Archive for love

The Presence of Past Presents

Posted in My Opinion, love it or leave it with tags , , , , on December 23, 2015 by tgmreynolds

Disclaimer: This is not a plea for sympathy or invites or company. It is just how it is for me this Christmas and what I’m doing about it.


Christmas has always been big for me, and Christmas 2015 is the first one in thirteen years in which I will be alone in the house with no spouse (she’s moved on), no guests (I’m not much of a host), and no family (they live a gazillion miles away). It will be me, and my fur kids. Two cats and a dog. I had a terrific turkey dinner with friends last weekend and will be having dinner with great friends on Christmas Day, but will be coming back to the quiet house. 

Santa and Kim

Christmases before I moved to Calgary were filled with carolling, tobogganing, playing Santa Claus, playing Joseph in the Nativity scene, selling Christmas trees with Dad, parties with friends, and midnight church services. One year I even spent Christmas dinner in a bunkhouse with real cowboys and trail guides, eating off paper plates and singing Christmas carols to guitars and harmonica. It was the best! 

Christmases as a child were exhilarating. Many were spent in a small town that had horse-drawn sleigh rides, carollers, and a dedicated adult who walked around town and tossed snowballs on rooftops to make it sound like reindeer were landing. The gifts under the tree the next morning were astounding. Not usually expensive, just cool and fun and full of love. It was a Norman Rockwell life.

The only gift I will receive this year will be from my mother. Same as last year and too many of the years before that. I knew that this was going to be a tough Christmas, being the first post-divorce and all, so I’ve made sure that the tree is up and fully decorated, but it looked pretty sparse with just the one gift (probably a too-small sweater, again) under it. 

Getting maudlin, I started to think about the great gifts I’ve been given over the years by friends and family, and that’s when I realized that I still have most of them. Yes, I’m a pack rat. And that’s how I’m going to save my Christmas.

I’ve decided to take the best 20 or so gifts I’ve received in 55 Christmases, wrap them, label and bow them, and stick them under the tree. There will be the teddy bear from my first Christmas in 1960 and the handmade bear I received thirty-five years later. There will be the mint coin sets our grandparents gave us from 1965 to 1981. There’s the replica of Charlemagne’s sword, and the custom, handmade, personalized pen I received only a couple years ago. 


Gifts from the heart

There’s a novel I helped to get published, a framed photo of my youngest nephew, a carved lion my mother brought back from Africa, and a silk tie my late roommate Tracy brought back for me from her trip to Europe when we lived together.

The list goes on, and is diverse and odd, but the one thing all of the gifts have in common is that they were from people I will not be spending Christmas with this year. Some of the givers live away, but some, like Tracy, my father, and my grandparents, are dead.
This will be an emotional Christmas Day, because as I open each gift I’m going to take a moment and think about how much that loved one means to me, whether they’re across the country, across the city, or passed on. I will be physically alone, but I will be so completely enveloped in love from Christmases past that I hope it will become my new tradition. I fully expect to weep like a child as the emotions slam into me, but I’m hoping it will be cathartic. 

Because I’m the one who has done all the wrapping and labelling, the only surprises will be whatever rises up from within my heart. I’m pretty sure that there will be cat meows and dog whimpers as my trio all try to figure out why their pet papa is curled up in a ball on the carpet in tears. But that’s okay, because they are fully capable of being my comfort. Sadly, the one dog who was created from a piece of my heart and given tiny pooch form has been gone since October 2014, and I think she is who I will miss most. Whenever things got tough in the ten years she was at my side, she simply climbed up in my lap and shared her heartbeat.   


My little heart-warmer. 2004-2014

Anyway, that’s my plan for Christmas this year: reliving past giftings and past Christmases, and once again feeling the love that fills my life.

Almost fully stocked

May you have a marvellous Holiday Season, no matter what you celebrate. If you’re alone, know that it’s only in body, not in soul, because I’m there with you in spirit. If you’re surrounded by family and friends, give them all hugs and thank them the gift of their presence in your life.

