Friday, April 01, 2011
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
"Her husband was quite cross when he'd come home and found out", said Aunt Lillian. She was an older woman who'd had three children, all left for school. She liked to drink wine out on the porch with old friends and talk while staring out onto the garden. Summer was so short.
Today, her neice Raya was over to talk about Lil's sister Martha.
"So, she'd taught this new kitten to not chase mice?" asked Raya.
"Well, yes." She replied and topped off Raya's glass of white. "She didn't want 'icky dead mice' all over the place for the baby to put in it's mouth. Not like they really seemed to have any rodent problems. So she bought this wind up mouse toy and taught it to love the toys and to ignore other things like mice. I'm not so sure as to how. I never really got to ask her." She remembered that cat well and how adorably it tousled and fought with it's precious toy.
"I don't understand how this has anything to do with her husband divorcing her, Aunty." Raya was used to the long drawn out stories of bridge and Club that her aunt told but when her side stepping became part of a story she actually wanted to hear, it was a little annoying.
"It was because of the baby," replied Lil.
"This baby again. What baby? Aunt Martha doesn't have any children. She never has..."
Lil shook her head sadly and hated being one of the last to be around to tell these stories. She preffered happier tales.
"The cat has to do with him leaving her because when a rat bit their newborn baby and killed the poor thing, her husband blamed the cat for not mousing it. And blamed Martha for teaching it to be the way it was and consequently for the death of their child."
Raya was so lost and stunned that she'd never heard of this until now. It just explained so much but she'd always taken for granted that Martha was the way she was just because. Such childish logic, really.
"She went mad, then?" ventured Raya.
Lillian looked out at her peonies and thought of that little kitten and how cute it used to be until Martha had murdered it and run it's blood all over the babies room walls. The mess had been horrifying.
"Oh, yes." She refilled her glass.
Today, her neice Raya was over to talk about Lil's sister Martha.
"So, she'd taught this new kitten to not chase mice?" asked Raya.
"Well, yes." She replied and topped off Raya's glass of white. "She didn't want 'icky dead mice' all over the place for the baby to put in it's mouth. Not like they really seemed to have any rodent problems. So she bought this wind up mouse toy and taught it to love the toys and to ignore other things like mice. I'm not so sure as to how. I never really got to ask her." She remembered that cat well and how adorably it tousled and fought with it's precious toy.
"I don't understand how this has anything to do with her husband divorcing her, Aunty." Raya was used to the long drawn out stories of bridge and Club that her aunt told but when her side stepping became part of a story she actually wanted to hear, it was a little annoying.
"It was because of the baby," replied Lil.
"This baby again. What baby? Aunt Martha doesn't have any children. She never has..."
Lil shook her head sadly and hated being one of the last to be around to tell these stories. She preffered happier tales.
"The cat has to do with him leaving her because when a rat bit their newborn baby and killed the poor thing, her husband blamed the cat for not mousing it. And blamed Martha for teaching it to be the way it was and consequently for the death of their child."
Raya was so lost and stunned that she'd never heard of this until now. It just explained so much but she'd always taken for granted that Martha was the way she was just because. Such childish logic, really.
"She went mad, then?" ventured Raya.
Lillian looked out at her peonies and thought of that little kitten and how cute it used to be until Martha had murdered it and run it's blood all over the babies room walls. The mess had been horrifying.
"Oh, yes." She refilled her glass.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Red to Portage
Lazlo's only real hobby was walking about the streets late at night and 'collecting' graffiti artists. He'd pull on his soundless, sneaky hightops and a black hooded sweater and jump from his bedroom window to the garage roof to the backlane. His neighborhood was beautiful in the daylight but at 5 am it was a mysterious wonderland of thick sleepy greenery. Lazlo would spend the kind of time he couldn't find to clean his room on scouring the streets for tags he hadn't seen yet. He sincerely enjoyed the odd piece of art that someone would leave for him but the rest was like a living game of Where's Waldo.
