<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d33206271\x26blogName\x3dThe+Fine+Art+of+Falling+Apart\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dTAN\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://fineartoffallingapart.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://fineartoffallingapart.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d6081200608643811586', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

About

This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

crooked mouth


crooked mouth
Originally uploaded by
Abstract Magdalene.

And so goes the time when I must sort through the things I've gathered over the past 6 months and decide what to keep and what to take with me. Space is limited in my little Chevy Cav. and it looks like what I can fit in there, is what will come with me.

So far, I've got the dogs and the cat in mind for the front seat. They all just curl in amongst themselves and sleep the entire journey. My laptop goes in my carry-all. looks like it will be a fight between the cds and dvds. Blankets. Some books. I'm too old-fashioned to have an iPod, I guess.

On my way to Manitoulin Island yesterday, I noticed my muffler/tail pipe looked like it might...fall off. On the off chance that it might fall off and go careening into the traffic following me on the 400 series highway, I look for someone to telp me a soon as I find one. And I do. This nice man named John, asked me to back up my car intil his garage.

At first, I was thinking that I might have stumbled across a scary chop-em-up traveller kind of thing. But it turned out to be one of the nicest people I've met in my travels across the Province. He wouldn't let me pay him.

Been thinking about the voice on the other end of the line. The one that makes me want to open like a lily. Opening, is the hardest part. It's like a surrender.

You can leave your response or bookmark this post to del.icio.us by using the links below.
Comment | Bookmark | Go to end