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Fore casting…

August 19, 2012

To carry on the feelings of childhood into the powers of manhood,

to combine the child’s sense of wonder and novelty with the appearance which every day,

for perhaps forty years has rendered familiar:

With sun and moon and stars throughout the year

And man and woman.

This is the character and privilege of genius

(Source unknown)

as found in The Ecology of Imagination in Childhood by Edith Cobb

One of the things,

I’m astounded by,

is the notion,

that there are children,

of any age,

who fantasize,

about their,

divorced parents,

getting back,

together…

For the love,

of God,

I don’t even want,

to see my parents,

at all,

let alone,

be in the same,

proximity,

of the two of them,

being within,

a fifty mile,

radius,

of each other…

And when,

Starshine,

and Little Gem,

are having,

a cat fight,

I start screaming too,

things like,

That’s it!!!

I’m phoning,

your father!

These words are,

the break it up,

equivalent,

of a fire hose,

with extra pressure,

added,

by the threat,

that I’m going to tell him,

I want to be friends…

Little Gem is the first,

to shift her outrage,

and protest,

I don’t want you,

being friends,

with Papa…

How would that,

even work???!

Starshine just laughs,

mid-kick,

with her wsidom,

of 1,000 years,

There’s a reason why,

you two,

are not together…

Don’t mess,

with reason,

when its going,

your way…

By that time,

the cat fight,

is over,

and we’re back,

to sharing,

ice cream,

sandwiches,

in more peace,

than a yoga class,

with the explosion,

blowing away,

in the wind…

I recently,

had a dream,

I was mounted,

on the back,

of Roberto Luongo,

waiting to spring,

from the gate…

And as we broke out,

on the way,

to a new team,

I saw the stands filled,

with so-called,

Canucks fans,

stuck in their Exer-saucers,

lapping up,

spilled milk…

I didn’t use a whip,

to push Luongo,

across the wire…

I only asked him,

with a thought,

that said,

Come on Cowboy!

You can do this!

And we were having,

the time,

of our lives,

as we made it,

into,

the clubhouse turn…

There are some rabbits,

that like to,

spend the day,

preening,

themselves,

and there are others,

who love to renovate,

anything,

put in their path,

and they begin,

their work day,

at 5 am.

come rain,

or shine…

I know this,

from my own experience,

because I have one,

who when given,

a cardboard box,

will immediately,

make openings,

for light,

and excavate,

the flooring,

with his two,

front teeth,

before settling down,

for a well-earned,

afternoon,

nap…

There are,

only a few,

more weeks,

left,

of the meet,

at Hastings Racecourse,

and I’ve learned,

a lot,

about the intense,

similarities,

between what,

women do,

with children,

in the public,

education system,

and what men do,

with young horses,

in the racing industry…

When I’m interrupted,

from my work,

preparing a horse,

for a race,

by the words,

Ram it in there,

Cocksucker!!!

I think,

I may have,

found myself,

on a construction site…

But the reality is,

what I’m overhearing,

is one man,

demanding another,

do something,

they think,

doesn’t hurt,

a horse,

while using a lip chain,

AND twitch

to keep,

the horse’s mind,

on other things,

while they call themselves,

trainers…

Trainers seeking profit,

off the body,

of a living being,

forced to work,

with only one degree,

of separation,

from a pimp…

There are people,

who say,

for good reason,

I’m not into,

horse racing…

I’m not into,

horse racing,

either…

But when,

cooling out,

a race horse,

in the test barn,

who just ran,

her heart out,

to finish second,

from out,

of nowhere,

I find,

it’s the closest,

I can currently,

get,

to God

And quite frankly,

on a Sunday morning,

or any other,

for that matter,

there is,

no other church,

I’d rather,

attend…

I want to live in a wooden house…

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Happen stance…

July 8, 2012

The poets march on,

taking two principles of language very seriously:

meaning is unlimited,

and everybody has some…

So we say to the tinhorns:

kill and eat all the poets you want!!!

WE will make more —

in the underground,

in our hearts,

our thoughts,

our stories,

and the backrooms of our academies…

And when the sun comes around again,

look for us…

— I. Brady: In Defense of the Sensual: Meaning Construction in Ethnography and Poetics,

Qualitative Inquiry 10(4)

When Starshine,

and Little Gem,

walked in the door,

they wanted to know,

So,

what’ya get up to,

today???

