Puck god…
I’ve been on the angry side of things this week…
But I try to save profanity,
for special occasions…
My parents didn’t give a thought,
to surrounding my sister and I,
with people,
we could look up to…
My father’s youngest brother,
also known as my uncle,
was the first person to roll me a joint,
when I was fourteen,
or so…
And he takes pride in the fact,
that he taught my children,
how to pick their nose…
They prefer tissue…
Several years ago,
at a family gathering,
my uncle said,
out loud,
What is it about your children???
They’re so different,
than these other ones…
With awareness of how my sister and cousin,
might be feeling,
about this insensitive,
public comparison,
I said,
It must be that they come,
from a broken home…
Or because I don’t talk down to them…
Last February,
in a doctoral level seminar,
one of my classmates was quite fired up,
about the racism she has experienced,
and witnessed,
as a Sikh,
in her Fraser Valley community…
And rightly so…
She talked,
as I listened,
about how Indo-Canadian students do not see themselves,
reflected in their schools…
And then in the next round of discussion,
she made a comment,
about those poor children,
of single mothers,
in East Vancouver…
I,
somehow,
completely missed the segue,
but wasted no time in putting,
my business card,
right down,
on that table…
She tried to talk her way out of the corner,
she’d backed herself into,
and discovered,
her wheels were stuck…
A few weeks ago on the soccer field,
a casual conversation about a Christmas trip to Hawaii,
morphed into slurring THE Chinese…
And in the next breath,
this man told me how he IS,
a Christian…
I said,
I thought you were Italian…
Didn’t you grow up Catholic???
He said,
I did…
But then when I was twenty-one I had this huge epiphany,
about the hypocrisy of the Catholic church,
and dedicated my life to Jesus…
I’ve self-published a spiritual book of teachings…
I’ll bring you a copy next game…
I shut the conversation down,
and then was compelled to re-open,
it a few minutes later,
with a teaching of my own…
In 2007 my children’s paternal grandfather,
flew the three us of down to Los Angeles,
for a Spring holiday…
I believed his intention was to re-connect,
with his grandchildren…
But on our way to The Pond,
for Game One,
of the Stanley Cup Finals,
I got cornered with pressure…
The details aren’t important,
but the message became clear,
that due to Grampa’s recent return,
to the Catholic church,
after a more than forty year lapse,
he thought I should bring my children up,
through the same door…
I was raised Catholic,
in a meaningless,
guilt ridden,
trying to look good kind of way…
While my father nodded off in the pew beside me,
I found core values inside myself…
And as I looked at my former father-in-law,
driving down the highway in a Porsche SUV,
I hit him with a message right where it counts,
and a light went off…
He said,
I just got it…
All the things you’ve been telling me…
I need to go to a church to find God,
but your house of God is inside of you…
And that is what you teach your children…
Not by talking,
but by living it…
I didn’t offer anything more than a polite smile,
because I didn’t have the keys in my hand…
And as I looked out the passenger side window,
to see some young men,
pushing a white pick-up truck,
down the middle of the freeway,
Grampa yelled out,
Don’t make eye contact!!!
Those are Mexicans…
They live by a different set of rules than you and I…
They’re dangerous,
and violent people…
As he sped past,
I wondered about the Mexican labourers on whose sweat,
this born again Catholic,
has built his fortunes…
THOSE Mexicans,
who tend the course,
where he enjoys,
his golf…
By the time I got back across the 49th parallel,
onto Canadian soil,
I had a wicked case of laryngitis,
from choking back THOSE words,
inside MY HOUSE,
of GOD…
We are meat... and we are spirit...
