Blue lines…
Out of nowhere, Leon found his voice…
Though cracked and dry and uneven…
his song was loud and passionate…
filled with commanding urgency…
It was the biggest sound the pond had ever heard…
He sang until his friends stopped and listened and understood…
— in Leon’s Song by Stephanie Simpson McLellan
A little boy once put his hand up while I was reading to the class,
and he told me,
Teacher, I’m a vision-ree…
I can see things before they happen…
I didn’t dismiss him,
or silence him,
because I felt the truth of his words…
But more importantly he was wearing Spiderman sneakers,
so I believed in him,
and I thanked him for his message…
Sometimes strangers come up to me and say,
Who are you???
I think that despite all of the bad press it must be easy for Luongo and all of his team mates,
if they ever forget who they are,
or they have days when they aren’t so sure,
they can stand in front of a three-way mirror and see their names on the backs of their jerseys…
In 2007 I attended a one day conference at S.F.U. Harbour Centre…
Academic conferences give me hives,
but when you’re a graduate student you need to attend these sorts of things to get a sense of what other people are saying,
and to get a sense of how what you say gets received…
I sat down for the first session…
I have no recollection what the conversation was about,
all I remember is that I said something…
Something about how our purpose for being here is to wake up…
I also wanted to say, and smell the coffee, but I had my wits about me enough to filter…
After the session I was standing in the hallway eating a standard issue hospitality cheese scone,
and I felt a cluster of people whispering,
and looking in my general direction…
I smiled…
They approached…
The woman had her notebook flipped open…
The man asked me, pointing to the notes,
Did you say this???
I read what she’d written down…
I said,
I’m pretty sure I did…
He said,
Who’s idea is that???
I said, I don’t know…
I guess it was my idea at the time…
I tried not to say it but the pressure was building in my chest and I couldn’t contain it anymore so I had to let it out…
He said,
It’s very Buddhist…
I said,
I don’t know anything about Buddhism…
I’m just trying to keep it all on the ground floor…
I went to the next session…
A power point presentation on mind-fullness…
I promise you,
if you’re in search of irony there is no better place to find it than in academic squares masking themselves as circles…
I sat there and listened…
Pressure built in my chest…
I moved it up to my throat,
and threw up a question,
about something that wasn’t sitting well with me…
Even though this professor is seen to hold all the knowledge in the area,
I’ve seen him deferred to time and time again,
it hadn’t occurred to him to consider that maybe some things are best left sacred…
I went up to the professor to reiterate my point of view…
He said,
I know people who would want to talk to you…
Do you have a card???
I don’t play cards…
I prefer games of dirty word Scrabble…
I’d like to know where someone gets the GD credentials and the gall to call themselves a sleep expert…
I’d also like to know how much THE organization is paying to have someone tell them when they need to get their team home to bed,
or when they need to get up to take the morning charter…
I know her only intention was to help,
but when my beloved principal said to me,
I want to prepare you for your interview,
just to make sure you say all of the right things…
I wondered how I’d gotten this far in life without her…
All of the real men of genius who keep going on about what is and isn’t working for the Canucks should take an afternoon off,
and have some pre-game sex…
If there is a straight line to the Stanley Cup I don’t want to know about it…
I’d be bored stiff,
and no one would want that responsibility on their hands…
A young professor once handed back a project that I had put my heart into…
He said to me, with the face of a little boy who isn’t getting what he wants when he wants it,
You give me all of this stuff…
like your trying to prove something…
you remind me of myself…
I thought but didn’t say,
I may be holding up a mirror,
but I’m not doing any of this for you…
I’m doing it all for my people…
All of the stuff that I have put together on assignment,
was preparation…
And its turning itself into something I could not have anticipated,
right before my very eyes…
Faith and desire and the swing of your hips...
