Dew point…
The condition of alienation,
of being asleep,
of being unconscious,
of being out of one’s mind,
is the condition of the normal man…
Society highly values its normal man…
It educates children to lose themselves and to become absurd,
and thus to be normal…
Normal men have killed perhaps 100,000,000 of their fellow normal men in the last fifty years…
Our behaviour is a function of our experience…
We act according to the way we see things…
— in The Politics of Experience and the Bird of Paradise, R.D. Laing
I can’t exactly remember when,
but let’s say some time last week,
I was washing my car,
in front of my house,
because it was a nice,
warm,
mo’vember day…
Some neighbours I haven’t seen for some time,
walked by,
asking me what I’ve been up to…
It’s becoming more and more challenging,
with each passing day,
for me to condense,
what I’ve been up to,
into a few tidy sentences,
that are processed enough for other people to chew,
and swallow…
Not everyone can handle a raw diet…
So in this particular case I just kept it simple and sufficed it to say,
I’ve been writing…
Of course they wanted to know,
About what???
That’s where things get a little more dicey,
but I’m getting more comfortable with saying,
About whatever happens,
wherever I happen to be…
One of the ladies stood there for a second,
trying to think of something brilliant to say,
so’s I might have something to write about…
I said,
It doesn’t work like that…
The minute someone tries to feature themselves,
it backfires…
The ego wants the mention,
but doesn’t always like what is mentioned…
I never have to go looking for things to write about…
They come to me…
Right about that second,
a Bekins moving truck came roaring around the corner,
and pulled up,
directly in front of us…
I knew what they were there for,
and by the time the two men,
in their mid-fifties,
disembarked from the cab of their vehicle,
and the words,
Beautiful car,
whistled their way onto the sidewalk,
I winked a,
Watch,
and learn,
at my neighbours,
The two men went onto the neighbouring porch,
with their dolly,
and as they wheeled away another old fridge,
to add to the large collection in the truck…
I found out that there’s an upside to appliances,
which have been rendered obsolete…
One fellow explained,
in response to my holy landfill batman,
First the freon gets removed so that the terrorists can’t make bombs,
and the metal gets turned into car parts,
or beverage containers…
The other fellow said,
Yep,
last fridge of the day…
After this it’s straight home for a couple of beers,
and the good ole hockey game…
I asked,
all daisyduke,
in my overalls,
and steel-toed rubber boots,
That sounds like a great end to a long workday…
What’s your beer???
The conversation immediately went 649,
when I heard,
I like a Honey Lager,
and buddy here likes his Thirsty Beaver,
straight out of the bottle…
I couldn’t have planned it any better…
I turned to the two ladies standing next to my car,
as I sprayed all those suds down the road,
with the nozzle on full force,
and said,
I’m listening to the people who haven’t been heard…
The ones others write off,
right from day one of Kindergarten,
because they need to be on the move,
and their minds work faster than can be assessed,
using standard instrumentation…
I see what makes them tick…
And they can see,
from a mile away,
that I’m all ears…
Sole turn…
“When a girl like Shendel invites you for tea,
she is simply not making noise with her tongue,” Lipsa said after a while…
“That’s not the type of girl that Shendel is…”
I took the bread she offered…
“I’ve known Shendel longer than your step-mother has,” Lipsa continued,
“Who do you think nursed Shendel???”
“You???” I asked…
Lipsa nodded…
“Her mother had no milk…
I know this girl from her first moments in this world—
as I know you, my little bird—
and I can tell you that if Shendel Entelman invited you to tea it’s because she meant to have you…”
A warmth filled me so completely at that moment that I no longer even wanted my second slice of bread…
“When will she have me???” I asked,
“After she’s married??? In her new house???”
