megfowler.com

September 11, 2007

in memory: 9/11/2001

Filed under: think — meg @ 2:45 pm

Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point. — C.S. Lewis

Someone once said to me that the morning the Towers went down is my generation’s Kennedy assassination.

I blanched a little upon hearing that, of course. Thousands of people died that day, not one, however powerful and symbolic he may have been.

I see it now, though.

As with Kennedy’s death, everyone remembers where they were when they heard. And I mean everyone. I don’t have a single friend who can’t tell you where they were standing, who told them, what they saw first on the news… all of it.

The more important commonality between those two events, however, is the shock people felt from outside the situation looking in… a surreal kind of horror that manifested itself in ways we didn’t expect. I couldn’t stop shaking with this fierce sensation of cold, which seemed crazy at the time.

After all, I wasn’t there.

I wasn’t even NEAR there. I didn’t know anyone who died. Who was I to feel a chill?

But a chill is what we feel when something is too horrible to comprehend. The loss of warmth, of good, of right, of sense, of peace.

Six years later, I still feel a chill when I think of the events of that day, and I try and imagine what people went through after waking up to a nightmare.

But I also feel an incredible warmth when I think of the sacrifices people made to care for one another. A warmth for the stories of courage and compassion, many of which will never be told. A warmth for the way families came together to mourn and begin to heal their losses.

I don’t know how they did it, and I don’t know how they do it.

But I honour all of them today.

ten reasons you should wish my brother a happy birthday today.

Filed under: love — meg @ 8:57 am



Sean and the lovely Carey

1. He’s my brother! Did you need another reason? Yeesh.

2. His fiance will beat you up if you don’t (Just kidding, Carey!) She’s lovely, and they’re getting married this March! In Yellowknife! Where it is COLD! Where I have NO IDEA WHAT TO WEAR TO A WEDDING BECAUSE IT IS COLD!

3. His birthday happens to land on a very unfortunate anniversary, so he needs extra love.

4. He’s one of the funniest people you’ll ever meet. And his laugh is shockingly awesome. In fact, my mom always told him that he was the “funny one.” I’m not sure what this leaves me to be, though… the loud one? The unsleeping one? The short one? The obnoxious one? The girl one?

5. He — though we disagree about a million different things on this planet, and I mean DISAGREE — always listens to what I have to say, and is interested in what I think.

6. He wears a kilt in below zero temperatures. That, my friends, takes guts. And warm socks.

7. He would defend my honour in any circumstance, especially if it meant he got to beat up a boy who was mean to me. Granted, I can do my own beating up, but it’s nice to have backup.

8. He’s one of the most diverse artistic talents I know. He takes beautiful photos, he’s a gifted drawer and painter, and he can sing and play a few instruments. He can also make a dolphin noise that will startle the hell out of you.

9. He’s incredibly devoted in his relationships. And not just to his family, either. My mom told him to be the kid in school who stood up for the underdog, and befriended people who didn’t have a lot of friends — a calling he took seriously, which shows a lot of character. It also meant he had a ton of weird friends. Fortunately, this has NOT led to a weird fiance. Whew.

10. He continues to grow every year into a man I can be proud to call my brother and my friend. Really. Proud.

Happy Birthday, Sean!

I love you!

September 10, 2007

what the heck, people?

Filed under: random — meg @ 8:51 am

The following search terms have recently led VERY SCARY PEOPLE to this website:

“can’t sleep can’t sleep or the clowns will creep” (ack!)
“monark butterfly” (scary AND spelled incorrectly!)
“slithers into your ear” (wha? ew!)
“fear of touching peaches” (why?)
“puffy itchy running eyes” (ALLERGY SEASON IS OVER. WE DON’T DISCUSS THIS WHEN ALLERGY SEASON IS OVER.)

I’m totally unsettled.

September 9, 2007

inventions i’d like to… uh… invent.

Filed under: random — meg @ 4:11 pm

** A device I could attach to manbrains to give me a readout of their thoughts. I realize most of the time I just wouldn’t want to know, but it would save me ever having to ask a “girl question” again.

** The non-stinging bee.

** A way to stop time when I have 48 hours worth of things to do in a 24-hour day.

** A volume knob for my voice that people could adjust to their heart’s content — and I could just keep yammering on as usual.

** Tweezers that said soothing things when you realize you just plucked off your arch.

** A “weirdo” forcefield to keep space violators from rubbing against me on transit.

** A mechanism like those post-surgery pet head cones that would keep me focused on what the hell I’m supposed to be doing, rather than 30 not-so-crucial things around me.

** A fake-tanning cream that made me look like Sophia Loren on a yacht.

** A giant alarm in my head that stops me when I’m about to react irrationally or say something that will get me in trouble.

