Welcome to How to Be Graceful!

ballerinabackground.jpg

 

What WHAAAT. Sorry for any confusion. I got bored with …So Help Me Cats and decided “How to Be Graceful” to be a more fitting title for this…this odd collection/clusterfuck/Grandma’s button bag of thoughts and feelings.

And let me clarify that I am in no way trying to use this blog to teach you helplessly clumsy people how to be graceful…HA. Quite the opposite. I don’t know how to be graceful. I have may have 17 years of ballet training, but I also fail daily, and SO INCREDIBLY at the most basic spatial awareness/coordination-involving tasks that I would be picked last for the amputated turtle’s parkour team.

That being said, I think that true grace is a fine balance of kindness, selflessness, honesty, humor, and confidence. (Ugh, that sounds so terribly like a Miss America pageant, but you now what I mean.) And while I don’t have enough of that balance to pull off even a single metaphorical pirouette, I think it’s one of the most important things to strive for.

Don’t worry, cats are some of the most graceful creatures I can imagine. Their presence on here moving forward will definitely not be lacking.

-Kat

Explosive

Explosive

Moonbeams flicker through the fog
Conducting a quiet symphony
Of sighs and weary goodbyes
Last call
Lights out
Yawns stretch and silence falls
And with it the heads of lovers collapse onto shoulders
Dominos caving in on each other
Neatly origami folded figures flopped together like
overworked dolls retired to bedroom shelves.
Nestled and nooked, tucked and together
The containment of this company
Highlights my loose ends
My anxious domino chain
My carelessly crumpled paper
My messy room and barren shelves
This ever ticking
potential explosiveness of being
One

Halloween: The Miley Cyrus of Holidays

I love holidays. I adore them. I’m totally pro-holiday.

But if there’s one holiday that makes me a tad bit uncomfortable, it’s Halloween.final

Let me explain. Christmas as a child is magical. Christmas as an adult fills you with the nostalgia of childhood and the warmth of tradition. Christmas is an all ages event. Maybe when you’re 85 you can make it about spiking the eggnog and passing out to avoid listening to your grandchildren’s squeals, but for the most part, Christmas is for families, for friends; for everyone from all walks of life.

But I will never forget my grade 12 school (but not school-sanctioned) Halloween party. Though I love ’em to death, most of my friends went as “that kind” of sailor, or superhero, or cartoon character. What did I go as? Audrey Hepburn. Audrey Hepburn, who would be rolling in her grave had she in fact found herself in that same club full of drunken teenage slutty ninja turtles.

Because, as I learned, Halloween is the Miley Cyrus of holidays. It so drastically morphs from a holiday of trick-or-treating into a drunken party for half-naked adults. And, I mean, you don’t HAVE to go get your drink on at the club with the frighteningly spandex clad version of the cast of Spongebob Squarepants, but you certainly AREN’T going to get away with trick-or-treating past the age of 19.

No, no, I’m not saying that one year you just get kicked from getting candy at the door of your neighbour’s house to getting frisked at the door to a club.  But there’s a definite pressure about the holiday to do so. You either celebrate “grown-up” Halloween, or “kid” Halloween, and when you identify as neither child or adult, it’s kind of an awkward holiday. At 15 or 16 you’re shamed if you try to celebrate either version.

That being said, I love Halloween. Or at least, the homemade balance of Halloween that works for me. I’m all about cheesy movies and candy corn. I’m all for pumpkin carving and T.V. specials, and I’ll admit to appreciating a sloppy celebration here or there. I promise you I won’t try and go begging for candy, but I’d also like to highlight the dressing-up, instead of the stripping-down. And hey, according to crazy ladies preaching the dangers of such a “satanic” celebration, we’re all going to Hell no matter how we celebrate the damn thing.

Scenes of Twenty: The Birthday

So, in other news…I turned twenty. And this is what happened. PS my cat’s name isn’t actually Yoda, but I wanted to change her name to ensure her privacy. Birthday stitched done

Day 20: Next-Life Request Form

31 Days of Summer: Day 20

 

Dear Universe,

I, Katrina; human since August 3rd, 1993, hereby formally and officially request “cat” for my next life.

As a cat, I would continue my voyage of enlightenment through stimulating cat-specific activities such as frolicking, purring, napping, and the general destruction of anything I please.

