Happy Birthday, Dad!

Today is my father's birthday. He is turning another year older, but he swore at me when I suggested it was seventy. I gave him a call this morning but I figured he wasn't up yet, so I left a message. My dad used to be a notorious early riser, especially on the weekends. He loved going to flea markets and garage sales. I often went with him. He used to try to make me haggle. Oh, how I hated haggling. At eight years of age, the last thing I wanted to do was try and barter with someone over their crappy second hand stuff. To this day, I still won't try to get an unsuspecting elderly person to lower their price. 

In this way, I am not like my father. He is the Master Haggler. 

How am I like my Daddy-O? 

Well, I certainly am a unique combination of both my parents, but the hot headed tendencies come from my dad - not to mention this off beat sense of humour you might have picked up on. My passion for making myself laugh? Yeah, you can thank my dad for that as well. I am a sarcastic wise-cracking beast with a stubborn streak to rival that of a toddler. And, if you took a long hard look at the two of us, you'd probably notice we have the same nose and scowl. Let us not forget my ability to curse. 'Fuck' is by far one of my most favourite words and I know my father shares a love for it. And this sweet tooth? Thanks, Dad. 

The truth is, I am very much like my father. And I miss him immensely. He lives up in the mountains, a ferry ride and five hour drive away from me, but there are no excuses for not seeing him. It's scary to think it's been two years - possibly more. This is a hard fact to swallow considering we used to have dinner every week when I lived in the city and he commuted down for work, and he always kept me in supply of quarters for the laundry machines in my apartment buildings. Sure, there were tough times growing up. We had our pains and father-daughter battles. But in the end, he's my friend. He makes me laugh, even though I'm unsure if it is intentional, and he's always there to answer my questions, granted it might come a little later than intended. And he would definitely be my lifeline if I was ever on a game show. 

For the most part, he's never really given me a hard time - I mean, not since I moved out of his house. He never had much to say about the nautical obsession, old man pants, uniform shirts, blue hair, tattoos, piercings, or anything else I've dabbled in. Then again, my older siblings pretty much ensured I could never surprise my parents with anything. But my dad, he's always been there. This funny man with a white-hot temper but an undeniably big heart, has always helped when I needed it, and even when I didn't.

To this day, I know he's on my side. He's a member of my team. Back up, if you will. Always there with an ill-timed joke or awkward hug. It's pretty amazing to exist in the world with the knowledge that my father has my back and you know what? It makes going through life a little bit easier. 

So, Happy Birthday to Daddy-O! Love you lots and hope we get to see each other soon. 

To My Mum

Happy Birthday, Mum.

Sometimes, as we grow up, we forget our parents are real people. When you get older, and hopefully wiser, you see them in a new light. They are human beings and they have thoughts, feelings, hopes and dreams, ideas and expectations, disappointments and blessings, hurts and comforts. When you first realize this, you have to sit down, especially when you start recounting all the stupid things you did and said, how uncaring your teenage years were. How you never really stopped to think about what your parents may have wanted out of life and how you may have messed up that plan.

If you're lucky, your parents become your friends. Sure, they are still that authority figure you hated having as a kid and love having as a grown up. Someone to turn to and count on. A person who will, even though you hate it, tell you you're being dumb, even when you think you're being smart. As you get older, you turn towards your parents, like I have. I go to you when I am lost and confused, broken and beaten, but also when I have joyous things to report. You are my friend, mum. You are the one I want to talk to when I discover a new truth about life or when I have debunked an idea I thought to be true.

I am lucky to have you in my life. A person who cares unconditionally for me and wants me to be happy. That's truly a wonderful thing to me. To know, no matter where I go or what I do, that there is at least one person in my corner, rooting for me, on my team. It's nice to know I have backup, who will listen, and defend, fight if need be, and if not, then send Dad to do some dirty work.

