Always going, going, going on beyond

The man must change

2012-01-21T13:29:00.000-07:00

If a man and his story are in conflict ... it is the man who must change.
- from a review for "The Orphan Master's Son" by Adam Johnson

I can't wait to read this book. Not only for the story (a novel about life inside North Korea) but because this quote hits me deep. I bet in the intended context the quote isn't meant to be inspiring: in North Korea, you adapt to the story of the state or you die. The individual isn’t permitted to have a story. It's so fascinating that the North Korean leaders have been able to "make totalitarianism work." It seems impossible that the people would accept it when the model of human social development seems to be suffer repression and then rebel for the cause of freedom whatever the cost. A desire for freedom is part of our nature isn’t it? How do they do it? How does the state maintain itself and why do the people continue to accept?

This fascination with North Korea is part of the story I've made for myself. I have one or two friends who share it. It's part of their story too. What is the rest of my story? It is complex and epic. It is also never ending when I think about how I have picked it up from my ancestors and will pass some of it on to my children. The part I focus on now is this: my motivation in life has been about obtaining pleasure and avoiding discomfort. Those are the values I've inherited and are reinforced by my culture. I didn't sit down one day and choose them, I just became them because I'm a human in a culture of self-focus. I’ve learned to make my life about ME just like everyone else.

How do these values play out? Pleasure seeking: I love music, so I am continually listening to something. At work, when I drive, when I walk, when I eat, when I do dishes, often. I've got 13 days of non-stop music on my computer (according to iTunes). I buy new music at least once a month and I add my old tapes and records whenever I sit down at my computer. Music gives me pleasure so I seek it out. I ~~hoard~~ collect it and I feel ill-at-ease when I don't have it. (Like last night when I walked home from work without my earphones for my iPhone. It was weird to just walk. My mind kept recycling the chorus of the last song I listened to at work.)

That is one example of pleasure seeking. A mild one. Another is the idea that I will continue to work, I will gain respect, and I will earn more money. My reinforcement must come from the outside (money in the bank and the respect of my colleagues). That is what I believe determines my worth compared to the next person. I would love to be at the top of the hospital totem pole and if I didn’t have a family to support, I would probably be back in school, studying to become a physician. What I think about my day-to-day work is mostly meaningless. Who cares if Berta learns to use a text-to-speech computer to talk because her disease is relentlessly dragging paralysis from her distal muscles to the very source of her physical life? She will die no matter what I do, but perhaps I can help her stay connected to the outside world a little longer through the slow Morse code of her computer. I do care for her. I do. But at the end of the day, I would leave my job--leave her--if I found a way to earn more money. That is the depth of my pleasure seeking and discomfort avoidance. I hate budgeting. I hate doing the books. I hate it when we have to spend the weekend at home because we've used up all our gas money for the month. I hate opening my pay cheque and seeing the same numbers every month. I just want to be free of that worry and stress. I want more money.

I have lived my life as if I was in a car travelling here and there on empty roads. No one else is on the road. It's just me. I’ve been told that I can do whatever I set my mind to. Any dream is achievable. So, I consult my map and do my best to end up in the fancy mansion with all the wealth I could ever need, but the mansion never ever appears. The map said MANSION THIS WAY but I can never find it. Do I half-heartedly re-check my map (it hasn't been helpful so far) or do I just keep on the road I've chosen and hope for the best? In any case it doesn’t matter which I choose. I must keep on driving. I can’t stop. When I pull my head out of my ass I see that there's a lot of traffic on the road. Countless people surround me, all driving and searching for “the mansion.” I listen to the radio and I hear stories of people who have found the mansion. They love it and can't stop talking about it. It sounds so lovely! When will I find my own mansion?!

This has been my story. I don't like it. It’s the kind of story that sucks you in to wanting to know what happens next, but then when you get to the “next” it leads to another “what happens next.” There is no way to be satisfied with a story like this. It’s breeds agitation, greed, and self-loathing. Sure, I have my moments of peace, but these come most often when I distract myself. The perfect song will blow at the smoke of my fire and spread it around as if it never existed, but when the song stops, the smoke begins it's relentless writhing trip into the empty sky. And this smoke is foul. It’s like the time I stuck my head over my Grandma’s old garbage barrel and got a good whiff of burning plastic.

