Land rover…
Hey,
we’re not dead…
—Red Wings forward Todd Bertuzzi on Detroit’s 2011 playoff story of procession into Game Six
This week,
Little Gem has been experiencing,
a rash,
of bad dreams…
Sometimes,
when she comes to me,
in the night,
she refuses to talk,
about what she’s seen,
and just crawls,
into my queen-sized bed,
wanting to sleep,
back to back,
with the soles of our feet,
pressed together…
But last night,
she answered,
my inquiries,
into the scary…
She said,
some things like,
Your sewing machine,
down in the basement,
turned into a machine,
which kills cats…
After one year of life,
they’re put into the machine…
There isn’t a needle that does it…
It’s something else,
which is too terrible,
to talk about…
But if they’re not ready,
to go,
they can come out…
It’s all up to the cat…
And our girl cat,
didn’t want to die…
The other afternoon,
I ran into a neighbour,
who’d moved,
out of town,
a few years ago…
When I expressed,
some stories,
about my playing doctor,
with The Vancouver Canucks,
and NHL hockey,
she applied,
her theoretical lens,
on me,
and said,
You must be reclaiming,
some aspects,
which you’ve suppressed,
in yourself…
I looked,
at sidewalk Freud,
holding my breath,
as she carried on,
Or maybe,
you’re going,
to get together,
with someone,
from the Canucks…
I looked some more,
until I felt blue,
in the face,
and then,
she broke down,
her perception,
admitting,
Or maybe,
I’m just projecting,
as I exhaled,
into her truth…
When I went to buy,
a dozen eggs,
a pound of butter,
and a bottle of milk,
so that I could bake,
some cranberry,
butter tart,
squares,
for post-game celebrations,
the shop-keeper’s son,
who is a beer league,
regular,
on Planet Ice,
asked me,
Are you ready,
for tonight’s game???
I ensured,
Yes…
I’m all over it…
And with the sweetness,
such boys are made of,
he added,
I would never,
have expected,
someone like you,
to be so excited,
about hockey…
I left wondering,
What exactly,
do you think,
you know,
about someone,
like me???
Five years ago,
I was asked,
by my principal,
to speak,
at a meeting,
about the process,
of self-evaluation,
and shared goal setting,
which had been established,
in our school community,
since its inception….
There was a big wig,
from the Ministry’s department,
of accountability,
there with her notebook…
She was clever enough,
to see outside the lines,
and said,
This is exactly,
the kind of real assessment,
for personalized learning,
we’re looking to find,
in public education…
There was a father,
sitting there,
at that round table…
And after he heard me,
read a story,
about Life on Earth,
written by a five year old girl,
he pulled strings,
to ensure his daughter,
was in my room,
the next year…
Walking down the hall,
not noticing,
my bare feet,
he said,
things like,
My daughter,
is so shy,
and quiet…
I want her,
to have a voice…
And I can see by watching,
the students in your class,
that you have a way,
of bringing them,
out of themselves…
Four months into her year,
of grade one,
he came to me,
at the classroom door,
and said,
things like,
My wife,
and I,
are really struggling,
with our daughter’s behaviour…
She doesn’t do,
what we want anymore,
And what’s worse is,
she talks back…
She has opinions,
and gets mad…
Can you do something,
to get her,
to control,
that temper???
Can you bring back,
our good girl???!!!
I smiled,
graciously,
and said,
without saying anything,
Sorry cowboy,
but I believe,
I warned you,
about guaranteeing results,
with no money down,
and the no return policy,
on my practice,
of restarting,
broken ponies…
In honour,
of my favorite goalie,
#35,
Mr. Cory Schneider,
and some other,
key players,
I’m flirting,
with ginger today…
It’s not that,
I don’t love Luongo…
I do,
unequivocally…
His provings,
have,
and will continue,
to be fantastic…
It’s just that,
someone like me,
lives for,
those who catch left,
AND know-how,
to rise,
to the occasion,
of shared process,
when its all,
and done…
I’ve been telling,
my girls,
that one day,
Trotzsky,
is likely,
to run into me,
on the most,
phenomenal course,
of yoga,
known to man…
And when,
that moment arrives,
my tootsies,
will be unleashed,
with a flash,
of justice,
and the touch,
of a thigh…
As the empty disappears...