Marking wasn't something Lazlo was interested in for himself but he did leave a small red check next to all the graffiti he noticed. These marks were only so he knew what was old and was new. Sometimes it was honestly hard to tell the difference. He stalked the whole neighborhood from the river to Portage Ave and so it wasn't always easy to keep up with 23 blocks of dark lanes and unlawful citizens.
Lazlo took great pleasure in his hobby and the sensation and thrill of seeing change all around him. His neighborhood would grow and increase like an ant farm that he only had to watch and never water or feed. It was a living breathing pet that never died and never needed him. Which is why it was deeply disturbing to him when his own hand was drawn into his project.
On a hot night in early June, the lolipop moon sitting above the trees caught his eye from the window and he decided that night bright enough to take a walk. Upon landing in the broken cement and sand of his back lane Lazlo pointed his feet in the direction his bangs blew. Lighting a cigarette, he walked out to the park. The only sounds at 5 am is of far away traffic and restless birds and while he scoured backlanes and dumpsters and fences for new art and new intrigue, his music player slept at home.
A new artist had left their mark on the fence across the street from the swings. His heart lept and he bounded over to go inspect their work. Getting closer, he read it as a message written quite plainly and in large block letters. They'd written in a large blue marker that you could only buy at a shop downtown and there only in black or white. This blue ink was unique.
I LOVE YOU
He grinned widely and checked the graff with his red marker. He imagined the writer to be a child of a hippie with long hair and a cassette tape collection.
Two weeks later, the message was written on almost anything that wouldn't blow over and Lazlo had decided it was in a very distinctive trail from the park outside his house to his highschool at the edge of the area. The idea that it was maybe somehow possible that someone was watching him and leaving him a message along the way he walked to school everyday was maddening.
Who would do that? The mystery of it assaulted him daily.
Lazlo started to take the long way to school and one day stopped in at the Cafe. He deliberately walked into a small cute short haired girl with a white cotton top, her messenger bag was knocked from her shoulder. All manners of things fell out and he bent to help her pick them up. He inhaled deeply when he saw the blue graff marker she shoved right quick back into her bag. She pulled teacher black glasses from her capri pants pockets and excused herself, " I didn't even see you. I'm sorry, I'm so blind without these dang things".
Lazlo's heart leaped into his throat and his knees would have buckled if he hadn't already been kneeling.
He bought her a soy green tea latte and she gave him her phone number. She'd just moved here from Vancouver and had seen him wandering everynight and had fallen hopelessly in love with his mysterious restlessness.
Lazlo joined his new girlfriend in her hobby and by summer, messages of love and devotion over crowded the gang symbols and art filled the streets by night for years to come.
Marking wasn't something Lazlo was interested in for himself but he did leave a small red check next to all the graffiti he noticed. These marks were only so he knew what was old and was new. Sometimes it was honestly hard to tell the difference. He stalked the whole neighborhood from the river to Portage Ave and so it wasn't always easy to keep up with 23 blocks of dark lanes and unlawful citizens.
Lazlo took great pleasure in his hobby and the sensation and thrill of seeing change all around him. His neighborhood would grow and increase like an ant farm that he only had to watch and never water or feed. It was a living breathing pet that never died and never needed him. Which is why it was deeply disturbing to him when his own hand was drawn into his project.
On a hot night in early June, the lolipop moon sitting above the trees caught his eye from the window and he decided that night bright enough to take a walk. Upon landing in the broken cement and sand of his back lane Lazlo pointed his feet in the direction his bangs blew. Lighting a cigarette, he walked out to the park. The only sounds at 5 am is of far away traffic and restless birds and while he scoured backlanes and dumpsters and fences for new art and new intrigue, his music player slept at home.
A new artist had left their mark on the fence across the street from the swings. His heart lept and he bounded over to go inspect their work. Getting closer, he read it as a message written quite plainly and in large block letters. They'd written in a large blue marker that you could only buy at a shop downtown and there only in black or white. This blue ink was unique.
