Not Your Average Bear!

I’m not too certain what made me thing about Yogi, but the smile that curled my lips when I did was immediate.

Saturday morning cartoons.

It was a ritual growing up.  Two hours of nonsense where I could get lost in an animated world.

Characters got blown up, had humongous rocks fall on them and fell from cliffs regularly.

But they never died.

If a cat has nine lives then animated characters are indeed immortal.

Silly pranks were played.  Scheming villains tried in vain to execute their various brands of treachery.

Every week their debauched visions were crushed by sly intellectual bunnies or awkward buffoonish bears.

Yogi and Boo Boo ruled ‘Yellow Stone National Park’ much to the chagrin of Ranger Smith.

This was and still is a sweet innocence for me.  There was no hard sell.

It was always a simple formula, one that I came to expect and it was offered week after week, year after year, and it worked.

A capricious bunny, an enamored skunk, a witty road runner, a southern rooster or a hero of a mouse…just to mention a few.

We were blessed with so many lovely characters.

Back in the 1990’s though, we were all grown up and adult animation became a demand and began to move to the forefront.

Some of the creations were a delight.  Pinky and the Brain, Future Cat & Friends are a few faves.

“The Simpsons” truly changed the landscape or animation.

Some very dark characters emerged during this time.  Then gaming exploded.

I got to thinking of cartoon from the Merry Melody collection called ‘One Froggy Evening’ done in genuine black and white.  It was likely produced in the 1950’s.

A man finds a frog who can sing like  Pavarotti.  Elated he thinks he’s struck gold.  He advertises this and fills a concert house.  The frog, however, will sing only for him…alone.

This has been a favorite of mine for a lifetime it seems.  There is a joy in its simplicity that is so endearing to me.

These days its hard to find a cinematic production that is just plain old fun.  Making movies is first and foremost a big business.

Last weekend as I was curled up suffering from a dreadful cold and convinced I would never smell the sweetness of a rose again.  I watched ‘Guardians of Galaxy’.   I enjoyed it.  Now perhaps it was the fever but hell, there was a quirky innocence to each of the characters.

This doesn’t happen often in movies such as this for me.

It was silly, goofy and totally predictable, but what sold me was the depth of the characters.  I liked them and wanted to get to know them better.  When this happens I’m hooked.

I read an article about a year ago that stated that movies follow just twelve various formats.  That’s it!  And as I pondered this I likened it to be true.

Why is it that some movies just blow us away?  Certain catch phrases are adopted or personality traits are adopted and emulated.

Others movies are forgotten before we leave the theatre.

Why did one leave an imprint and the other fade away?

This principle applies to the written word a well.  Those books that capture our imagination and allow it to expand.

In a nutshell, it is character development and plot execution.

How do you take something that has been told a million times or more before and tell it again…originally?

What I’ve learned may sound simple but can really be the toughest thing you’ll ever do.

Tell your story as only you see it.  That is what makes it unique  because none of sees or feels the same about anything really.  Individually we all have variations.

This perhaps, is the most endearing factor in the human equation to me.

Perfection is a myth.

Forgiveness is the key to freedom.

Love is absolute.

…and how each of sees the rise and set of each day is as infinite as the sky we gaze into each day and each night.

 

Advertisement

Affirmation

This has been an eventful week at the new job. There was a degree of discord from one of the worker’s there who will be leaving as a result of me assuming all responsibilities.

I am a ‘lovely woman’ whom she see’s herself ‘divorcing’.

I was and am very sympathetic  to her sensibilities.  Still, this is business.  Nothing more.  She can work her ass off trying to prove whatever it is she is caught up in, but I know all too well the bosses’ really have no interest in her personal life.  You need to produce.  Simple as that.

That acceptance as made me very good at my job.  And yes, it has taken awhile to learn these lessons.  Not that I’m  a slow learner…just a very stubborn one at times.:

I hope that the vision I am developing for this company comes to fruition.  I’m all business.  This isn’t about what the company can and should do for me.

I am the worker bee you see.  This is about saying ‘Lets try doing this and that.  We’ll be more efficient.  More productive.  Better overhead results in higher profits.’

