Playing forwards…
Frida also paints things she sees through a microscope…
She loves looking at things very closely…
— in Frida by Jonah Winter
You know it’s time to change tracks when you hear this from the back seat of the car,
Mama, what is that song about???
and the answer to the question is,
It’s about being nice to a dog…
When I resigned from my school district at high noon on the Friday before Labour Day,
I had no idea what my next move was going to be,
I just knew that I had to make this one,
NOW…
And my decision couldn’t have been better,
for the young new teacher,
who wanted to stay in the same school,
and solidify her contract situation…
As I moved my boxes out of the classroom,
that had been my home for a decade,
and more,
she moved in hers…
My principal drafted my resignation letter for me,
with no reservations,
and a lot of respect…
And I got in my car,
and drove,
to a three hour marathon,
of cranial sacral therapy…
After that I went home to bed,
for a year and a half,
getting up just enough,
so as not to be committed…
I had reoccurring dreams about my Volvo station wagon…
Sometimes it was up on blocks,
in front of my house,
burned out and stripped bare…
Sometimes it was rolling down,
a steep embankment,
into a raging river…
Sometimes it was missing completely,
and I’d be searching in a panic,
wondering how I was going to get back to work…
The worst dream was a freaking nightmare,
where the floor of the car,
was shot through,
by the body of a man who had flown off of his motorcycle,
while speeding through the parkade of the Hudson’s Bay,
and the leather seats were covered in blood,
from the both of us…
A pair of V.P.D. officers were standing beside me,
inspecting the damage,
and taking notes…
One said to me,
shaking his head,
ICBC isn’t even going to look at this claim until you clean things up in here…
I’m sure that Jungian psycho-analysts would have a field day with this information,
but the fact of the matter is that these are my dreams,
and I get to make what I want out of them…
It took some time before I got the scientific data to back up my dreams…
My hemoglobin was on empty…
I had no iron in my engine…
My thyroid was burned out…
My liver were clogged…
My adrenals were overheating,
and my brake fluid was leaking all over the road…
But my timing belt was in perfect condition…
I just needed to trust my own mechanic to get my car back on the road…
Last night was a fabulous game for Vancouver Canucks goalie Andrew Raycroft…
I marveled at his stats when I got back from bata de cola,
where teacher introduced us,
to the final section,
of our group choreography…
The whole piece is fantastic,
and inspires mastery…
Note to Lou:
Contrary to what sporting commentators have to say,
you are definitely not suffering from an Olympic hangover,
and the crash of an emotional high…
That theory is riddled with more holes than Swiss cheese…
You’re just doing for Raycroft what Brodeur did for you…
And more importantly,
your team,
which includes me,
is behind you 110%…
Just ask Ryan Johnson…
He knows…
I picked him up on my smart cookie detector,
and the reading was exponential…
Now I’m back in the ring to take another swing…
Cat fight…
Do you know how fine you are to me, Mary MacGregor???
And you to me…
— Rob Roy and Mary Helen MacGregor, to each other
There is violence against men,
perpetrated by men…
There is violence against women,
perpetrated by men…
And there is the insidious historical practice of violence against women,
by women…
It’s all over Hollywood…
But it also happens between real people…
And it can be as subtle as a look,
or a thought,
or a failure to act in good conscience…
I must carry some guilt,
because when I’d meet people from my own schooldays,
bringing their children to my classroom door,
for the first day of Kindergarten,
the first thing I’d ask when we got some time beside the house corner is,
Was I mean to you???
I never received an affirmative on that question,
but the feelings and self-doubt,
inside of me,
still ferment like cabbage in Medalta crockery…
I worked for a principal whom I protected from day one,
as if I were John Brown standing in a kilt beside a white horse…
One day all hell broke loose during lunch,
out near the parking lot,
in plain view of the horrified noon hour supervisors…
Some of my students were involved in playing out a scene,
from a much larger picture of the adult world,
and it was a giant cry for help…
The next day I was called down to the principal’s office,
because a parent couldn’t get no satisfaction,
until she had me on a meat hook…
I was told,
She wants blood…
And its yours…
You’re to just sit there and suck it up…
And as I sat there and swallowed a leader’s grave error,
I watched her vacate from responsibility…
Leaving her body behind,
like a ghost at the table…
And as the parent whose children I had carefully supported for six years,
fired finger pistols and threats,
I flew above it all with binocular vision,
knowing that this was either preparation for something bigger,
than what I could see at the time,
or a flash from the past…
Later my queen said to me,
I didn’t bring your colleague in as witness to support you…
because he’s going places and I didn’t want him taken down in the crossfire of this mess…
I said,
quietly,
I’m going places too,
only I’m going to them somewhere else…
They travel in packs of two or three…
I had an arch nemesis when I was growing up…
I’d mention her name because it is out of this world,
but she’s on Facebook…
There is a reason I have a strong distaste for Sandra Bullock movies…
Nothing against Sandra Bullock,
but she looks too much like the girl across the road,
and I don’t need any reminders…
I know my organs are processing the energy of jealousy/anger/rage/competition,
when this girl shows up in my dreams…
I wake up sweaty with the same feeling I had as a child,
watching her,
while she stood at the end of her driveway,
with a Giant Slurpee,
and all the other neighbourhood girls,
who were my friends…
Or the time when she had ponies at her birthday party,
and my sister and I were the only kids on the street not invited…
