Oh my! Today is the day of superstition! Friday the 13th
For those that are not aware – in western mythology a Friday the 13th is bad-luck. A day of misfortune. Unfortunately no one really seems to know why this might be the case!
I have never placed any belief in the bad-luck of Friday the 13th – and so far I have not seen any side-effects. The town of Port Dover in Ontario actually celebrates the day! It started out as a motor-cycle enthusiast excuse to show of bikes and party – and now is pretty much just an excuse to party.
So Happy Friday the Thirteenth! And Good Luck to all
I have no idea who this is but I stumbled across this song and I think she is brilliant!
give her a listen and share! Let’s see if we can make this video trend :)
Silence is soothing.
At the right time and place. There are moments when we just want quiet. When we desire peaceful reflection. Moments of simply wanting to reside in the harbour of ourselves. Silence chosen and embraced is the sweet blissful cocoon of tea for one and a book at midnight. Wrapped in soft blanket on the couch I savour each sip, each word, and wander the paths of imagination.
Silence is bitter.
At 4:30 AM when the world is asleep, and all around is the dead of night. Even the creak of the house long settled into the cold silence of the dark. Silence then is as bitter as black coffee. Espresso doubled down and chugged straight up and hot. I slip out of bed and wander the empty silence of my house. Standing in each cold empty room looking for answers, looking for voices. But it is only the echo of me rambling to myself.
Silence is nothing.
A gap the size of the moon dancing across the skies, slipping over stars and planets. Dancing between streaks of light from comets. Silence is the sputtering of candles defying the dark, defying the rain, defying the wind, defying time. The candles never win, but oh how they burn, oh how they dazzle with bright burning flames. Silence is the gasp in the moment after you and I. As we pull apart and lie side-by-side, side-by-each, alone in the racing of our hearts.
Silence is absence.
Empty spaces in my memory of people who made me laugh. Made me cry. Made me love them. Perhaps they even loved me. At least in silence I can dream and think; believe that once they cared to call my name and longed to hold me near. Silence frees the ghosts of the past to wander through my mind with stories of ‘what if…’ and ‘remember when…’
Silence is sharp.
Razor edged slicing away what needs to be forgotten. Slicing deep and opening wounds we cannot leave alone. Silence is when we are fully ourselves; undistracted, undissolved, undistilled. The raw essence of I fully exposed to the sun and the sky. Bleeding away trickle by tick, droplets of time all bloody and slick. Revealing the truth to a stupid old dick. In silence there is no hiding from regret and sweet guilt.
Silence is golden.
What more is there to say? Silence is needed, and simply embraced. Held close to feel cold reality and warm life still breathing, still beating, still in this frame. Silence speaks loudly – and when we listen closely silence sets us free.
Yesterday was a big day for me! A day of reward and unexpected success. So yes indeed Merry Christmas to me!
Yesterday I had the “single day” most views ever on my blog at 1,798 views. My normal daily traffic is around 65 daily views. This is what that looks like visually:
Excuse the blurry screenshot (I’ll fix that later cause I’m in a rush….). You can see the essence of what I am saying with the massive blue-bar on the right towering over all other days! Or to think of it another way in one day I almost had as many views as I would get in one month!
Thanks folks for reading all about what to do with left-over Prime Rib.
I saw Santa. Once . Long ago. I am certain I did.
Not a store-made Santa who sits on the big chair and smells of cigarettes and aqua velva. No indeed not one one of those poorly cloned copies who need pillows for bellies, and cotton for beards.
I saw the real Santa. I swear I did.
I was 5. Or maybe 6. That isn’t really important to this story. All that matters is I was young enough to still see magic, and feel magic. To sense real magic when it happened. And it happened.
Christmas Eve. I was supposed to be asleep, but there was no way I could sleep. My parents and some other adults had gathered for the usual Christmas Eve festivities. Singing carols, eating treats, and drinking drinks that made adults jolly with the spirit of Christmas.
While the adults laughed and sang loudly, I lay in my bed listening for that moment of magic. And then. There. That noise; a bump on the roof. And a jingle, jangle. And one loud stomp. It was so loud I was sure the entire world had heard it.
Far downstairs the adults were as loud as ever – their old grown-up ears not able to hear the magic. I pressed my face to the frost covered glass, trying to see through the Jack Frost swirls and curls. A flash of red passed by. It had to be him.
Silent as a mouse I moved through the house. Small enough to pass beneath the singing jolly adults without being noticed. I passed by and into the backroom where the Christmas tree waited for Santa’s generosity. I was too late! The tree stood proudly over a mountain of presents, and the stockings sagged from the weight of the goodies inside.
I moved quickly to the backdoor, where my boots were drying. I slipped them on and popped out, and right into a perfect belly and a soft red velvet suit.
It was him – the one and only Real Santa.
He raised a finger to his lips to command my silence, and I wide-eyed obeyed. He smiled, and winked. Helped me stand up. Then he reached into a large bag he was carrying and pulled out a toy airplane with flashing red and blue lights. A wonder of his workshop given right to my hands.
Then he turned me toward the door, and pointed for me to go back inside. One does not disobey Santa if one wants another magical Christmas! I bolted inside as if I was pulled by eight tiny reindeer. And I whistled and shouted and called out his name: “Santa is here! Santa is here!”
The adults turned and smiled at my clattering excitement. My parents bemused let me drag them outside so I could show them the proof that Santa was not just real – but in our backyard.
Being adults they were much too slow. By the time coats and boots had been found and put on, Santa was gone. Vanished except for his boot marks leading toward two thin lines – the marks of his sleigh. And numerous small round marks left by the prancing reindeer.
I told my parents what had happened. and showed them the airplane. But I could see they didn’t believe me.
Then from down the road we heard the jingle of bells, and a loud HO! HO! HO!
And then a crack and a burst of light into the sky, with a deep rolling voice calling, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
Later as my mother tucked me into bed, she kissed me on the forehead saying, “You lucky boy. Not just anyone gets to see the Real Santa Claus.”
And that is how I know Santa is more than just a story – because I met him for real over 40 years ago on a cold snowy Christmas Eve.
- The Santa Claus Myth – Should You Tell The Kids The Truth? (roomtogrow.co.uk)
- 10 Cool Santa Facts…and A Santa Tracker to boot! ;) (bluediamondaromas.wordpress.com)
- Why Santa is silly (trinidadexpress.com)
- 5 Best Christmas Albums (mademan.com)
- 10 Best Cartoon Christmas Movies (mademan.com)
- Let the Children Beleive for as Long As They Can (costumesupercenter.com)