Life is complicated and weird. Sometimes I don't know up from down, but through all the complicated weirdness, I know you are there. To offer what advice you can. And when you have no advice, to simply say, "I don't know what to tell you" and it's funny because even that feels good, because at least we have no idea together.

There is beauty here on this Earth, despite the complications and weirdness. While I certainly inherited your introverted quirks, your misanthropic tendencies, I also won your love of nature. Your ability to cherish creatures big and small. And I am cultivating your respect for Mother Nature and all she holds, teaching anyone who will listen how important it is to listen, watch, and feel the sun, moon and stars. I take notice of the dew glittering like diamonds as it clings to the blades of grass in the morning sun. This is your imprint on me.

When I am walking along and I am dumbstruck by the beauty of what surrounds me, I think of you. It happens daily. And we hold a connection that vibrates through this earth and will always exist, no matter what. This gives me comfort. It gives me peace.

There are many things I want to thank you for, but there are not enough words or time to do so. We'd be here for hours. Days. Months. This is a blanket thank you. A blanket I love you. And a blanket, I'm thinking of you.

Xox

Happy Birthday, Harry Potter!

It may have been a coincidence, but I think it was kismet. Today, this adorable kid was in getting his hair cut. His name was Jacob, he wore glasses and had a spray of freckles across his nose. After he was all finished up, I grabbed his shirt and held it out for him to put on. This is when he spotted my necklace.

And he said to me, "Your necklace is like Bellatrix's."
I replied, "Lestrange?"
"You know Bellatrix?"
"Of course I do, she's one of my favourites."

He seemed stoked. Not only because my necklace looked like Bellatrix's but because I knew who he was talking about. If there are people reading this who don't know what or who I am talking about, Bellatrix is a character from the Harry Potter books/movies. She's both fabulous and infuriating.

It's funny how this encounter happened this afternoon. Just this morning I learned today is Harry Potter's birthday and, probably not so coincidental, also J.K Rowling's. Of course, I had to pass this piece of information along to Jacob, who seemed thrilled to find out. And as conversations normally go with Potterheads, we quickly began discussing our favourite characters. Then, this happened:

"I also love Luna," I told him.
To which he came back with, "Malfoy's my favourite."
Words would not form. I mean, they literally would not form. Who likes the snivelling, evil, pale faced Malfoy? No one with a good head on their shoulders. Finally, when I managed to compose myself, I got out, "You like Malfoy?"
He nodded, grinning a tad bit wickedly.
"Well, I'm speechless. I've never met anyone who likes Malfoy."

His mother added something about how Jacob marches to the beat of his own drum, but I was too dumbstruck to tell her this was probably a warning sign. Oh, I'm just kidding. But I would like to say Happy Birthday to Harry Potter and J.K Rowling. Without the two of them moments like these wouldn't be possible.

It makes me feel both old and young to know Harry Potter was born in 1980. He's older than me, but it ages me to think he is 34 this year.

Next we will be talking about overachievers, like the one who made this bloody cake!

Ogdred Weary

Today is Edward Gorey's birthday! For anyone who doesn't know of this uniquely amazing man, he was a master illustrator, creative genius, and one of the rarest gems ever to exist on this rocky plain. Not only can we celebrate his macabre books, which there are over a hundred of, but his unusual way of looking at life. This man was the true definition of strange and brilliant. And I am grateful he existed, for the world would have been a far less interesting place without him. Before Tim Burton, there was Mr. Gorey and his ominous tales told through a tip of a pen.

Even though Gorey's literary catalogue is deep and plentiful many of his works are hard to find, all because of his love for word play, especially anagrams. A lot of his books were published under pseudonyms of his own name, most notably Ogdred Weary. Another name he used was Eduard Blutig which actually isn't an anagram, but still a word game. Blutig is German for bloody or Gory. A few of the other names he wrote under were Mrs. Regera Dowdy, Raddory Gewe, and E.G. Deadworry.

