Five Practical Uses for 50 Shades of Grey

Are you a used book store? Are you a new book store? Than you're probably suffering from T.M.F. C.F.S.G!

"What's T.M.F.C.F.S.G?" I hear you blather ignorantly.

Why its Too Many Fucking Copies of Fifty Shades of Grey!

Whether your a new or used book store, you've probably lousy with those bluish black bastards, stock piled in some back corner, or in the middle of the store, praying that some dough head will buy it, practically begging between tears that those shlubs who begged for it a few summers ago, would grow some balls and pick these bundles of turds disguised as writing, and take them out of your valuable space.

But its just not happening, is it?

And you know that second and third movie is less of a life raft and more of a poorly written anchor, ready to drag you to your watery grave.

Well here at Last Stop On Route, our crack team of scientist have devised ways of making use of this giant sexy message prancing about as literature, Here are our top 5 uses for 50 Shades of Grey.

5.) * Confetti - Here's a easy first start! Make confetti. Make it as small as possible. Use this confetti at children's parties, weddings, even funerals can be livened up with a fist full of confetti in Great Aunt Patty's face for her comment about how much weight you've put on since the desperation from that dick you met at the Bruno Mars** Concert.

 Unjoyous confetti with confetti

4.) Building material - Whether its for building a foundation of a home, an extension on your kitchen or  perhaps a fort for the kids to play in, you have the perfect building tool. Its square and biodegradable. Treat it like a square bale home, or treat it with utter contempt.

http://www.themarysue.com/fifty-shades-of-grey-fort/

3.) A murder weapon. No one would suspect this book as a weapon. If found at the scene of the crime, officers of the law would immediately come to the only logical conclusion: Bored to Death

2.) Kindling - Bundle it up, box sets will burn longer than each individuals. There are countries that are burning poop, so why not light up this turd and warm your home, or drunken bonfire. Trees will sigh a collective relief when you put their ill used brethren to rest at long last.

1.) An Effigy of 2016; Mold them into the shape of 2016. Then burn it. Kill it with Fire. With any luck, your efforts will purge us of last years carnage and political circuses and bring in the new year with more cheer, less death and a happier out look on life.









*The following is a failed submission: 5.) Re purpose the cover -- Why not attach some hip new thing grandma is reading? Tape some doe eyed Amish chick or 1800s prairie farmer to the cover and pass it along to the sweet old lady. She could probably do with some titillation and the writing may very well be on par. Her husband might even thank you. 

** I don't know why Bruno Mars. Replace it with your own loathsome celeb if  its irks you that much. 

Reading this Year

What did I read this year?

Having come back to the book store for well over five months, I've got a good chance to restock on my reading, from all angles and get into the good stuff I may miss when one is away from a litany of literature.

In the start of this year I jumped into a book called Being Caribou. It follows a couples journey alongside the caribou of the North West Territories and the Yukon. It is their honey moon and a journey into better understanding the wild creatures and their habits while coming to terms with being human in a truly wild land.

On the trail of this book was a 6 part series started and chosen completely based on the cover of the book Dragon Champion. They were fun, Watership Down-esq tales around three dragon siblings, who face a violent trauma in their formative years, resulting in different paths, different lives and different out looks on the world. All three siblings were in their own way captivating and interesting. They were fun, and the final book still sits in my to be read pile!

After this I delved into a Linda Howard book. Sometimes the premise of Romantic Suspense books intrigue me. One of hers, called Prey, about a bear and a murderer hunting people through the woods was fun, and just spicy enough. I don't remember the name of the one I read on the plane to Scotland but by gum was it dumb. Plot holes galore. Contrived and lacking in so many respects. Such are romance novels for me sometimes. It was just too plot hole filled and unrealistic.

After this, I discovered I had a heap of books waiting to great me over yonder. I could have read some of my Viking History books, but instead I ordered a copy of Gloryland, by Shelton Johnson. This book came to me after watching a documentry in which the author was there speaking with such proficient prolific-ness that I needed to know more about him. Of course I found his only book a read it. What a wonderful book and indeed my favourite book of the year. Profound, thought provoking. An adventure through the mind of someone suffering from the trauma of youth, growing again into a man in the wilds of a National park.