Or when she’d turn perfect cartwheels,
in the petals of the cherry blossom trees that covered her lawn…
I always wanted cherry trees but my mother said they made too much of a mess in the yard…
The apples on her tree were bigger,
and the branches were stronger for climbing…
I longed for the unconditional love of my own English Cocker Spaniel…
She had a Samoyed that snapped at my hands…
Her sister would often push my little sister in the ditch…
Just a small tap of the foot on the back of my sister’s tricycle…
But I couldn’t do anything in retaliation because I’d have to go to confession,
and her sister didn’t get enough oxygen at birth,
so she just didn’t know any better…
I knew that she knew better…
I tried to build bridges,
and let my guard down…
Things would be okay for a while,
and then she’d trip me up while I’d be putting on my shoes as I was leaving her house,
after an afternoon of Barbies and Black Beauty…
Adding lip,
so as I was left with no choice but to twine my fingers in her hair,
until she screamed bloody murder…
Her father bit his fingernails AND toenails,
and stank of rancid Brylcreem…
Her chain smoking mother sold Avon by the truckload,
had whiskers,
and yeast infections…
I always wished I could move somewhere else,
faraway…
Twenty-years on the same road can be hard time…
But now I know that if I did move somewhere else,
someone else would be there,
to offer the same lessons…
I’ve learned to be grateful for her finger on my triggers…
For showing me how I didn’t want to be,
and providing the contrast,
for what to look for in a good friend…
One of the many things I love about my flamenco classes is that it is full of women,
supporting the essence,
of each other’s growth…
And despite all of the insecurities and needs we each bring to the circle,
I believe it is the frequency held by the teacher,
and our will to be different,
for the good of the whole,
that powers this positive change…
Safe in the trees, you had tears on your face…
A few weeks ago in Bulerias por Fiesta class someone took me aside and said,
I notice that you ask all of the questions that we’re all thinking but can’t find the words for,
and you’re not afraid to say them…
How did you learn to do that???
I didn’t have an easy answer for her…
I just whispered something out of the corner of my mouth…
Something about needing to stay,
one step ahead,
of the enemy…
Capture the flag…
I just like being in water…
It’s the one place that I can think...
— Percy Jackson in The Lightning Thief
I haven’t had much experience with coaches…
In fact I’ve had none…
But I must say that Alain Vigneault earns respect from me,
for how tight lipped,
he is,
about his players…
He’s like a vault,
and no one can crack him,
no matter how hard they try,
with their rhetorical questions,
and sneaky angles…
Alain has clearly heard it all…
And sometimes during Coach V RAW,
I believe his looks could kill…
I had to leave the playground the other day,
otherwise my children would have been writing to me,
in jail…
I was sitting on a bench watching some parents,
and their very young children,
while Little Gem and Starshine played Grounders…
One family had a friend hanging out with them…
A mortgage broker going over some papers at the edge of the sand…
He was surrounded by two and three year olds who wanted to know what he was doing…
He had one of those haircuts that is all the rage right now…
The kind that looks like a strong wind hit him from behind,
and then smacked him upside the forehead,
before taking it’s business elsewhere…
Little Gem has mentioned to me,
That haircut is okay on boys,
but it is not a good look on a man…
They really should shave their heads…
Ten years from now Kelly Hrudey and Dan Murphy are going to look back on this and laugh…
I wasn’t laughing when I heard Mr. VIP mortgage broker say,
in an all squinty-eyed high pitched baby-talk voice,
We’re playing grown-up…
And when the children asked,
in plain English,
about the application package and pens he held in his hands,
What are those???
His brilliant answer was,
These are grown-up things,
for playing grown-up…
I looked around for a weapon of destruction,
and considered using my knitting needles to bring a point home,
but instead I got up,
and walked away…
When you’re surrounded by genius,
at the playground,
you need to show up,
like a normal human being,
and remember who you’re talking to…
Every time I see your picture I cry...
When I buy cream,
for my old crows feet,
at Beautymark,
the owner says,
We’re not going to be able to help you with the dark circles around your eyes…
That’s a pigment issue…
It’s beyond the scope of the products we carry…
How was I to know that Alice in Wonderland would feature so much eye shadow,
on just about everyone…
When it comes to fashion statements I can be so ahead of my time…
All I have to do is make a subtle application of matte powder,
for a look like Alice…
Or sparkles,
for looking like a Mad Hatter…
It all depends on whom,
I want to play out,
in each moment…
My neighbour was surprised that I took my children to see Tim Burton’s new film…
She thought it was about the loss of Alice’s virginity…
And she thought that there was some controversy about whether it was suitable for children…
I thought the story line was about chasing rabbits and slaying dragons…
I guess we did get to see Alice fall through a hole,
into a tunnel,
and find herself in a womb-like underworld…
Maybe I only skimmed the surface of the film,
and didn’t read deep enough into it…
I asked my daughters what they thought the core message was…
Loving it so much they’d gone back two days later to see the 3D version…
Like true scholars they didn’t consult an academic journal for another person’s interpretation…
They went directly to the original source and quoted Alice,
This is my dream…
And I can do what I want with it…
She would never say where she came from...
The Taoists axiom about controlling anger says:
If you’ve done the Liver Sound 30 times and you are still angry at someone,
you have the right to slap that person…
— in Taoist Ways to TRANSFORM STRESS INTO VITALITY by Mantak Chia
Canuck'd 