Surfacing

Those who know me know that brevity is not my forté. Knowing how to get letters with French accents is a forté. Knowing exactly when to use them, not so much.

But I digress. As usual.

It’s obvious my philosophy is why use one word when several will do. Why use one sentence when many can be more fun. After all, who wants to go to all the trouble of getting online to read only one sentence? Those in the back shouting “I do! I do!” — get thee to Twitter!

Of course I’m also on Twitter, which is quite funny when you think of it. Mr. Motormouth limiting himself to 140 characters? Heck, I have burps than run longer than that. Besides, for me, Twitter is a bit of a chicken/egg thing — nobody follows me because I don’t go anywhere and why should I go anywhere if no one is following me?

There. That’s it. A brief thought that came to me moments ago while lying in bed and since I was getting up anyway, I decided to come down and dump it here while it’s fresh. Needless to say, a few words, even an extra thought or two, got added along the way. But this is still pretty brief for me, right? I hope you’re not disappointed coming all this way just for this. For those who packed a snack, hoping to perhaps settle back for another long one, sorry. Maybe next time.

A heartfelt thanks to all who took the time to post a comment. Considering how great these comments made me feel, I LOVE this blog already. 😀

How could I have been so stupid? I don’t know.

I certainly know better and I even received a visual reminder, which I somehow ignored.

There I was at my granddaughter’s first birthday party last Saturday (Aug. 8 — ironically, my late father’s birthday). On hand were a bunch of adults, one pre-teen and two kids — one almost three and the other about to turn one year old in three days time.

The party was being held in advance so my son and his wife could stage this daytime BBQ party in the backyard of their new house on the weekend, when more people could attend, and in a more leisurely manner.

Despite advance warnings of rain for that day, it actually turned out to be one of the all-too-rare sunny days of this mostly overcast, terribly wet summer. I don’t get out nearly as much as I used to and I certainly hadn’t been out in the sun for any period of time this summer. So I never even thought once about applying sunscreen, even though I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. (My favourite red one, which I am seen wearing in almost all pictures of me this spring and summer.)

It was a great party.

However, at one point I was down on one knee “chatting” with the birthday girl, Rachel, when her dad came along and began liberally applying more sunscreen to her arms and hands and legs, and neck and seemingly everywhere. And I’m thinking to myself, “Yes sir, with the sunscreen and her special pink hat with the big number 1 on it, she is certainly well protected from the sun. What a good, smart dad she has.”

What I SHOULD have been thinking is what a stupid grandfather she has.

Even later, I’m sitting in the bright sun, and I’m teasing my brother-in-law Richard about his very white legs. “Hey, Mariette. I was just looking at Richard’s legs and that reminds me, we’ll have to get a turkey for Thanksgiving.”

I SHOULD have been thinking of my own very white legs. I DID think to myself that I didn’t have to worry about my legs, because I was wearing jeans. I had thought of wearing shorts but I didn’t want to tempt the weather gods AND I figured my legs might burn, since this would be their first time this year exposed to the sun. Duh! What about your exposed arms, dummy?

Sitting out there, we even noted over and over again how bright and how very hot the sun was. I cherished every little breeze and even visited the shade from time to time.

Still, I somehow never twigged to how exposed I’d left myself.

When we did get home, after four great hours outdoors, I went to lie down, only to discover I couldn’t get comfortable. Now I’m quite familiar with leg pain but suddenly my arms were hurting as well. I got up and finally looked at them and realized they were bright crimson from where my sleeve ended, down to the knuckles on the back of my hands.

OUCH!!!

I came downstairs to be informed that our son Travis, who was up from Toronto for the weekend, had just discovered that the top of his knees were also crimson.

Unfortunately, despite applications of moisturizer, my arms are still almost as red, and just as sore, days later. Today, they’re somewhat faded, itchy from time to time, and still a bit painful when touched.

At first, looking at them earlier this week, I couldn’t understand why they didn’t hurt even more. Then I remembered that for the chronic (constant) leg pain I suffer, I take a slow-release painkiller, one in the morning, one at night, that’s supposed to last 12 hours. (They don’t seem to last quite that long but I get by. Fortunately I also have another, quick-acting pill for what we call breakthrough pain — pain that suddenly exceeds the usual pain levels.)

So obviously these painkillers were helping reduce the pain from the sunburn as well as the leg pain. (Maybe even disguising, a bit, how serious the sunburn was?) Now my family knows I am very conscientious and careful with these painkillers, due to the fact they’re pretty heavy duty. Sometimes though, even I find myself acting a little weird. For example, when I’d wake because of increased pain in my arms — no doubt from all the tossing and turning I do — I WOULDN’T take a quick-acting painkiller because this breakthrough pain was not from my legs. Breakthrough leg pain is primarily what the painkillers are for, at least in my mind. I’ve been chided by doctor and spouse in the past for being overly conscientious. I was probably being a little dumb again. Pain is pain. But that’s just the way I am.

Besides, as another bit of dumbness, I have this “serves me right” kind of feeling for being so oblivious as to have not even contemplated the obvious: Sunscreen is essential when out in the sun.

So, a week later, I still have this all-too-vivid reminder of just how stupid I was last weekend.