** A dryer that doesn’t take two hours to get my towels fluffy.

** A lovely coffee-like drink would make falling asleep seem natural, be completely non-addictive, not leave me feeling like crud in the morning, and would give me only pleasant dreams (see: flying; John Cusack; surfing; winning Booker Prize; having babies; being ridiculously good-looking)

** A conversation eraser, when I’ve said something impossibly weird at the wrong time.

** A purse that would automatically make crumpled receipts, unlidded lipsticks, uncapped pens, and melty chocolate disappear, instead of trashing everything else in there.

Whaddya think?

Any possibilities there?

What would you like to invent?

September 8, 2007

dear weekend,

Filed under: think — meg @ 12:28 am

Well, hello… and welcome.

I’ve been waiting for you.

I mean, I have a lot to do, and I needed you to come so I could make a few things happen.

The strange thing is, now that you’re here, I don’t feel like doing a single one of those things.

I’ve got a ton of writing to do, and I can’t procrastinate.

I’ve got a room to organize that is bringing new meaning to the term “cluttered.” Or perhaps I should say, “gong show.”

I’ve got errands on top of errands to run. With an extra helping of errands.

Too much, Weekend.

Now you just feel like a Weekday without the commute.

So here’s what I need you to do to make sure that you keep your reputation for being relaxing and restorative:

Stay sunny. I mean it. No automatic Saturday clouds, or I’m going to shake my fist at the sky again.

Make sure the coffee is good. No bad coffee on the weekends… it’s a life rule.

At least an hour of deck time, please.

I’ll require enough laughter to leave me breathless at least twice.

Singing would be amazing. Top of my lungs.

Oooh… and I’d love to sleep in.

I don’t think any of that is too much to ask, do you?

SO!

Happy weekend, Weekend.

Show me what you got.

Love,

Meg

September 7, 2007

friday love list: now we’re sixth on Google.com for “love list”!

Filed under: love, listy — meg @ 9:49 am

You can find more here here. Oh, and here. Oh — here, too.

Oh, one more.

Anyway.

IT’S FRIDAY, Y’ALL. How exciting is that? And how exciting is it that I just said “y’all”?

PRETTY DAMN EXCITING. I’m just saying.

I’m enjoying doing all these love lists on Fridays, because they definitely help shift my weekday-riddled brain and heart over to Happy Weekend State. And since the summer is practically over, WE’VE NEVER NEEDED LOVE LIKE WE NEED IT NOW.

“Sure, Meg,” you say, “Lists are nice and all, but how the hell is writing about my favourite things going to get me more excited about life?”

“Well,” I say, “HAVE YOU NEVER HEARD OF THE FRICKIN’ VON TRAPPS?”

If something works for a group of children in outfits made from drapes being pursued by Nazis, it can work for you. So go do one on your blog. Or list your favourite things in the comments.

If you’re just lurking and sucking up all the favouriteness without pouring it out, you may in fact EXPLODE from all the love you’re taking in.

Exploding? Not something I love. Especially in the morning.

THINGS I LOVE

California! In! One! Week!
Scrabulous, even if SOMEONE thinks I lack word placement skills and everyone keeps using the dictionary
Reading a haiku about Justin Timberlake on the radio, even if he will NEVER HEAR IT
Rose’s Lime Cordial
Pedicures — the ultimate gift SOMEONE should give me but sadly, there is no occasion
The sheer entertainment value of my upstairs neighbour, Dean
Dinner at my mom’s house
My Pavarotti impression (RIP)
Really ripe peaches
Swings in playgrounds
My new resolve to wear shoes this fall
Costco
Water guns
My new bangs
Oreo Ice Cream Sandwiches
Lip Injection Extreme
Walking into light poles
Men who know how to argue
The slight chill creeping back into the air at night
John Cusack: The Man and the Legend
Huge trees you can’t get your arms around
Toast

COME ON. SHARE YOURS. YOU’VE GOT ALLLLL DAY…

September 6, 2007

his eye is on the sparrow.

Filed under: think, vancouver — meg @ 9:51 am

There is a study that says Vancouver is the most livable city in the world. Well, lots of studies, actually.

Everyone likes to tell us how livable we are.

And it’s true — when I drive along the coastline in West Vancouver or stand on bustling, vibrant Commercial Street or walk through the Sun Yat-Sen gardens or sit on a sunny patio on W. 4th or stare up at the iron-willed trees that still grow tall in Stanley Park, I feel like I live somewhere good. There’s beauty here.

But I’m supposing that where and how you live in the most livable city matters more than anyone’s rating of the city overall. The people lying in doorways downtown might say the temperate weather is good, but the endless rain is bad. The people living in slum-condition housing on the Eastside might tell you that they’re glad they found a spot that they can afford to live, but that they wish they had more locks on the door and a landlord that didn’t try to collect the rent twice.

I’m also supposing that it matters who you are, and what you expect. If you expect nothing, every city is livable. If you expect the world, any city is bound to disappoint.

