The Day I Snap

"Saturday Night Protest Party"

One of the worst things in the Blogosphere is when a blogging buddy passes away. Anne Marie in Philly of From My Brain To My Mouth died suddenly and unexpectedly on Thursday night. My deepest condolences to her partner of 30 years, Todd Gunther of arteejee blog. She will be missed by all who knew her.

The Warrior Queen lived up to her name in every way. She was a passionate supporter of human rights and civil rights for all, a fierce feminist, an outspoken advocate of BLM and a proud ally of the LGBTQ+ community. She had no use whatsoever for Trump, the GOP, Q-Anon, anti-maskers, anti-vaxxers, or any other right-wing anti-social nonsense. All this was clear in her blog, as well as her love of cats, her artistry with knitting needles, and her enjoyment of a good gin cock-a-tail. Anne Marie was the soul of kindness to her blogging buddies, always remembering and noting in her blog birthdays, anniversaries, special occasions and passings.

Anne Marie was passionate about music and especially liked to "kick it old school," as she put it. Her blog was filled with videos of the best dance music from every decade since the 1940s, so as a tribute to her, the rest of this post is based on her words, her format and some of the music she posted in her "Saturday Night Protest Party" posts. This post concludes, as hers usually did, with one of her favourite quotations of hope and inspiration.

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

This is how I am feeling right now.

Dance like no one's watching.

Sing like no one's listening.

"Keep believing. Keep marching. Keep building. Keep raising your voice. Every generation has the opportunity to remake the world.” - Barack Obama, July 2018

Farewell, Harry

[Photo of Harry from "The story so far" June 30, 2019]

I hate it when a blogging buddy passes away. And one of my faves did so earlier this week on August 27th -- Harry Hamid of The Rise and Fall of Harry Hamid.

Harry wrote prose -- strangely compelling, beautifully twisted, prose. He would come at subjects sideways, entertaining us with his surreal details, seducing us into entering his often macabre world of clever verbiage. His was a unique voice and I enjoyed reading his short stories very much.

Like many writers, Harry wanted to experience the world in other people's skins. When I first unknowingly encountered him a few years ago in the blogosphere, he was blogging as Katy, a beautiful, homeless lesbian who loved obscure rock bands and had an unfortunate love life (Katy's wife ran off with Katy's brother). Harry had also, it turned out, written other blogs in the personas of two different women.

A couple of years ago, when Harry came clean and revealed all (so to speak), he undertook to write his new blog in his own persona. We went with him on a new journey involving his struggles with love, life, alcohol, cigarettes and the Green Party. Then, tragically this Spring, there was a heart attack/stroke that nearly killed him, a cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemo, failing health and now death, as his brother advised us in a final post on his blog. Harry posted personal photos of himself in hospital, so thin, so frail, yet he always fought on, still writing on occasion.

A year ago, Harry noted in a blog post that this particular week in August is when everything bad always seems to happen to him --

"This week is my annual near death experience.

Jamie left. You know this. It’s been six years today. I almost died, five years next Monday. And it’s hurricane season in Houston.

In my life where nothing ever happens, everything that happens happens this week. There was the year when my car blew up. Yes, that one. I remember. I said, “Of course it did,” and all my co-workers laughed. At me. They said, “You’re superstitious after all, Harry.” That night, our server room exploded and the firemen ran up twenty-seven flights of stairs, each one wearing a hundred pounds of equipment and nothing was left but the ashes. The mayor came out. In tacky pajamas. I walked out under helicopters and the world stank sharp with electrical fire.

This was no surprise. I’d warned them. This was the anniversary of everything.

Nothing is cursed and no week and no one. You will always find a logical explanation. That’s the rule. No magic, no magic at all. So okay then, let’s have it then. I’m game.

Logical Explanation 1. There exists a strange cabal of very cruel people who are targeting me. They blew up my truck and they blew up the server room, damn them. Made Jamie leave, and Ruby. Got Veva to marry. Chose the day for my new firm to gobble up my old. Alright.

