External pathogens…
Art, like morality…
consists of drawing a line…
somewhere…
— C. K. Chesterton
I don’t sweat much…
unless I’m hiking in a jungle in Java…
or rollerblading twenty kilometres up and down hills in the Seymour Demonstration Forest…
But during Sunday morning’s strata meeting something happened that took me some time to figure out 10% of what went on…
I was sitting there cool as a cucumber while knitting a golf cardigan with some Rowan bamboo tape beside Mr. Superhighanxietyneighbour…
and when I called him on how the group had been listening and responding to his needs with support…
and now some of the women in the group were asking for some recognition for the things that worry us…
like men high up on ladders scrubbing away at sky lights without proper safety equipment…
and how he was dismissing us left right and centre,
my body became like a funnel…
and my armpits like a firehose…
as I amplified his wife’s bottled emotion through my own loudspeaker…
It was rather extraordinary…
and phenomenal…
It reminded me of staff meetings…
and sitting at the dinner table with my family of origin…
Exercising all of the air traffic control skills required to get through a meal without someone getting sucked into the eye of a storm…
Hanging round the ceiling half the time...
I knew the question was coming…
and last night as Little Gem, Starshine and I were watching Stanley Cup series post-game reviews at CBCsports.ca, I heard it…
Mama, What’s Viagra???
And are the Canucks going to need it to bring home the Stanley Cup???
Before I answer questions I make sure I ask a few of my own first…
I started with,
Where did you hear that word???
She said, as she counted the number of times they appeared on the screen,
It’s there…
and there…
and there…
See???
Viagra.ca…
Starshine said,
I’m going to my room…
This feels like the time when you started to explain something at the dinner table…
using our Barbies…
and Ken…
I tried to skirt the subject…
as I struggled in my mind to find words for something that I don’t understand myself…
I’ve tried doing the research in preparation for this moment…
even though it really isn’t my problem…
or my department…
because I knew that one day I’d be called to the question…
The last time I was at the doctor I was waiting…
and waiting…
so I took the time to flip through the Compendium of Pharmaceuticals that was in the examining room…
I was doing research on anti-seizure medication…
and meds used for managing A.D.D….
Then I closed my eyes and turned the pages…
opening them on Viagra…
I ripped out the information for my files…
and microscopic investigation…
Cialis is a bit more subtle in advertising…
The only comments I’ve heard so far are,
That man looks like he’s going for a nice ride on that scaffolding cart…
I don’t really know what they’re trying to sell with that commercial but his wife seems to be good at taking care of her garden…
so Cialis must be right for them…
Little Gem wouldn’t let it rest…
Mama, WHAT IS Viagra???
I asked her,
Are you really sure that you want to have this conversation???
She looked at me…
emphatically…
leaving me nowhere to move…
but forward…
I began an explanation…
Each word out of my mouth opened the floor for more questions…
and some of them got very personal…
Like…
Did Papa need Viagra when you made me???
I’m going to go clean my windows with the back pages of the Georgia Straight…
Before my children get home from school…
and I get asked the question,
Why are there the words Kneel and Beg in the picture of that lady holding a stick???
And why are those two men wearing harnesses and pretending to lick each other???
By the time I was nineteen I’d figured out that if I needed to be under the influence of alcohol or drugs to do something I probably shouldn’t be doing it…
but it took until I was twenty-one to listen to what I knew…
That was back in the time when cocktails were as simple as a Paralyzer and a Long Island Iced Tea…
and coke was cut pure…
The substances that people are willing to ingest in this day and age will leave you tits up before you even swallow…
and by that time the only place left to go is six feet under…
What's love got to do with it???
Oro fluido…
Who else could Tenrec ask???
Did nobody care about his twigs???
Then Tenrec remembered Milky Eagle Owl…
He made his way to Owl’s perching place where he knew the bird spent many hours just sitting and thinking…
“Please, Owl,” he asked, “Do you think my twig-building is useless and a waste of time?”