"If a man and his story are in conflict ... it is the man who must change."

I must let my story die. This sounds extreme. Is it the only answer? Must I stop my car, get out, and tear up my map? What will I do without that story? Who will I be? Part of the answer is I have to create my own story (not the one of greed and disappointment I’ve grown up with). I am not living in an inevitable tragedy. I’m not. I would like my story to be one of a man who burdened by too many weighty beliefs, decides one day to put them all down and walk away with peace and joy. Sounds lame. Part of me still wants the mansion. (I’m the guy who watched every episode of Lost and was sad when it ended.)

This week in yoga, we spent some time noticing our heartbeats. I had never done that before: stopped and sensed the slow rhythm of my heart. I felt a little release, like saying to myself, "it's good, everything is good just the way it is." My heart was whispering this and it added that it would be there for me for as long as I needed it. Watching out for me. Protecting me. "You will be fine," it said, "if you stop from time to time and put down your map."

When I left that focus. I found myself back in my car, my map open in front of me. I wondered how I got there and then remembered the story of my heart. I put the map on the seat beside me and eased up on the gas pedal a little. This story I'm in has a momentum that needs to unwind. To stop it cold would probably send me through the windshield. I can keep going. I will be fine. I can stop my car from time to time, get out, stretch my legs, and take a look around. In this way I will change and I will find harmony with the story. Not the story I think I should be in, but the story I AM IN. The bigger story. I will slowly let go of my expectation of what my life should be and settle in to the way it is. I will be fine.

-----

Mirror mirror

2012-01-08T15:56:00.001-07:00

Come on, I'm ready, December 2011

"Most people just skirt the edges of their dysfunction. I say get dirty with it. Embrace it. Then, when you're ready, let it go." - Tinsenpup

Mirrors. Amazing tools. I have a client who has an involuntary spasm around the right side of her mouth whenever she speaks. It curls into a not-quite sneer with lots of invisible fish hooks pulling and tugging her face in all sorts of directions. We've come to the point in therapy where she can, if she wants and is very careful, speak without the spasms, but it's effortful and not really functional for spontaneous conversation. The most difficult task I had her do was speak to me while looking at herself in the mirror. I hate it when I make my clients cry. It was brutal. And cathartic. And she survived.

I did this exercise in another way when I set myself the task of voluntary stuttering after I had well learned not to stutter. I walked up to the receptionist, someone who had only known me as a non-stutterer, and I asked her a simple question while stuttering my damn head off. Just like I used to when it was out of my control. It was earth-shattering. My ears ignited into blue flame, my eyes dimmed to blindness, my tongue turned to sand. And I survived. I came face to face with myself just like my client did literally with her mirror work. I discovered how ashamed I was of my stuttering which really means I was ashamed of myself because I was (I am) a stutterer. To despise my stutter is to despise myself.

I let go a little that day and now I am comfortable whether I stutter on purpose or not. I can honestly say that I am at peace with my stuttering.

Wouldn't it be nice to just look in the metaphorical mirror, face all the demons, and get it ALL over with like that? Forever. Just do it once and be done? Yes, it sure would. But that's not what it's like is it? We have to keep looking in the mirror. Sometimes it's literally a mirror (or a photo or a video). Sometimes it's something much more frightening.

My mirror these days is my meditation cushion. I sit on it every night for 15 minutes and notice what's going on inside my mind. I don't try to do anything, no mantras or chants, I just observe. And I squirm. Some nights it's like that terrific horror film, Paranormal Activity. I feel like I'm calling to the demons and then, of course they answer, the bastards are pissed off and ready to beat the shit out of me. If I only kept quiet, distracted myself with whiskey and TV and reading and motorcycles and sleeping and family and and and ... then they wouldn't bother me so much. Right? We all do this and sometimes we make it to the finish line without ever stopping to ask "is this really the best way to live this short life?" Maybe. I'm thinking maybe not. Once you know the demons are there, there's nothing for it--some scabs need to be scratched if they are going to heal. So each night I sit and sometimes I do battle. Fiercely! Most nights not. Most nights I sit there and trip to the past or create stories for tomorrow. I let myself escape, but I call it what it is and remind myself that I am here. Now. I am breathing and I am alive. This time I will not turn away. I will continue to sit and stand up to my bullies. I will take whatever they can dish out and I will offer love in return.

