Tech Voodoo

So here’s the thing . . . these past two weeks have involved (what could be perceived as) a voodoo-type tech curse.  My newish phone suffered an early death, my computer’s LCD screen was stabbed by a pointy, metal object (rendering it nearly useless), and, today, while in the midst of progress, my mini-voice recorder decided it was time to hit the grave.  Nice.  Not.  I have said before, no techie here.  Just for fun, I googled “voodoo dolls” and I discovered that, for the inexpensive fee of just $600 bucks, I can pay for the voodoo curse to be lifted.  Unfortunately, I’m short on cash.  Being Catholic, however, has some nice perks like free blessed salts, candles, water, and, of course, novenas.   Let the sprinkling of holy water from the Jordan river begin and (since there is no saint of broken things), I’m asking Job to put in a good word for me to the big guy upstairs.

Hidden Treasure

I’m a “quotes” person.  I love quotes from people who have climbed rungs of the highest ladders, who have tripped and fallen face down in grime, who have cleansed themselves by splashing about in rain puddles, who have soared on the wings of ecstasy, who have teetered on rocky precipices, who have cradled a little person close to them and inhaled that baby’s sweetness, who have scratched art into existence, who have loved, hated, accomplished, failed, thrown in the towel, swam with rip tides until they broke free. . .who have LIVED. 

“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?

The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within, not for want of a teller, but for want of an understanding ear.”
~Stephen King (Different Seasons)

6 inches

 

One of the best motivational, sports/life speeches ever by Pacino in Any Given Sunday. My buddy, Pete, listens to this every morning before starting his day.  I watch it when I need to kick a$$ and take names.  The six inches is in front of YOUR face!  What are you going to do today to grab them????

 

Panthers’ St. Patty’s Puctacular!

Oh, yeahhh!  I’m on a hockey high.  My boys, Weiss and Santorelli played well tonight and Clemmensen rocked the net up close and personal ;-) !!! So exciting to witness a 4-0 shut out against the Maple Leafs! Maybe a wee bit of Irish luck but mostly great ice time. The night was complete (according to my son) because of  the couple fights that broke out (on the ice of course).  Family, hockey, yelling, and dancing?   Who could have asked for a better way to spend St. Patty’s night!  Go Panthers!!!!

 

This Friday Moment

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. Photos – no words – capturing moments from the week. Simple, special, extraordinary moments. Moments you want to pause, savour and remember. “This Moment” is a ritual found on  Life inspired by the Wee Man which I then kidnapped from Almost there by Sarah-Jane.

 

Feel free to leave a link to your Friday Moment in the comment section!!!

Gray Day Musings & Neruda

 I am sitting at my desk taking a break from working. My heavy, thick glass window to the world is open. Life filters in. Jays screech about their dampened feathers, a male cardinal calls his absent mate, the wind blusters about, enters my room, restlessly rustles my papers, chills me. The sky is steel. An overt warning of hair raising, electric flashes and deep, shuddering anger that booms and bellows while raging torrents pummel.

I am swept up in the emotions of this gray afternoon. Poetry fills deep voids, gaping hollows with substance, meat, food. Then, I receive bad news. Perfect day for those pained, hurting. Falling tears may be disguised as precipitation.

Poetry is needed, read, to shake the shadows of the Grim Reaper, so close, so near my friend’s family. Attempts at poetic therapy, self-medication.  The following distracts me, a selection from one of my favorite poets filled with such passion his words often drip with seduction.

It’s good to feel you are close to me

It’s good to feel you are close to me in the night, love,
invisible in your sleep, intently nocturnal,
while I untangle my worries
as if they weretwisted nets. Withdrawn, your heart sails through dream,
but your body, relinquished so, breathes
seeking me without seeing me perfecting my dream
like a plant that seeds itself in the dark.Rising, you will be that other, alive in the dawn,
but from the frontiers lost in the night,
from the presence and the absence where we meet ourselves,something remains, drawing us into the light of life
as if the sign of the shadows had sealed
its secret creatures with flame.~Pablo Neruda