◊♦◊
Other Wordless Friends—
Cheryl Andrews
Allison Howard
Allyson Latta
Barbara Lambert
Elizabeth Yeoman
◊♦◊
Other Wordless Friends—
Cheryl Andrews
Allison Howard
Allyson Latta
Barbara Lambert
Elizabeth Yeoman
FIRST DISCOVERED: among the Laurentien pencil crayons purchased at Towers Department store. A momentous occasion after years of using generic brands with no pep and loose tips that refused to be sharpened easily.
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT? Oh yes. Peacock Blue was head and shoulders above the other colours from the very start. Although Peacock Green and the most yellowy yellow were close behind. (The history of either or both, available on request.)
THE ROLE IT PLAYED: Not insignificant insofar as my choice of fabric for the Grade Seven HomeEc fashion show for which I made a stiff yet somehow baggy pair of peacock blue elastic waist pants (flood length because I ran out of material) and a matching checkered tunic, also stiffly A-line (peacock blue and white with a big Peter Pan collar) made even worse (hard to imagine, I know) with clunky white patent leather shoes and the fact that I went on stage right after Lisa Kiss who took modelling classes. Modelling classes. And who wore a tiny pink mini skirt and a pastel print popcorn blouse. Because having a name like Lisa Kiss was not already perfect enough…
Also used as eyeliner at some point. (the How To: leave for school naked-faced like a good girl then a few blocks along, near the mailbox, set down your binder, unzip your pencil-case, find your mirror and your Peacock Blue and lick the end. Apply to inner eye.) Lead?? What lead?
Tried it as a nail colour. Didn’t work.
And a thousand more colours HERE.
Am cheating today and scooping a little something that was sent to me— thought it might come in handy should you be socializing any time soon and require bon mots or merely questions to change conversational direction or stop people rattling on about pet bunnies [or equivalent]…
You’re welcome.
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1. IF A TURTLE DOESN’T HAVE A SHELL, IS IT HOMELESS OR NAKED?
2. IF YOU GO INTO A BOOKSTORE AND ASK WHERE THE SELF-HELP SECTION IS, DOESN’T THAT DEFEAT THE PURPOSE?
3. WHAT IF THERE WERE NO HYPOTHETICAL QUESTIONS?
4. IS THERE ANOTHER WORD FOR SYNONYM?
5. WHERE DO FOREST RANGERS GO TO “GET AWAY FROM IT ALL?”
6. IS IT OKAY FOR ENDANGERED ANIMALS TO EAT ENDANGERED PLANTS?
7. WOULD A FLY WITHOUT WINGS BE CALLED A WALK?
8. CAN VEGETARIANS EAT ANIMAL CRACKERS?
9. WHAT WAS THE BEST THING BEFORE SLICED BREAD?
10. ONE NICE THING ABOUT EGOTISTS: THEY DON’T TALK ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE.
11. HOW IS IT POSSIBLE TO HAVE A CIVIL WAR?
12. IF YOU TRY TO FAIL, AND SUCCEED, WHICH HAVE YOU DONE?
13. WHOSE CRUEL IDEA WAS IT FOR THE WORD ‘LISP’ TO HAVE ‘S’ IN IT?
14. WHY IS THERE AN EXPIRATION DATE ON SOUR CREAM?
No idea who built this but it’s uncannily aligned to follow the path of clouds in the shape of snow shovels.
Fearsome signs of big foot and/or Bigfoot.
And not that we were speaking of squirrels but I can’t help wondering why their nests don’t fall out of trees in high winds yet I once found our very solid steel patio chair in the pool…
As if that’s not enough to be curious about for one morning, there is also the mystery of the Seemingly Forever Idling Car in the Driveway, which, when I loop the block and pass by again a full ten minutes later, there it sits, still idling and spewing gunk from its exhaust. This kind of thing is Exhibit ‘A’ in my case for increasing oil prices by at least 300 percent (with all those ‘extra’ profits going into cleaning up the mess oil makes in the first place).
But the biggest unexplainable is how, later, I find myself at the beach on this gloriously windy day, all set to snap some wild and wooly waves only to have my camera tell me its batteries need changing. And I haven’t brought any spares.
Nuts.
Because the waves are BIG alright, and beautiful too, but even better than that there’s a madwoman, madder even than me, also with a camera, who walks a few metres out onto the pier against which the lake is slapping and sloshing something fierce, which is what she’s shooting. And probably getting some brilliant shots. But it’s completely crazy to take the chance. The pier’s not wide and the waves not always predictable where they come up over the side. I can’t take my eyes off her and steel myself for action if necessary, locate the bright orange life saver near the “At Your Own Risk” sign. I exhale only when she starts walking back, all annoyingly calm and smug.
By now I’ve convinced myself I don’t want photos of stupid waves anyway. But I’m sorry I’m not able to take a picture of her.
The one picture I take before my camera dies is this.