I reviewed the previous,

six hours,

and the installation,

of the brand new,

German,

front shocks,

my mechanic,

took care of,

while I watched,

Top Chef Texas,

from the comfort,

of my living room,

and how I’d started penning,

a hand written,

letter,

to Mr. Mike Gillis…

Sometimes,

when you do things,

and tell,

your children,

you risk,

a reaction,

which can cut,

you off,

at the knees…

But on this day,

it seemed,

I’d done right,

as I received the nod,

of approval,

for what,

I wanted,

to do,

without a codicil,

to not go there again,

with my key request,

to take care of business,

by bringing Raffi back…

Starshine,

and Little Gem,

always wonder,

why,

every time,

Jason Botchford,

utters crap,

on the Team 1040,

I say,

things like,

Smooth move,

Exlax,

and what it all,

could mean…

A lot of things,

defy explanation,

and why,

The Province,

newspaper,

even exists,

is just,

one of them…

On his way,

to the Triple Crown,

Mario Guiterrez,

and I’ll Have Another,

were running races,

they’d never,

run before,

because they hadn’t…

The two of them,

in unity,

were responding,

to the situation,

as it presented,

itself,

because that is all,

any of us,

can really do…

And as I’ve said before,

when people,

standing on,

the outside,

are looking in,

the best thing,

to do,

is pull,

a Gillis,

and do,

nothing…

Recently,

as I was,

parallel parking,

in front,

of our house,

Little Gem,

echoed,

a sentiment,

I’ve been hearing,

a lot of,

lately,

and it was,

Thank you,

for putting up,

with Papa,

for long enough,

to have me…

It mustn’t,

have been,

easy…

I told her,

unequivocally,

You are WORTH,

every second of it…

Last night,

a neighbour,

shared,

a groundbreaking,

film,

in the park…

And as we watched,

Guess Who’s Coming,

to Dinner???

under wraps,

Little Gem,

and I raised,

a few eyebrows,

at the messages,

we read,

in between,

the lines,

and remembered when,

other people,

thought they,

held the rights,

to tell us,

where we could go,

what we could do,

and with whom,

we could do it…

If you’ve ever come,

eye to eye,

with a Thoroughbred,

barreling past,

the 3/8th pole,

and heard the message,

loud and clear,

Get ready,

because I’m going,

to show you,

my strength,

well then,

you’ve certainly,

slept,

a night,

on my pillow,

and you will know,

that with the force,

of all the powers,

that be,

now behind us,

there is nothing,

ahead,

but a finish,

that has never,

before,

been seen,

created by,

a gift horse,

whom should never,

be looked,

in the mouth…

He was something to observe…

Tank flap…

May 2, 2012

Horses are herbivores…

They roam in herds,

grazing for more than twelve hours a day (fifteen to twenty hours if food is scarce),

and drinking when thirsty…

If confronted with a strange noise, smell, or sight,

the herd thunders away at great speed…

When cornered,

horses fight using their teeth and hooves…

“Fight or flight” is still the horse’s principle means of defense from danger;

therefore,

excitement,

nervousness,

confusion,

and fear can result in a horse acting defensively or trying to run from perceived threats…