It is quite simply, business.

I’ve learned this the hard way.  You must separate to some degree your personal self with your business self.

Because of my journey I actually have a deeper insight into this.

I left work and arriving home tucked my pages and computer into my backpack.  I decided to head off for dinner and do some editing.

Boston Pizza won the decision for where I would dine.

As I entered the establishment I looked past the host who was intent on seating me.  My eyes were now trained on an old friend.  I was half engaged with the gentleman who wanted to seat me and the friend whom was in my sight.

Brian.

I’d traversed through the hallowed halls of school from Grade 1 to Grade 11 with him.  We’d put together the 30 year reunion together.  He lives with is wife just a meer block from my domain.

I waved my hand and he looked up then rose to greet and folded me in his arms.

Brian had a stroke three weeks ago. This shocked me.

He smiled rather sardonically and sadly  stating ‘Aging sucks.’

I laughed and agreed. I told him of my issues.  Discussed the emotional head games these things play out.  Then informed him to commit to a few hours out with Marie and I.

The three of us put together the 30 year reunion.  What I can I tell you is that year of  piecing together out past cemented me to so many aspects of who I used to be.

And I needed that.

So if I see a friend who has suffered, know this.  All the positive energy I have is being directed to your well being.

There are people who so quietly touch your life.  Brian I would say is one of those people.

Yet, there is a profundity to it.

He matters. He has all the school pictures of us from Grade 1 to Grade 11. He sees just me, not the latest invention of who I thought I should be.  Brian has gone through his own hell.  And I guess that’s what we need to embrace and understand about our journey during this life.

Despite our successes and losses…at the end of day…we are all simply human.

And I will always try to offer the most sincere and honest response to someone’s situation.

To those I hold dear…know that it is doubled.

And if you cannot articulate what burdens you… I understand this so deeply. I will not speak for you.  Your voice, your emotions, your feelings are necessary.  All I can do is hopefully give them a face.  Give them voice. Give them life.

Long ago I accepted that my roll in this world is souly dependent upon the organic thought provided to me by simply living.

It sounds simplistic…but really its not.

I commit to this world to assist in bringing an honest and forgiving truth to how we live our lives.

Stumbling Into the Future…

Imagine this…I am dressed to beyond impeccable (and trust me, should that day happen I will have been raised to the status of either a saint or as the most wanton of women alive or dead as the case may be.)

In any event, I am asking that you use your imagination in this, so just think of me as the ultimate femme fatale.

I am just a seriously sinuously piece of female pleasure.

Oh the breasts are high and peaked.  Ready to shoot any amateur who dares to think a pinch and squeeze will do it.

And when I tell you that they once bore the names Lethal Weapons 1 & 2, believe me they earned their names. And while they may have ‘relaxed’ a bit at this stage of the game don’t assume they won’t beat you silly if you don’t handle them  with care.

These days I am  somewhat inflated.  Not the slim, trim machine I was a few years ago. I do know I’ll get there again.  This body was built to move and that it must.

So back to our fantasy then?

Images from Google

I walk into a room of electric starlight.  All eyes turn to me.  I am wearing Calvin, off the rack no less.  A silver mesh dress of fleshy fabric that hugs every curve carelessly and with abandon.

My sexuality is a mantle worn much like the armor in days of old.  You either want me beyond all else or you despise me for it.

Every part of me exudes to mythical proportions what it means to be female.  I am the epitome of what legends are built upon

.

Dresses from Google Images

And with long, confident strides I walk through the room.  I’m on fire.

Then my heal catches on the carpet and I find myself sailing, as if in slow motion, through the air.

The crowd gasps collectively.

I have been returned to my human stature, however humbly, and  am now laying spread eagle on the floor.

And what, you may be wondering, is where am I going with all of this?

It’s the examination of ego really.  Of what we create, of what we project…or what we think we project.

It starts as a child in the sandbox.  How you want to be seen and what in fact you manage to convince the world around you at that time that you are.

I guess in some manner it is just a part of growing up. These days, I’m not so sure. I fell asleep on the sofa the other night.  I’ve had five days off and in an effort to try and examine the world at this point in time, I isolated myself and then observed my state. I’ve been secluded.