But what about the hurricanes? What about my total loss of platelets and sitting at lunch, watching my arm fill up with blood in 2013? What a strange cabal that would be.

This is the part where I get to Logical Explanation 2 and it’s the one where, in my paranoid state, I’m bringing it all upon myself. My paranoia stirs up storms! Breaks underground pipes. It kills my grandfather and the world goes up in sympathetic explosions. No good, no good, that seems even more fantastical than a curse, Occam’s razor and all that jazz.

I’ll stay in, with the lights out, this year. Maybe I will call a priest. A handyman. An anesthetist. Dial 9 and 1 on my phone in preparation. In expectation. While I’m waiting."

And now in 2019, during his bad luck anniversary week, Harry has indeed died. Rest in peace, my friend.

But you know, a very real part of me hopes that he has simply pulled another literary fast one on us -- that in a little while, he'll reappear in some new persona in a new blog, saying "Sorry! ha ha! THIS is the real me now!"

Wouldn't that be great? Yeah, yeah it would.

Universe, make it so.

You Guys Are The Best!

Thanks, everyone, for your kind thoughts and sympathy on my Mom's passing. I appreciate all your comments, care and concern.

Regular blogging will start again with my next post, although I see that SOMEONE has already presumed to make that announcement for me.

Celebrating Jacqueline

          

I'm very sad to learn that a favourite blogging buddy passed away earlier this month -- Jacqueline of Randomosity and Cranky Bar blogs. Some of you may have been among her readers as well. Last year, she suffered a stroke and was hospitalized since then. I believe it was another stroke on February 6th which ended her life.

Today various blogs are honouring Jacqueline's memory as a final tribute to a wonderful woman gone too soon.

Jacqueline's two successive blogs were always a fun place to visit. She had a great sense of humour and a big, BIG heart! Jacqueline loved to post about her culinary adventures, her favourite music and dealings with family and friends. She was also a talented writer and often posted entertaining and imaginative short fiction based on photo prompts.

But Jacqueline's most inspiring characteristic was her positive, upbeat attitude in the face of serious health issues and other vicissitudes of life. Although she called herself "The Cranky" in her second blog, Jacqueline never appeared to give up in the face of adversity. She celebrated the good times when her arthritis pain and Parkinson's tremors decreased and persevered in bad times when she was more debilitated. I admired her greatly for her strength of character in meeting the many challenges of life.

Jacqueline often posted videos of her favourite music which I always enjoyed because of our similar musical tastes. She introduced me to a lot of great songs and artists, including the European singer In-Grid and her hit Vive le Swing. Jacqueline posted this video two or three different times on her blogs. It was one of her favourites and has become one of mine too. Hearing it always makes me think of her and I'm glad.



Thanks to Rawknrobyn of Life by Chocolate: Robin Alana Engel's Blog for organizing this special blogosphere tribute day.

Putting the FUN in Funerals

It's only NATURAL at this time of year for our thoughts to turn to issues of DEATH and MORTALITY. Of course, we can use this contemplative impulse to wax philosophical about PROFOUND matters . . .

. . . OR we can take a more LIGHT-HEARTED approach to the whole area.

WHY must funerals always be such GLOOMY affairs? Use your creativity, people! Inject some FUN into the proceedings . . . serve CAKE, at the very least. EVERYONE loves cake.

Give some THOUGHT to how you want to lighten things up, even if it's only just to TWEAK the traditional ceremony a wee bit.

Or maybe you should consider going FULL-OUT GONZO CRAZY! Make your funeral an EVENT! One that people will talk about for YEARS!

If nothing else, take out a BILLBOARD!

WATER burials are an option for some.

Hmm, this looks LEGIT.

Whatever method you choose, may LOTS of people come to your party . . . I mean, funeral.

And DON'T forget to have fun with your post-funeral MEMORIALS too!