Extra ordinary…
Teach me…
my heart said…
but I held back the words…
— in The Jade Peony by Wayson Choy
Teacher often tests our core strength,
or at least she threatens too…
She says,
I should be able to push you,
hard,
and you should still be able to hold yourself,
in your position…
She gets us to practice holding our arms in flamenco form while a partner pushes down on them,
so we can isolate our muscles and make sure that we’re working from the correct areas of our back,
while keeping our hands soft…
She tells us,
That is the arte of flamenco…
You have to hold the tension and aggression in your body,
while at the same time relaxing your hands…
Your fingers don’t move…
The movement comes from the wrist…
You must contain your energy…
Stay centered…
Give your audience something to focus on or they’ll get nauseous…
And work with the element of surprise…
Before you know it everyone will be eating out of your hand…
Sounds like a back to basics game plan for the Canucks and their war pipes…
When I get back from bata de cola tonight,
I’m expecting the tale of the tape,
to be screaming out,
a sound recipe,
for how to train your dragon,
in 4D…
I had another dream about Alain Vigneault last night…
He was in the middle of a snow storm…
Calmly shoveling his way out from where he was,
wearing his gold rimmed Ray Bans…
I told him,
You already know this…
The key is the unexpected…
A little bit of kung fu panda…
As he drove off into the stormy night he threw something over his shoulder…
Something about subscriptions to satellite radio,
and a call,
from out of nowhere…
Riding across the desert on a fine Arab charger…
Teaching tools…
I had a thought,
on the way home from the rock field,
that the things we don’t know about a person are the things that make them human…
And it made me sad to think that,
but sad in that reassuring way that some sadness has…
A sadness that says welcome home in twelve different languages…
— in A Complicated Kindness by Miriam Toews
Today is a soup kind of day,
so I’m making one,
with a ham hock from J, N & Z Deli on Commercial Drive…
Last week I rode my bike up to Little Gem’s school,
for the purposes of accompanying her class,
to the community swimming pool,
for group lessons…
But as per usual I was ahead of schedule…
At least this time I was only early by a week…
It is quite a major hike between home and school,
but the bonus is that the route goes right past the Purdy’s Chocolate Factory…
So on the way home I stopped for a few of my favorite things…
Like an ice-cream bar dipped in dark chocolate and rolled in roasted almonds,
a few pieces of chocolate covered candied ginger,
caramels sprinkled with Himalayan salt,
and a hand full of mint melties…
When I learned that I was a week early for swim class volunteering,
I rode down to sit on a bench at the Fraserview Golf Course…
It was a spectacular day…
Trees in blossom…
Fresh breeze…
I sat there knitting…
This kind of activity never fails to bring peanuts out of the gallery…
It wasn’t minutes before a scruffy looking middle aged man,
made some comments,
as he practiced on the putting green,
That looks like a nice place to relax…
I had to set him straight,
I’m not relaxing,
I’m doing research…
On the first tee???
On everything…
I’m studying the ritual…
The code of conduct…
The social graces…
The hits and the misses…
You can tell a lot about spinal integrity by how someone shows up,
and sets up…
You sound like you’re a golfer…
I intend to be a pro…
This item that I’m working on is part of the plan…
The outfit is very important,
it can affect your game…
He looked down at himself,
and waving his hand like a scanner from head to toe asked,
How am I doing???
I said,
You definitely could use some polish…
The opportunity to golf should never be taken for granted…
It is rare,
and it is an occasion…
You need to rise to it…
Teacher always talks about how what we wear to class makes a difference in how we dance…
She notices and appreciates that I take the time to make an effort,
and that I don’t treat her like an aerobics instructor,
because she isn’t…
She is a flamenco goddess who puts a lot out,
and she wants something back…
There are not many places to dance in life,
where one is accompanied by live musicians,
and singers,
when you’re a beginner,
so I make the most of it…
I can’t make sense of what happened in game three,
of the series,
between the Vancouver Canucks and the L.A. Kings,
and I know I’m not alone…
All I know is that one of the twelve languages of loss is Luongo…
Little Gem saw right through to his sorrow…
and she said,
Mama, he needs one of your poems…
Do you have just the right one for him???
And it just so happens that I do…
So I sent it to him,
on the spot,
with special delivery…
A simple prop to occupy my time...
Canuck'd 