Here are some more ponderable facts about Edward Gorey:

• His parents divorced when he was 11 and remarried when he was 27.
• He attended Harvard and roomed with poet Frank O'Hara 
• A lot of John Bellairs cover  art was illustrated by Gory.
• A few of Gorey's works were in fact wordless and his illustrations always had a Victorian and Edwardian style to them, not to mention an air of ominousness. 
• An unabashed 'pop culture junkie' Gorey loved television, movies, and soap operas. He stated in interviews his love for Batman and Buffy The Vampire Slayer. 
• Gorey was never married and confessed to have little interest in romance. 
• When asked about his sexual orientation, he said, "I've never said that I was gay and I've never said that I wasn't ... what I'm trying to say is that I am a person before I am anything else."
• His home in Cape Cod is called Elephant House and is now the Edward Gorey House Museum.
• This quirky gentleman left the bulk of his estate to a charitable trust for animals, dogs, cats and even bats and insects. 

A Gothic icon, Gorey stretched the bounds and falls into a very grey area. Though his artwork is often categorized for children, he did not write or draw for our youth, nor did he have much of a fondness for them. In truth, Gorey's works cannot be put into any one genre. Sure, you can find his books in the humour or cartoon section at your nearest bookstore, but he experimented all the time and often his artwork falls into a surrealist niche. Not to mentions his experiments - books that are wordless or ones the size of a matchbox, popup books or ones filled with inanimate objects - these only make it all that much harder to classify this man. 

Gorey himself described his work as literary nonsense. Which kind of only endears me to him more. Though he once said, "Ideally, if anything were any good, it would be indescribable." And that truly is what this man was. Good and indescribable.

Happy Birthday, Edward Gorey, you beautifully odd man. May your dark humour live on forever. 

Unstoked

It seems like it's been forever since I wrote a post here, when in reality it's only been eight days. I guess I needed a break. To order my thoughts, perhaps. Or maybe life seems a bit unimpressive and I've tried to keep that to myself. For a number of reasons, really. I don't want to drag other people down. And there's no sense moaning about life when it could be so much worse.

I got my health. A roof over my head. Food in my belly. Clothes on my back. Friends and family, though slightly behind me and to the left, they are still there. And cute boys. I have all of these things.

So, why am I feeling so disenchanted?

Well, the daily job is a bummer. It doesn't matter that I'm a firm believer my 9-5 does not define me. I mean, I know it isn't who I am, but it still irks me that it's where I am. Sure, it helps pay some of my bills. But not all of them. Money is constantly hanging over my head. I hate the feeling of doing things simply for the green. They say money doesn't buy happiness, but it sure could make the giant axe wielded by bill collectors seem less sharp. The home I live in. Yeah, it's nice enough, but buying a place seems to have put some restrictions on my future. And maybe that was a silly thing for me to do. I miss my cat.

But above everything else?

My birthday is at the end of the month.

It's a big one. A nice round numbered one. And one that has me feeling unaccomplished. Displaced. Stuck.

Most people reflect on their lives around New Year's day, when they are trying to better themselves, but birthdays are when I really get thinking. Is this it for me? Am I where I'll be for the next five or ten years? Is the dissatisfaction warranted? Or am I just acting foolish? Maybe everyone feels this way every now and again.

It still doesn't change the fact that I want to overhaul everything. Shake things up. And stop watching my life pass me by. Honestly, I don't know where I'll be in a year, and I am fully aware fretting and toiling over these things are useless. There's no guarantee on tomorrow, but today just seems unsatisfying, and it's barely started.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not always like this, but for some reason, I am supremely unstoked lately. Not even the promise of birthday cake on the horizon can rectify that.

And that's another thing. Why are birthdays so disappointing for me? I don't know if I've ever had an amazing one. On one hand, I don't want to be alone, but on the other I don't want to plan something for myself. Guess I'm just lazy. And I suspect that's the culprit of most of my issues these days. Laziness.

Maybe this is what they mean when they talk about the birthday blues.