Tail feathers…
On the way home from a meeting,
with significant positional authority,
Little Gem told me,
from her booster seat,
in the back of our big red car,
Mama,
today was a very good day…
The analyzer in me wanted to know,
and asked,
What part did you like?
She clarified,
succinctly,
All of it…
I just liked being with you…
My analyzer couldn’t accept that…
It wanted to know more,
so it could replicate,
the perfect experience,
again…
It started firing specifics,
to get more information,
Did you like it when we made brownie???
Was it when we made that mind-blowing cocoa nib gelato,
Was it when we went to the park???
Was it… ???
Little Gem looked at me,
in the rear view,
a little frustrated,
but still patient,
Mama,
BEING with you…
Not DOING anything…
Just being WITH you…
Why is it that it is so difficult for me to believe,
that the wu wei my child loves,
when she says,
Just being with YOU,
is enough???
This makes me think about the hundreds of report cards I’ve had to write over the years…
And the new mandates that come out,
under provincial will…
The words teachers are required to write about children,
based on subjective assessments and evaluation,
masking itself as the rational objectivity,
of not meeting,
meeting,
fully meeting,
or exceeding,
expectations…
This is the language of our fractured culture,
on the ice and across the boards…
When I look at the language of the report cards,
which were written in the era,
of my school days,
I see words with similar intents,
and purposes…
Intentions of distortion in the words of,
excellent,
good,
satisfactory,
or needs improvement…
I still assess and evaluate myself,
based on these words,
typically,
at subconscious levels…
I look at myself in the mirror,
in the morning,
and wonder,
how do you have a good day,
when all your life,
you’ve been told by others,
outside of you,
you don’t make me happy,
or,
you need improvement…
Lucky for me,
or equally cursed,
because I tend towards compliance,
even when the heart inside of me,
is screaming NO,
most of the report cards I received,
are columns filled with checks,
in the good,
or excellent boxes…
I remember counting with my school friends,
over the phone,
So how many goods were you?
My father’s youngest brother,
who was schooled by nuns,
in Peace River country,
once told me,
at a backyard barbeque,
I was always a failure,
for not paying attention…
My whole being summed up by the letter ‘D’…
A teacher friend recently told me that there is a public school in Vancouver,
that doesn’t write report cards,
from Kindergarten to Grade Seven…
I wondered,
How is that possible???
How do they get away with that???
My friend told me,
They applied for Alternative status…
Isn’t is time we ALL applied for alternative status…
The status quo does more damage than it is worth…
How can we,
in the words of Ram Dass,
BE HERE NOW,
under conditions of not meeting expectations…
Who sets the expectations that we are not meeting???
How do we reset the expectations for perfection,
or failure,
that we set up for ourselves???
Early on,
as a teacher,
I began to refuse the language of the system…
And found ways to work around it…
As I sat with all of those blank pages,
with children’s names on them,
I always remembered my uncle,
and how he reinforced his view of himself,
by what those in their habits had written about him,
in black and white…
I made it my business to report gifts in the evaluations I wrote of my students…
I told parents when they presented me,
with laundry lists,
of what their children were,
or were not doing,
at five years old,
He’s so new in his body…
Your job,
as a parent,
is to accept and love him as he is,
without condition…
And not to put obstacles in his way,
with your demands,
expectations,
and negativity…
I believe that it is core business as teachers,
parents,
and human beings living together,
to discover and see the gifts,
which we all bring to the world,
through our good and evil…
And to report them,
with sensitivity,
and validation…