---

The mirror-work is easy for my client now and even though her mouth still spasms a little, she is more accepting of it. She has given me plenty of signals that she is ready to stop therapy. That's fine. My goals for her have been exceeded. Once you stop trying to stop something it doesn't need to be stopped. It's no fun teasing someone who only reacts with compassion.

-----

Ordinary beautiful

2012-01-03T11:36:00.000-07:00

Maybe I'll make this a series...

Plenty to see when the radio reception disappears, December 2011

-----

A step, then another

2011-12-31T00:53:00.000-07:00

I'm doing some crazy shit this week. As I slowly crawl away from the clutches of the evil Rhino virus, I feel my mojo rising. I've written two things for myself this week: a value statement that details what I think is important and a vision statement where I dare to commit to 1's and 0's the way I would like my life to be. I know, I know, it reeks of self-help, but these two things have not come at the suggestion of a well-paid self-help author. I came up with these on my own. Yep. Mostly.

And tonight, I've done something else. I'm going to a party. I generally hate parties. Especially the ones where I don't know anyone and arrive alone. I'm good at small talk and shmoozing, but it's all an act. My true self prefers to be in a little booth behind one-way glass where I can observe the world without notice. I have those in my work so I can watch kids interact with their parents and make observations on their language skills. Yeah, that's my idea of perfect. I would be great invisible man, nothing perverted, just some benevolent witnessing and recording. So what is this party deal? I joined Scribophile in hopes of getting some of my writing read and critiqued. Hiding out in my invisibility suit is not good for learning and improving. Writing isn't writing unless it is read (à la tree falling in the forest). It's time to drag my sorry ass into the world of the living shed my invisibility.

Hi, my name is Michael. You look like someone I'd like to know.

-----

Reason to create #787

2011-12-27T11:32:00.000-07:00

I'm grateful to our artists. David Mitchell and his writing carried me through 7 days of virus-infested misery and as soon as I feel a little better, I'm going to do my bit to fight back the jaw-snapping wolves and the blizzards that whistle through the cracks.

"One writes music because winter is eternal and because if one didn't, the wolves and blizzards would be at one's throat all the sooner."
- David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy

2011-12-09T23:07:00.002-07:00

I keep writing posts as comments on this blog: THE CHEEK OF GOD. That's what I call efficient.

---

Re: Dissatisfaction with the results of the 50,000-word writing challenge that many of my fellow bloggers have participated in.

---

50,000 words is an imposed ideal that isn't quite right for me (or you), but we think we should try anyway because WE CAN ACCOMPLISH ANYTHING we put our minds too. 50,000 is a number. It can teach you (or me) about discipline, but what do you (we) want to write? "All work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy." Why do we want to pull together the discipline to write a crap-load of pages just because? I've already got a crap load of pages on my computer, slowly gathering dust as the software I wrote them on eventually becomes obsolete thus leaving those words lost forever. (I started writing when my computer ran off of a floppy disk.)

We love writing so why don't we just shut up and do it? What is the shadow of granite that keeps us on the ground. Whining. Suffering. I know how to work hard. I have the discipline to get up everyday, go to work, and fill my day to overflowing with tasks big and small. Speech Therapist. Writer. Those are just words. What is underneath? How can I (we) free myself (ourselves) from the shadow? I don't understand what I am holding on to that keeps me feeling like I could be doing more, like I'm not doing what I'm supposed to be doing. Like spitting out 50,000 words of fine creative prose. I bet I've written a quarter million words of clinical reports in the past 10 years. I attach very little personal value to them. They are part of the job. Documentation.

Can we just stop being dissatisfied? Just like that. Let go of the emotion rather than focus on the target of our dissatisfaction? Or rather, look at the emotion, the thoughts behind it and then just leave them be; see through the shadows. Or better yet, accept the shadows as a necessary product of light flowing over a life.

I heard a story on CBC this week about the woman who "invented" multiple personality disorder. Sybil Exposed. Turns out she was mentally ill, but the whole dissociation thing was primed by a suggestion from her psychiatrist and then fueled with some strong hallucinogens. The result was a book that made the psychiatrist famous and (I presume) when the drugs stopped, Sybil (not her real name) became a whole person once more.