Each day examining various stages that I’m at currently and in the recent past.

And so I woke on the sofa with the TV on displaying a long ago documentary on 2nd Life.  This weird, and in my mind, fucked up game where you create your alter ego.

The time put into playing this game is almost exhaustive to me as it seems to be like a full time affair.

And as each body part slowly came awake, I wondered if these people actually put the amount of effort that they do into their alter egos, who would they be?  And I wondered would they still be sitting at a computer screen telling a make-believe world  who they were and developing an online persona as such.

And as I watched people with real lives that were neglecting their families for this make believe world.  These people were becoming so emotionally charged and connected to these characters.

A character from 2nd Life (from Google Images)

 Now I have asked you to think of me in a certain way.  I have tried to sell it you with words.  Did you, for a brief period, see me that way?

Or did you simply laugh and think, ‘here she goes again.’

In either case, it doesn’t matter.  I’m not so two dimensional that a hot bod and perky tits can convince you of my complete female mythology.

At 2:00 AM I leaned forward now watching saddened by the documentary and what it revealed.  When, I paused to consider, did technology become sexy?  When did the creation of an animated being become more exciting that the real thing?

2nd Life landscapes & characters (from Google Images)

Then again, it really began with the automobile in terms of transferring our sexuality onto technology.

And somewhere in the mix over the last few years we think the epitome of sex is with a hard muscled man and a skeletal woman of extraordinary appearance.

Both are void of a single hair on their body except for the crown that adorns their head.

How wrong all of this is.

Sex is an exploration of one of the greatest gifts we humans can claim.  It is a beautiful study of sensation, imagination, and the resulting expression.

And my god, the imagination we’ve created in this one act.

Every year I will see any number of  two leather jackets (flying bugs) stuck back to back copulating.  In the last few weeks as I’ve walked through Queen’s Park I’ve noted the Peacocks wanting to mate.

Always, the male displays his foliage and with various moves tries to convince the female (who often looks very uninterested) that he is virile and ready.

Two very odd comparisons.

But do they feel?  As we do? There are species that do in fact mate for life such as the good ol’ Canada Goose. Crows, too, take a lifelong partner.

A few years ago there was moose featured on the evening news.  Seems he had it bad for a cow.

And we chuckle at such things.  Does it mean anything?  Not really.  Or does it?

Cleopatra was said to be the most desirable woman of her day.  Powerful, smart, beautiful.

Taken from Google Images

Yet the image on the drachma shows a woman that in this day and age would be considered far from beautiful by our standards. And I guess that’s the sticker. Perhaps that was their definition of beautiful. Still her sexuality it would seem as become legendary and mythical in its own right regardless of her appearance.

I’ve seen enough art pieces through the ages to know that what was desirable a thousand years ago doesn’t stand today.

Taken from Google Images

And I found myself wondering at 2:08 AM if woman have always had this dilemma.  To be appealing to the male of our species in a manner we believe will nab us the best of the bunch. Strange. And as I watched these people talking dirty to each other and living out their fantasy life through animated characters on a computer screen, I must tell you I was confounded.

Taken from Google Images

Now it seems we are on a stage.

2nd Life Images taken from Google Images

Go on Craiglist and men are quite happy to take a picture of their penis and post it in its erect state.  And they will tell you they are ‘cut’ whatever that means.

And I feel deeply saddened that we now take pics of our genitals to try and excite and entice with these images.

If no emotion is involved in the act, then sex is very mechanical. Oh, sure, the body rush occurs…if it’s good.  And then what?

The loneliness   resumes. The want to be loved resumes and the crushing feelings of desperation return. So we sidle up to our computers and play games in forms that do not resemble us at all to express who we think we are.

And we continue to stumble into the future.

Bear Hugs

He ran with abandon toward the bear then launched himself at the inanimate thing that sat idly on a sidewalk in Victoria. I had my camera at the ready to begin with, so I caught that moment of deep love that happens in make-believe that we all experience, however briefly, when we are children.

That expression of pure joy, of a dream suddenly realized. When we are small so many things are magical to us. In fact, many aspects to this life are.

And then, we grow up.

