Bottom line…
When I was a boy I loved to run…
One day I was out running all over town,
through people’s yards and up and down back lanes and empty streets,
when I happened to come across an apple pie cooling on the wide wooden railing of Mr. and Mrs. I.Q. Ungers’s back porch…
I was about nine and I should have known better,
but I decided to take the pie and run…
I had visions of myself enjoying a huge feast for one somewhere in the bush outside of town…
I turned around to make sure I hadn’t been followed and there,
peering out from behind an old shed in the yard,
was my little brother,
the one I mentioned earlier,
the one who replaced my dead sister,
the one who stole my mother’s heart…
What are you doing??? he asked me,
in Low German…
Nothing, I said, go away…
You’re supposed to come home now, he said,
you’re supposed to stop all this running and come home…
— in Swing Low, A Life by Miriam Toews
The school bus picked up Starshine and Little Gem a few minutes before 8 am…
I won’t see them again until the weekend…
I thought I wouldn’t cry today,
but when I went to talk to the driver,
to remind him not to stop by tomorrow morning,
I heard sobbing from the seat behind his…
It was Amour,
crying her eyes out…
She looked up at me…
I wanted to look away,
but I couldn’t,
so I looked back…
I said,
Oh Amour…
The driver said,
You’re throwing gasoline on the fire…
She doesn’t want to come to school today…
She had a bad dream and she’s been like this ever since I picked her up…
I told her about my dream…
The one where I can’t find my bus in the morning,
I’m searching for it everywhere,
and I can’t get to all of the kids…
Amour still sobbing from the ball she’s turned herself into in her seat…
I walked back to my house and barely made it up the stairs…
A sad bear,
struck by lightning…
I know those dreams,
of not being able to get to all of the children,
and I know them from my waking life too…
Last night I was reading some educational research,
on Vygotsky’s cultural-historical activity theory…
A study on open-discussion around literature,
and making personal connections with a shared text,
in secondary classrooms…
Fancy words for an elevated book club…
It was interesting,
and thought provoking,
but left me wondering,
as I always am,
about what we are doing in schools,
and why…
When I hear educators using the expression,
the most bang for the buck,
I want to vomit at a connotation,
too coarse for the sensitivity of children,
and the public role in the unfolding of gifts,
and soul code…
The first thing I ask my children when they wake up in the morning is,
How was your sleep???
and,
What did you dream about???
Sometimes they remember their dreams,
and sometimes they don’t,
but they know that they are always dreaming…
I can’t remember ever not having dreams,
but I know there are times I have forgotten them…
Sometime in the last week I had a dream I was flying around…
Seeing Vancouver,
and the neighbourhood where I live,
long before all of the creeks and streams and ferns and moss were covered up with pavement…
I landed in a small wooden house…
Everything was set up neat and tidy…
The bed was made…
There was an elderly gentleman of African descent wearing a suit with a bow-tie,
a hat,
some spats over his shoes…
A song and dance man…
He sat in a chair with his walking cane,
water from his sadness covered the floor up to his ankles…
The chair beside him was empty…
He was waiting,
for his partner to return,
for a dance of respect,
and connection…
I felt his missing,
and his longing,
took his hand,
and said,
I’m going to show you something beautiful…
And off we flew…
But time makes you bolder...
Wooden crosses…
Through all of this,
I am compelled to write in order to uncover what I don’t know…
To travel with ideas until they take me beyond.
what I know,
to reveal new,
and deeper sense…
In writing I am on a quest…
There is more to discover…
One way to search is to tell stories to each other,
and to listen carefully with our inner ears,
for the particular soundings these ideas create in our lives,
and in our practice…
— In Bringing Learning to Life by Louise Boyd Cadwell
Some days I want to say to hell with buckwheat flour,
legumes,
and exercise…
Today is one of those days,
when I just want to eat deep fried chicken wings,
watch men run around in skintight knickerbockers,
and piss beer…
But my children are part blood hound,
and when they come back from their home with their father,
they drag their ears,
and run their noses,
along the floor,
start sleuthing,
making observations,
and asking hard questions…
Like,
Let’s see if anyone interesting has called (scanning call display)…
Looks like someone’s been enjoying some Boylan’s around here (lifting bottle)…
So just how was that Creamy Red Birch Beer??? (sniffing contents)
I’m basically forced into ascetic living,
by the fact that I have given birth,
to two card carrying members,
of the Ladies Temperance Society…
I was getting stir crazy in the house this afternoon,
and my station wagon needs some running time,
on high grade gasoline…
So I headed over to the Great Canadian Superstore,
to get the week’s supply for sandwiches,
and some St. Louis style side ribs,
for some pork and beans…
Some people think you need to go to Borneo,
or the Orinoco,
to be an anthropologist…
Not I my friend…
The GCS in North Van,
or anywhere else in the GVRD,
is fertile territory for the study of lost culture…
In my hunt for cotton puffs,
I observed a couple in their early-fifties ,
near the pharmacy,
making a prophylactic selection…
I wanted to say,
Wasabi,
with a voice of encouragement,
but when you only see one person in the pair,
walking away with a smile,
while the other displays the cold fear of Cialis,