After this I plucked from the internet, an audio book. I had some spare time on my hands, being a house wife and decided to do some sewing projects, so I made a stuffed elephant while listening to Stephen King's Drawing of Three. Part of the Dark Tower series, it was a great listen. A twisted adventure. Long live the King.

Between Stephen King, I read a book called People of the Lakes, by  Kathleen O'Neal Gear and W. Michael Gear. This book is part of a larger series, circling around Native American Culture in North America. Both authors are well researched and while I did enjoy the others by them, they weren't as fun as this. It’s a journey and one really falls in love with the characters, especially those who end up in the canoe. Because I'm from the areas around where they're describing, it really strikes me visually, and wonder about the pre-Colombian world of North America.

What did I read after this? Not much if I am to be honest. I struggled part way through a bio of John Muir, and read some science things from Randal Monroe, but nothing leapt out to me. It’s the prblem with reading a string of great novels, then looking for more greatness. It's not always there.

Eventually I returned to Canada, where I found fresh flesh in the book store. Anthony Bourdain. I read his Kitchen confidential in completion. It was a great read. I learn a lot about Kitchens and they were a good series. He's a great writer, channeling some dark demon writers. If he's that good a writer, I'd love to try some of his cooking.

I did read a young adult book called 21 Balloons. That was a fun kids read. One of those ones I wish I had read as a kid.

I had a few trip ups after that. I couldn't seem to sink my teeth into much of anything. Name of the Wind, The Wastelands, Sibir, Dragonshadow and still the stinking Muir Biography. I do want to finish Name of the Wind and Sibir, but I think King will have to fall and Muir will look nice on the book shelf.

Finally I picked up a book called Golem and the Jinni, by Helen Wecker. It was good. It was nice to be immediately pulled into good writing, for something so refreshing. Again great writing.

The last book I've read was Hogfather by Terry Pratchett. I've always prefered the Watch and Witch series by him. Of course it was interesting but just couldn't sink my teeth into it.

Want to know what's in my to read pile before I ship off for Scotland?

Kingdom For Sale: Sold! - Terry Brooks

True Grit - Charles Portis  

Storm Front - Jim Butcher

ExHeroes - Peter Clines

Loamhedge - Brian Jaques

Dragon Fate  - E.E Knight

The Family Fang - Kevin Wilson

This feels like a lot…

Soon.

https://www.laststoponroute.com/

.... Soon

When the Music Stopped

The music stopped
the connection broken
And I fall to my knees, weeping in disrepair.
A cry so long crushed,
as though I have not cried in 100 years
It has only been a few days
I cry alone so no one will stop me
They wont tell me
"It Will Be Okay."
No Lies

In the day I adorn myself in trappings,
those reminding me most of you
Still I am naked,
Stripped by my own hands.

Half of Paperback Fiction Sold are in this Genre

Romance!!

So I've gone down the rabbit hole on a Friday night. The Nora Roberts Rabbit Hole!



For those of you who don't work in a book store, or read romance novels, and I'm not talking about your Water for Elephants, Notebook, Best Seller section of mush. I mean the down and gritty, Harlequin, Silhouette, etc published books.

The oceanic mass that makes the foundation of the romance industry. For moi, in the used store, we subcategory the romance novels into the following: Paranormal Romance, Historical Romance, Contemporary Romance, Romantic Suspense, Erotica, Christian/Amish Romance, British Historical Romance, and Historical Romance. On top of those, there are the Harlequin Novels.

The aquatic queen of this section is Nora Roberts.

My heavy research on Wikipedia tells me she's published something like 208 titles in total.* She dominates 5.5 shelves(dollar shelves), more than any other author in the store. When people tell me the bible is the most wild selling book, I want to take them to the basement...

Confession, I've read one portion of her books once, when I was hunting around for the dirt scenes. However I've never completed a full novel by her.

