Bursting bubbles…
Ted lifts his powerful fifteen-foot Bruce and Walker rod,
and fires the fly into the current as I become the gillie,
the hired man devoted to getting his client a fish…
I am too engrossed with the efforts of my charge to fish myself…
“Turning off the lights are we, Ehor???” Ted comments wryly…
“Afraid so,” I say,
“Better sex in the dark than none at all…”
On the third cast,
Ted’s rod dips and he is into a very lovely fish,
not large (perhaps eight or ten pounds) but very silvery and aerial,
hurtling itself out of the river six or seven times,
before he brings it to shore…
— in SAVAGE GODS, SILVER GHOSTS by Ehor Boyanowsky
As a person,
called to business,
where I don’t hunt,
but wait,
for clients,
to contact me,
I thought my fine print,
with the V-Canucks,
could be up,
for non-renewal…
But upon review,
of the year-end closing,
by Coach V,
and the GM,
at the podium,
I knew,
at once,
that this invitation,
to rally,
and cry,
in the locker room,
is only,
just getting stated…
And I am in the river,
for the long haul,
with hip waders,
concealing,
my green,
lantern…
It so happens that,
the gestation period,
of an Orca,
is the longest known,
of all cetaceans,
at seventeen months…
So counting forward,
my 2011-2012 season,
with the Vancouver Canucks,
began this previous February,
and I’m super excited,
about the further breaking,
of records,
and upsetting all precedents,
moaned and whined,
by Sekeres,
Gallagher,
B-Mac,
Kuz,
Pratt,
Mr. D Taylor,
and the Moj…
Premature deliveries,
of the toughest trophy,
in professional sport,
is not what this city,
or it’s NHL team,
needs…
No one,
including,
but not exclusive to,
the franchise owner,
holding hands,
with BFF’s,
Mr. G. Robertson,
and Ms. C. Clark,
on either side,
would want,
the legacy,
of a miscarriage,
up at bat,
because as we already know,
it’s fraught,
with complications,
of immaturity,
in all of the,
major organs…
It isn’t that,
there’s anything wrong,
with something coming,
before it’s due,
it’s just that,
if what wants to come,
arrives,
fully formed,
the ultimate ride,
can be civically cosmic…
I expected,
devastation,
upon not seeing,
my team,
of horses,
charging the chuckwagon,
around the Rog,
holding engraved,
silver plate…
But instead,
found myself,
content,
and happy,
with the opponent,
in the hoist,
mostly because,
after the road he’s been on,
to get where he is,
right now,
Tim Thomas,
was THE man in the house,
and now room remains,
for our younger officers,
to become,
gentlemen…
And I want that,
more than anything…
I was always told,
as a girl,
that I take everything,
much too seriously…
I never knew,
what to do with those words,
because it seemed,
to me,
that a lot of things,
should be taken,
more seriously,
than they are,
especially in the department,
of integrity,
and full spectrum lighting…
When I look in the mirror,
of every man,
on the roster,
I see my reflection,
looking back,
on the struggle,
to find,
the fine balance,
between,
hard work,
and relaxation…
Walking the middle road,
isn’t easy,
and I’m quite certain,
there simply,
isn’t room,
for all of us,
to be on it,
all of the time…
A drive,
off the shoulder,
into the ditch,
of depression,
may be,
just what,
the inner doctor ordered,
giving new meaning,
not only,
to the grey Cup,
but also to,
the parameters,
requiring placement,
before the party,
envisioned,
in the name of line-backers,
receivers,
tight ends,
and public celebration,
can redefine itself,
by November…
When Shiva,
and Brahma,
are dancing,
Vishnu never fails,
to watch,
and stir,
the pot,
of Dharma,
no matter,
how the cookie,
crumbles…
On Saturday night,
Little Gem interrupted,
her viewing,
of Cat Cora,
and Elizabeth,
battling with honey,
in kitchen stadium,
to say,
Mama,
I’m sure glad you don’t watch football…
I raised an eyebrow,
from where I was knitting,
a turquoise linen,
tunic tank,
and responded with,
There’s no time like today,
to start something new,
and Why did you say that???