I LOVE YOU
He grinned widely and checked the graff with his red marker. He imagined the writer to be a child of a hippie with long hair and a cassette tape collection.
Two weeks later, the message was written on almost anything that wouldn't blow over and Lazlo had decided it was in a very distinctive trail from the park outside his house to his highschool at the edge of the area. The idea that it was maybe somehow possible that someone was watching him and leaving him a message along the way he walked to school everyday was maddening.
Who would do that? The mystery of it assaulted him daily.
Lazlo started to take the long way to school and one day stopped in at the Cafe. He deliberately walked into a small cute short haired girl with a white cotton top, her messenger bag was knocked from her shoulder. All manners of things fell out and he bent to help her pick them up. He inhaled deeply when he saw the blue graff marker she shoved right quick back into her bag. She pulled teacher black glasses from her capri pants pockets and excused herself, " I didn't even see you. I'm sorry, I'm so blind without these dang things".
Lazlo's heart leaped into his throat and his knees would have buckled if he hadn't already been kneeling.
He bought her a soy green tea latte and she gave him her phone number. She'd just moved here from Vancouver and had seen him wandering everynight and had fallen hopelessly in love with his mysterious restlessness.
Lazlo joined his new girlfriend in her hobby and by summer, messages of love and devotion over crowded the gang symbols and art filled the streets by night for years to come.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Awkward Affinity
She seemed like a very nice girl when Jan first started working in Public Communications. The only thing off about her was how she interacted with all the other people she worked with. Despite being in a department where the sole purpose was to communicate, words between her and her collegues were kept to a minimum. She seemed to disappear during lunch while no one was looking and then to sneak back in before anyone else got back.
After getting to know all six other team members, Jan wanted to at least introduce herself to this girl in the far corner by the broom closet. She spoke to Tim about the idea first. Tim was a balding middle-aged man that always had mustard on his dress shirt, no matter if it was 9 am or 9pm. They both prefered black coffee over fancy italian drinks and owned the same model hybrid car.
"I almost forgot she works here", he first said in response to her query about whether to speak to the lonely girl. That is what Jan began to call her in her mind, the Lonely Girl.
"She's been here for almost three years now. She's a little nuts... Laughs at the strangest things", he said, scratching his nose. Tim's nose was often itchy when he had something to say.
"What do you mean by that? Did she laugh while running down a dog or while in the washroom stall or something?"
"Oh, no! Nothing like that... She just has the most odd sense of humour and it makes for very awkward conversation. So we all just kind of avoid her."
Jan was a little upst by this.
"You mean to tell me that everyone in the Com department avoids this girl and does not invite her to lunch because she has a tendancy to make conversations awkward?" Jan questioned furiously. She was so angered, her voice was very close to almost rising above the average whisper level used in office type settings. Tim of course, seemed to think that awkward conversations were very unpleasant and so he harumphed and swiveled his desk chair back to it's computer tasking position without answering her.
The next day, Jan was very determined to make her best effort at including Lonely Girl in some sort of social activity and so, she baked a big chocolate cake. To Jan, the best way to get several business type people with too much to say together and have them not say anything at all is to have them conglomerate around twenty five thousand calories.
Arriving at work, she set down the cake on the break table and waited for free-food-intuition to bring her co-workers to her and to form a social setting. It was rather fast and before she really realized that Lonely Girl wasn't there too, Tim was on his second piece.
She strode past the row of cubicles and sought out Lonely Girl. She was sitting down at her computer and it honestly looked like she was doing actual work for her job.
"Hi!...There's cake", Jan stammered, so blown away that Lonely Girl was not slacking off or spacing out or on Facebook.
Lonely Girl kept a steady gaze on her writing and without really bothering to check who had spoken she replied, "I'm a vegan ; I don't eat eggs or milk".
Jan felt like kicking herself.
