I'm sexy and I know it.

Funny.  After writing my review of Diana Gabaldon's Drums of Autumn, I read an article she wrote for February's Chatelaine.  It was about writing sex scenes.  Her term (or perhaps simply the term she used) for some of her "thunderous" sex scenes?  Poetic lyricism.

Right from the author's mouth.  Makes it seem more legit.  I found it funny that she recognizes how much her sex scenes sell her books.  And validated that I was able to identify it, as well.  Gold star* for me!

*Gretchen Rubin, author of my latest read, likes her gold stars and validation.

Some people don't go for the sex scenes, though.  Take Grandma.  During mom's latest conversation with her, grandma pish-poshed the latest audio book she was listening to.  "These books have changed!  What does an old lady like me need such sexy stories for?"

The moral?  Get the sex while the getting is good.

this city, my city

Sara just sent a link to a Trapper's Flash Mob.  A heritage moment, she says.  No doubt!  Those fur queens (and hockey players, snow shovelers, Trapper's Committee members and car dealership workers) have rhythm!

Let's see if The Pas can go viral.  Oh wait, I have to be more accessible for that to happen.

Hear, read, see, speak

Every day we should hear at least one little song, read one good poem, see one exquisite picture, and, if possible, speak a few sensible words. - Goethe


Song: Somebody That I Used to Know - Gotye
Poem: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star - Kate Toms
Exquisite Picture: the dragon painted by Dan à la native art style (thick black outline, bold colours, curled body, inlaid layered patterns)
Sensible Words: If you say you're going to do it, then do it.

so what have you been up to?

Baby, cooking, baking, reading, researching, meetings, visiting, packing, planning, scheming...

And when my brain is on overdrive and I'm frazzled and full of tics; skiing.

Cause I get to the point where I need to get out of the house, get away from others, get out of my head and just BE.  Physically and mentally zoning out.  Ommmmmmmmm.

Cheesy, sure, but partway through that ski, the rhythm takes over and the only things I am aware of are

the push of my ski against the snow
crunch and glide underfoot
the shift of my weight
side to another
body, tired and warm
hot breath dampens cold cheeks and lips
sky blue, grey, ground white
shadows streak, jackpines knot
wobble
thrill
I speed down the hill

Saturday night poetry thanks to Copper Moon and Sleeping Girl.

the measure of a house

This is life with renovations.  

Strip it back and then put it back together, piece by piece, to make it better than before.  I like the bare bones of it.  I like knowing what my house is made of.

Insulated, sealed, electrified, we're ready to go.  For drywalling.  Somebody else's mess, starting Tuesday.

Way to go, us.

Secret Message

L'enfant qui ne joue pas n'est pas un enfant, mais l'homme qui ne joue pas a perdu l'enfant qui vivait en lui.  -Pablo Neruba  (secret message left on Tamsin's car at the ski trail entrance)

I think this quote could go hand in hand with the Right to Play movement.  Not only is it our right, it should be a responsibility.  If not, there'd be too many sad people in this world.  All work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy.  Giving yourself time to play is allowing the creative beast in you to be unleashed.  Not to mention renewal and stress relief.

Crash!

Crash the concert.  If that's what will liven up your life on a Saturday night, if you are in need of some soul-lifting sounds to fill your ears, stories and harmonies to give you tingles, crash the concert.  Sometimes "sold out" isn't the answer.  Neither is "no".  This little adventure is made possible when you have a giggly cohort (thanks, Jen).

The concert in question was "The Once", a newfie traditional/folk group that is up for a Juno this year.  Steve said, "Yeah, but so was Nickelback."  I tried that line out on a fellow concert go-er, but they didn't find it witty.  Some people...