— in Professional Care of the Racehorse by T.A. Landers…

If you know,

from personal experience,

what it’s like,

to be kept awake,

at night,

by the roar,

of water,

endlessly filling,

the bowl,

of your toilet,

due to the disintegration,

of the washer,

at the source,

then you’ve slept a night,

in my shoes…

And until,

the fixer-man,

in the coveralls,

shows up,

at your door,

the only solution,

to the problem,

is shut-off,

at the main…

Sometime,

before the quarter-finals,

slid,

down the drain,

for my team,

I wondered how,

to get all the noise,

about two goalies,

to stop,

and I prayed,

for an answer,

as I measured out,

cooked oats,

for an evening feed…

And I got,

what I wished for…

Kevin Bieksa,

has been quoted as saying,

something like,

I don’t know what,

I’m going to do,

tomorrow,

after the team bus,

slid to a halt,

in overtime…

In my book,

when all else fails,

and I don’t know,

what to do,

with myself,

I take a nap,

and I enjoy,

every single,

second of it…

With Spring,

just beginning,

and Summer,

up in the headlights,

I’d string up,

a hammock,

somewhere secret,

and stare up,

at the sky,

until the cows,

come home…

Within moments of,

the ramifications,

of Stoll’s shot,

sinking in,

Little Gem wrapped,

herself up,

in our story blanket,

and said,

Oh well,

now we’ll have lots of time,

to watch cooking shows,

and do all of the things,

we didn’t have time for,

last year…

Some people claim,

they don’t know how,

to nap…

I feel sorry,

for them,

and suggest they watch rabbits,

and horses,

for a little how-to,

on that afternoon,

delight…

When I make plans,

to roll over,

Jason Botchford’s baby toes,

with my Volvo,

while dining on,

spaghettini,

with mussels,

and clams,

in a white wine sauce,

Little Gem,

and Starshine say,

things like,

You can’t get violent,

with people,

just because,

they’ve got,

nothing better,

to do,

with their skill set…

That may very well,

be true…

So instead,

of kicking,

rumour mongers,

with my boots,

I’m directing energy,

at long distance calls,

to my friend Roberto,

about how,

to connect his right fist,

to the inside,

of his left elbow,

as he swings,

a classic Italian gesture,

in the general direction,

of Vancouver,

while walking south,

to wherever he wants,

for a new song

Cat trick…

April 17, 2012

like popcorn stuck to itself,

or a string of lace rolled up tight,

or a handful of fingerling shells pasted together,

each with a tear where something,

escaped to the sea. I brought it home

out of the uncombed morning and consulted

among my books. I do not know

what to call this sharpest desire

— in Why I Wake Early by Mary Oliver

On the second day,

of the racing season,

an owner asked me,

if I could speak,

to her horse,

and ask him,

why he reared,

right out,

of the starting gate,

and ended up last,

at the wire…

I said,

I can see,

nothing more,

than he wants,

to show me,

and then I fell down,

in the feed room,

as the horse amplified,

his feeling,

of rage,

and shame,

through every cell,

of my body…

I crossed the shedrow,

to see if,

there were,

any more comments,

on the matter,

and he shrugged,

his shoulders

as if,

to say,

I don’t know WHY…

It’s JUST,

what HAPPENED…

After the delivery,

of the core message,

he turned his head,

into the corner,

of his stall,

and pointing,

a hind end,

in my general direction,

as he held the space,

for his own privacy,

the best he could,

under the given,

circumstances,

he whispered,

politely,

Now ENOUGH said…

One of the things,

I love most,

about working,

with horses,

if their economy,

of expression…

They make Coach V,

look like,

a complete,

and total,

blabbermouth…

Funny how,

once again,

people have taken,

to asking me,

What IS going on,

with YOUR Vancouver Canucks???

as if,

they were all mine…

Well the thing I know,

about athletes,

bred,

and built,

for speed,

is that one,

of two things,

can happen,

when beasts,

break free,

of the starting gate…

And when,

push comes,

to shove,

at the blue lines,

a photo finish,

will determine,

the true test,

of champions,

at the quarter mile…

Little Gem’s,

words from the weary,

are a recipe,

for winding’er down…

Mama,

I think,

it’s time,

for everyone,

to take,

a little trip,

to Relaxustan

People throw rocks at things that shine...

Medicine hat…

April 2, 2012

Just then,

the moon emerged from the clouds,

and swathed in brilliant light,

Greta returned to her chambers…

As she concealed the bottle of serum in a drawer,

her bird gave a shrill cry…

It had laid two more eggs…

“A sign!!!” she cried,

freeing the creature from its cage…

It stepped into the glow of the candles…

— in The Alchemist and the Angel by Joanne Owen

One thing,

I like to astound,

my children with,

is my dexterity,

with song…

On any given day,

we can be driving up,

or down,

Highway #1,

Commercial Drive,

or the Barnet,

and I can belt out,

anything,

from Donna Summers,

to Carly Rae Jepsen,

with the moves,

like Tina…

Their jaws drop,

as they exclaim,

How do you know,

those things???

The answer,

to such questions,

IS,

It’s from teaching elementary,

my dear Watsons…

The other evening,

as I prepared,

to support my team,

with a hot bath,

and a nap,

I woke up,

just in time,

for the post-game interviews,

after a 5-2 win,

over the Stars…

This gives new meaning,

to BEING asleep,

on the job…

A clinician,

recently said,

as he supervised,

my securement,

of a Western saddle,

on a girthy Pinto mare,

for the first time,

I can see,

you’ve got,

your own way,

of doing things…

I stayed focused,

on the task at hand,

while I wandered on,

what’s the point,

of doing anything,

at all,

if you don’t find,

your own way…

And a little later on,

as this creaky horse,

and I,

worked out,

hind quarter yields,

around a barrel,

I heard a message,

about the necessity,

to fly,

without judgement,

upon the release,

of each puck…

Whenever I’ve finished,

tacking up,

a Thoroughbred,

for a double gallop,

around the track,

his owner queries,

from the next,

stall down,

Are you kissing my horse???

When a dude,

with an attitude,

drops his head,

into your arms,

despite the blinkers,

and the ring bit,

in his mouth,

and has the grace,

to say,

Thank you,

for being here,

with his wall eye,

there’s no other option,

but to accept,

the invitation,

to climb,

into his 16+hand body,

like yesterday,

just don’t matter,

any more,

and let the trip begin,

with a kiss…

Me minus you is such a lonely ride...