Anyway, I went to the Wiki, leaping down to the footnotes regarding her beef with Cassie Edwards and Janet Daily. Lo! Did I find this website.  I know there something in the Romance genre that I've sampled into, but its like looking into the maw of some beast many others have mastered, while I can't even grab its horns.

Book stuff huh.

Oh yeah its my 1st anniversary. The Irony of this romantic rabbit hole does not elude me.






*Fun fact: Nora has a B&B and the rooms are themed off characters from her books. Intriguing. It would be Brilliant if Stephen King had the same...

Random piece of writing No. 2

Random Piece of Writing from a year ago. 

Hot breath still tingles against the back of my neck. Huff, the whine, the snap of dogs teeth. Dogs teeth meant to hunt. Hot breath meant to gather my being in its nose.

                I don't hate the dog. No sir.

                I hate that long bitter chain making the poor dog listen to the bitter man at the end. The animal vanishes in his grasp. The human vanishes. I stop being me. I am his. His thing. His No one. 

Sample of Writing From Before

I'm cleaning my files up, for the first time in 3 years. Possibly part of my writing problem is my lack of organization....

Anyway, here is something I found, as part of a re-write of my first ever finished novel.   Enjoy :)

***

In the bitterness of the wind turned swiftly into numbness. Cloak wrapped tightly around her, it did little to stave the wind, that viewed her clothes as something of a joke. Over the white landscape, she felt miniscule, each step barely an inch forwards in the nearly waist deep snow.

                It'd darkened so quickly, she had not realized until the sky was the colour of ash and mauve.

                The back on her back shielded her slightly from the gales when the cut down from behind. It had her low sloping tent. She thought to put it down, but wondered if she would get it up again with the drifts moving quickly.

                The world seemed like a white hurricane, the weight of the mountains behind and right before her.  Winds dove down ripping awa

Cod: A biography of a Fish That Changed the World

Reading a fascinating book on Cod. It's by Mark Kurlansky, the guy who wrote the book on Salt. I'm not surprised he wrote the cod book, as cod was salted as part of its preservation process. I got the book based off the cover. That beautiful plate style drawing of cod is something that tickles my fancy, with the added photograph of what its going to get at, how people were so involved in its life.

In short, hawt, eye catching cover.

I love well told history. Not the historical romances, or even the the regular historcal novels, though there are some gems within. A nonfiction history book, where the purpose is to learn something new is a gem to behold when it is well written.

So Cod I am reading and I forget what it's like to even read history beyond a public school level. I have not been studying history to the diligent minutia as I had in university. But there was this feeling I remember getting, some time in my second year, where my view on a historical event was thrown on its head.

This book has done that.

When I picture early exploration of the Canadian coast by white explorers, I see one lone ship.
This book made me realize how bias history in public school is. Jacque Cartier was not alone when he was 'discovering' north America, indeed he had not. Many before him had came, but when one pictures him, he seems very much alone with his crew, not with the boundless European fisherman (Basque in particular) who actually were there in the background.

It makes me think of a Monty Python Quote, when King Arthur rides by, on his invisible horse,  peasant No1 remarks to Peasent No 2.:

"Who's that?" No1
"Must be a king." No2
"Why?" No 1
"He hasn't got shit all over him."

And so Jacque Cartier stands pristine over the Canadian collective memory of its history, rather than as a man moved along by the backs of others. Cartier himself comments on the 1000 fishing boats of Basque fishermen he had to go through to get to this 'new land'.

It’s a good book. Anyone who enjoys Socio-economic history based around trade and individual objects (especially animals) and their impact on how human history developed, read this book.

I am unfinished and plan on finally approaching Salt after this.

Someone has moooved in.

On Shame of Music

I am very proud of my musical taste. I love my folk, I adore the classical, the blues and the early rock that has entered my life. The modern theme music is fantastic.

But the Music that gives me the biggest smile is Metal. 

Metal in all its branches, of course. I've said it before, that it pumps me full of life, gives me energy and very often lifts me out of dark places. Often, I measure songs in weight. Metal at its lightests can be Motley Crew, AC/DC, and even good old Maiden. At its heaviest, you have bands like Arch Enemy, Insomnium and In Flames. 