Owl closed his eyes for several seconds, then said,
“Hmmm, I find your twig building very interesting, Tenrec…
You seem very happy when you are building and you certainly do not bother me,
or anyone else…
In fact you may inspire others to build!!!”
— in Tenrec’s Twigs by Bert Kitchen
I must say that even though I’m speaking from very limited experience I have never been as satisfied with male performance as I am with the Canucks…
This is a relationship that,
despite the ups and downs,
has been a win-win situation right from day one of the regular season…
And now that my story blanket is finished and I only have one sleeve left to go on my Alpaka Tunic,
I’m so excited with anticipation about the post-season that I’m starting a new knitting project to help me settle down,
and focus on one game at a time…
Saturday night’s game against the Calgary Flames was a solid victory,
displaying all the virtues that matter on a joint project…
Humility reached a zenith right before my very eyes…
The ego dropping was hotter than hell,
and felicity was infectious…
As for the commander of the Art Ross Trophy,
well there just aren’t words…
So I made a craft,
to show how I feel…
But it’s private,
so mind your own business…
My daughters read everything over my shoulder,
and I had enough trouble last Saturday explaining to a seven year old what it means,
to go hard to the net…
But today is a new day and I’d almost forgotten which day it was until I closed my eyes,
put my hands into my t-shirt drawer,
asked the question,
What’s going to happen now???
and pulled out something that is blue and white and green all over…
This morning I woke up from a dream that Little Gem and I were sitting at a table,
outside of Costco on Pacific Boulevard,
enjoying a butterscotch sundae…
Suddenly Alain Vigneault was there,
and sat down in front of my crystal balls…
Before we said anything we sized each other up with our solar powered,
polygraph equipment…
The data was steady and sure…
I looked into my dessert and read the swirls in the cream…
I told him,
You can do this…
There are twelve keys to bringing home the Stanley Cup,
and all of them are inside of you…
Your team is made up of the stuff,
to find all of the keys,
and open all of the locks,
one shift at a time…
He thanked me for confirming what he already knows,
put on his gold rimmed Ray Bans,
and went back to morning practice with Spring in his step…
I can’t remember the details but one of the smartest things,
and there were several to choose from,
that Canucks’ management did all season,
was refusing to talk to the media,
after a game involving Alex Burrows,
and a so-called referee…
I’m not in charge here,
but for the duration,
I would refuse to give the media,
access to Roberto Luongo…
Relationship is not a right,
it is a privilege…
Privilege is earned through respect,
sincerity,
and foremost,
through words and behaviour that do not betray trust…
As a teacher I have protected students from a lot of things…
Things that you can’t quite put your finger on…
It is very difficult to explain intention to those who wear masks,
take power,
and lord it over others…
When you smell a witch hunt you have to take a stand in the shadows,
until the fox drowns in its own well…
I can barely stomach listening to Team 1040,
and post-game media scrums…
Broadcasters and reporters trying to penetrate stainless steel,
with their senseless questions…
Each angle weaker than the one which came before it…
I always wonder,
Did they teach you to be a doorknob in school???
