy to be here. She is going to react to our shouts of “owww” when she nips too hard. We will show her that we are hurt and eventually she will never ever hurt us again. Incredible. She is going to take a good long stare at her poo just to make sure it looks good and that everything is coming out okay. She is going to eat like it is her last minute on earth and cuddle like her life depended on it.

She is going to LIVE in the moment––demonstrated best when she pees and then walks through it. She pees. Then she’s over it. She walks through it to do something new and exciting.

She is going to stand tall, give over, make amends, submit, advance, frustrate and entertain. And she will do all that in the span of two minutes. Then she will do it all over again.

And best of all, she will cock her tiny head reminding us that the world is your oyster when you are too too cute. And she will delight as she watches her human make every sound known to man to try and get her to cock that tiny head again. 

Thank you, our darlin’ wee Bairn. You have reminded us.

Barbara: Deb, this is sooo true—this living in the moment through the eyes of a pup (or baby, for that matter). I remember it with my once-pup, Chaplin, and I remember it with my two once-babies.

Deb and Colin's big bairn with wee Bairn

The other day, watching wee Bairn discover a bumblebee in the bushes in your backyard while you dealt with some of the many hundreds of Deb’s-life interruptions was the sweetest, most calming thing I’d done in a long time. Because, truth be told, I am in a frenzy of work and obsessions and distractions right now, and Bairn––as you so beautifully said––made me stop and watch that bumblebee with her. And so I came to know that a bumblebee can seduce a plant for many many long and patient minutes. That a bumblebee will choose a flower-bud over here and then another one way over there, despite the fact that dozens of other, seemingly wonderful buds dangle between here and there. And that a bumblebee when left alone won’t mind that you watch her. And I also learned that a puppy like Bairn will be just as happy staring in wonder at a bumblebee as she is to discover a minute piece of bark on the walk that just begs to be pounced upon. Over and over again.

It is peaceful bliss when times are hurtling forward at breakneck speeds. Thanks, Deb, for writing this beautiful post, but also for letting me share Bairn’s precious babyhood with you.


Deb: Sadly Bairn is just as awed by the Russian bricklayers next door as she is the bumblebee.  Any port in a storm!

***stay tuned for the next video installment “Deb and Barb Try To Get Work Done With A Puppy Around”***