And these guys are tame compared to the Black Metal out there. 

In the place I work, the radio is played. It plays the same select pop, endlessly, occasionally taking time to add one fresh track in to spice it up before it to us ground into powder. Snortable nostalgia I suppose, the the heady days of one's prom, party, or both. 

To hear the same jangly music over and over again, especially when good rock is laced between is heart breaking for those who genuinely love music. 

Of course I could be being dramatic but music is art. This station takes those songs meant to be Mona Lisa and turns them into a shitty punch line or a tired meme. Bereft of meaning, they take on the skin of something so much less. 

Thus I started bringing my own tunes in. I was careful to look over my library carefully. Being a fan of metal, one is very aware that not everyone likes that music. So I thin it out. Instead, I leave sprinkled a select few songs. Again, nothing heavier than AC/DC is really. Around it I wrap folk, pop, blues and classical. Verity. 

Alas, it was not received so well. Or as well as I would have hoped.

Why did I feel so ashamed? Stuttering that it was an accident, trying to justify and constantly seeking self assurance that I was okay, that the sound was okay., this change, this difference was okay. 

Such is life. Everyone has their own tastes. It saddens me, that not everyone one will reach out beyond the window before them for the picture that may lay beyond its frames. Taste something different, read something that strikes them where they stand and gives them thought to wonder upon the life they have been living. 

Such is life...

Perhaps

I've finished my catalogue. The Canadian side of it. Four hundred books. Not bad for a more casual collector. When I head over to Scotland, I'll do a follow up. Names, titles, publication, special notice. Whether or not it's been read.  

I've been listening to Hello Internet, a podcast staring CGP Grey and Brady Haran.

Here's some shots of what it looks like.

This evening I'm watching, at long last Stranger Things. Its gonna turn into a binge. I can feel it.

Ooooo its good. The soundtrack alone is the greatest.

I'm writing. Now. Reliably. I have a little story in the pipes. A young priest, woefully ignorant of the world  and a brother turned guardian of two siblings. There's a small amount of supernatural about it. A fractured family. A do good, suddenly lost in a world, climbing out and trying to find his place, all the while with a secret.

I hope it turns out alright. I've worked with these characters before. I'm hoping they rise up from my mind, like they've been trying to do for so damn long. 

I'll keep updating this. 

Bluh

It has been an overwhelming last few days. 

Plans have changed so fast that I'm getting whiplash. Moving, not moving. Mortgage or no mortgage. and other more personal crisis that I really can't get into. 

I've driven my standard car into town for the first few times. Its very much terrifying but I'm getting used to it. 

Been reading some writing books the last few days and working on a wee story in my mind. I'm hoping in produces fruit. There are some courses

One of the hardest things in all of this has been the distance. This person is my soul mate, the other half of my story. Not just a chapter. 

Yet he is so far away. So our means of communication feel so few. They are wonderful when they're used and terrible when they fail. I am strangled, in those moments. I can be nothing. Not wife or partner. Not lover. Not ear. Not shoulder. Nothing. 

So careful patience, thoughtfulness and a burgeoning mindfulness to emotional needs.

But the next day is different and the relationship built almost entirely upon patience and communication should be mighty. 

I've got a story in the pipes about life. 

What? Life?! How origional Kelsey! Do tell us more!

No! I'm to unsure of it right now, but I'm injecting it with some of the unhappiness in me right now.

Unrelated. I've introduced my mother to Cavin and Hobbs and I can hear her laughing away in her bed room. 

Focus!

There is another contest. It lurks. It is a large contest, and I the important author stare at it as one would a new lover, thinking, "What the hell do I do to impress this beast?"

I've been cataloging my books. (nearly 300 books so far and counting) So tonight I'm trying to cut that short and really rather than blogging I should be focusing on writing something new and fresh but it is the pressure of it.

This coupled with the book drought...