And you feel like no one before...
Little Gem says,
I love you Mama,
at least 100 times a day…
She reads over my shoulder,
as I write,
and correcting my numbers,
with a red marker,
points out the inaccuracies of my bean counting,
I tell you I love you MORE than that…
I ask her,
Why do you tell me that you love me so much?
She answers,
Because it feels good to say it…
AND just in case you forget…
I put up a watercolour Little Gem painted,
in the window of our front door,
with her words,
I LOVE YOU…
For people driving by…
Just in case they forget,
and just so they remember,
the TRUTH…
Moon shadow…
Last night I was decompressing in my aqua office,
a.k.a. my clawfoot tub,
reading Golf in the Kingdom by Michael Murphy…
A lot of women complain about their men playing sports…
I’ll admit that I used to be one of them,
mostly because I hadn’t figured out how to assert my own time for sports,
and I was bathed in resentment…
But I now I get it…
I tell me friends,
Instead of rolling your eyes you should be saying GETINTHECAR,
I’MDRIVINGYOUTOHOCKEY…
That one game a week can make all the difference in an insane world…
I hear grown men at the playground,
while they’re chasing their toddlers around,
saying things like,
If I didn’t play hockey I would go crazy…
All of this finds confirmation in Golf in the Kingdom…
Joe K. Adams claims that body chemistry was altered during wild dancing and other emotional sports…
Dancing helped the bodily functions in general and opened up the mind…
Julian Laing,
a craggy faced old Scotsman,
claims that certain kinds of psychosis can come from a lack of proper exercise…
Better games would empty entire wings o’ oor mental ‘ospitals…
I’ve cured myself with nothin’ mair than games and dancin’…
And listenin’ to the pipes can blow the mind free too…
A few years ago I worked with a student…
A little boy who was ‘suspected’ of being on the autism spectrum,
and underwent intensive investigation in Grade One,
in Kindergarten…
I never asked why,
because it didn’t interest me…
When he came to me for Grade Two I didn’t pay attention to what was suspect,
and hence it didn’t manifest…
But I did pay attention to everything this little boy said,
and one day he revealed something about watching videos of bagpipe concerts,
with his dad…
I asked him how he felt when listenin’ to the pipes…
He exclaimed,
I feel AMAZING,
in a voice older than time…
I asked him if he was Scottish…
He looked at me like I was SLOW or something and said,
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m Chinese…
I asked him,
Have you ever BEEN Scottish???
He hesitated a moment and looked over his shoulders,
like there are spies in every corner,
or speech and language pathologists who were about to force him to sit still for normalcy tests,
while the rest of his classmates altered their minds playing emotional sports in the gym…
Then he leaned in real close to me,
whispered right in my ear and answered my question,
I feel like I must have BEEN…

We are spirits in a material world...
I once heard this boy say,
at six years old,
while I was minding my own business writing reports cards on the school computer in a resource room used for pull-out
— Tests, tests, and more tests,
all they know how to do around here is tests…
I wonder where they keep the test,
for I’ve been here before..
FYI…
In a country which is currently not sending its men to war,
the emotional game of hockey fills a much needed place…
Men who love games do not have to use other human beings for their sport…
Our North American stadiums bring to mind the amphitheatres of the Roman Empire,
with their modern day gladiators battling it out on the ice…
In my endless gathering of language I hear words of war all over sport radio…
The draft…
the lines…
offensive/defensive strategies…
the walking wounded…
etc.
No need to bore with more details,
because I’m sure I’m not the first to notice these striking correlations…
It shouldn’t take a rocket scientist,
or a man for that matter,
to see the strength and direction of the linear relationship,
between these two apparently random variables,
which lead us right back to,
Golf in the Kingdom,
and Peter Mc Naughton smiling sadly,
shaking his head,
Gowf is a way o’ making’ a man naked…
I would say that nowhere does a man go so naked as he does before a discernin’ eye dressed for gowf…
Ye talk about your body language, yer style o’ projectin’, yer rationalizashin’, yer excuses, lies, cheatin’ rounds, incredible stories, failures of character — why, there’s no other place to match it…
Ye take auld Judge Hobbes,
my God,
the lies he told last week about that round o’ his in the tournament,
’tis enough to make ye wonder about our courts o’ law…
So I ask ye first…
Why does gowf bring out so much in a man, so many sides o’ his personality???
Why is the game such an X-ray o’ the soul???
The answer lies in this simple equation…
You do the math…
Gowf+brogue+pipes+man=MEinacoldshowerhavinaginantonic
Sorry no photos…
This is a family show…