I would like to examine the human-cat dynamic from this new angle, and I believe my already present, human attributes would translate well into next-life cattributes. For example, I am annoying as all f*ck but extremely loving and kind. I love sleeping in strange positions, trying to fit into small and unusual spaces, and am flexible, hungry, and expressive. I lack common sense to a ghastly degree and enjoy changing my mind.

As a cat, be it domestic or wild, I would focus on living in the moment and doing exactly as I please. Should the opportunity arise, I would be honoured to be a mama cat and carry around scruffy little fur balls in my teeth during the day, licking them gently to sleep at night.

I would definitely get all up in the cat-nip, too.

Therefore universe, in the next life, please take me into consideration for the role of “cat.” Should this not be possible; meerkat, clown fish, penguin, and sloth are all parts I would be apt and content to explore as well.

Thank you for your time,

Kat

Day 19: Love Alters Not

Friends!

So I had this obsessive “Beautiful Mind” moment (can you tell I just watched this movie?) and despite knowing nothing about making music or whatever, I downloaded audacity and went to town.

I was inspired mostly by Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116. Basically the result is a compilation of songs and sounds that convey a journey in “love” from the initial excitement, to falling, to complete commitment.

So…here it is, hopefully you can find something in it to relate to:

Songs:

Sweet Disposition-The Temper Trap

Foreground-Grizzly Bear

Infra 8-Max Richter

Shakespeare Sonnet 116 read by Tom O’Bedlam

Sections from “Blue Valentine”

Day 17: The Hangry Apocalyspe

31 Days of Summer: Day 17

They come in hoards, scratching at the windows with unblinking eyes, void of emotion, drool dripping out of their mouths, arms reaching to grab you…

And then they’re inside, right up against your face, breathing heavily:

“We’re a party of 5 adults and 3 children and we just got off a 46 hour flight so we’ll need a table immediately.”

“Three of us became celiac in the last hour, Janet has a 50% chance of getting food poisoning no matter what she eats, and Alex is allergic to molecules. I’ll need four highchairs and a table by the bathroom because Bobby has a bad case of traveller’s diarrhea. If we aren’t seated ASAP things could get messy because Gina, here, is recovering from cannibalism. “

The Hanger Apocalypse has found your restaurant. All you can do now is speak kindly, and carry a lot of menus.

“GREAT! We’re actually looking at a wait time of about a half hour right now, did you want me to put you down on the waitli-OH MY GOD OH MY GOD, how did you even get a flaming trident into the building? You know what, never mind. I-I’m sure we can work something out.”

“I’m just going to kneel on the ground here and you can eat off of my back, is that alright? NO GINA, please, I said ‘OFF OF MY back’, not my back!”

————————————————————————————————–

ACK. While this exact scenario has yet to occur to the same magnitude of what is described above, I can tell you that there is nothing scarier than a waitlisted, hangry mob of people, spewing expletives in the corners of your periphery. You must avoid looking into their eyes, or you’ll turn to stone.

Which is why, yesterday, I FINALLY sat a man still waiting for his date to join, and made sure to thank him profusely for his patience, simply as a means of survival.

The response?

“Not a problem at all! It was my pleasure to wait; I enjoyed it!”

Wait. Not a hint of sarcasm either?

What?

I had fallen in love. “REALLY ARE YOU KIDDING WOW I LOVE YOU CAN I SHOWER YOU IN KITTENS AND START A PETITION TO MAKE YOU A SAINT AND GIVE YOU YOUR OWN HOLIDAY AND HERE IS A VOUCHER FOR 1000 FREE TAP DANCES FOR USE AT YOUR CONVENIENCE.”

The man was a magician. He had it figured out. For no matter the circumstances, being kind somehow  will always get you better tables, and fresher food, and friendlier service. And when your date arrives, the entire staff team will tell her to marry you.

THE CHOICE IS YOURS, young Jedi. But let me tell you that the instant you choose to go to be a “dark-side” customer, your description on the waitlist becomes about a million times less flattering, which is a direct reflection of how you have presented yourself.

To rephrase that, your attitude determines between: “lady hiding dead body underneath her hair with her satanic pack of devil scum,” or “lady with pretty bouffant and adorable, angelic children in tow.”

Besides …Hint: The food tastes better on the light side of the Force.