Major statement…
Sauna is probably the only truly democratic place on earth…
Everybody is equal as they get undressed and enter the steam room…
— Mika Hotakainen, director of The Steam of Life
On Friday,
I walked downtown,
and back again,
at a canter…
On my way home,
at East Pender and Main,
a school bus stopped before the intersection…
I always instinctively search,
the windows of school buses,
for my people…
All the rows were empty,
until my eyes got to the back seat,
and found the light streaming out of the window,
in all directions…
A teenage boy with Down’s Syndrome smiled at me,
I smiled back,
he smiled some more,
and then blew a kiss…
I returned a kiss,
on the wind,
right into his happiness,
and I could feel the ribbon of joy connecting both of us,
for the rest of my walk home…
While I watched the Steam of Life that evening,
in a full house,
at the Kay Meek Theatre in West Vancouver,
I saw that the directors,
had chosen to include a conversation,
between two men with Down’s Syndrome,
enjoying a sauna,
in their film…
These men spoke of honesty,
and how they saw themselves,
as best friends…
I am a best friend,
said one to another,
and I am honest…
This made me think about,
how we situate ourselves in the world,
what guides us,
and that when one person,
honours another,
with a listening ear,
regardless of skin,
or I.Q.,
the planet could tip upside down,
and it wouldn’t matter…
The anchor of who we really are,
and want to be,
together,
is more than enough to hold us in place,
in a desert storm…
See the freight train with its one fierce eye... (photo: Starshine)
Fingering weight…
The longer she stood there patting him,
his breath streaming over her cheek,
the feeling of peace flowed through her…
The dog radiated an air of happy calm…
Sam’s earlier feelings of restlessness drained away…
The muscles around her throat unclenched so the horrible tightness eased and melted…
They stood there for what seemed like ages…
Sam wanted the good feeling to last forever…
— in Black Dog, Dream Dog by Michelle Superle
Last year,
I started knitting a pair,
of play-off socks,
for Kyle Wellwood…
But the way things unfolded,
for the Canucks,
and the Blackhawks,
the urgency,
for completion,
disappeared…
I kept the project,
on the back burner,
once I’d learned Kyle,
was in Russia,
because I know,
from my own thermostat,
that anything warm,
made with love,
can be just what,
the doctor ordered,
whether you’re kept,
sitting on the bench,
or playing out,
a match up,
with an opponent,
whose middle name,
is Gulag…
Now that Kyle,
has signed on,
with San Jose,
and he’s in,
the vicinity tonight,
I’ve got a hankering,
to put on my boots,
that are made,
for walking,
and head downtown,
with my horse,
for a little look-see…
In my world,
face-offs,
in Roger’s Arena,
are the 2011 equivalent,
of a wild west,
shootout,
in front,
of the courthouse…
Sorting through,
the information,
of past,
and future,
which settle,
in my saddlebags,
and making sense,
of it all,
is no easy street…
But in my book,
if you ain’t livin’ hard,
well then,
maybe you ain’t,
really living,
at all…
One of the things,
that really,
cracks me up,
is when someone,
who is well lettered,
and in a position,
of authority,
says to me,
point blank,
I am a man,
and I am a scientist…
In these reoccurring,
moments,
even in this day,
and age,
I still bite,
my tongue,
so’s to silence,
the howling,
and maintain,
my ladylike,
composure…
If my people,
ever elected me,
premier,
the first bill,
I would bring,
to the house,
with all,
my letters,
and authority,
would be a promise,
written in stone,
to expose,
all the insanity,
masking itself,
as logic…
Brought me down upon my knees… (photo:Starshine)
House calls…
If we had keen vision and feeling for all ordinary human life,
it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat,
and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence…
— in Middlemarch by George Eliot
Yesterday,
in the chairs outside the room,
my daughters call “le bureau”,
where students can get some relative quiet,
to eat their lunch,
and complete school work,
I had a conversation with a five year old boy..
I’d met his mother before Christmas,
while we both sat knitting,
and waiting,
for our respective,
parent-teacher conferences,
so I had some context,
for this meeting with her oldest son,
which I had been looking forward to…
We talked about knitting first…
He told me,
My Mama is the best knitter in the world!!!
And I’m learning to do it too…
Santa gave me some sewing for Christmas…
There is everything I need to make a bird…
He moved his hands to describe what he found in his stocking,
as he talked out the story,
of his handwork project…
His small fingers outlining the cloth with the bird tracing,
the stuffing,
the pictures that show what you do,
and my very own needle!!!
The principal sat beside me,
as I listened,
to the excitement,
and the reveal…
The boy telling one story after another…
Detailing the glasses for seeing tornadoes,
he makes out of the special metals he finds,
in secret places…
He promised the principal,
I can make you a pair for your birthday!!!
I thought about how our public institutions,
could use a few hurricanes,
to whip them into a shape,
we could all live with…
The boy talked of,
after school activities,
where he makes sculptures,
out of fruit…
He modeled his knowledge,
and expertise,
with sections of mandarin orange,
and sandwich triangles,
propped up by a water bottle…
Illustrating a mile a minute…
I wondered how his father’s work,
as a set landscaper in the film industry,
and his mother’s,
important home making,
had been supported by their school experiences…
He told me his Papa was going to teach his Mama,
how to ride a motorcycle,
and how she was preparing herself,
for the learning,
by watching movies…
I thought some more,
about how the very school which matters most,
could be better complemented,
by a public education system,
which opens up,
instead of closing down…
I asked him if he knew a boy I’d run into,
at Famous Foods…
I said,
He’s in Kindergarten here too…
You might want to look for him,
out on the playground,
because I think you two might be from the same planet…
He smiled a thank you,
bunching his uneaten lunch,
into his two fists,
as he followed his teacher back to nap time,
and our mini doc came to a close…
I walked out to my car,
remembering what his mom had said to me,
back on the bench,
as we leaned against,
the wall of the gym,
with our busy fingers calming our minds,
I’m going to recommend that you look up the fisherman’s pullover…
I’m making it for my two-year old,
in the very same turquoise blue you’re using,
for what you’ve got going on there…
And like all of the other messages,
which present themselves,
in the thicket of things,
I gathered this shell up,
and lifted it to my ear,
for a six hundred acre song…
Moonlight on the duckblind...
Canuck'd 