Just BE it…
Dr. Heesoon Bai once said to me,
as I ranted through a conversation under lamplight in Parking Lot C,
Theory without practice is like wearing panties without elastic…
In response I wrote to classmates in EDUC 902 through SFU connect…
As follows,
February, 2009:
Dear ALL,
In clarification of my location I wish to offer a pair of my panties…
I NEVER go bareback,
as this would challenge my Victorian sensibilities beyond belief…
But the elastic in my panties is strong enough to hold them up without constriction,
it simply invites an interface of tension…
In fact my elastic comes with an invisible guarantee of affect specific to each individual experiencing the line,
if they are open to being touched…
I’m not saying that my panties are the only ones to wear,
or the best ones,
or that others don’t wear similar pairs…
But I am saying that these are the panties that I choose to wear,
at this point in time,
in this particular context…
And the feedback I get,
especially in big panty departments,
is that I should keep wearing them…
Some listeners have found tears for the first time in many years,
when they hear me voice how my elastic holds the panties up…
And when I’m afraid that my panties are going to fall around my knees,
when I fear that the elastic isn’t rigourous enough,
or that the brand isn’t a manufacturing giant,
my audience tells me,
men and women included,
things like,
I’ve always wanted to wear panties like yours but I’ve never had the courage,
You have to keep talking about panties with your elastic,
because I can feel how they hold things up,
and I see how your elastic speaks to your panties,
and mine,
with a critical integrity…
And as the change room is able to hold everyone,
there are always the puritans in the room…
There are also those who continue to believe that even a half,
but usually a full body corset is the ONLY way to go…
And a few giving lip-service to a balancing act,
but persisting in the opinion that the only support substantial enough is the tried and true…
I’m sure it is no coincidence that the post-structuralist name for the post-modernist corset is called Spanx,
and it smacks of bra-lelujah…
Panties aren’t exclusive to Kaufhof, Lafayette, Neiman Marcus, Harrod’s, or Holt Renfrew…
I’ve found my most receptive and penetrating of fabrics at bus stops,
under chestnut trees,
on playgrounds,
at the ATM,
and even at the check-out of the Great Canadian Superstore…
And in those moments of stumbling around such a rich world,
I was so happy that my panties were loose enough for me to hear some of the surrounding acapella…
With a real set of knockers and a fresh pair for a new day,
YOURS…
PhilosophyDoll
Well, the rain exploded with a mighty crash as we fell into the sun…
Winter mourning…
The salt off the inlet and the rich sturdy smell of cedar filled his lungs,
and his heart,
with ghosts…
The ghosts of the long dead,
whose ungathered chains and hanging skirts and tattered feathered wings were what keep them tangled up in the branches of trees…
The forest,
the mountain’s big beard—
the biggest,
creature-infested beard of them all—
bristled with millions of trees…
Vancouver had a living smell…
— in The Man Game by Lee Henderson
I recently met a woman who has written a book about how to live a life you love…
And then a minute or so after handing me her business card,
and gushing about her wellness workshops,
she told me that she finds it so difficult to live in Vancouver…
She can’t stay here much longer…
She needs to go somewhere else to do what she wants to do,
creatively…
I raised an internal eyebrow in the shape of a question mark…
But then I’m not one to talk…
I have a copy of YOU are the Answer…
When everything feels like the movies...
Today I broke a habit…
Instead of going back to bed after Starshine and Little Gem got on the school bus,
which has been my standard operating procedure for the last little while,
I went out on the sidewalk and hula-hooped myself into a lather…
Four years after buying an IPod I’ve finally figured out how to use it,
without reading a book,
and I worked it into my circus routine…
And this morning I got a big thumbs up from all the neighbourhood ladies,
who make it their business to go through the blue bins,
before the recycling truck rolls down the street…
Many years ago I learned to say good morning in Cantonese…
It takes nothing more to make a person smile,
from ear to ear,
in this Chinatown,
than being greeted by a mother’s tongue with a friendly,
早晨. Jóusàhn.
Remembering a few simple sounds,
goes a long way to connecting with a lost soul train…
A smile from a veil... Do you think you can tell???
While I was whirling up and down the street,
Dickie J from next door took Baby Jack out for his morning pee,
all over my Abraham D’Arby…
Dickie J asked me if I’d forgotten to take my meds…
I assured him that this kind of activity precludes the need for meds…
But a weekend decaf latte would be just what the doctor ordered…
By 9 am. I had so much energy coursing through my body I’d washed the front porch,
and started reorganizing my basement…
In the Summer of ’07 I was on my way home through the Okanagan from a roadtrip to the Rockies…
Starshine, Little Gem and I spent the night at a rustic fishing resort,
off of a logging road high in between Coldstream and Oyama…
Prime Pine Beetle country…
When I woke up in the morning,
with the scent of woodstove in the air,
Little Gem held my face in her hands and said,
I’m getting a message…
We need to go home right now,
and you need to start packing up the house…
When I get messages I do what I’m told,
on the double…
So we got in the car and made it home by dark…
When I listened to my voice mail after being away for a week,
a friend had called,
to say,
I’ve got a bunch of moving boxes for you…
Just let me know when I can drop them by…
Two days later I’d packed up half my house…
And just when I’d run out of boxes another friend called and said,
I have some moving boxes if you need them…
Now the thing about seeing things before they happen is,
you never know when they’re going to happen,
or how,
so you just have to be ready,
at a moment’s notice…
And the thing about packing up half of your house,
is that after two and half years of those things you thought you needed,
and couldn’t let go of,
sitting in boxes,
you realize that you don’t want them anymore,
and it is time to send them downriver…
Today I took a van load of household items up to My Sister’s Closet,
for women who are rebuilding their lives,
and starting anew…
And this last week I made a quilt from clothes that I wore in my twenties…
Clothes that were buried in my basement for fourteen and more years…
I cut the clothes up into squares,
placed them with intention on my living room carpet,
and then sewed them into place,
with purpose,
and closure…
This morning while I was washing down my front porch,
a classmate from flamenco walked by…
She said that mine used to be a punk rock house in the early 80’s,
and that she would party here…
There are stories full of secrets that have hungered to be heard in my house,
in the time since I packed my boxes…
And tonight,
while I was writing this,
they voiced gratitude for someone they could depend on…
Someone who would be willing to puzzle up the pieces,
by listening,
and feeling,
with a heart wide open…
And with this promise I will bring you home again...
Canuck'd 