I tried to read The Discovery of Witches. It didn't sit well. I was excited for something fresh, something magical that strikes a deep note with me. Here, I thought, someone has taken a subject and brought it up above the common tone of man rescue woman, who was once confident, only to be come a bumbling mimsy.

It makes me think, when I look at my writing is, "What have I got to say?" "How do I contribute to the Writing world?"

I could, if I wanted, write mush. Its easy, and not when you want a strong influence on your audience.

I'm rambling.


I really need to get back to work.

-_-

Book Love

My husband, who has regrettably returned to his far away hills, so I've decided to catalog my personal library. 

I've needed to do it since listening to a podcast and realizing I could. I'm going to be moving to a ew country in a few months and I want to know what I have and don't have for books, so there's no double purchasing. 

Its all being done on excel. I tried to get a nice easy app for scanning until I realized I've trashed the camera on my phone with my dropping it and that I can do it all my self on my computer if I do some sound googling. 

Really though, its my way of returning to my books. I've not been able to sink my teeth into something tasty for a while. My writing has withered up on the mental vine and I'd love to get it all rocking and rolling again. Make it a passion. Make it fun once more. 

Knowing what I have a regalling my self with fond reads from my past is a way of kick starting it. 

Really this is just keeping me busy in the quiet moments so I do not go mad while realizing there is another two ad a half months until Will and I see each other again. 

Oh woah is me....

Ah well. I'll boil the kettle again, put on some fabulous podcasts, and get cracking. 

The Drunk Girl

Do you remember drinking too much, lady?

I don't know if I can call you lady. You were young. Perhaps you were my age, and so drunk I want to just call you girl.

Poor thing, stretched out like Jesus on the cross as your team mates hauled you up those stairs. Too drunk to stand. To drunk to know. Sick from one end of the building to another Your eyes went left. They went right. They went everywhere. Mostly, they slumped shut. You wanted to be shut. And no where.

Clutching at seconds to retain your dignity, you begged, with that fine gloss of slobber on your lip, to use the bathroom.

There was no girl there, not one woman. Not one, to lift you. Give you security.

Just me. The stranger.

Sick, but in need of help we became sisters for a moment. Your weight on mine as we made our way into the cramped bathroom. You wont remember, but you were hardly more than a child; I helped you sit on the toilet. Murmuring for things like water, like a dying woman. Murmuring things I don't remember.

But I remember you. You were hardly more than a baby as I helped you dress again.

A stranger, but your sister.

Passing you on to those deemed responsible for you.

Then I went to sleep and dreamed my dreams, ate my days until this one.

I remember you, wonder if you are okay. Good luck.

Life in the Bush

In Light of Failure

I didn't make it.

I failed the contest I've always managed to get in on the first round.

Here, I thought, was one of the really great pieces I wrote in the last year. It was vivid, to me. Full of direction and motion. Capturing movement and hinting at more, I loved the piece. Two reasons for that. One, it was from a dream. So those actions and descriptions were written, in a way, from experience.

Two, its one of the few things I've written since 2013 I've been particularly pleased with.

Its writers block.

Chronic, coupling with that realization as I hit my late 20s that I'm not as successful at teenage me would have liked to be. I've gone on about my career before but mostly it was bolstering the idea that career is not the main focus in life but I never thought of my writing as a career. It was just a part of me.

Frantically, I glance about the internet for a career I could jump into with out breaking the financial bank with reeducation, whilst still in the midst of moving across the ocean where international rates of learning are astoundingly high.

Where should I be now? Why am I not where I thought I should be and why do the words not come so easily.

I proposed to my Oma, who is always a source of encouragement with my writing, on the idea of taking some creative writing courses. Her reaction of "You should do it with out all that.", stung.

Stung because it struck at the reality of what was happening. Self doubt. Its seeped in me. Of course I can string words together as an adult, better than I ever could in my fervent writing years. But as nothing has come of it, confidence in my ideas and ability not just to string the words together but to contruct a foundation, the plot! began to waiver until I'm betting on old horses, and fires from before.