I'm not sure why this anecdote came to mind just now. Sorting out the thoughts of the week? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the idea of dissociation is just that. An idea. Just like 50,000 words that don't exist now, but would if I only applied myself.

I'm going to step off that train. I'd rather apply myself to being whole. If I feel like writing 50,000 words after that, then that's what I'll do.

Addendum: The universe is throwing me bones left and right tonight. Here's the juiciest:
http://www.ted.com/talks/alain_de_botton_a_kinder_gentler_philosophy_of_success.html.

-----

Some sweet ukulele for a friend (or two)

2011-12-09T21:49:00.000-07:00

It must be old age. I'm really starting to dig the ukulele. Small is cool. Sadly, Bill and Iz have left us for their next gig. I think Bill Tapia just passed away.

---

---

---

-----

When I need a break

2011-12-09T20:54:00.000-07:00

When I need a break from all me moanin' I like to watch "An Idiot Abroad." Who wouldn't want to be Karl? Find more clips on YouTube. The farting cobra is pretty awesome.

-----

The will to belong

2011-11-27T13:49:00.000-07:00

Self-portrait from within, November 2011

Isn't it ironic how we are together in our loneliness? I'm lonely when I'm have something I'd like to talk about, but no one to talk with. Usually on topics of art, literature, or Buddhism. I'm around people all the time, so I must be choosing who I say what to (back to the theme of wearing different hats for different people). Big generalization time: we feel lonely because we don't seek out the company of others. What holds us back? Why don't we try? Do we prejudge what our communication partners will want to hear from us? Do we put them before ourselves? Do we think on some level that we don't deserve friends? Is it a lack of compassion towards ourselves? I don't know the answer, but I'm testing the poor self-esteem hypothesis. What I have to say is important. It is. I don't expect it to be important to everyone, but it is something that matters to me now.

I took a measure of myself this weekend. I found an old friend on FB and arranged to go for dinner. I discovered the wonders of Ethiopian food and I got to compare my memories from 20 years ago with things as they are now. I found my friend relatively unchanged (all the good things remain) and in my perception, I feel like I've come miles since those old days of art school. Good miles.

Most important! We are not who we think we are. We are not who we were 20 years ago and we are not who we think we want to be. We are much more, but we are like newborn puppies, blind to everything but our need for comfort. And yet slowly our eyes open. We have a choice whether we will SEE the world around us or remain connected to our comforts.

There is an end to loneliness, an end to our self-imposed exile. We have what we need inside ourselves (the mystical third eye?) and the search for belonging begins within. No easy task, but there is a "tribe" of people like us out there. People who are willing to face the dark in order to find the light.

-----

Unraveling the knots

2011-11-24T07:27:00.000-07:00

It's funny (not really) how I'm 47 years old and I'm still afraid of what my Mom or Dad will think of me. I believe it points out that I'm not sure what I think of me. That is the real problem, not that I care too much about what others think of me but that I don't approve of me. If I thought I was OK, then it wouldn't matter what came at me from the outside. Is this a critical lack of self-confidence? I've been told it's a 10 year process to dig oneself out of that self-esteem hole. I wonder if I can get credit for time served?

I don't lack confidence in everything I do. I can crank my motorcycle up to 180 km/h for short, exhilarating bursts and I know that if I had some track training, I could go even faster. I don't prepare madly for every client I see. My boys are turning out to be pretty darn awesome (knock on wood). I can talk to the physicians at work, even joke around with them (have you ever spent time with the dominant ego of a doctor?). I can stand up to a friendly combatant while sparring in Karate and not flinch too much when he strikes at my face (non-contact sparring thank goodness). But... but what? It all comes down to the fact that I want my life to be better and I don't think I can do it. I believe the equation is: dissatisfaction with my life = dissatisfaction with me. So do I work on my belief that I can't make it better or do I take a look at the life I have and ask, "what else could you want!?"

It's all too complicated right now. The more I think about it the more tangled I get.

The little voice in my head says, "let to go, let it go."