Hard tack…

March 26, 2012

Scientists have tended to note Hartshorne’s hypothesis but have not always taken it seriously —

it harkens back to Darwin’s presumption of an avian aesthetic and would be too hard to quantify…

But Kroodsma believes that Hartshorne is right in one crucial sense:

It is not the total number of song types that create complexity,

but the contrast between one phrase and the next…

Variability must be perceived as it goes along,

and its constant presence must indicate some evolutionary advantage…

Hartshorne,

as a believer in a God who manifests Himself in our world through the eternal unfolding of life,

heard something else in the song of birds that he was not afraid to bring up:

BLISS…

— in WHY BIRDS SING, a journey into the mystery of bird song by David Rothenberg

Less than,

a fortnight ago,

I experienced,

a dream,

in which,

I found myself,

in front,

of a series,

of Viking barbeques,

where I was taking,

outdoor grilling,

to a whole,

new level,

in the locker room,

of The Vancouver Canucks…

I hummed along,

to the sizzle,

of my own,

drum sticks,

when suddenly,

Coach V,

stepped out,

of the darkness…

He was totally,

decked out,

with the tongs,

the fork,

the timer,

the head lamp,

and a standard,

bib apron,

like a kitchen,

cowboy…

He asked me,

Are you sure,

you know,

what you’re doing???

and I felt,

my confidence,

waver,

like a candle,

in the win,

as he removed,

my rib eyes,

and replaced them,

with his own…

It’s a challenge,

not to take things,

personally,

to think they’re pervasive,

and/or permanent,

when you’re working through,

the release of,

a belief system,

and the patterned behaviour,

of undermining…

And it certainly cuts,

both ways…

Yesterday,

I heard a clinician,

tell a story,

about a participant,

and how he’s on,

his own program…

And I saw how,

the man’s face,

dropped,

when his wife echoed,

the sentiments,

with a look,

that killed…

We’ve all seen,

the t-shirt,

that says,

Marriage is a relationship,

in which,

one person is right,

and the other,

is the husband,

and by now,

we all should know,

that this way,

of dis-honouring vows,

to love,

and to cherish,

each other,

is a crocodile,

done deed…

And we all,

at this day,

and age,

should certainly know,

a lot better…

Last Thursday,

Little Gem,

left me,

a voice mail,

full of excitement,

and the news,

I finally have,

something I’ve,

always wanted…

When I called,

to discover,

what the big deal,

was all about,

she told me,

I was at Children’s Hospital,

and I have a cast…

When I asked her,

if she was okay,

she said,

Don’t worry Mama,

it’ll be just fine,

in a week or so..

This is only,

a clean fracture…

They say I'll be okay, but i'm not going to... (photo: Starshine)

Pip squeak(s)…

February 29, 2012

for the ear bone

is the portion that lasts longest

in any of us, man or whale; shaped

like a squat spoon

with a pink scoop where

once, in the lively swimmer’s head,

it joined its two sisters

in the house of hearing…

— in Why I Wake Early by Mary Oliver

Sometime,

last Saturday night,

I saw,

Coach V,

some where,

ethereal…

He made casual,

inquiries,

into,

what I’ve been,

up to,

since,

the butterscotch,

sundaes,

a few years back now…

All the detail,

I had to offer,

was a certain,

Je ne sais quoi…

He thought,

on that a moment,

and said,

I’ll be,

looking forward,

to reading that,

when it’s all,

said,

and done…

The weather man,

expected flurries,

at higher elevations today,

and the traces,

were sure there,

when I went walking,

this afternoon…

It isn’t unusual,

for daughters,

to find,

nothing more,

embarrassing,

than the things,

their fathers think,

are acceptable,

to wear,

out,

in public…

Whenever Starshine,

and Little Gem,

complain,

about their Papa’s,

cycling pants,

and how they don’t,

want,

to be caught dead,

with him,

in those,

I tell them,

they don’t have a leg,

to stand on,

compared,

to my dad,

and his cutting,

of the grass,

in lederhosen…

Starshine told me,

post trade,

Raffi was THEN,

and Zack,

is NOW…

You can’t go sending,

letters bombs,

to Mike Gillis,

every time,

things,

don’t go,

your way…

I wondered,

Why not???

She said,

Because…

Like getting us fake i.d.

so you can take us,

clubbing,

it isn’t mature…

Sometimes,

maturity,

is getting old,

and sometimes,

it’s all about,

seeing,

what’s old,

as new again…

And that,

my friend,

is the perfect sense,

of a woman…

Memory lane up in the headlights... (photo: Starshine)

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