Witches in Fiction 2015 -- Death Rites and Remembrances

It's my first time contributing to Magaly's annual bloghop of wicked witchy fun! She gave people a lot of leeway with this year's theme -- "Your entry must focus on death rituals. Witches and magic motifs are optional." I knew immediately what I must write.

Alas, I'm afraid there will be no witches or magic in my entry. Just a lighthearted death-related ritual to honour a certain friend's life and personality when her inevitable day of departure arrives (hopefully not for many, many years in the future).

scattering

not for her a forlorn niche

in some forgotten cemetery

nor a staid and solemn scattering

in a wayside memorial garden

no, not even a canoe-and-backpack trip

to scatter her amidst the wilderness beauty

of a mountain lake

no, she will be released out of the open sun-roof

of a speeding van doing 140 klicks

down the yellowhead highway

across the canadian prairies

on a glorious summer day
under a flax blue sky
a golden sun
and a few fluffy clouds

with two . . . no, make that three . . .

screaming cop cars in hot pursuit

lights flashing, sirens blaring
tires scarcely touching the pavement

her ashes will stream backwards

floating over their heads

untouchable at last
a brilliant rainbow arc of glitter
for how could her ashes be
a mere dull pewter grey

yes, one final bit of scofflaw fun

one last defiant fist shaken at the mounties

and their devil hand-held radar machines

and unjust speeding tickets
which plagued her heavy foot
and cost her untold amounts of money
over so many many years

be it so

King Richard III (Part the Second)

Late last month, Richard's remains were reinterred at Leicester Cathedral in central England. However controversial or chequered Richard's history had been, the dignified ceremony befitted a king. The Poet Laureate of England, Carol Ann Duffy, wrote a beautiful, haunting poem for the event.

Richard
by Carol Ann Duffy

My bones, scripted in light, upon cold soil,
a human braille. My skull, scarred by a crown,
emptied of history. Describe my soul
as incense, votive, vanishing; your own
the same. Grant me the carving of my name.

These relics, bless. Imagine you re-tie
a broken string and on it thread a cross,
the symbol severed from me when I died.
The end of time -- an unknown, unfelt loss --
unless the Resurrection of the Dead . . .

or I once dreamed of this, your future breath
in prayer for me, lost long, forever found;
or sensed you from the backstage of my death
as kings glimpse shadows on a battleground.

The poem was read at the ceremony by Benedict Cumberbatch, himself a distant many-times-removed cousin of Richard's who will soon portray him in the BBC's Hollow Crown production of Shakespeare's Richard III (pictured above). And I can hardly wait -- it is my most favourite Shakespearean play!

Here is video of the poem being read:



So, King Richard, rest in peace while the battle continues on about your place in history. At least no one is driving over top of your grave and dripping oil on it anymore.

King Richard III (Part the First)

As a nerdy teenager, I was absolutely crazy nuts about English history. One of my favourite areas of interest was the Wars of the Roses, the medieval power struggle for the throne of England between the Houses of Lancaster and York. In Grade 9, I actually participated in a school debate about whether Richard III was in fact the evil child-murdering hunchback that Shakespeare and history later portrayed him to be. I argued the "no" side in defence of King Richard.

So for the past three years I have avidly followed all the news reports about the 2012 discovery of Richard III's body which had been hastily dumped in an unmarked grave following his defeat at the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485. As the centuries passed, the location of his forgotten grave became a parking lot in our modern times.

It was fascinating how archaeologists verified the skeleton's identity, not just by the severe scoliosis of the spine, but by a DNA sample taken from a distant Canadian nephew descendant, Michael Ibsen (pictured below). I thought it was very touching that Michael, a carpenter by trade, personally handcrafted the wooden oak and yew coffin in which King Richard was recently reburied.

Tomorrow: King Richard III (Part the Second)

Getting the Last Word

In the spirit (so to speak) of this week's theme of death and skeletons, here's a few tombstones and other memorials for your consideration.

What the Hell, It's Monday Anyway