Really, its my first 'no' I've ever gotten, this contest failure. The 'no' from the outside world really was as loud as the 'no' I've been telling myself for so much longer, amplifying the self doubt.

Aspen Valley: A Lovely Excursion

For a donation upon entrance, Hailey and I got a good look around the place, seeing lots of animals.

Monty the Bobcat, the only one I recall the name of.

Two Sisters

When you leave

When you leave the house,


Will you take your hat and coat?

And will you take your paddle and boat?


Will you remember to kiss your girls,

And tell your son well done?

Before the light grows dim

Before the moon sets in.

When you leave the house?

When you leave the house,


Will you remember which road you took,

Or will you remember the pocket book?


Will you recall the friends and calls,

Or the black dog who loved you, despite it all,

Before the light grows dim

Before the moon sets in.

When you leave the house?

When you leave the house,


Will you recall the spills and falls?

Or will you recall them not at all?

Will you recall your mothers love

And mind that your sister is alright?

Before the light grows dim

Before the night sets in,

When you leave the house?


When you leave the house,


Will you remember the time you had?

When you ran the river, wild and mad?


Will you recall the sweet words your wife said,

Did you kiss her before the door?

Before the light grows dim

Before the night sets in,

When you leave the house?

When you leave the house,

Will you turn out the light?

And please remember to say good night?


- For Opa

Insides

Can you hear it? The empty sound coming from inside me? Can you hear the terror? The small creature filled with fear, scrabbling at the walls for a way out! There is none. Its trapped. Stuck. Fucked. Didn't do enough in life. Made the wrong choices. Picked a wrong path.

Not good enough. Not good enough.

The words won't even work right. Stumbling over each one. Why do I keep yammering over nothing? One liners just to fill a little void in me. I sound like a stranger to others and I'm left in the shadow of my own words feeling a fool. Feeling alone.

But I work so damn hard! I, this small creature feel like I work so hard. Never enough. Not enough fuel for the fire.

You'll starve!

I let it all sink in, like a sponge. All I want is for the world to be happy, so that perhaps then, I can be happy. 

Perhaps then ....

I Wore Your Shirt Today

I wore your shirt today, the one you toiled in.

Your smell has faded, but I know you were here.

It doesn't fit. It hangs off my bones.

But it looks better than all the gowns, finer than my own clothes. Rags.

Anything a designer could lash together pales against your shirt.

No Gucci for me.


It renders the body

I become glamorous in one breath, and in another closer to you.

I am where you stood. The thousands of miles do not ebb.

There is no vanishing distance. I can see it plain.

But for a brief time in the agony of early morning,

where I cannot find you, or your smell in the warm covers,

my pains are eased.



I wore your shirt today, my love.

Fan babies.*

One of the Green brothers announced he and his wife was having a baby.

I am excited! Why the hell am I excited? I don't even know them! But I want to know everything about it! Will it be a boy or a girl? What will its name be? Sci show will have parental leave breaks. Vlogs on spwan. What colours to babies need? WHY AM I SO EXCITED?????

http://www.gettincraftystampin.com/2015/07/so-excited.html

Is this what people who follow William and Kate felt like??? Am I a fan girl??? Is my maternal clock ticking? Jesus, no way body! I can't do babies right now in life. Christ, I didn't even eat dinner to night. it was a bag of freaking popcorn shared between me and two dogs.

Life is strange.

.... A train of thought piece at 7:40 in the evening.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O_EqhhEvU4M

https://soundcloud.com/dearhankandjohn/056-is-it-going-to-throw-up



*I am not having or will be having babies for at least 4 to 5 years. No babies. No preggies.

Bear Poles

I know a few people who read this do some camping but my Canadian camping experiences have been limited and largely noneducational.

But I've been planning a road trip and some of it will involve camping.

Thus I have researched bear poles. A thing I didn't know was a thing.

And because I did not know it was a thing.

Bears are a problem for those in places with bears. While predators, they are more omnivores than anything, akin to pigs in that they'll eat what ever is tasty and easy.