But Lipsa simply shrugged her shoulders and said,
“When the time is right,
she’ll have you…”
— in your mouth is lovely by Nancy Richler
One of the things Little Gem always takes,
a moment,
to do,
even when I’m telling her to hustle,
because I can hear the school bus coming around the corner,
is to flip the piece of paper on the sign on her door,
to indicate whether she is IN or OUT…
I’ve asked who she does that for,
because I know where she is,
and what she tells me is this,
Oh Mama,
I’m doing it for myself…
On occasion people have said to me,
Your children are lucky you’re a teacher,
like my chosen profession gives my kids,
a leg up on something…
The only thing I can think it has given them,
a leg up on,
is seeing someone doing what they love,
and standing up for what they believe in,
come hell or high water…
Sometime last week I was chatting on the phone,
with a speech and language pathologist,
from my former district,
about standardized tests,
which work from a base,
to a ceiling,
and back down again
with no attention to dynamics,
potential,
or expansion,
of the individual,
in relation to everyone else…
This smart woman is retiring next year,
and has run the gamut,
in her work supporting children’s expression,
and communication,
in our public school system…
She describes herself as an iconoclast,
and she isn’t afraid to expose the corruption,
of test scores,
as mandated by the Ministry,
for building faulty towers…
She sees her client as the student,
and the student is who she is in service to…
No one else…
This is rare vision,
in a legislated,
union versus management structure,
where the interests of the client,
are so buried in rhetoric,
and ego politics,
we can’t see who they really are anymore…
Two ends of a spectrum,
so far apart,
in agendas,
the rainbow is lost,
in the bargaining storm…
I remember overhearing two colleagues—
a vice-principal,
and teacher-librarian—
discussing one of my sideways glances…
One said to the other,
She looked at me over by the microwave,
when I must have made an off the cuff comment,
and I was seared on the spot…
I’m still reeling from the exposure…
I laughed,
and reminded them that I can’t help myself,
the look comes naturally,
and it is designed to hold accountability,
for tax payers’ expense,
and student experience…
I sent the look to Gordon Campbell,
mind-to-mind,
quite a while ago…
But we tend to take our sweet time,
for things to sink in,
especially when we’ve had one too many,
pina coladas,
on the big island,
of deception…
So far,
there is no provincially administered test,
to blow,
for integrity,
transparency,
or sanity,
in between .o5 and .08 of truth,
BEFORE taking office,
and crossing the yellow line…
But it’s only a matter of time,
before the right technology,
moves from the drawing board,
to the tazer…
I intentionally experimented,
with NOT giving my children,
any formal reading,
or writing instruction,
other than them seeing me do it myself…
And tonight,
while I was washing Little Gem’s hair,
in the claw foot tub,
thinking about how the wax seal on the toilet,
had gone again,
and I need some help with the repair,
before my bathroom falls into my kitchen,
she said to me,
Mama, what’s faith???
Is it believing???
Like I have faith in YOU…”
I said,
Yes, that’s exactly what it is…
What made you wonder,
about faith???
She said,
I was thinking about my friend,
and her middle name…
And what faith feels like…
Now could you get me a towel,
for my eyes…
I need to wipe them dry,
so I can see you,
all the more clearly,
my dear…
Only shooting stars break the mold...
Gait analysis…
They were back on the rocks:
Torak with his hands bound behind him,
his captors prowling up and down…
They no longer wore the strips of hide across their eyes,
but it wasn’t an improvement…
He could see the violence in them;
their fingers flexing on the hilts of their knives…
Strange knives,
with hilts made of something that was neither wood,
antler nor bone…
The tall boy who’d caught him on the rocks came close…
He had a clever,
watchful face,
and eyes as cold as blue flint…
“You shouldn’t have run,” he said quietly…
“That’s what a coward does…”
— in Spirit Walker by Michelle Paver
After much contemplation,
and a walk up a steep hill,
I’ve added a few new items to my Man checklist…
I do like shiny tires,
for special occasions,
but what really gets my attention is a well-stocked tackle box,
and la piece de la resistance,
OMG,
the FIRST AID Kit…
For good reason,
I’m phobic about hospitals…
So what I want to know,
is how prepared a man is for an emergency…
Does he carry the national name brand of supplies,
or something with greater interest???
Like if we’re trail riding,
or hammering an outdoor shower together,
and I experience abrasion,
or some blistering,
does the care I’m about to receive,
revolve around beige,
Shrek and Donkey,
or Hello Kitty,
coverage,
and protection???
How someone shows up in this particular department says a lot…
It’s the difference between meeting for coffee,
and a full-on gallop across an open field…
If you can’t roll out bandages like it’s a competition,
you can’t expect a crazy chick to notice you,
or keep her attention for the minimum number,
of ten hours,
let alone five,
or more years…
And that’s all I have to say,
right now,
because I have yard work to do,
and a bag of Doritos,
to polish off…
Hand me another one boys...
Canuck'd 