Situation and perspective.

There’s a lot you can do about them… sometimes. And then sometimes you can’t.

Thousands of people move through this city every day and I wonder how livable their lives are.

Did they wake up this morning with excitement or dread?

Do their bones ache when they walk, or do they run for miles with wind in their hair?

Are they ruled by habits and needs and vices, or do they make choices based on reason?

Is there someone else directing their days, or are they in control?

If they could be somewhere else, would they be? Or are they passing me on the street with full confidence that where they are is where they belong?

I suppose a little of both, depending on the day.

When I got off the bus this morning and flipflopped down the hill to my office, I was cut off by a variety of different people heading in different directions, crosshatching the pavement in a hundred different hurries. I walk past most of them every morning, and they’re no better at navigating the bodies around them now than the first day I walked this path.

There is the woman in her awkward, clompy shoes who nearly trips on the curb, and hopes no one sees.

There is the man walking his dog who just looks angry. I don’t think there’s another way to describe him.

There is the man in his suit with loose pants, clutching a briefcase as old as me, sighing at the weather.

There is the obliviously slow set of girls always discussing someone named Brandon — sometimes kindly, sometimes not.

I watch them carefully and weave when I need to, avoiding collisions.

But I know I’m in my own world, too.

Or I was, until a bird got into it.

In the World’s Most Livable City, a tiny yellow and green bird was lying dead on the sidewalk and I nearly stepped on him, as did the man after me, who shuffled him to the side with an oddly horrified face.

“Dammit, nice way to start my day!”

The body looked perfect and unreal, as though someone had dropped a toy out of their hand. He was so small… so easy to miss.

Because I am a minister’s daughter with an encyclopedic memory of hymns, I remembered these lines as I walked on:

Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see,
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me

Then I was standing in Starbucks, and there was a man with an obvious mental illness berating the girl at the till for overcharging him — though she hadn’t — and generally making a spectacle of himself in the midst of tired, just-waking-up people.

Everyone avoided eye contact, lest they be drawn into the drama. But you couldn’t miss him, no way.

He finally realized he hadn’t been “fleeced”, and went to struggle loudly with coffee lids, dumping them on the floor and swearing at the cream jug. I met him again at the crosswalk down the street, where he stepped boldly into oncoming traffic before the light had a chance to change.

Fortunately, the Audi had good brakes, or I would have seen another body on the pavement this morning.

But I think this man fell from the sky a long time before today.

Does anyone see him? Really see him?

Does anyone see me?

I wonder if anyone knows that there is a song that I have to skip on my iPod when I’m riding the bus because I will surely cry if I let it play. I wonder if anyone knows I am craving cherries. I wonder if anyone knows that I feel sick from a new run of pills or from an old set of problems. I wonder if anyone knows that my smile is from a crush or a joke or a deep breath of salt air coming up from the harbour. I wonder if anyone can tell what I’m thinking when I smile at babies in their mothers’ arms. I wonder if that man sees me looking at him, and knows how I’ve already memorized the line of his jaw. I wonder if anyone can tell I’m struggling.

They can’t, though.

Just like I can’t. Or don’t. Or don’t want to.

We move through and that’s that.

We only notice the things that throw themselves into our path, and even then, we try and avoid them or put them to the side. We’re just trying to survive ourselves, after all. We don’t need the complication.

But something in me says that the only way I’m going to make my city — or my life — truly livable is to open my eyes and turn my heart outward and actually see things around me, rather than just watching them go by.

After all, the best way to not feel alone is to remember that you aren’t.

September 5, 2007

i just read a haiku to justin timberlake on the radio and i’m not even a little bit embarassed.

Filed under: random, radio radio, haiku — meg @ 3:48 pm

justin timberlake
squealy girls call out your name
i am twice their age

Get the rest here.

not even a little bit ashamed.

Filed under: vancouver — meg @ 12:02 pm

I’m not going to the Justin Timberlake concert tonight.

But I WOULD have, had all the seats not sold out in a matter of milliseconds, and if Craigslist wasn’t so rife with steely-spined opportunists.

Ah, well.

Depending on how you feel about the stubbly young man, you’re either laughing at me right now, nodding in sympathy, or fondling your own tickets to the show. Or you have no idea who the hell I’m talking about. And no idea how the hell you got here. Who am I, anyway?

Anyway, indeed. He’s just fun with all the singing and dancing and winking, and fun is something I can sorely use in my life right now. He also has the most diverse body of fans amongst my friends that I’ve ever known an artist to have… from grandmas to teenagers to thirtysomething hipster boys to career musicians and back again.

This is old, but makes me smile:


Enjoy the concert tonight, kids!

why so stern?

Filed under: random — meg @ 9:44 am

But a better shot of the new bangs:

And whoa on the camera phone. That baby is decent.

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