Some of us become jaded. Our hearts are broken, dreams are trashed but we move on understanding that those childhood notions were simply that.

 

Still, we think back to them rather fondly, don’t we?

That desire to feel so uninhibited. Where just the joy of a sunrise could leave us breathless or a stuffed animal that needed a hug.

Or perhaps it was us that needed the hug and not the stuffed animal.

I loved Paddington Bear as a child. I’ve expressed this before.

My very first true love was Mr. Ed, the talking horse.

A beautiful Palomino whose owner was named Wilbur. I adored him and quite proudly told my father that I was going to marry Mr. Ed when I grew up.

My first heartbreak was administered then. Daddy dearest informed me that I was being stupid. I couldn’t marry a horse and besides, by the time of was of age the damn thing would be dead.

And really it wasn’t my first heartbreak. There were many, just one of the more significant ones that was bestowed upon my juvenile tendencies.

That innocence of loving, just because.

And as we grow we have our little fantasies. We have crushes on movie stars and sport stars, on characters.

At 10 years of age I fell in love with Mr. Spock on Star Trek. My girlfriend Cheryl had it bad for good ol’ Captain Kirk.

At 13 years of age I flipped over Bobby Orr. My dad took me to one of the first games Vancouver played against Boston.

And I was torn.

The love of my life was playing against my home team…but I still loved him. We beat Boston 5 to 4 during that game.

I had it bad for David Cassidy of the Partridge Family. And so the list continued. Absurd little crushes that seemed to come out of no where.

Then the heart began to be broken in earnest.

It was as if all those childhood let downs were preparing me for the grown-up stuff.

I was going sideways with the whole thing anyway. It would take a lifetime to understand fully and even now, I’m not certain I do.

There is no fault to be had. It’s just one of life’s little foibles. We make our choices or they’re made for us and we accept them.

Then we act or react to those choices.

Still, there is a sweetness I feel at wanting to run through a mud puddle at the age of 56 or at sitting up late to watch ‘Pinky & the Brain’ on re-runs.

I delighted in Despicable Me 2 and every time I see a horse I feel a little giddy.

I was about 8 or 9 years of age when we vacationed for two weeks up at Canim Lake in BC.  The horse was name King and I was prone to sleep on him at times, so enamored was I.

As I watched the little guy openly display his love for the bear when we came upon a Moose sitting on the sidewalk a little further up the way, I insisted my gal pals settle in for a pic.

And there is an honesty to just being.  Just taking the moment and running with it, appreciating it for the simplicity and enjoyment that it offers, however silly it may seem.

If there are secrets to this life, then I would venture to say this would be one of them.  Just express yourself freely as long as it is done with love in your heart.

I hope that little boy remembers seeing the bear on the sidewalk and smiles fondly at it as he gets older.

Enjoy your day.  Peace.

 

What’s Goin’ On?

 

All the pretty flowers!

The sleep thing is beginning to square off.  I am making it a point to not look at the clock should I waken and to just keep my eyes closed unless of course I need to use the facilities or take a sip of water.

Perhaps I should stop the water thing.  I went for a very long time without having water at my bedside.  I don’t even recall why I began this ritual again.

A wild rose…how wild?  Didn’t say but it is a West End Rose!

I am babbling.

It’s Friday!  I am happy its Friday.  This has been an odd week of imagined negotiations with myself.  And I will explain this when I am not feeling quite as discombobulated as is my current state.

I have one functioning neuron…the rest have gone on strike or something. So I am going to share a few pictures with you.

This is a red-winged blackbird though I didn’t quite get the red in there. 

 

I went for bit of walk at lunch yesterday to clear my head of the eleven cent discrepancy on my bank reconcilation and to calm the sense of righteous indignation I was feeling having gotten a ridiculously high bill for my sister’s cell phone after just switching providers to make it more affordable.

The fact too that sleep has been sporadic at best over the last few weeks, I may well have looked like I was auditioning for the ‘Walking Dead’.

 

This is the one neuron look.  What’s scary is that I look eerily similar to the animation….oooooooooooooo!

The great thing about getting out and actually smelling the roses is that I feel that much needed connection to everything around me.

