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Malt ease…

September 26, 2012

They bent over the map together…

And there it was,

in the middle of nowhere…

Annie frowned at it…

‘What would John have been doing in a place like that???’

It was on the edge of a sea of nothing…

Forest and bog and endless winding rivers…

‘If you got lost there,’

Hayley thought,

you could be lost for ever…’

At home,

lost didn’t mean much more than mislaid

But here—

If you dropped into that emptiness,

how would you ever find yourself again???

Calling a Dead Man by Gillian Cross

When a dog,

or two,

comes into your life,

almost without trying,

and each one,

just happens,

to be one less,

in the digit,

and hind leg,


one can approximate,

the experience,

of being a parent,

of a child,

with special needs…

In this world,

every Tom,


and Harry,

thinks it is,

their GD business,

to tongue click,

and poor thing,

your furry friends,

despite their constant,

demonstrations of,

the happy,

and fantastic…

Then there are,

the yappers,

who suggest,

you must,

have been reckless,

to let,

such things happen,

on your watch,




to smile,


and walk away…

While throwing,

the Chuck-it,

at a Marine Park,

a woman exclaimed,

how my Pointer,

is a painting,

just waiting,

to happen…

And then,

after telling,

a story,

of her own,

identity theft,

she said,

I haven’t created,

any art,

in a while,

as I’ve been,


from a stab,

in the chest,

by someone,

I once knew…

But your dog,

is inspiring me,

to want,

to paint again…

I can,



I’ll run into you soon,

and I can get started…

We parted ways,

and I thanked,

my lucky stars,

for this dog,

who knows,


what she’s doing,

for herself,

and others,

on her own,

unique path…

Some people,

are distraught,

that the NHL season,

is in a lock out.

My sister asked me,

how I was feeling,


the whole thing…

I said,

I miss hockey,

and my one beer,


per game,

but I’m happy,

that the players,

to whom it applies,

have more down time,

to enjoy,

their families,

and the getting,

of their houses,

in order…

People forget,

that hockey,

is always,

on the horizon,

of more to come…


I was chatting,

with a neighbour,

who wrote me,

a little book,

and after his mom,

told me about,

how they,

are unschooling,

and We can’t find,

the books he wants,

on making potions…

I suggested,

he write his own…

He said,

I don’t know how…

I asked him,

What do you want,

the potions to do???

He said,


I reminded him,

of the power,

of the story,

he wrote,

to help me,

in my own,


of change…

I told him,

that he brought,

that little book,

he wrote,

from the heart,

at just,

the right time,

while I wondered,

what in the Sam Hill,

I was doing,

with myself,

and just what I,

was waiting for…



don’t come in,

a liquid form,

as we’ve been led,

to expect…


often come,

in words,

mixed up,


to make a song,

that sings,

to someone else’s,

heart beat…

And that,

Mr. Bettman,

is the alchemy,

of angels,

who cannot,

be stopped,

from performing,

their own,

tiny little,


in the name,

of resolving,

a lion’s share…

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