Lonely Girl was actually named Meredith Alarming and she liked her job. She loved to answer questions she knew the answers to and to speak to the people who phoned her. She loved these people because they were the main source of all her entertainment. Meredith loved puns and the people who phoned her were so consistantly full of contradiction and unintentional hilarity she could hardly tear herself away for lunch or sleep. Before Jan left to clean up her cake plate, Meredith turned in her swivel chair and looked at her. She began to smile and then outright giggle. Meredith had noticed that Jan had a pencil behind her ear and that it was dull. Jan wasn't really sure what was going on.
"What's so funny?"
"Your pencil. I wouldn't write with it."
"Why's that..."
"It's pointless."
Jan couldn't help but think what a terrible play on words she'd just walked into but couldn't help but smirk (just a little).
"So how do vegans eat?" Asked Jan.
"With a knife and fork, i guess."
They both kind of chuckled.
After getting to know all six other team members, Jan wanted to at least introduce herself to this girl in the far corner by the broom closet. She spoke to Tim about the idea first. Tim was a balding middle-aged man that always had mustard on his dress shirt, no matter if it was 9 am or 9pm. They both prefered black coffee over fancy italian drinks and owned the same model hybrid car.
"I almost forgot she works here", he first said in response to her query about whether to speak to the lonely girl. That is what Jan began to call her in her mind, the Lonely Girl.
"She's been here for almost three years now. She's a little nuts... Laughs at the strangest things", he said, scratching his nose. Tim's nose was often itchy when he had something to say.
"What do you mean by that? Did she laugh while running down a dog or while in the washroom stall or something?"
"Oh, no! Nothing like that... She just has the most odd sense of humour and it makes for very awkward conversation. So we all just kind of avoid her."
Jan was a little upst by this.
"You mean to tell me that everyone in the Com department avoids this girl and does not invite her to lunch because she has a tendancy to make conversations awkward?" Jan questioned furiously. She was so angered, her voice was very close to almost rising above the average whisper level used in office type settings. Tim of course, seemed to think that awkward conversations were very unpleasant and so he harumphed and swiveled his desk chair back to it's computer tasking position without answering her.
The next day, Jan was very determined to make her best effort at including Lonely Girl in some sort of social activity and so, she baked a big chocolate cake. To Jan, the best way to get several business type people with too much to say together and have them not say anything at all is to have them conglomerate around twenty five thousand calories.
Arriving at work, she set down the cake on the break table and waited for free-food-intuition to bring her co-workers to her and to form a social setting. It was rather fast and before she really realized that Lonely Girl wasn't there too, Tim was on his second piece.
She strode past the row of cubicles and sought out Lonely Girl. She was sitting down at her computer and it honestly looked like she was doing actual work for her job.
"Hi!...There's cake", Jan stammered, so blown away that Lonely Girl was not slacking off or spacing out or on Facebook.
Lonely Girl kept a steady gaze on her writing and without really bothering to check who had spoken she replied, "I'm a vegan ; I don't eat eggs or milk".
Jan felt like kicking herself.
Lonely Girl was actually named Meredith Alarming and she liked her job. She loved to answer questions she knew the answers to and to speak to the people who phoned her. She loved these people because they were the main source of all her entertainment. Meredith loved puns and the people who phoned her were so consistantly full of contradiction and unintentional hilarity she could hardly tear herself away for lunch or sleep. Before Jan left to clean up her cake plate, Meredith turned in her swivel chair and looked at her. She began to smile and then outright giggle. Meredith had noticed that Jan had a pencil behind her ear and that it was dull. Jan wasn't really sure what was going on.
"What's so funny?"
"Your pencil. I wouldn't write with it."
"Why's that..."
"It's pointless."
Jan couldn't help but think what a terrible play on words she'd just walked into but couldn't help but smirk (just a little).
"So how do vegans eat?" Asked Jan.
"With a knife and fork, i guess."
They both kind of chuckled.
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