Your guess is as good as mine.
A dove sits on a fence and someone says how bored it must be—what does it do all day, poor empty-headed thing…
Depends how you look at it, I say.
One dove’s boredom may very well be another’s peace—the oh-so-necessary space and time to think.

Oh sure. He looks sweet enough.

But he’s a little red dictator.

Screaming and chuntering at anything that even thinks of interrupting his meal.
And he prefers to eat alone, thankyouverymuch.
See that blur of black in the background?

That’s a much bigger fella waiting his turn.
Sometimes there’s a queue.
Everybody knows the rules.
The [seriously more dignified] greys and blacks hide out in the spruce, watching, waiting, drumming their impatient little claws, not daring to grab a morsel because that only means being chased unceremoniously into the next yard by a little twirp. And who has the energy for all that running on an empty stomach?
Plus it’s embarrassing.
The smart ones don’t even bother showing up until His Twirpness has burped and moved on.
Moral of the story: it’s not as easy as one might think, being squirrely.
Against my better judgement I ventured into a toy store recently. Toys aren’t what I love giving the kids in my world. I prefer the idea of books and clay and donkeys and paint a whole lot more. But I wondered if maybe I was missing out on something, so off I went on a toy hunt. My first reaction was to be stunned with the enormity of choice so I asked a sales clerk if they might be able to help, to offer some ideas for children of various ages. I started with a toddler.
Is it a boy or a girl? the clerk asked.
Does it matter? I said. They can barely walk.
I was assured that, yes, it does indeed matter and once I’d identified the recipient as a girl child, was whisked to the pink side of the room where the shelves were so shockingly bright I momentarily lost focus, barely heard what the clerk said. Something about unicorns. When I asked what she would recommend for a boy the same age she directed me to the opposite wall, said trains were popular.
I was fascinated yet disheartened by this girl/boy division and considered taking solace in the world’s softest snowy white owl—for myself—but the lines were too long. Instead, I decided to to undertake an informal survey of area toy stores, popping into various ones over the next few days, asking for gift ideas for different ages. Result of survey: whether it was a small independent shop, a medium-sized chain or a huge honking warehouse, in every single case but one, the first question, regardless of age, was: is it a boy or a girl?
When I said I’d rather not be limited by gender specific toys, and that I’d prefer if they could just go by age appropriateness instead, sales clerks were flummoxed. It was clearly so ingrained that this stuff is for boys and this stuff is for girls, that it actually took them a moment to consider what to give an individual “kid”.
I kept expecting the first question to be what interests the child had, but no one asked that, at least not until they determined how said child peed.
In one case I was asked if the girl was a girly girl or a tomboy… with a distinct negative tone on the word ‘tomboy’, as if offering condolences. Message received: girly girl = good; tomboy = possibly cute, but slightly off the mark.
In another instance, when I said I was shopping for both a girl and a boy, of approximately the same age, I was shown a fabulous MegaBlocks set complete with helicopter, police station, cars, bulldozer, roads, cruisers—more than 1700 pieces in all. I said that the girl would love this. The owner of the shop, a man, informed me it would be better for the boy and then, pointing to a small shelf behind me said, This is for girls… it’s pink. He actually said It’s pink. It was also MegaBlocks, but in a plastic storage bin. The label showed that inside were the ingredients to build a domestic scene: a small house, a cat, a bush, a few flowers and a tiny car. I said it looked a bit dull, not much to do here but drive up to the house and back out again, maybe water your tree. It hardly compared with the helicopter and police station possibilities for saving the world. The guy shrugged, said, yeah, but… it’s for girls…
I began to realize how limiting and subliminally ‘shaping’ is this world of toys. For example, if your boy child likes gardening, I hope you [and he] have the chops to deal with the fact that ‘gardening’ kits are pink and/or have a girl on the cover. Ditto foodie/cooking type stuff.
In one store the boy’s side had signs indicating “Science Books”, “Science & Discovery”, “Brio”, “Thomas Railway”, “LEGO & Duplo”, “K’Nex” and “Chugginton”.
The girl’s side signage listed: “Dress-Up”, “Fashion & Bling”, “Arts & Crafts” [all pink], “Doll Houses”, “Corolle Dolls” and “Calico”.
The boy’s side included toboggans, table hockey and all manner of balls and racquets and sports things as well as kites, cars, walkie-talkies, wagons, sci-fi material and science projects.
The girl’s side: tiaras, wings, pink and silver slippers, life-size doll heads for practicing hair styles [age 3+], Princess Castle, Sparkle Kittens, glitter art, Bling Bracelets, button making, finger-nail art, costumes, My Sweet Diary, dolls and a whole line of Project Runway merchandise including a makeup and hair design sketch portfolio [age 8+].
In another store, a whole section of pink was devoted to merchandise of an early motherhood training variety. Not that there’s anything wrong with dolls and dolly car seats and other domestic paraphernalia… it’s that it’s all pink.
One can go pink mad.
And I think I did.
Which is why I’ve given up on the toy shops. Am sticking to books and paint and things that allow kids to think, not to mention donkeys and bears…

