here comes the rain again

The rain has come.

The air has cooled and the rain falls so hard that it is difficult to hear the thunder.
It is a watery symphony; percussive and persuasive.

For me, there has always been an attraction to thunder and lightning. I find it exciting and comforting at the same time; alive and calm.

I am torn between wanting to snuggle in my bed and let it lull me to soft sleep, or to run outside and let it pour down on me. There is something so cleansing about it, physically and emotionally, like a very good cry.

There is actually a sweetness to the air.  It rests on the sides of your tongue as you breathe it in, allowing you to taste as you smell, or smell as you taste. Or smaste.
It is the freshest of the freshest air and it is glorious.

*******************************************************************************

The rain has softened. It still falls, but it is quiet and soothing. Still constant. Less urgent. Still hypnotic. Sometimes it increases and then pulls back again, like a sensual lover, leading and releasing. There are no further signs of lightening, all is peaceful.
This definitely tips the scales in favour of enjoying it through the open window,  from my bed.

Good night rain.
I hope you are still there when I wake.

falling into fall

Fall is almost in the air.
It is barely a whisper in the window,
but it is there, with a light breath

It is that beautiful in-between season, in between times;
like the end of night and the beginning of day,
sun and moon both sharing the sky,
waking and retiring
smiling good morning
blinking good night

I took this shot on Thanksgiving weekend 2011 at Conrad Beach, Nova Scotia

It is the air  that whispers in my window in the morning,
in between wake and sleep,
exhaling that memory of time to get up for school

It is not yet Fall, yet barely still summer.
And it is both seasons at once.

Not quite that crisp definite autumn with sweaters and pumpkin spice latte's..
nor that hot lazy summer with sundresses and big hats.

But the air has cooled and the ocean has warmed, and pumpkins have begun to appear in markets, tumbling orange

It breathes a reminder to squeeze every last drop out of summer

doubleya

I just watched a movie called W.
Oliver Stone directed Josh Brolin in the role of George W. Bush.
 
Brolin's Bush is fantastic.
He actually made me a bit sympathetic to ol' George.
I despise what Bush' s year reign of idiocy did to the world.  But in his portrayal, Brolin shows him as a man who never had an interest in politics but felt it was the only way to impress George Sr. and win his approval. Junior was happiest running a baseball team.

It doesn't shy away from his stupidity, but it does show that if you met W at a BBQ he'd probably be an alright kinda guy. As the leader of the free world... not so much.

The challenge for an actor to portray a historical figure, especially one that is still living, is great.
Meryl Streep was flawless as former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. Of course when isn't Streep flawless? But there was also that personal level, that which makes them human, that we don't often see in so many of our leaders. When an actor can bring that, it is something remarkable.

Of course there are always limitations.
I wonder if anyone could make a movie that actually made Stephen Harper seem human?

go blog yourself

Someone asked me recently if I blogged. My immediate response was "Yes" followed by ".. um.. well.. I mean, I have blogged.. I have a blog.. I blog but I haven't really been blogging much lately..." The word Blog became a bit of a swear word.
Oh Blog.
Bloggity Blog Blog.
Bloggots.

It is not that I have a lack of ideas. Oh no, there are many snippets and drafts saved, many scraps of lines in files. I have no trouble producing the pieces. It's the threading it together that is the difficult part. 

I find I need to be inspired. And so I wait for inspiration to hit me; wait for the Muse. It is not elusive, she comes quite often in fact. But I never know how long a visit from that flighty sprite will last.
Try as I might the discipline to write when not in the mood escapes me. And yet I know it is something for which I should strive, plug regardless.
What would Plath do? Or Woolf?
They would force themselves.
They would be happily consumed.

Perhaps it's not inspiration, but focus that I need; the ability to concentrate without wandering off and following every shiny speck of dust that floats it's way into my peripheral vision.

How can I finish a writing a book if I can't finish writing a blog post?

Oh Blog.
Blog Off.

accidental gifts

I felt a bit of a creeper taking this shot, but so glad I did.

I've always seen the world in photographs. As far back as I can remember, the world has been broken down by frames, and memories are snapshots.
 Even as a kid with my family's Kodak Instamatic, I would try to capture my view, whether it was the dinner table from underneath, or clouds that looked like dragons. Thankfully in today's digital world, I no longer have to wait for photo's to come back- only to find one out of the twenty four was decent. Or that I got carried away with twenty two shots of the chair leg.