She answered,
For some reason,
Monday Night Football,
just popped into my head…
By Sunday afternoon,
this girlie-girl,
sat cross legged,
on the living room carpet,
surrounded by a pile of Lego,
and from the intense focus,
of her work,
told me,
straight up,
I’m too busy to go for walk…
I have to get this hot tub finished,
so everyone,
can jump in,
and enjoy it…
Parabolically sound…
It’s a good thing Vancouver has Stanley Park because they’ll never have the Stanley Cup…
— author unknown, TO BE unwritten…
On the weekend,
I scored big,
with a full set,
of tailor made,
PRO,
golf clubs…
I bought them,
because they’re red,
but as I handed,
my hard earned,
money over,
the vendor told me,
These are too good,
for pitch and putt…
You’ll want to save them,
for a full course,
where I’m certain,
with your charm,
and swing,
you’ll cause,
quite a stir,
on the links…
I threw,
my brand new-to-me clubs,
over my shoulder,
and crossed the street,
to home,
only to hear,
the cat calls of,
Since when,
do you play golf,
with me scratching back,
since a smoke,
was a smoke…
This morning,
fresh from,
a good night’s sleep,
and all ready,
for game day,
Little Gem said,
I feel like jumping,
on a plane,
and flying somewhere,
I’ve never been before…
In my mind,
we’re all on a plane,
with the certainty,
of flying somewhere,
we’ve never been before,
every second,
of every day,
with no accounting for,
being conscious,
of what’s really,
going on…
And the only thing,
between now,
and when,
a new legend,
begins again,
right out,
of kitchen stadium,
is an afternoon nap,
and THE secret ingredient…
Perfect swing…
After the pre-game meal when he told me he was going to go for a walk,
I looked at him:
‘Really,
you’re going to go for a walk on the seawall with so many people outside???’
He’s like, ‘Yeah.’
I knew right there he had confidence.
I knew nothing was going to faze him.
— #14 on #1 in THE News
I remember when I was ten,
or eleven,
or maybe even thirteen,
and my best friend’s brother,
called us gonads,
and we weren’t even doing anything,
except maybe,
giggling…
I wanted to know,
What’s a gonad???
And as her mom was a nurse,
she knew exactly what to say,
and told me,
It’s a reproductive organ…
I didn’t get,
how,
that was something,
you’d want to call,
a girl…
And it made even less sense,
when I told my mother about it,
and she said,
Maybe he likes you,
given that I’ve always been one,
to bring along sandwiches,
or write a story,
for someone,
I really like…
Pre-game,
I was commenting,
over my back porch,
about how a leader,
creates space,
for others,
to shine,
rather than drawing,
all the attention,
to their own statistics…
I also reflected,
on how the incredible journey,
to a Stanley Cup,
does not,
in any way,
shape,
or form,
follow a straight line,
of prediction…
The Vancouver Canucks,
as I now know them,
are growing exponentially…
For the last sixty plus days,
and the regular season previous,
THIS team has been engaged,
in a series,
of situations,
they’ve never experienced before,
at a turnover,
that is occurring,
faster than,
Tim Thomas,
can take it,
outside the paint…
And with such efficiency,
the primacy,
of production,
falls away,
into something more,
through definitively less,
opportunity,
as evidenced,
by attending to,
extraordinary bounces…
After The Vancouver Canucks’,
game five,
shutout victory,
over the Boston Bruins,
I had a dream,
in which,
I was speaking with a Swedish woman,
who was wearing,
a Norwegian sweater…
I have no idea what it means,
but there was a tonne of grace,
dignity,
and purpose,
to our interaction,
that I could put,
my middle finger on,
and take directly into,
a wrap around,
go ahead,
double OT,
goal from the point,
that will make,
grown men,
and women,
cry,
like babies,
for Christ’s sake…
And if that doesn’t happen,
something else will,
because early,
this morning,
I woke up,
from a dream,
where I was,
inside Roberto’s house,
watching an electrician,
re-fusing,
his wiring…
And with the tuning,
out of my hands,
I anxiously,
splashed around,
in the choppy water,
of his bird bath,
about how,
yesterday’s business,
needs to be,
felt completely,
before history,
will want,
to stop,
repeating itself…