it’s best to keep such comments to yourself…
In baking supplies I saw a bottleneck,
across from the cornstarch,
and I heard a little girl’s voice say,
Mommy,
I think you’re holding up traffic…
Turned the corner into cereals,
and saw a boy run the cart,
into his father’s achilles…
Dad took over the cart,
saying,
I’ll be doing the driving now…
And when he saw my smile,
said,
This is the third time today…
I’m scared for when he turns sixteen…
By the time I got to the checkout,
with all of those people,
I was thinking,
God I love it here…
The woman in front of me,
in the line up,
was making some last minute decisions,
between a box of cookies,
and pajama pants…
She turned to me,
as she held both items in her hands,
weighing out her options,
and said,
All it takes to keep a woman happy is some new clothes,
a stiff drink,
and a good man…
I looked at her,
waiting,
in silence,
for her elaboration…
She said,
emphatically,
Oh, I have a good man…
I thought but didn’t say,
then why do you need new clothes,
booze,
and convincing,
to keep you happy,
because I wanted to open up,
the flow of conversation…
Then somehow,
suddenly,
things morphed,
as we slid onto the topic,
of ghosts,
and the feeling of presence,
right there,
on that Indian land,
in the middle of the afternoon…
Where did my body go??? (photo of Santos: Starshine)
Staple gun…
God had commanded all the animals who had been on board the Ark,
to dig out channels and pits for rivers and lakes,
once the waters had abated…
All the creatures started to work hard to accomplish the task,
except for the woodpecker,
who simply sat on the top of the mast and laughed at their endeavours…
As a punishment,
the woodpecker was commanded that it should forever more have to dig holes in order to build its nest,
and the bird would also have to cry out for raindrops whenever it was thirsty…
Indeed,
in France the ‘yaffle’ sound the bird makes is interpreted as ‘pluie-pluie-pluie’,
literally ‘rain-rain-rain’,
so the woodpecker really does seem to be calling for the heavens to open!!!
— in The Secret Language of Birds by Adele Nozedar
Four or more years ago I got call,
from out of the blue…
It was my former father-in-law asking me if I’d be willing to help him in his process of annuling his first marriage…
His second wife was raised United,
or Presbyterian,
I can’t remember anymore,
and had recently had a conversion experience beside the statue of the Virgin Mary,
while touring the new cathedral in Los Angeles…
Her rheumatoid arthritis was flaring,
and she would not rest until she’d been married in the Catholic Church…
He said he needed evidence that the marriage between his first wife,
and himself,
had been a mistake,
and should never have happened…
And when wondering who could offer up such confession,
for some strange reason,
I popped into his head…
I listened to his story,
and sat with the request for a moment…
After doing the long division,
I told him straight out that I couldn’t do it…
I told him that despite everything that had happened between myself,
and his son,
we have children together…
Children we both wanted,
and who would not be who they are if they had a different father…
Children who had chosen his son,
and myself,
to be their parents,
for the purposes of fulfilling destiny,
and healing history…
I told him that even though I was still in the process of reconciling,
the mixed feelings I had about my ten year relationship with his son,
if he’d had different parents,
he wouldn’t be the person he is…
Then I told him what I could do…
I told him that I would ask for the situation to resolve itself in a way that was best for all parties involved,
even if we couldn’t yet see what that might be…
I told him that I understood what he and his wife wanted,
and why,
and that some other evidence would surely present itself so that it could happen…
We said goodbye and hung up the phone…
He called me some time later,
and left me a message,
that it had all worked out…
The archbishop of the local diocese received an easy answer to the question,
and further testimony was no longer necessary…
Yesterday afternoon I took my big red car in for an oil change…
My mechanic is a funnyman…
I can hardly understand a word he says,
except for,
I do it for you cheap…
When I went to fetch my vehicle,
upon the completion of the work,
he wanted to talk about his power,
and demonstrated it on my little bicep,
with his index and middle finger…
See,
I only touch you light,
and you hurt so much…
I couldn’t get a word in edgewise,
to tell him,
I’m super-sensitive,
and I need to be handled with care,
because he was flooding me with the details of his weekly personal training program,
which includes a specialized form of karate,
Qigong,
tai chi,
and ballroom dancing…
I pay $65 per hour for private lessons…
Big money…
Here, I give you card for teacher…
He wanted to know if I dance…
I showed him a hip circle,
or two…
A rainbow,
some floreos,
and expression…
He said,
If you dance,
why you have stomach so big???
I watched my nerves,
and this comment didn’t hit one,
as I’d been desensitized over the years by hearing this many times before,
from parents of my students,
my mother,
and my former partner…
I told him,
I’m not a skinny man like you…
I’m a woman…
I have to have something on the front of me to balance out what’s going on behind me…
He looked around my curves,
and said,
Don’t worry about Air Care…
My machine say,
your car pass,
no problem…
Mr.Volvosubaru started throwing punches,
and hi-ya’s!!!,
as I watched him with fascination,
thinking,
Is this real life,
or am I on American Bandstand???
And where on earth is my camera man when I need him???
Now the old king is dead…
Canuck'd 