Sometimes, as the shutter closes, I hear a voice that says "this is the one" and I know this will be a good photo. But sometimes I am surprised. Pleasantly.
Sometimes what was an accidental shot, becomes the best in the roll. So to speak. This picture happened to be one of those photo's at one of those times.

We were spending a few hours at a local swimming-hole. It's a fast moving river that runs through the woods, and eventually feeds into the ocean. This is a place where you park your car at the bridge and followed the footpath through the woods. For a while my friends and I were the only ones there, but gradually, others arrived. 

She was young and he was quite a bit older. He sounded as though he were trying to impress her with the things he was saying. She was young, but looked hard. Thin. She gave the impression that she had seen a lot and grown up fast.
I was drawn to the writing tattooed across the right side of her back but couldn't read what it said. Pretending to take a picture of the water beyond her, I zoomed in with the intent of quickly snapping it and reading it later. The text was familiar, and although I couldn't identify it at first, I knew it was from a poem I studied in university literature class.

Back at home, on my computer screen, I remembered the stance from Kubla Khan by Coleridge. It made me want to ask this girl why was so impressed with this passage that she chose to scrawl in on herself with the most permanent of inks. Did she decide on it herself, or was it meant for someone else?

And then I realized... although it wasn't intentional, there's something I really like about this shot. Something about it speaks to me.
Sometimes my favorite pictures aren't even one's I've consciously taken.

I like to think of those as little gifts from the Universe.

going on record

I can safely say that this has been the best summer.
Ever.
The weather has been gorgeous, hot, sunny. Right now the humidity is high, but I don't even care.
Trips to the beach have been plentiful and glorious.
Sunsets have stopped my breath.
Salt water has been warm (Atlantic warm) and healing and invigorating.

I am never happier than when I am at the beach, so the past three months have been happy happy happy.
I just want to go on record as saying that.

the process before the process

No matter how long I've been doing this, no matter how many times I do it now, I can never, never get over the absolute horror of auditioning.

It happens the same way every time-
I wake up feeling sick. I think "I'm not going. I'm not doing this. I'm not putting myself through this again."
I run through the possible scenario's, play pro's and con's- what is the worst that can happen? why should I do this? And this is all before I get out of bed.
Eventually I talk myself down. Sort of.
That is to say, I keep talking myself down as I shower, as I moisturize, as I dress. The whole time I'm applying make-up, I'm telling myself not to bother, because I'm not going. My body fights with itself- I become sleepy, my belly feels sick. And my mind keeps trying to be the boss of me, telling me to crawl back under the covers.
But my hands and feet ignore it all. My fingers dress me- pull on pants, do up buttons, lace up shoes. My legs carry me and my feet are on a mission.

Every step becomes a march. Every left. Right. Left. Right. GO. HOME. GO. HOME.
But my body keeps walking as my stomach keeps churning and my lower intestine is threatening to turn to liquid any minute.

It happens with any audition, whether voice-over, film, or stage. For me, the worst of those is stage. There is that awkwardness of "acting" in front of one or two people.

Auditions always run long, so you rarely get in at the time you were originally given. In some ways, that's good; you have time to get centered and prepared. But in other ways it's bad because you have time to think. And that's never good. I think I am blank. I think I don't remember the lines. I think my mouth is too dry.

Then I get in there and I am soaked. I imagine I must look a mess and try to put it out of my mind. Whenever I get to choose the piece, I find it best to aim for someone strung out, rather than put together, so that I look the part and make my shvitzing work in my favor.

I have learned that most auditions take time, with dialogue between the auditioner and the auditionee. When I finish my monologue, and I hear "that was great, thank you- we don't need you to read any more", I know it doesn't mean "that was great and we don't need to see any more because we know that there's nothing for you in this show". I don't take it personally.
A friend of mine once said "I go to more auditions than actual jobs". Strangely, that comforted me, because this person is well respected and always working. I guess my point is, we all have similar insecure reactions to this process in some way.

Usually someone who knows I was going to audition will ask at some point "how did it go?" and I have no idea.
The only thing I can go on is this: if I didn't shit myself, vomit or pass out, the audition was a success.

So, I guess, so far, so good.