Care package…
Memories layered themselves in Tree-ear’s mind:
Crane-man’s willingness to discuss things with him,
the stories he told,
the mountain secrets he shared,
his reading of the world around them,
the way he loved a joke,
even at the expense of himself,
or his bad leg…
Another recollection broke through his thoughts,
like a fish breaking the surface of water…
“Wherever you are on your journey,
Crane-man,”
Tree-ear whispered,
“I hope you are traveling on two good legs…”
Then the tears came…
—in A Single Shard by Linda Sue Park
The Stanley Cup playoff run,
is an excellent time,
to develop awareness,
of boundaries,
or the lack thereof…
For example,
after last night’s win,
against Nashville,
I woke up,
from an early morning dream,
in which I was driving,
my big red car,
and the gas light,
flashed on…
I watched my worry,
but remembered,
that a Volvo,
is a car,
you can count on,
even when,
it’s standing still…
Just ask Mats Sundin…
The air was frosty,
morning traffic,
was building,
but I could see,
the Chevron,
across the intersection,
and knew,
there was,
enough time,
to get the job done…
The Canucks’ return charter,
from Tennessee,
should be landing,
at YVR,
right about now,
if it hasn’t already…
In honour,
of Saturday’s game,
at the Rog,
I’ve stocked,
my dehydrator,
with a spring harvest,
of fresh,
stinging nettles,
for the intents,
and purposes,
of broadcasting,
super food…
The steaming,
or drying,
of nettles,
neutralizes the poison,
that burns…
And when steeped,
the tea,
can be used,
for multiple purposes,
including,
but not exclusive to,
a refreshing,
hair rinse,
or as a soothing tonic,
for complications,
of the skin…
The other day,
Little Gem remarked,
Mama,
you haven’t made your buffalo jerky,
since last year…
It might be time,
to prepare,
another batch,
for round three…
Yesterday,
I led a horse,
out of his paddock,
for a therapeutic grass walk,
because he’s all ribby,
from over-work…
In that misty afternoon,
I was moved,
to a beautiful somewhere,
as the warm scent,
of horse,
mixed with the sound,
of a huge set of choppers,
filling a belly,
with sugar-rich greens…
As those people,
paid to report on hockey,
grow double chins,
from all of that room service,
and sitting on their arses,
gossiping,
and complaining,
like old fish wives.
about who is,
and isn’t producing,
on one line or another,
the men who are actually,
on the ice,
playing the game,
as it wants to be played,
through them,
are sticking to what,
they know best,
and loving,
every single,
minute,
of it…
And when,
you’re loving every,
single,
minute,
of what you’re doing,
there’s no telling,
what can happen,
except that,
the process,
is certain,
to be,
most excellent…
Do you know the way to San Jose???…
Miracle whip…
“Tell me about this farmer,” he said…
“What kind of man was he???”
Tree-ear considered the question for several moments,
stirring his memory…
At last he answered, “One who lacks patience—
He had not wanted to wait for a sturdier container to be built.
And he could not be bothered to pick up the fallen rice…”
Tree-ear paused,
“But he laughed easily,
even at himself…”
“If he were here now,
and heard you tell of waiting a little longer before speaking,
what do you think he would say or do???”
“He would laugh,” Tree-ear said,
surprising himself with the speed of his response…
Then more slowly he added,
“I think,
he would not have minded…”
Crane-man nodded,
satisfied…
And Tree-ear thought of something his friend often said,
Scholars read the great words of the world.
But you and I must learn to read the world itself…
— in A Single Shard by Linda Sue Park
There are moments.
in life,
where one looks back,
and remembers,
where one was,
historically speaking…
Like the time,
I was taking a swim,
in Davis Bay,
on the Sunshine Coast,
when Mount St. Helens,
blew her top,
back in 1980…
And the earth shook…
Or the time,
Alex Burrows,
finished off the Blackhawks,
in Game 7,
with a goal in OT,
and I knew,
because a bunch of acrobats,
and horses,
were charging through the ring,
of the big top,
playing a game,
with white silk scarves,
and the final rider,
to race past,
waved a huge Canucks flag…
And then,
there was the time,
in the middle of last night,
when Manny Malhotra called me,
long distance,
all the way from Nashville,
and we chatted about vision,
and how there was no need,
for worry,
because before he knew it,
things were going to be 20/15…
I have no idea,
what the dream means,
other than,
after all,
was said and done,
it felt better,
than perfect,
and I woke up,
singing,
We have a will, and we have muscle...
Canuck'd 