I recently ran away and joined the circus.
A metaphor, yes.
The intention was to get away from routine for a bit, let whimsy be my guide, fly through the air with the greatest of ease…
Then I googled the rules.
How to Run Away to the Circus:
Get into shape. To be a part of any circus, you should be highly capable physically. Before you join in the clowning about, practice your flexibility for a few months. If you’re interested in trapeze or aerial silk, make sure to stretch every day and practice flexibility exercises. Eat healthy foods, and stay as physically active as you can.
Choose an act. Circuses usually require auditions, and you should build a repertoire. Look into things like acrobatics, diabolo, unicycle, and trampolining. Once you’ve picked something to study, get equipment for it and begin practice. Build a bit of a show, perhaps with a theme for entertainment value, to attract possible employers and for use in auditions.
Find a good costume. Some performance attire can be revealing, tight-fitting, or simply wacky. Make sure you have the right costume for you, and that it fits your act. For example, you wouldn’t want long, flowing sleeves for fire dancing.
Make sure your makeup is pixel perfect. In the circus, you have to do everything yourself with no help from a makeup attendant. So purchase and collect your own makeup. Good things to use are shiny eyeshadow and diamond studs. If your show has a theme, play off of it. For example, a show based around fire might involve brightly colored makeup.
Practice your smile. Yours may vary based on your act and your own personality. Some performers may opt for a sexy, one-sided smile, but a friendly grin can also warm the hearts of your audience.
Consider the realities of circus life. The circus is a crowded environment by nature, and you may not have much time alone. If you can’t stand the thought, consider performing in another setting.
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Turns out circus life [complete with clowns] is just like any other.
You have to pay attention.