July 26  2005    /  still summertime

i'm still singing "evening in june" and i'm still staring into this place.

it's 4:34 and all the clicks have been forged; all the alt-TABs rounded out.

there are no messages in my voice mailbox and even fewer in my inbox.

vacation was spent by the Aegean sea;
birthdays came; birthdays went;
we sleep all night;
we save;
we spend:

we're cold, we're hot, we have a new window and door.
we stroll thru the cobblestone streets for a while;
watching Chinese dragons and bad balloons.

the neighbours are in new York; we are pining.

it's quiet, really. the decarie rumbles; thunderstorms threaten;
but really, it's eerily quiet. 
my brother and lunch partner is missing to me.
the tall Irish one even more so:
and now, the crazy Finnish girl i admire so much is also gone.
they're lured away by things European; a freer life; more civil; closer to civilization.
here, we have big cars, vacations, but most people are dull, lifeless, exaggerations of themselves.

still.

I'm expecting a visitor soon. 

the house is clean; tidy; 
she is full of Barbie's and wheat;
it's time to go back.
time to back up.
we need to do yoga; connect; reconnect; whatever it is our souls need.
we need to stretch; to sing; to paint; 
all we're doing is making money
and that's making us a dull boy.


but i'm poking; i'm prodding; i'm not seeing the results.
i'm not seeing 

 

 

 

June 27  2005    /  summertime

vacation over

 

May 30  2005    /  happy birthday to my newlywed friend.

i'm updating; i'm writing. i'm slacking. i'm remembering concerts with brilliant shining moments in my life...

i'm surfing; i'm planning; 


i'm not even looking for something better to do.  

our office neighbour comes and asks us a question about a wireless security communication we just received via email. our project admin is at home with
a sick child. i installed a small applet which will allow real-time communication.
haven't seen my boss all day. it's a holiday in the US. 
another day at work. 

 

 

May 9  2005 

it's not about liking one kind of music or another; 
I connect with the passion in any type of music as long as my constitution can withstand it.

 

March 2005

the amazement watching old movies...hard to believe people watched that, even though it still holds the exact same fascination and as much entertainment value as it did back them. (chitty chitty bang bang). only now, we only wish that life were that simple again and people so genteel.

 

February 10, 2005 3:39 am

he was so excited this evening, because we're going to have a 'good old fashioned snowstorm'.
then when he saw the first few flakes, he squealed in delight.
the weather's been unusually warm for over a week,
but as i stare, my heart and chest still freshly pounding, out the window,
i can see into the blizzard conditions, that winter has not left us yet.
Deddy, however, has.
his mom called at 2:58. the phone rang after 6 hours of sleep. awoken into the heart pounding
reality that somehow, he's gone. he'd been in the hospital with a flu and was expecting to come
home tomorrow. did the flu kill him?
all i heard him say before he left was 'they think it was a heart attack'.
well after my foray to the window, i tried to sleep but that photojournalist (donald winslow?)
came to mind. he had a beautiful website and had written many beautiful pieces about the life-altering events following the death of a parent.
once the anger and shock and disbelief subside, (it's amazing what you can get over in 30 minutes) there are many places your mind goes;many involving your child.

i wonder, i can't imagine my parents thinking these same things when their parents died;
how odd. how ironic that my parents left their parents so young. 
well my head hurts now. i wanted to avoid tlenol. 
i should try
my chest burns
ears ringing
felt ok til a minute ago.
he was angry. he was supposed to come home. he was in the hospital for fucks sake.
he was cheery that last time i saw him. said the hospital was like paradise and that the nurses were pretty and the food was great. as we sat, semi-awkwardly in our yellow paper gowns and masks. . . he had the flu . . . he said "this wouldn't be a bad place to go"...

you think things like, it he died with little drawn out pain and suffering...and you remember the far away hollow gaze in your husband's 40-year ole eyes and you start doing your own math..

and you count your husband's 40-year old friends whose fathers have died, one in succession to the other and you think of the ones that are still alive and you wonder how those ones are different and you think you should exercise more...

and you try not to think about how you'll explain it to your two and half year old daughter because that is the part that really breaks your heart and that you know you'll avoid until the absolute moment has come. you wonder if she will remember him and you're pretty sure she wont and then you start to cry.
and then you think back to your husband, alone, driving in a good old fashioned snowstorm to the hospital at the end of a long, dark road near the river. 
 it's 4AM.
your sister in law calls.
you hang up the phone and try to get some sleep but you need to remember more so you get up and start writing again and you recall the silence on the phone with your sister in law which was somehow lulling you to sleep and then during the phone call you realize in a weird way that this is really happening.

4:21AM
and you imagine telling your own parents 
and your child coos in the room next to yours and you switch the light off and try to sleep.

 

 

January 21, 2005

'jillian sings:

"on an evening in june
i played you a tune
that i wrote for a man
you never knew
it's a plain little thing
very easy to sing
I had all but forgotten it
since i met you
he thought he could change
or perhaps rearrange
just a couple of notes
send them into thin air
but a girl's nota book you rewrite at you rl easure
you can't edit out what you wish wasn't there
no
if you want me to go andante, or slow,
if you'd rather i stay in a simpler key
then i can compose i'll transpose at your leasure
as long as we're humming the same meolody"
jillianhorton.com