Going Inkless

     We live in a world of ghosts.  I've seen them.  One minute, I'll be driving along, and suddenly, there's a younger me pushing the stroller and walking into town on some errand.  It happens in a flash, and then it's gone, faded back into the past.  These spots are all over the area.  Every place I've been has a bit of me attached, and these bits reappear in a flash when I pass a point with a strong impression.  Sure, they're only memories, but it always strikes me odd how vivid they can be, especially when they are the most ordinary moments.  We all expect to remember the big things- a catastrophe, love at first sight, a wedding or the birth of a child.  All these things leave their ghosts because we recognize their importance and press them into our minds for later, or else the emotion is strong enough to burn them in without thought.  But it's funny how some absolutely inconsequential pieces etch themselves on your memory...

Well, maybe not as dire as that. I suppose I should start by saying it's not all falling apart, at least not in anything more than the sense that everything  is always  falling apart.  Nature of the universe and all that.  Still, there have been things I've been trying to do lately that are running through some rough patches, and it's good to remind myself that falling apart is what things do.  If they didn't fall apart, we wouldn't have the challenge of putting them back together later. Now, this post may be a bit scattered, and it may run over the same ground I've covered before.  Ah, well.  It's kind of where I am at the moment, and the thoughts are worth sharing because I'm sure you've been there, too.  So, enough apologies.  Here goes:      I've always had a taste for big projects.  There are hundreds of little things that need doing around the house each day, but they hold no attraction like the major task that m...

     Many writers are quick to point out an error when they see one in the written form.  Even those who are too polite to say anything are likely to be seething inwardly as they read a mistake in grammar or spelling.  They can't help it.  In the course of embracing their craft, they have fallen in love with the language, and although that means they may take liberties with it themselves, trying risky or adventurous things, they also bristle at others' abuses.  In addition, good writers develop a knack for ferreting out problems with their own work, constantly honing their writing with each reading.  That habit doesn't stop just because they're looking at someone else's work.  Even when there is no real error, a writer may be thinking of some way it could have been said better.      This almost unconscious editing can be subjective.  Everyone has their own set of rules that are inviolable and others they may forgive bei...

For years, I was the one who came straight back to work the day after Christmas, New Year and Thanksgiving, too.  There were things that needed doing, work that didn't stop just because the rest of the world was taking a break.  Somebody had to do those ceaseless tasks, and if it wasn't me, one of my coworkers might have to give up holiday plans to come in and work.  So, I enjoyed the days off while the library was closed, but dutifully returned as soon as the doors opened again.  This year, the work in my new position is not so time-sensitive, at least not at this time of the year.  Taking an extra day after Christmas would have little impact on my department; so I planned to join the ranks of those who disappeared from the workplace and spent an extended holiday at home.  In truth, it was only one extra day off, the Friday between Christmas and the weekend, but the timing worked out that there would be five whole days to spend in merriment with the ones I...

After the last post, it might be nice to enjoy something a bit lighter and more upbeat:      Birthdays are a big deal in some cultures.  Particularly here in America, we take the anniversary of our first day as a cause to celebrate.  It's the one day when you are special for no other reason than for being you and surviving another year.  For many, being the birthday boy or girl meant you ruled the day.  People gave you things, sang your name, made merry in your honour, and told you that all your wishes should come true.  American parents often go to great lengths to plan the perfect birthday parties for their children.      In my family, birthdays were comparatively low key.  When your family is large and doesn't have much money, the idea of hosting a half dozen school friends for a traditional birthday party isn't very practical, and going out to a professional venue of some sort is certainly impossible.  So, we didn'...

     In the staff lounge on Thursday, I ate my lunch quickly, scanning my smart phone and reading articles I don't remember.  When I had done with that, I looked at the clock.  With some 20 minutes of break time left, I considered returning to my desk early.  While I usually take a walk, I just didn't feel up to it, and I only wanted to get back to my work and finish out the day.  Such "dedication" is frowned upon for non-exempt employees, so after a bit of waffling, I put on my jacket and headed out after all.  A few steps out, the urge to keep walking took over.  Suddenly, I wanted to go as far and as fast as my feet would carry me, to walk until I couldn't anymore - to nowhere in particular.  A few steps more, and I couldn't stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks.  The transformation was abrupt and unexpected.      That morning, my daughter's dog Freya had gone on her last trip to the vet.  She had been ...

     I couldn't count the times I've wished I had brought the camera when I was walking in some park, forest, or other natural area.  I couldn't count the magical moments I've missed capturing because I was unprepared.  For years, I never thought to bring a camera anywhere when the function was not specifically to photograph something.  I'd be walking along and happen upon a scene of such beauty, where the colours and shapes were so perfect and the light was at just the right stage, that I'd stop and marvel and long to share without the means to do so.  Or else, I'd be sitting quietly in camp and a deer might slip silently from the trees and cross only a few yards away.  I'd hold my breath and watch, but then the magic was gone.  All the time, whether walking or camping or even just living my normal routine, the universe was giving me amazing gifts I was powerless to share.      So, now and then, when I had the foresight, I s...