Upon return to the office I found and corrected the discrepancy on the bank reconciliation and negotiated a suitable resolution regarding the phone issue.

I was tying up loose ends yesterday it seemed.  It occurred to me, and I don’t know why, that Mercury is retrograde.

I laughed at this thought.  Isn’t Mercury always retrograde?

Bird of a very different feather.  See what happens if you sit around all day?  You get a little bottom heavy and the next thing you know Sir Mix-a-Lot appears and sings ‘Baby Got Back’ to you! Oye!

In any case I hope you’ve enjoyed some of the pics I posted today.

Thanks for stopping by.

Peace.

 

Sirens & Crows

A thought begins to form and with it that intoxicating rush of what it may become.  Now the idea takes shape and I’m itching to get my hands on a pen and paper to jot down the rudimentary plot.

Fabulous words and phrases are slipping through the grey matter and I feel the panic rise. I’m in transit…still in my car.  Even upon entering the office, I can’t just commit to writing everything down but I can punch out a few key words.

My head is still a foggy, not quite awake.  I didn’t sleep well last evening.  The world outside my walls kept invading my nirvana.

At 3:50 AM crows were plaintively screaming an injustice outside my window.  Sleepily, with eyes still closed, I tried to reason with them.

“You’ll find a more responsive and sympathetic audience if you just let us sleep!” I whispered to the cacophony. They failed to listen.

I had hoped to double up today.  Workout in the morning and run after work.  Sirens and crows played a major hand in convincing me to listen to the bed this morning and steal another hour of what had been sadly lacking during the night.

Strange things play out in my head on the cusp between these two realms.  Dreams invite the outside world in to dance with the images already engaged.

A drama is unfolding, though I seem to just be observing at this point.  A crow glides in beside me.  With an air of petulance he shakes his glistening black head.

“You just don’t understand, you’ll never understand.”  Then he makes to fly away.

“Stop this!  I hate that when you do this.  Always you make your accusations then just fly away.”

I reach out and take hold of one of his legs.

“This is not the time.” he warns ominously.

“And when will be the time?” I insist.

“When the playoffs are over.” he hisses at me then flies away.

I woke then with a question mark etched on my face and in my mind.

Finally, I just gave up trying to go back to sleep.  I slipped from bed and prepared for the day.  I’ll run tonight after work.

My training needs to build gradually so I will keep at it.

As I was driving in to work I pondered dreams.  I thought about technology.  Wondered if they would ever develop a dream recorder.  Wondered if I would ever want to use it.  I don’t know that I would want to share such an intimate side of myself with the rest of this world.

Oh, I can talk about them.  Tell you bits and pieces or lay out the complete story.  That is my choice though. Still, you’ll never see exactly what I have.

Would there be benefits be of being able to record the images in your head?  For those who claim to ‘never dream’ would it shock or surprise them at what actually does go on in their grey matter?

It was recently noted that taking ‘selfies’ on a continuous, almost obsessive basis is now considered a mental illness.  Narcissism seems to be on the rise.  The desire to appear perfect is a multi-billion dollar industry.

I go through various stages of beautiful.  At the moment I resemble a fish called Wanda with a bit of Sebastian the crab tossed in for good measure.

How’s that for a visual?  A reggae singing crab crossed with an angel fish.  And you know, I think if I could just talk like a Jamacian, it wouldn’t matter what I looked like because I would sound so cool!

I seldom take my picture.  There are far more interesting things to look at than me. Everyone knows what I look like.  I update it from time to time.  For example, when my hair fell out during chemo and I had it shaved by my daughter.

What was funny about that was the concern my head would be mishapen.  I am sure I would have known this with the hair still on my head.  But again, there is that desire to look normal, to be attractive.

Like many of you, I want to feel beautiful.  And I guess that’s the key.  Feeling it is much different than just the visual.

For those who take selfies of themselves gyrating in front of a mirror with next to nothing on, who display their cleavage or who take pics of their penis’ I wonder at the reasoning for this.

It has gotten boring fast.  It has become vulgar.  There really isn’t anything mysteriously senuous about anything that the multitude of people doing this can offer.  Perhaps they think that they look better than anyone else.  I don’t know.  And if so, what does the idea of this notion do for you?