-----

Accept the madness

2011-11-21T06:22:00.001-07:00

I subscribe to a email newsletter called Religion Outside the Box (ROTB.org). Great stuff: insightful, practical, not preachy. Coincidental to my last post, the newsletter author, Rabbi Brian, talks today about what he calls OY thinking. Putting Others before Yourself. He simplifies things a bit by saying it's bad (mostly), but the general idea is summarized in this Thomas Merton quote he uses:

To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender oneself to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything is to succumb to violence. More than that, it is cooperation in violence. It destroys your own inner capacity for peace. It destroys the fruitfulness of your own work, because it kills the root of inner wisdom, which makes the work beautiful.

Boy, do I ever do this! Especially at work. I do it for approval and connection. Mostly for approval. On the surface it causes stress because I end up with too many things on my plate (this is bad enough -- violence to the self indeed) but on a deeper level it conveys how I am not complete within myself. I am not accepting and compassionate of myself AS I AM, faults and all. No wonder I'm getting more and more anxious. No wonder I find myself wanting to get up and run whenever I try to sit for meditation.

The connection to yesterday's post? I have collected all these metaphorical hats (personalities) because my concern has been to please others before myself. (This is also why the stink-eye I witness and back-room gossip I hear about me at work bothers me so much. If I loved myself, it wouldn't matter.) It takes too much energy to maintain it all. I didn't notice this as a younger man because I lacked the insight, but now I know what I'm doing to myself and I would like to stop. Driver? I'll get off here please. Driver? Hello? Do you hear me driver?

Only, I'm not sure how. The driver keeps going and it's too fast to jump. Can one simply stop the madness? I need to get a T-shirt made that says STOP THE MADNESS. No one will ever know I'm talking about myself. Maybe the shirt should say ACCEPT THE MADNESS. Perhaps that's the key? Embrace this thing I do as something we all do. As part of being human.

-----

Deep confusion

2011-11-20T12:50:00.001-07:00

This is one of those days where I am frustrated choosing a teaspoon from the spoon drawer in the kitchen. Should I pick the one with the classic handle, a design that's been around since spoons were invented or should I take this one that looks like it's trying to be Victorian but is light with cheap Chinese metal and has no place in anyone's tea cup? Nothing is right! I can't decide!

Grrr.

I started the morning writing a post about how I change my personality depending on who I'm with and then I got to second guessing who I wanted to read this post. I'm not comfortable writing about whatever I want on this blog anymore. It's networked too far with family and work acquaintances and I'm too chicken to be myself with everyone who might be reading it.

I think that's the part that sucks the most. I WANT to write about whatever I'm feeling at the moment and keep working on my midlife journey, but I can't push PUBLISH NOW when I'm writing about my deepest feelings and thoughts. Do I care too much about what people think of me? It seems like an insecurity situation. A self-created dilemma.

So I built this new blog complete with a new google identity to ensure privacy, but I don't want to use it. It's too complicated managing all these identities. I deleted the whole works. I want to be one person. The same person at work, home, and at the family reunion. One me.

Do I have the guts?

-----

Let's just go to Paris

2011-11-09T20:23:00.005-07:00

http://www.le-hiboo.com/1062-loney-dear/

Tonight my family and I attended the modern version of parent-teacher interviews. Instead of sitting down with the teacher one on one where we could get to scoop on how your little angels are doing, our children showed us around the classroom, leafed through some of the year's assignments, and chatted about their goals for the school year. The teachers circulated like hired hostesses.

This is a big change. Gone, apparently, are objective measures like grades (unless you hunt for them or add up test marks yourself). Instead children are judged holistically on a multitude of qualitative measures that weren't shared with us. Maybe they come later.

I best not venture an opinion on all this. Like anything in life there are merits and gaps and like everything in life it's best to not get too hung up on how things SHOULD be. I'm not going to change the school's policy for evaluation. Nevertheless, I left the school tonight feeling apprehensive. Are my boys doing well? I think so. They seem happy. The teachers smiled and nodded. But I wonder how all this touchy-feely mumbo-jumbo will translate when they are in the post-secondary world of quantitative measure? It's all about the GPA when you are studying (competing) with a pool of thousands. Maybe they'll be lost. Maybe they'll have the self-confidence to try hard and not tie themselves in knots over the numbers.

