Fire works…

Jeremiah looked at the enormous plate piled high with tarts,

each one a little cup of golden pastry with glorious crisp and curly edges,

full to the brim with strawberry jam all dark and delicious from the baking…

The dinosaur looked at the tarts also,

and he said,

“Those are the finest tarts that I have ever seen in my life, ma’am…”

“But what about the good old days???”Jeremiah said…

“Didn’t they have better tarts then???”

“Not at all,”

said the dinosaur,

“Those were the bad old days,

in my opinion,

as far as tarts were concerned…”

Jeremiah and his grandma sat down on the front step,

the dinosaur stretched himself out on the ground,

and together they began to eat the tarts…

— in Jeremiah in the Dark Woods by Janet and Allen Ahlberg

Little Gem is finally sleeping in her own bed on a regular basis,

at seven years old…

But sometimes she still crawls into mine because of spider bites,

or after waking from a scary dream with a pounding heart…

Last night I woke up every hour on the hour in a cold sweat,

with a stiff neck…

My dreams weren’t so frightening so I couldn’t figure out where all of the anxiety was coming from…

But I had some indication from the day before,

when Little Gem and Starshine were packing for their two week vacation to Montreal and Quebec City…

We’d been preparing for the departure for a few days…

It felt like every hour on the hour they said that even though they were excited to go,

they were going to miss me so much,

and could I please make a pillow for each of them out of some old clothes that I didn’t want to wear any more…

I never got around to that,

but the impending anticipation of separation reminded me of so many others…

I remember a friend once saying to me that I always hung up the phone abruptly at the end of our long distance conversations…

Leaving her wanting,

and dis-connected…

When I told her about having to leave,

or hand over a newborn baby,

and a screaming three year old,

to just close the door and walk away,

day after day,

in the name of rights,

and what’s best for the children,

she seemed to feel a little bit of my experience,

as I told my story…

And even though she hadn’t walked a day in my shoes,

I saw the tears of a simple understanding,

welling up in her eyes…

After Little Gem and Starshine were picked up by their Papa yesterday around suppertime,

I was invited for a glass of wine a few doors down with some well-known neighbours…

At first I declined,

but I couldn’t yet bear to go back into my empty house,

so I accepted…

And while we were sitting there talking about mean girls,

and how the apple doesn’t fall that far from the tree,

a car pulled up in front our houses…

A man got out of the driver seat,

and as he walked to my door,

I recognized him,

and was flooded with fear,

and panic…

In a way that is very uncharacteristic of the old me,

I hid under my hat…

There really wasn’t any other option as I refused to bypass my feelings…

My neighbours couldn’t figure out what the problem was,

or why I felt what I did…

And I didn’t know either…

All I knew was that I couldn’t move,

or breathe,

and my guts were tied in a knot…

But this was different from the last time I saw him,

and his partner,

nearly five years ago at a hootenanny…

That time in particular I went out of body,

and watched myself,

and the unfolding scene,

from the rafters of the Ukrainian Hall…

We think we know everything,

with our credentials…

But most of us barely scratch the surface of our complex energetic fields,

and human histories…

After getting no response from his knocking on my door,

the man got back in the car with his partner and drove away…

I still don’t know what they came for,

after all of this time has passed…

Except for that’s what they’ve always done…

Dropping in from out of nowhere…

Only I was wishing it was someone else…

Someone who has a common sense of respect,

patience,

and sensitivity…

I asked my neighbour what she could feel,

from the situation,

and my body…

She said,

It feels like an elastic band that’s been pulled taut,

as far as it can go…

We each have our own words to describe our own experiences…

Much of it gets dismissed by the head,

and people who call themselves scientists,

doctors,

and lawyers…

I have a re-occuring dream that I am trying to catch heads on puppet bodies…

Sometimes the face of the head looks like Gordon Campbell,

or his buddy Stephen Harper…

Other times the head is that of a woman,

super coiffured and made-up,

for teaching Kindergarten…

The kind of woman that pretends to love children,

but behind the mask it’s clear that she hates them,

what they stand for,

and every breath they take…

In the dreams I’m desperate to get a hold of the heads before they take power…

As I’m screaming,

Stay away from the children!!!!!

I’m pounding the heads with my fist…

Like I’m trying to crack them wide open,

by tenderizing grey matter into schnitzel…

It doesn’t feel good when it’s happening,

and it’s pretty Stephen King…

But there really is no easy way around it,

the heads have to be stopped…

Usually when I’m having these dreams,

random people in my waking life find way to tell me to be brave,

and that I should be proud of myself for all the work that I’ve done to lead with my heart…

They tell me to have courage,

and not to give up…

The other day I was covering Starshine’s arms and shoulders with sunscreen,

down at the river…

I told her how much I love her white blond hair on her tanned skin…

She said,

unsure of herself,

with her big blue eyes,

Sometimes I feel like I look albino…

On the way home,

from the river,

over all of those speed bumps that insist on your slowing down,

I heard a Canadian musician sing about a white horse…

A white horse who always gave so much more,

than he took…