Thus campers present tasty home delivery if they leave their dinners and goods out. So bear poles and other related bear deterants are used to hide or lock away food from their clawing paws.

But the above image is still what I think when I think of bear poles.

Trials and Treats

Oh the worries of distance.

This morning I'd thought myself into hysterical tears when I couldn't get in touch with Will. There'd been nothing for the last 14 hours and he wasn't at work. Couldn't get ahold of our house mate/friend Marie.

Clearly the building was on fire and Will was seriously injured.

Turns out he wasn't. Turns out he just needs to invest in a functional phone. Turns out too, that he'd thought I was in an accident.

Turns out distance is hard, when love is such a force of nature in our hearts.


So today I gathered a few of books from my secret stash of books, and got myself a wee treat. Got a further treat from the internet with the announcement of American Gods trailer, a t.v show based on Neil Gaiman's book. I loved it and Anansi Boys.

Catharine Parr Traill's The Backwoods of Canada, Susanna Moodie's Roughing it in the Bush, Trees of North America, The Ecology of the Timber Wolf by the Ontario Government and Letters from Yellowstone by Diane Smith

I hope they turn out to be good reads :) 

Orange Evening

Its late.

The heat lays across the house, like an unwanted, uncomfortable blanket that cannot be shirked.

It teases the body, pushes it up from under the covers, To lay in its red and orange haze, is to feel the tips of hair curling. To feel the skin bead in fine sweat. It is to lay in the mind and be quiet.

To wait.

I think of you in all my quiet moments. In every loud one too.

In those moments I don't want a gesture of romance. I don't want the flowers or the gifts. Nor do I crave the busyness an evening and two lovers have to offer.

All I desire is a smile. A small laugh before I watch you tumble into sleep. My sweet one. My kind one.

My love.

The Clay

I am almost there now.

To the clay where my skin formed, my bones molded into the foundation of me.

It was home once.

But now home is not a place.

It is a sense. It is a feeling. It is the fire that casts me into existence.

The Big Day

I suppose people might be waiting for the big day. The big day! The party to come. we've made promises of it. A celebration of our union. A celebration of two people united.

It a regular thing, often done with fine dress, lovely food, good music and words of love.

Its different though, when you're from another country.

The first comment people make is, "But you're married! You should be allowed in the same country!"

You would think. Most people believe the immigration system works like this. In some countries perhaps, or maybe some families recall from a grandparent they all they had to do was marry. But it doesn't work that way. The certificate gifted to us, at the glorious moment of union, is not a golden ticket. All it does is legally legitimize a relationship.

For some countries, like the United Kingdom, you need financial proof to go along with it, this is based on how much you have in earnings, savings, what sort of job you have etc. If you don't meet the minimum requirements, then you don't get to stay together.

There's been a joke floating around that because we have a cat and we're married, we're having kids next. That would be worse. Not only would my husband have to earn more money than he does a year, but if my visa were not approved then I don't enter the country and we'd be separated.

And its only a visa we're applying for. It's only 5 years of legally being allowed in the country. Not citizenship. For that, I would have to earn twice the wage he makes now.

Then there is the application itself. An error can set us back. A piece of missing documentation could turn weeks into months and months into years of waiting, stuck in a bitter limbo of longing, tears and blurry pixelated faces instead of just letting us get on with our lives and work, pay taxes like any other citizen of either country would.

So we must hire a lawyer. They have heir own fees and the application has a fee as well. I understand that lawyers work hard in school to understand a process that most people don't. It is an important job. Nevertheless the fees make me despair. They make me put down the phone, hang my head in frustration.

This is where I despair at the idea of a proper wedding. Its something we both wanted. Its something our families want. Perhaps it is something for others. Perhaps there are other celebrations we should invest in. A visa. A legal provider. Air plane tickets. All for love.

Gestures of love come in all forms. some much different than depicted in media. Love will come, for us, in the form of supreme  patience.

Our big day will be when we can legally live and work in the same country.

*we're already married. This is about the idea/concept of what we think of as a wedding

The PLANTS

Posted my books the other day and now I want to flaunt my house