Sunday, 8 September 2013

From that other blog....

A short time ago, I started this other blog called The Upside of Down. I intended on writing about all the things in my life that have and will go wrong.

After some consideration I have decided I'd much rather stick to one blog cause, let's be honest, I don't really have time for two.

This blog, T.J. White Writes, allows me the freedom of writing what I wish. Although I am unsure as to the audience this will draw, I am sure that it will provide the outlet I need, regardless of readership.

This is an exert from my previous blog. I will not be elaborating on this post. 

I was born a Murphy.
I am certain this imposed an automatic curse upon my very soul, despite the fact that I did not remain a Murphy for very long.
My paternal donor hit the long and winding road, or should I say the bright blue skies, for his idea of greener pastures and better beer back in England when I was just two years old.
It wasn't long before the Murphy name went with him.
Nevertheless, the damage was done; the Murphy name would haunt me for the remainder of my days.

Murphy's Law: What can go wrong, will go wrong, and does go wrong all the bloody time. This is my curse.

Ever since I can remember, shit has gone wrong. No joke. Obviously recounting the last 32 years of my life would not make for the smartest literary choice, but I can narrow it down to the "best of the best", or "worst of the worst" depending on how you look at it.

1. When I was 17 I was sitting at the table talking to my mom and jokingly told her to shut up. I stood up from the table and broke my ankle. Seriously.

2. When I was 8 I got poison ivy. The doctor said it was scabies and gave me some topical cream to apply to the patches. I had a severe reaction to the cream which, in turn, lead to blistering poison ivy and the worst week of my life.

3. When I was 27 I booked my first ever trip to the Dominican at a "five star" resort. What no one told me was that it was a brand new resort. I spent three days at the shittiest resort in Punta Cana eating bacon that tasted like tin, runny green eggs, drinks without alcohol and being gawked at as the only white person at the resort. So much for paradise.

4. When I was 28 I met a guy online. His idea of a romantic date was walking along the waterfront drinking coffee and verbally bashing his ex-wife and daughter. He told me how he'd been accused of taking his daughter to a crack house and doing ecstasy with her. If that wasn't bad enough, at the end of the walk he pulled out a miniature bottle of mouth wash, swished, gargled and spit it out at my feet before moving in for "the kiss".

5.When I was 19, my dentist told me I'd have to have my wisdom teeth removed. When I went in for my next appointment he used local anesthetic to freeze my mouth so the teeth could be extracted. This would have been great had he froze the right area and waited for the freezing to take effect. Instead he yanked my teeth out while I wriggled and writhed in pain. And yes, he is still a real dentist.

6. When I was 8 all I wanted in the whole world for Christmas was a Little Miss Make Up Doll. When Christmas morning arrived and I saw my one wish there before my eyes I was the happiest girl that ever lived. A few short weeks later we were set to fly out to England to visit family. Of course, I wasn't going to leave my beloved Little Miss Make Up behind. After two fun filled weeks in the U.K. we returned to Canada, collected our luggage at the airport and came home to unpack. But wait, there was a suitcase missing. Gone. No where to be found. Take a wild guess what was in that one missing suitcase.

7. When I was 24, I married my now ex-husband. We had purchased a thick gold band for my wedding band as I did not have a real engagement ring. During one of many arguments, I threw my hands in the air and told him he was an asshole. I am not exaggerating in the very least when I tell you that damn ring broke completely in half and fell off my finger at that very moment. To this day no one knows why. Bad omen?

8. When I was 16, I made plans to go to a friends a sneak off to a party. I had given another friend some money to get me a bottle of anything alcohol based. My mum picked me up in town and drove me to friends place where I was to spend the night and return home the next day. A few hours later and we were running down the street hailing a cab and preparing for what should have been a good night, but no. That booze I "ordered" turned out to be a quarter jar of oil and I didn't do drugs of any kind. After much to do about the mix up we finally made our way to the party only to be told my mom "knew something was up" and found out I was not where I was supposed to be. She sent to cops out looking for me.

I can assure you that this list has no end.
For the most part I have dealt with this haunting in stride. I've come to expect whatever can go wrong will go wrong; no ifs, ands or buts.

I go to restaurants and my order comes out wrong or cold or just doesn't come out at all. If I buy something, it is bound to fall apart or have some weird defect. It's just the story of my life.

But, when it's come to planning special events, getting around the Murphy curse can be difficult. Thus planning our wedding over the past year has been, shall we say, a challenge. 

In this blog I plan on sharing with you the craziness that is my life. Perhaps some of you can relate, perhaps some of you will laugh. Either way, this shit is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S. No joke.

Thursday, 5 September 2013

Explainations, memories and my #3.

*** So, I suppose I should explain myself... This blog stems from some work I have done over the past 4 or 5 years. I was wandering around Chapters one day and stumbled across a book called "Old Friend From Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir" by Natalie Goldberg. Although at first glance this book appears to be a novel, it is not. Instead each page walks the reader/writer through the business of writing your memories. It is an entire book devoted to unearthing, uncovering the essence of you. I have been slowly working through these exercises over the years and kept my musings tucked away until now. Each blog post is the result of a ten minute exercise. Ten minutes. That's it that's all. So, although these entries are far from perfect, they do offer you some insight into my somewhat chaotic brain. 