Let me ask you this.

Does the idea of a woman of 56 that looks half crab and half angel fish dancing with mop excite you?

Hmm!  I could be on to a whole new avenue of erotica here, folks.

My point being is that none of us has something that has never been seen before.  They are assembled slightly different on all of us which is rather cool in a way.  We all have assembled bits that are uniquely ours and we should celebrate this.

I shall go now and muscle through this day with the neurons that are fully functioning.

Peace out and enjoy.

 

 

Animated

“Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”-Ralph Waldo

In the end, we only regret the chances we did not take.

I am preparing a few posts for the week ahead based on what I discussed here yesterday.  After posting my submission yesterday I began to ponder, of all things, how I equate people with animated characters.

Winnie the Pooh and all the characters associated with the stories are likely my favourite animated characters.  Still, when I was young I had a thing for Paddington Bear.  He was a bit of gypsy traipsing about in his rain hat and coat.  Always with suitcase in hand and he had a love of marmalade.

Saturday mornings were always spent watching Loonie Toons.  Bugs Bunny, Yosemite Sam, Foghorn Leghorn, the Tasmanian Devil and of course the Road Runner.

  Actually both Winnie the Pooh and Paddington Bear came to my attention through books initially.  Later, both would go on to have a spot on television, though Winnie definitely had a great deal more success, at least on this side of the pond.

Paddington likely was huge in his native England.

When I entered into high school I began associating certain people with animated characters based on their personality.  A strange thing to do and something that I never disclosed at the time.

When I did offer this up for the first time, it was met with disregard and an annoyance.  Mind you the fellow was quite brilliant but had some serious mental health issues.  I would have been in my late teens possibly very early 20’s.

Randall was maybe in his late 20’s.  He was a friend of my sister’s and we were having some obscure conversation, the kind that were strange and thought-provoking that typically made little to no sense. He pushed his coke bottle glasses up on his nose and cleared his throat.  At that moment, I made the connection.

“Hey, you know who you remind me of?” I asked brightly.

“Who?” he replied completely uninterested.

“Owl from Winnie the Pooh.” I championed.

There was no reply.  Just a look that pretty much summed up that he wasn’t impressed.  Mind you, telling a guy that you’re interested in that he reminds you of an Owl may not be the most flattering compliment.  Still, on my end it was meant as such.

At that time I was too young to understand my affiliation with animated characters. What I understand now is how much I escaped into the animated world and identified with certain characters.  Paddington, for example, was such a free spirit to me traveling about on his own.  Winnie was just so sweet and lovable.  Owl was smart, Piglet was shy, Tigger was beyond happy, and Eeyore seemed perpetually sad.

I was quite shy as a child and really lived in my head.  I’ve always had a deep love of horses as well.  I think at times it just seemed easier to think of life as an animation rather than the actuality of it.  Better to make up stories in my head as to why things were the way they were.

If things got really bad around the house I could conjure that an evil witch had placed a spell on my dad and that’s why he was so mean.   Despite my active imagination on this end, I could never sell myself the stories that I made up .

I still associate people with animated characters though I don’t tell them.  I shared these things with my daughter when she was little.  She thought it quite funny then, now she’ll give me one of those dubious looks of hers conveying the message ‘Really Mom?’.

Oddly enough, two songs that will always bring tears to my eyes are ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ and ‘House at Pooh Corner’.

I get really tired of hearing that ‘Puff’ is about marijuana.  This song was around when I was a little kid and the potheads hadn’t come onto the scene just yet.  To me it is a song about a little boy’s imaginary world and as he gets older, he leaves that world behind him.

Kenny Loggin’s ‘House at Pooh Corner’ is the return to that imaginary world and finding the importance of sharing it with your child.

I suppose there is an innocence in all of this.  I certainly don’t make these associations as much as I used to, but from time to time when I meet someone, they will say or do something and it will trigger this response.  Now I smile to myself.

We all have animated characters that we loved as a child. Feel free to drop me a line and let me know who your favorite character or toy was and why.

Have a great day everyone and thanks for stopping by.