A lady told me that she still scrubbed her floor on her hands and knees. I was dumbfounded. In this day and age, who still does that? That’s what long-handled mops are for! You certainly aren’t going to catch me doing that. In the first place, I’d have to get down on my hands and knees. I might be able to do that on a bed, but on the floor? I mean, not that I can’t do it. It’s getting up from the floor that’s the problem! Not to mention, after half a second on my knees, it hurts like hell! It never mattered when we were kids, crawling everywhere. Try that without padding on your knees! Then, you have to try to get up and find out that your back just won’t straighten out in one quick graceful move. No. You have to slowly stretch out like a rusty hinge. If you’re lucky, it won’t sound like a rusty hinge! Then, you have to raise one knee and plant a foot on the ground. That’s not too bad. It’s when you start trying to get that other foot flat on the floor that you discover your balance is somewhat off and you have to find something to hang on to so you can pull yourself up. If you’re lucky, there might be a chair or stool or table nearby. Warning: don’t use the bucket unless you want to get back down and sop it all up on your hands and knees. If there’s nothing around to hang on to, you’re left to pushing down on the knee that’s already up and slowly dragging the other foot so it’s flat on the floor. Then you have to raise yourself slowly so you don’t lose your balance before you finally heave yourself up and you’re on both feet. Hurrah! Another feat accomplished! And that’s why I use a mop on my floor.
the seagull on the rooftop (a poem)
1(because i saw a seagull on a rooftop…)
dead centre there it stood
the seagull on the rooftop
watching the world for all it stood
in a standstill where it chose to stop
did it see the truck was blowing steam
did it know the rain would fall
did it ever, like you and me, dream
did it know the meaning of all
the seagull on the rooftop stood
where it stopped on the centre of the roof
watching the houses as they stood
eyes empty maws shut silent with reproof
was there life within those wooden shells
were the people happy there
what sort of folks did there dream and dwell
of what did they truly care
on the centre of the roof the seagull stopped
like a carving carefully placed
like a weathervane that had rusted stuck
contemplating what it might face
did it know what roof to choose or why
does it care the way we do
does it ever care if it lives or dies
do we stand on rooftops too
© Cindy Lapeña, 2014
Return to Poetry
some thoughts on education….
0
Letting Out Scribbling Skeletons: Island Fringe Festival Opener
0What was supposed to be a 2-hour evening stretched out to nearly 3 full hours as an appreciative audience applauded one reader after another at the opening show for the 2014 Island Fringe Festival. Marc’s Lounge on Sydney St. was filled to bursting by the time the show began. True to its advertising, Scribbler Skeletons brought forth some well-preserved diaries, scribblers, and school papers that selected Islanders and Island Fringers had unearthed from the closets where they kept their skeletons. The audience was regaled with a couple of ‘Dear Diary’ running stories of unrequited love, several sophomoric poems, amusing journal entries, and quite a few school writing assignments.
If I enjoyed the evening and found so much of it entertaining and priceless, I can only imagine how much more hysterically funny it was to those who grew up with the readers, knew them personally, or had seen them growing up. As a teacher, I wonder how many of my students have kept all their journals, how many kept diaries, and how many more dabbled in out-of-class writing that they have preserved.
I must congratulate the Island Fringe Team, of whom three-fourths (unless I didn’t quite hear the fourth one, in which case I owe apologies to her) also shared some sophomoric writing that was very well-received: Festival Director Sarah Segal-Lazar, Festival Coordinator Megan Stewart, Volunteer Coordinator Andy Reddin, and Assistant Volunteer Coordinator Emma Russell Louder. I’m looking forward to attending another one (or two, or more!) by the time this weekend is over.
I know that, at quite a few points in my life, I was so sure I did not want any of my earlier scribblings ever to surface later in life because they already embarrassed me then–what more when I was grown up and quite possibly famous (which has always been a dream and still is)? That brought about a moment when (horror of horrors!) I burnt two full notebooks (not just your 30-leaf scribblers, mind you, but those thick 100-leaf red-and-blue lined notebooks) of poetry I had written until I was 10 years old. I had locked myself in the bathroom with a box of matches to complete the dastardly deed. Another time saw me methodically and meticulously shredding to bits (by hand, mind you) my grade school diaries–or at least those pages that had entries in them. I thought that they could still be put to good use because the entries were so sporadic and some quite far between. I might have completely obliterated a few other incriminating pieces of evidence that would, I’m sure, bring about a lot of cringing and embarrassing laughter–mostly from myself–if any of it got out. I’m certain there are some things I can still dredge up somewhere–I’ve kept most of my poetry since 7th grade–that will be amusingly entertaining if not worthy of a few laughs at next year’s Island Fringe Festival!
Return to Reviews
20 words that once meant something very different
0I love word etymology!
Charlottetown Festival’s Noontime Entertainment by Cindy Lapeña
0Nelson Mandela (1918-2013)
0
When I decide to do a portrait of someone, I have certain personal “rules” or criteria for deciding who my subject will be. I will do portraits of (1) a really great person I admire; (2) a really stunning or interesting image; (3) someone I really want to draw because the person is a good friend or is an interesting subject; or (4) a commissioned work. So far, I have done the following portraits: Obama (reason 1), Ellen de Generes (reason 1), Drew Barrymore (reason 2), Mandela (reason 1), my sister (reason 3), a holocaust survivor (reason 2), and myself (3.5 = I’m my own best friend and it’s sort of a “commission”–done for an exhibit.
Nelson Mandela
9″x12″, pencil on paper
© cindy lapeña, 2014
Return to Paintings
Old covered bridge, Canada
0
This is an old covered bridge. I’ve thought they were really interesting ever since I saw the Bridges of Madison County
9″x12″, pencil and vine charcoal
© Cindy Lapeña, 2014
Return to Paintings
Sketches: Bowl of Fruit
0
I, Colour (a self-portrait)
0This is my very first painted self-portrait. When I was in 7th grade or thereabouts, I made a sketch of myself and I really liked it, but it was a very simple outline– no shading, and done very lightly because I was afraid to make mistakes and afraid to commit myself to my drawings. To this day, it remains that–a very light sketch.
When Peake Street Studios sent out the call for participants in an exhibit entitled “I, Defined,” I jumped in at once. Since the call, I had been toying around with ideas for what to do, how to incorporate as much about my art and me in my painting. Yesterday, the 8th of July, I decided to check the submission deadline–I vaguely remembered it was sometime in July with double digits–and realized, to my horror, that submissions would be accepted between the 16th and the 18th! When I got home last night, I hemmed and hewed, looking at the canvas that I had prepped with a light blue, because I felt strongly about that colour when I did it–over a month ago, when I was informed that I was selected as one of the participants in the exhibit–in preparation for the actual painting. (That light blue canvas sat on my easel waiting for me to work on it.)
I grabbed some old tubes of acrylics and gouache and unrolled the bottom ends, squeezing the paint out through the tube and using it to apply the paint. I painted straight on the canvas and finished everything but the dark blue lines and the highlights on the hair, which I did after having a close look at several recent photographs of myself. I had surprised myself, completely, when I noticed that even without the strong defining lines, what I had done actually looked like me! I guess I can say that I know what I really look like.
I call it a soul painting–it was my soul painting myself.
Return to Paintings
Cindy Lapeña: Creativity Unlimited 