With all this said and so many hours spent plunking away at a keyboard putting words to thoughts and letters to paper,  I do encourage anyone who can type, write, think and feel to try free writing at least once. Take ten minutes. Time it. Write everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, that comes to mind as it comes. If you are thinking about chocolate chip cookies one minute, the magic of bubbles the next and the stench coming from your neighbours backyard the next, well so be it. Write it all, put it away for a few weeks and go back and reread it. See if you make yourself laugh.... I bet you do. ***

The Third Thing: We all have a #3.
I am not alone.
There is me. There is writing. Always.
I know I can’t write about writing. Can I?
My mind, I think it’s my mind, tells me I should say my third thing is pictures or my kids or my husband. I guess those things are all third things, or first things depending on how you look at it.
One thing I know for sure, my third thing is not work.

Memories. I think this is my third thing.
I want to remember. I want my kids to remember. I want the world to remember.

So very much has been forgotten.

I can honestly say, memory is a concern for me. There are some things, many things, that I remember with vivid clarity. There are other things, things I should remember, that I do not. They’ve vanished into the abyss. For some, retrieval is possible but only through tremendous effort, endless searching and, more often than not, my memories must be triggered.  For others, no matter the importance, retrieval is impossible.

For  example, I do not remember what happened immediately following Niven’s birth.
I don’t remember the first time I saw my sister. 
I simply cannot remember important details about the most important times in my life. Most of the things I don’t remember I can’t even tell you about because I don’t remember their significance or importance, if that makes any sense at all. 
I require reminding. In fact, I think my mum remembers more about my adult life than I do.

Because of this, I desperately want to create something I can leave behind for my children. If it is the nonsense rambling on these pages, so be it. But I need to be able to give them a part of me even if perhaps I am unable to give them a part of me exactly when they ask for it or when they can appreciate it. I don't think it is until we have children of our own that we realize the importance of our past and what it might mean to the next generation.

Come to think of it, I think I have written a fairly substantial amount on these pages (in my journal) thus far and for the life of me I probably can’t tell you half of what I wrote. I usually remember it once I start reading, but sometimes, even though I am the author, I feel like the reader instead. Is that scary?

Although it is unlikely these musings will ever be published, it is my sincerest hope that one day I can present my children with a diary, a journal of memories, that they can read and say: THAT IS SO MY MUM… even if she can’t remember anything anymore.

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

What I'd Miss - A Simple Reminder When I Needed It Most

I Can't Go Yet

I will miss the smell of my daughter’s hair,
    And the way she always smells like washing powder and little girl fun.

I will miss my son's squeezes,
    And the way he curls in my lap and wraps his arms around my neck like he'll never let me go. 

I will miss the feel of cold cotton sheets
    When I climb in to bed and the way the wind blows the curtains in the bedroom. 

I will miss the creek of the hardwood floors in the hall
     And the sound of closing doors.

I will miss hearing my children  
    Call out 'Mommy' and the way they pout when they start to cry. 

I will miss the taste of peanut butter
    And the way it sticks to the roof of my mouth.

I will miss hearing the birds sing
    And the feel of wet grass under my feet. 

I will miss the way the rain sounds on my roof
    And the way it trickles down the spout. 

I will miss driving in the car to the beach
    And the sound of bass coming through my car speakers.

I will miss the smell of clean laundry and the way my mum irons clothes. 
    My grandma’s cooking and the salty crackling on her roast pork. 

I will miss putting words together to make sentences
    And sentences together to make stories. 

I will miss the clicking of my keyboard
    And the chug chug of my printer. 

I will miss the smell of play-dough
    Ans of crayons, glue, and finger paint.

I will miss singing to my babies and making songs up as we go.
    I will miss answering a hundred thousand questions everyday;
I will miss being a mommy.

I will even miss grocery shopping
    And the rush to get the groceries home.
I will miss banana popsicles, chocolate chips,
    fresh strawberries with cream, and banana sandwiches.

I will miss Christmas and birthdays, cake and champagne. 

I will miss reading,
    And words on a page that pull me to new heights. 

I will miss my mum and all the love that she gives.
     I will miss the smell of her perfume.

I will miss my dad and his jokes, his tractors, and his bald head. 
     I will miss my brother and my sister.

I will miss my husband and the way he says he loves me loads
    And rubs my head when I need him most.

I will miss feeling loved.
I will miss being touched.

But mostly, I will miss feeling small in such a great big world.

By T.J. Ruberto (c) 2017

Friday, 16 August 2013



I cannot live without rain, without wind, without sunshine.
I cannot live without out tinkers, without whispers, without warmth.
I cannot live without senses.

I cannot live without words, without meaning, without tales.
I cannot live without my imagination, my creativity, my desire.
I cannot live without books.

I cannot live without pictures, without images, without albums.
I cannot live without my camera, my time machine, my memory bank.
I cannot live without moments.

I cannot live without my sweetheart, without my best friend, without my Amo.
I cannot live without my romance, my intimacy, my heartstrings.
I cannot live without my soul mate. 

I cannot live with out my children, without my angels, without my darlings.
I cannot live without my kisses, my hugs, my “I love you mommy”’s
I cannot live without my heart.

~ by T.J. White 2009