Or is that in your nature…
I’ve heard Alain Vigneault say,
as he holds himself back from a Lemieux,
something like,
I’ve been at this a very long time…
You can’t crack me…
I’m making a list of his comments,
and my favorite one so far is,
I don’t have an answer for that…
There is no rest for the wicked,
but a cone of silence will certainly wear down the peanut gallery…
Mr. Mojo Risin'
Battening hatches…
There’s something I love about being on the river before dawn breaks…
The world still asleep,
as I follow the frozen spine of the Moose on my snowmobile…
—in Through Black Spruce by Joseph Boyden
I have a friend who was going to see a hand specialist,
because she was having hand issues…
I reminded her that her hand is connected to her body…
The thing I love about going to my doctor of T.C.M. is that when I tell her that I have a pain in the ass,
she puts pins in the outside of my right foot,
half-way between my pinkie toe and my heel,
and on the top of my right wrist…
This defies Western medical reason,
and it’s about GD time…
I bet if I was a hockey player with a broken foot,
she’d put a pin screw in the middle of my forehead…
Then all hell would break loose,
and I’d be eating granola out of a Stanley Cup by the beginning of June…
But what do I know…
The other day I was chatting with a neighbour,
who is a C.U. nurse,
after Tangos por Fiesta class…
She was telling me about her continuing education courses,
and the tools she is gathering to help navigate the river of her life…
I asked her to tell me about a useful tool…
She sat down and said,
I tell myself BE,
OPEN UP and…
I interrupted her before she continued on,
and asked her what she means by,
OPEN UP…
She looked at me like I was one joker short of a full deck,
OPEN UP…
Like I’m opening up to you,
because we’re talking…
Then she added,
I’d really recommend for you to take this workshop…
It has changed my life…
We all need different paddles to get down the river,
and my canoe,
believeyoume,
does not need a tool for opening up…
Like a lot of the children I have worked with,
the ones I see coming through the door on the Tuesday after Labour Day right into Kindergarten,
the ones they label A.D.D. and H.A.D.D. and somewhere on the autism-spectrum,
I need tools to filter out,
and close down…
Yesterday Starshine and I went on a boating adventure with her friend Sunshine,
and one of Sunshine’s older sisters…
Starshine had left her soccer jacket there after a sleepover the night before,
and she didn’t know where to find it…
Sunshine said,
I already looked for at least 40 minutes,
through all of the shoes,
in the basement…
Sunshine’s sister said,
What does it look like???
Starshine gave a simple description…
I saw the look in the sister’s eye…
She walked off and in a minute,
she was back holding the jacket,
in her hand…
Sunshine said,
She always knows where everything is…
Our lost homework…
My dad’s keys…
Anything the rest of us can’t find…
I looked at Sunshine’s sister,
and said,
I’m like that too…
And then I thought but didn’t say,
I can tell you that I grew very tired of finding other people’s wallets,
and the butter in the door of the fridge…
It is an important skill to exercise,
but I’ve had to learn that I’m not responsible for settling other people down,
in the middle of their anxiety dumps…
They need to learn to do it for themselves,
and I know the message registered somewhere…
We all got in the car and buckled up for safety…
But before driving off,
I cracked open a little book that I keep in the door of my wagon,
for the purposes of random guidance,
and saw these words,
from the Mystery of the Hidden Staircase:
The best way to clear one’s mind is to commune with nature…
— in Nancy Drew’s Guide to Life by Jennifer Worick
I read it aloud…
There were giggles from the back seat,
and the standard eye rolling…
I said,
You may laugh at me now,
but you will learn to love me later…
I saw Starshine collapse into pleather,
hiding her head in her friends shoulder…
Partly dying,
and partly loving every minute of it…
Then I threw on some music,
only to hear,
Our art teacher thinks you’re a hippy,
because you hula hoop and listen to Le Vent du Nord…
I said,
Your art teacher is too young to know what a hippy is,
and I eat too many potato chips to be one…
She should try to be a bit more open minded,
and not so quick to name call…
The last person to call me a hippy was named Daisy…
She lost my business,
and all of my recommendations…
That would translate into thousands,
with today’s strong dollar…
As we drove along I asked more about the gift of finding…
I asked Sunshine’s sister questions to see how her mind operates…
She said,
Most of the time I’ve seen it somewhere and I remember…
Other times I just know…
This morning,
in between making prosciutto salami sandwiches,
and getting skewered with pins,
I found a casualty,
right under the wooden KinderKitchen,
beside the fridge…
A small surprise left by ghosts of cats past,
with eyes still as bright as onyx…
You came along and took me out of the night time...
Canuck'd 