Oh my eyebrows ain't plucked... (photo: Vincy)
Very well travelled…
After some intense house-cleaning — inside and out, I went for a walk to Chinatown…
My first stop was a bill payment at the Bank of Montreal…
Pender Street at Main…
inside there is a beautiful fish tank full of koi…
I practiced connecting up with the fish…
Horse Whisperer style…
it wasn’t long before they were all gathered in a group facing me…
I thanked them for their audience…

I haven't been shopping for any new shoes...
On my way out I exclaimed to the security guard…
Those fish are so beautiful…
He burst a bubble… the tank is magnified…
WHAT!!!!!!???????!!!!!!
Come see… I’ll show you… when you stand close on this side you can see that the fish are much smaller than they appear… at least half the size…
I tried to reach over the top of the tank to see if I could grab a fish…
but the top was sealed…
I started to wonder if the fish were even real…
or just figments of my imagination…
The security guard said,
They’re real fish…
it is just how you see them through the glass that is the distortion…
This made me think about the time when Starshine asked me, Mama, what’s an illusion???
Next stop…
parmesan…
I remember when I was four, my best little friend Richard’s mom — he used to pull me around our cul-de-sac in a wagon tied to his tricycle, until I moved away at two — took us into the closest place I’ve ever been to an emporium…
an Italian emporium…
The store was completely dark except for a globe of light suspended from the very high ceiling…
An old lady dressed all in black emerged from the darkness and cut a wedge of cheese from a huge block sitting on a cutting board…
then she wrapped some two foot long spaghetti in kraft paper…
I was overwhelmed by the smells of everything in that space and that night I ate the best spaghetti ever… I even had a sleep over and got to wear my friend’s little boy pajamas and we slept soles to soles staring up at the planets and stars that were stuck to his ceiling…
Some time after that, my mom and his dad had a big fight about his beagle Libra and our front yard ditch and that, very sadly, was the last I ever saw of my best little friend Richard and the first I felt of my small broken heart…
I always wondered where that store was…
and if the memory was even real or not…

Did I ever let you go...
Then one day, as an adult, I noticed a store on Main Street (between Keefer and Georgia) where you had to ring the bell for entrance…
I rang the bell, opened the door and stepped into a time machine…
back to that spaghetti night with little Richard…
and today I went back for more…
a big wedge of cheese, which according to Angelo, son of the old lady in black, is the only organic parmesan in town that he gets from a man in Italy who was a relative of his father’s…
Angelo has a collection of knives on his marble counter and he slices away samples…
I also went away with some VERY GOOD sheep and goat cheese…
Walking east up Keefer to go home I was waiting for the light to turn on the corner of Gore…
minding my own business…
when a woman walked past me as I yawned…
She kept walking past me, but talking at the same time…
her voice clear as day…
You need to get more sleep…
every time I see you on this corner you’re yawning…
I should wrap you up in a bed-roll, whack you over the head and knock you out for awhile so you can catch up on your sleep…
I laughed and said, I’ve never seen you before…
She said, Oh yes you have… I see you on this corner EVERY day…
A young woman on a bicycle exchanged smiles with me…
She said, Funny lady…
I laughed along the whole next block…
remembering a bumper sticker I’d recently seen…
Too many freaks, not enough circuses…
Then went home for a deep afternoon nap…
like I’d been knocked out…
with opium…
And woke up thinking about how public education will not be able to contain the consciousness that is going to be streaming into schools…
the old soul consciousness I can see in all the baby buggies everywhere you look in this endless lambing season…
If we’re all going to hell in a hand-basket we’re in very good hands for our journey…
we just have to be willing to listen to the messages that are being delivered along the way…
I remember Starshine’s English teacher, Neleh Sutfol, hugging me on Sports Day last June…
whispering in my ear…
You are very well travelled, aren’t you…

Where the streets have no name...