Now I’m not looking for pity. Having people feel sorry for me — I don’t even feel sorry for myself — is not my purpose here. But if this serves as a warning to others to NOT forget the sunscreen — now that we actually have some sun — then my suffering will not be in vain. (Thank goodness I somehow knew enough to wear a wide-brimmed straw hat to protect my face and ears and neck. Had I burned my face, it would really hurt to smile like this.)

My youngest son Tyler kindly set up this blog structure for me here on this domain created by my oldest son, Travis. Tyler even put in a sample name to demonstrate how the title would look. I think he might have been having a little fun with me. “Bill’s Braindump: And what a dump.” Thanks son, but no thanks.

(“Braindump” vaguely brings to mind a Dylan line of which I can’t quite remember the specifics. Anyone remember — or clever and non-lazy enough to look up — that early Dylan line, something about needing a dump truck (steam shovel?) to clear my head?)

Anyway, I tossed a few ideas around in my head for a day or two and came up with the current title, “Surfacing: When things floating in my head finally wash up on shore”. I like the word “surfacing,” the idea of rising out of something, slipping free of something that is perhaps even holding one back, or holding one down. Of course it is also the title of one of my all-time favourite albums by the Boomtown Rats, Sir Bob Geldof’s long-lost band, which gave us such classics, as I Don’t Like Monday and Someone’s Always Looking At You.

But it’s the floating in my head part that is the most appropriate. It’s a pretty obvious statement to say that all writing originates in someone’s head. What people may not realize is that it tends to rattle around in there before finally being released, also known as being committed to text. (I’d have said, “committed to paper” except we’re in the digital age and these very words may never actually touch paper, being displayed on computer screens only. I am not the kind of person who needs a hard copy of everything.)

For me, unless facing a hard deadline, writing works best when I am in the right mood to write. It often takes just the right combination of physical, mental, emotional and psychological energy. Perhaps something that could be summed up as a positive mood with the power of effort and concentration to match.

Alas, for years now, it has been a lot harder, due to health reasons, to find that magic combination. Which is why I do so much writing — in my head — in bed, when I’m more often reasonably relaxed, compared to other times. I’ve thought of bringing the laptop to bed, but it’s too large and heavy and the physical exertion would probably increase discomfort levels, cancelling out the reasonably relaxed part.

I’ve even tried writing on my hand-held PC but that process is very slow, with lots of correcting, trying to tap on tiny letters on a tiny on-screen keyboard using the stylus. It slows me down so much and takes so much concentration, that I end up with very little for a lot of effort. Did I mention how tiny everything is? And how old my eyes are?

So I write and rewrite and bounce things around my head and hope that I’ll soon find the right moment to sit down and finally type it out. Let it go. Find relief by finally dumping stuff that’s been going around and around in my head, sometimes driving me a bit crazy. Especially when trying to achieve the mental calmness required to have a chance at sleeping. Hmm. “Finally dumping this stuff.” Maybe Tyler’s suggested title wasn’t that far off, after all.

Anyway, this is all by explanation of how it’s taken me this long to launch my blog when I was so excited to start a week ago.

Between the chronic pain in the leg, and the nasty sunburn, (see Sunburn), it has not been a good week for getting decent sleep or finding the proper mood or energy to sit and type away, until late this week.

You might say I’m finally surfacing from a bad week. And this may serve as a warning about possible future bad days and/or weeks when it might take me a while to write something new on this blog.

Still, I’m approaching this with a positive spirit. One thing writers like more than writing is being read. One thing they love more than being read is being enjoyed, having their efforts appreciated, somehow touching a reader in a meaningful way, whether it is to provoke thoughts and feelings or simply trigger a small chuckle.

My ego — so necessary to a writer — leads me to write this blog. I do hope you enjoy reading it.

Welcome to my new blog. I can see that you’re excited already. Well, sit back, take a deep breath and relax. You’re making me nervous.

(There, for the first time I managed to resist adding , which I often use to underline that I was only kidding. Not only do I think I probably use those little action brackets — — too much, but I seem to be the only one still using them. So it’s probably time to put them to rest and hope my writing is clear enough to indicate when I am kidding, and such — which is most of the time. <LO.)

For a long time I didn’t think I would write a blog. For one thing, it seems somewhat clichéd with supposedly everyone and his dog writing one. (Heaven forbid, what if I can’t draw as many readers as someone’s dog?) Secondly, I, especially with online endeavours, have always preferred to be out in front of the crowd instead of following.

Even more importantly, I am not what you would call a self-starter. (Cue the sound of an engine cranking — rrrowe, rrrowe, rrrowe — without turning over. That’s an all-too-familiar sound to Canadians who try to drive in winter.) In fact I am a chronic procrastinator. For years now I’ve planned to try and overcome that defect, but just haven’t got around to it yet. So if people come to the blog again and again and find it hasn’t been updated, are they going to keep coming? Those who know me know to be patient. But I’m sure I sometimes try the patience of even my most loyal fans.

Still it is these fans, friends and family, who have been encouraging me to start a blog. My sons even noted that my posts on Facebook were rather long, often two or three paragraphs compared to everyone else’s one or two sentences. (I wonder what they would have thought of my epic-length posts on the Canada & Friends Forum on Delphi, and before that, Prodigy?)

So, here goes.