So yeah, I guess I'm not OK with this. When I got home my brain said it'll probably be good in the long run, but my gut said HEARTBURN, and my tongue was dry for whiskey.

Instead of following my usual route of discomfort escape, I chose to watch Loney Dear in the video above. His unpretentious performance, improvisational and without boundaries, along with the videographer's stream-of-consciousness shooting technique settled me right down. Art heals.

And now I want to take my boys (and my dear wife) to Paris.

-----

Many (will) (have) walk(ed) our path

2011-11-09T05:40:00.006-07:00

Many will walk the path, August 2008

"Everything changes once we identify with being the witness to the story, instead of the actor in it." ~ Ram Dass

I like this very much. My twist on the theme: "Everything changes once we identify with being a watcher of instead of being the star in our own play." It could be simpler: "Everything changes once we see ourselves in the audience as well as on the stage." I like the plurality of "as well as."

I want to let go of that idea of being alone in a theatre of empty seats or being alone under the spotlight. Because we're not. There's a feeling I've been trying to capture in my art for years that everywhere we go, everything we do, we are with others. Others have lived our lives, walked in our footsteps, felt our pain, our loneliness, and reveled in our joys. Our experiences in this life are not unique. The isolation we feel is self-induced and all these experiences past, present, and future overlap in a timeless place of acceptance.

Right now I feel like there are two of me. The solid me and the ghost me. The ghost me is trying to pull itself away but the gravity of my "self" is too strong to let it go. I'm not sure if I'm going in the right direction and I'm pretty sure the harder I try, the stronger the gravity will be. Best to let it be and see what happens. I have a story to witness.

-----

Action and repose

2011-11-06T11:07:00.005-07:00

"Action and repose, ... to properly balance these two is to understand life."
- Jim Carroll, The Petting Zoo
---
Photos from the past couple weeks.

One point, sharp, October 2011

She comes when the nights are longest, November 2011

This is what compassion looks like, from @DalaiLama (Twitter)

Food for the meek, November 2011

November, still rolling, 2011

Grandpa's hands, October 2011

-----

Golgotha of Mundare

2011-10-22T20:43:00.004-06:00

Skip the giant sausage the next time you go to Mundare and drive up the road to visit the Golgotha of Mundare instead. Way more interesting.

This fascinating structure is designed so that the faithful can visit in order to pray and meditate privately. Although it has a main outdoor altar that is occasionally used to celebrate Mass, the Grotto is essentially a combination of chaplets, prayer stations, and catacombs designed to convey and emphasize the element of mysticism in the Ukrainian Catholic religion. The idea to build the Grotto was conceived by Reverend P. Bodnar. Construction began in 1932, with the Basilians actively taking part in the project. It took approximately a decade to complete. Constructed from a combination of fieldstone, masonry, and concrete, the Grotto is crowned by an 8.5 metre steel cross that lights up the night sky. Much of the Grotto's beauty stems from the carefully-tended vines and shrubs that drape and surround it. [Source: http://www.ualberta.ca/CIUS/religion-culture/c-alberta/tour/p6.htm]

Compassion flows, October 2011

Seeds just waiting for a favorable wind, October 2011

Imprisoned, October 2011

Repose, October 2011

Nature wins, October 2011

Rising from flames, October 2011

Walking meditation, October 2011

Irony, October 2011

-----

Today is thanksgiving

2011-10-10T12:31:00.002-06:00

One candle lights a thousand more and its life is not shortened.

All we need is all around us, August 2011


Life before we forget, August 2011

My soul reflects, September 2011

Pause, September 2011

We don't need much, September 2011

All we need is everywhere to find, June 2011

Who do you think you are?

2011-10-02T18:11:00.000-06:00

Now that I have children I seem to be swearing more than I used to (it's all their fault). Or maybe I'm just noticing the amount of curse that has always tumbled from my trashy tongue (it's all my fault). ANY kind of obstacle results in a tirade of the seven words you can't say on television. A pothole by my driveway, a bolt that won't quite thread in smoothly, bread dough that rises out of the bowl and takes a walk around the inside of my clean oven, ... you name it, it's fair game for cursing.

And there they are. My boys. Watching me. Taking it all in. One word at time. They are keen students. I've seen that they know how to swear like a drunk rig-worker and they also know where (and when) they can let 'er rip.