That’s it, that’s all.

Merry Christmas.

Tim (and Sedona, Kerouac, and Calliope).


The Cynglish Beat: The Devolution of Conversation

Posted in Cynical Poetry with tags , , , , on April 16, 2010 by tgmreynolds

This is one of the poems which is not excerpted from upcoming The Cynglish Beat by Tim Reynolds from Cometcatcher Press, but it might be in the next one. This is a love letter for the conversationally-retarded. If you don’t understand what it says at all, then count yourself lucky. If you do ‘get it’, you may be part of the problem.



= : (

=: (   ?        :..(

: ..(   ?


= : D

= : D  ?

= : D  !

: D 2

; )


XOX 2 U 2


Ciao for now,


How to Know When It’s Okay to Kiss a Corpse

Posted in (Almost) Totally Useless How-to Guide with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 9, 2010 by tgmreynolds

Is it okay to plant one on a passed-away one, to smoochie the bouchie of a corpus not-so-delicti, to do it to a deady, to have at ‘er with a cadaver, to kiss a corpse?

If it is okay, under certain circumstances, what circumstances would permit such a thing? And how far should the kiss go? Where’s the line between a tender ‘good-bye’ and an unrequited, passionate ‘hello there’? At what point do you go from ‘survived by…’ to ‘Hello Dolly! Fancy a cold, stiff one?!’ ?

I’m not going to tell you what my idea of  ‘too far’ is for a corpse kissing any more than I would tell you to back it off a bit if you kissed a breather (unless the breather is me) but I would guess that if you keep it brief and tongue-free, you should be pretty safe in most situations.

Neither my culture (UK-Canadian beige) nor my religion (Anglican/Catholic Lite) forbid me from kissing the cheek of a departed loved one, so at least my places in society and Heaven won’t suffer because of it — at least until I do something stupid and get on one or the other’s shit list.

Dad in Banff in 1980

Dad in Banff in 1980

So, based on my personal experience, it’s okay to kiss a corpse when it’s your father and you’re saying good-bye for the last time. I gave Dad that last kiss on the cheek twenty-six years ago this week. I would have done the same for anyone I cared so deeply for that the ache of their absence can still periodically flood back after more than a quarter century later.

TO SUMMARIZE: It’s okay to kiss a corpse:

  1. When you love them.
  2. When it doesn’t violate any of your (or the corpse’s!) cultural or religious mores.
  3. After the body is prepped for viewing OR on the battlefield after the deceased gave their life to save yours.
  4. When you’ve stopped crying, so your tears don’t mess up the corpse’s make-up.

And that’s all for this week’s morbid “How To”.  Aren’t you glad you asked? *L*

Ciao for now.


P.S. Miss you, Dad.

(Next Week: How to Catch a Rabid Squirrel (and why!)

Words & Images Copyright Timothy G.M. Reynolds

Stand-Up Comedy & Life: Love What You Do

Posted in Stand-Up Comedy & Life with tags , , , , , , on December 29, 2009 by tgmreynolds

An excerpt from the book Stand Up & Succeed by Tim Reynolds.

Enjoy your material. Ask yourself what makes you laugh.”

Tim Reynolds at The Laugh Shop

Tim Reynolds at The Laugh Shop

~Matt Billon~

If you love what you’re doing and put your heart into it, people will feel that and want to be part of it. They’ll hop on your train just for shits & giggles, and bring their business with them.


Did you know that dog shows are the only place where a man can sit on a bench, point at a woman walking a dog and say “That bitch is mine”, and have the little old lady next to him lean in and say “You must be so proud”? It’s true!

Ciao for now,


All Words & Images Copyright Timothy G.M. Reynolds.

Did you know that dog shows are the only

place where a man can sit on a bench, point

at a woman walking a dog and say “That

bitch is mine”, and have the little old lady

next to him lean in and say “You must be so

proud”? It’s True!