Rules for swearing:
Not in front of adults. It's OK around Mom and Dad who might squawk, but won't really do anything. Sometimes the oldies will laugh at what we say. That's good right?

When I was a child, I was under the influence of the Pentecostal church. I used to think I would go to hell just for thinking the word fuck. And of course, that anxiety triggered the word to repeat in my mind like a manic parrot swearing his head off for the priest who has come for coffee. The worst was when a song would loop over and over in my mind's ear: "Jesus Christ, superstar, who in the fuck do you think you are." You know the kind of song: the one that plays over and over and nearly drives you crazy. The more you try not to think about it, the more you do.

I just wish it wasn't so damn satisfying to let a few choice bombs explode from my lips -- it really feels good -- and I like the idea of substitution: "Cheese and biscuits! Who peed all over the toilet seat? Have you notice that there's a hole in the middle?! Fooza!" But I can only do that when I don't really feel like swearing.

Seems like I'm in a bit of a pickle.

-----

Some reason to believe

2011-09-28T22:06:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, one of my nurse friends was crying. She wasn't out and out sobbing, but she was teary and you could hear that mournful warble in her voice. I was shocked. She is the toughest, most confident person I know. She laughs out loud in a Edith Prickley kind of way. She tells the doctors what to do for God's sake. But yesterday she came down the hall and said, "I don't usually do this, I don't usually do this."

Down the corridor in room 239, the room with leather couches and the picture of a radiant Jesus embracing an old man like he was a long lost friend, a patient passed away. Terrible, a mother of three, only 47 years old. Ordinary, cancer kills like this every day. It's terrible because a cancer death is painful and drug-fogged. It's ordinary because the place I work is where most cancer victims come to die.

Today, this same nurse was back to her usual way telling the new locum where to find lab results and then telling him to walk around the counter and get them himself because she was busy dealing with another patient who wanted to go outside for a smoke, but couldn't find a blanket to drape over his basketball swollen feet.

"What year do you think this is?" she said. "1950? Pfft Ha! The last time I checked those tough old rooster legs of yours were still working. Pfft Ha! You just strut around the counter and fetch those results yourself."

It struck me kind of funny
kind of funny certainly
how at the end of every hard earned day
people find some reason to believe.

-Bruce Springsteen

And for the uninitiated, here is Edith Prickley and her depressed sister Edna. (It doesn't sound funny, but it is.) Edith was easily my favourite SCTV character.

-----

This is why Lucy is so sad

2011-09-23T20:48:00.001-06:00

Feeling a little disconnected these days. At work, home, in my mind. Perhaps it's the transition from summer to fall and my mental foot dragging as I (try not to) think about tuning up my snowblower for another season of moving white and wearing socks.

This is why Lucy is so sad, September 2011

One last day in the sun

2011-09-11T11:28:00.000-06:00

My family and I spent yesterday hurtling through the ups and downs of Edmonton's fantastic river valley. It's funny how we drive TO the city to find some fresh air and child friendly bike trails.

These past couple weeks have had a countdown feeling to them and yesterday was predicted to be the last day of unseasonably warm weather.

It was.

The last unfurling, September 2011

The last blizzard (the irony hurts a little), September 2011

The last summer sunset, September 2011

A different kind of summer

2011-09-11T10:31:00.001-06:00

The weather of late has been acutely pleasant. Sunny, calm, and hot. But September heat is not like July. When the sun goes down, you need to sit closer to the fire and you remember that Autumn is lurking in the shadows, preparing the land for the long dark to come.

Thomas Wharton captures the magic of this kind of summer with a literary gift that few possess. It's a terrific story.

"Summer arrived late this year. I mean really late. I found her setting up camp by the lumber yard just outside of town, in a clearing in the middle of a patch of scrubby old trees somebody had forgotten to cut down. The leaves on these dusty trees are already turning yellow, and now she shows up?"

Read the rest of his story here: Summer's Lease

---

Birds sing, August 2011

Frogs chip, August 2011

My secret place, August 2011

Fallow, August 2011

The instinct to prepare, August 2011

Two square centimeters, August 2011

The hard place

2011-09-04T08:45:00.000-06:00

This problem has three solutions, July 2011

The stone will win, July 2011

A whisky story

2011-08-27T07:48:00.005-06:00

Come down the path with me, July 2011

Whisky descriptions follow a narrow path. Writers probably have a list of words they can select from: peaty, robust, subtle, hints of chocolate, cocoa, and caramel, etc. Kind of boring and kind of arbitrary. Really. Are our tastebuds that similar that we all taste the same thing? I think not. Here's an example of a description. Quite minimal by Scotch packaging standards:

The GlenDronach Allardice, Aged 18 years Highland Single Malt Scotch Whisky "Matured in the finest Oloroso sherry casks -- the GlenDronach is a perfectly balanced, smooth, creamy, full-bodied single malt Scotch whisky."

Yawn. The website is a wee bit better:

Appearance
Bright deep gold with a tawny centre.
Nose
Sweet aromatics of fudge and muscovado sugar. Fruit compote and glacier morello cherries provide added complexity.

Palate
Rich dark and seductive. Remarkable flavours of stewed fruits and all-spice marry together with classical aged Oloroso and toasted walnut bread and chocolate orange.

Conclusions
Tremendously complex and long.

Better, but it needs more story. This is how I in all my arrogant wisdom would do it:

She returned at dusk as I was splitting wood for the night's fire. I missed her spicy cooking, her carefree accent, and the curve of her neck under her August black hair. She didn't want me to take her to the airport last week so I passed my time today, the day of her return, outside working and waiting for the sound of her car. I felt its low growl before I heard it. She revved that perfect V12 through the stillness of the valley before steadying it on the long drive up to the estate. I felt alive and whole as I put down my labours and strolled across to her. At that moment I didn't know who I loved more, that glorious car or her. When she stepped out from behind the wheel, copper sun catching her Oloroso hair like a halo, I knew it was crazy. It was her. It would always be her. We embraced and I disappeared in her arms. I was no longer of this earth.

Hyperbolic? Perhaps, but it really is good whisky.

-----

A little bit country

2011-08-19T12:05:00.003-06:00

Slow unwind, August 2011

That's about right, August 2011

Small planet, August 2011

Grand entrance, August 2011

Red clay road, August 2011

-----

Always going, going, going on beyond

The man must change

Mirror mirror

Ordinary beautiful

A step, then another

Reason to create #787

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy

Some sweet ukulele for a friend (or two)

When I need a break

The will to belong

Unraveling the knots

Accept the madness

Deep confusion

Let's just go to Paris

Many (will) (have) walk(ed) our path

Action and repose

Golgotha of Mundare

Today is thanksgiving

Who do you think you are?

Some reason to believe

This is why Lucy is so sad

One last day in the sun

A different kind of summer

The hard place

A whisky story

Nose
Sweet aromatics of fudge and muscovado sugar. Fruit compote and glacier morello cherries provide added complexity.

Palate
Rich dark and seductive. Remarkable flavours of stewed fruits and all-spice marry together with classical aged Oloroso and toasted walnut bread and chocolate orange.

Conclusions
Tremendously complex and long.

A little bit country

Always going, going, going on beyond

The man must change

Mirror mirror

Ordinary beautiful

A step, then another

Reason to create #787

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy

Some sweet ukulele for a friend (or two)

When I need a break

The will to belong

Unraveling the knots

Accept the madness

Deep confusion

Let's just go to Paris

Many (will) (have) walk(ed) our path

Action and repose

Golgotha of Mundare

Today is thanksgiving

Who do you think you are?

Some reason to believe

This is why Lucy is so sad

One last day in the sun

A different kind of summer

The hard place

A whisky story

Nose Sweet aromatics of fudge and muscovado sugar. Fruit compote and glacier morello cherries provide added complexity.

Palate Rich dark and seductive. Remarkable flavours of stewed fruits and all-spice marry together with classical aged Oloroso and toasted walnut bread and chocolate orange.

Conclusions Tremendously complex and long.

A little bit country

Nose
Sweet aromatics of fudge and muscovado sugar. Fruit compote and glacier morello cherries provide added complexity.

Palate
Rich dark and seductive. Remarkable flavours of stewed fruits and all-spice marry together with classical aged Oloroso and toasted walnut bread and chocolate orange.

Conclusions
Tremendously complex and long.