Practical Knowledge

2011-11-30T09:51:00.000-08:00

Whispers - To Saint Nicholas

Dear Santa:

I'd prefer you bring us love and happiness not only during Christmas holidays, but also throughout the whole year! Skelna,UnitedKingdom

I help my mom with the dishes and I help my grandma and grandpa by giving them lots of hugs .So please give them something nice too!
Katelyn, New York

My Dad did the naughty/nice test and was called a little stinker. Please give him something he didn’t mean to be bad. Saoirse, Ireland

Please bring presents to all the kids, especially the poor ones who have not even one toy. I don’t think it would be a very merry Christmas if poor kids didn't get anything!! - Julian, Massachusetts.

Oh by the way, my cancer is all gone this year and my hair has grown back. You might night recognize me so I will leave you a new picture
- Kyle, South Dakota

Where did you get the magic dust that makes the reindeer fly? Can I get some?
- Rachel, New York.

First of all, I like to receive My Mother's heart with other presents. If you can't give my mother's heart, all other presents are nothing. I love my mother very much.
- Yeonjoo, South Korea.

I hope that the world gets sorted out so that we can all be happy

- Jack,, New Zealand.

Please wake me up so I can see the reindeer. You can even pour water on my head if you have to! (That's what Mom has to do to get me out of bed!)
- Ashley, United Kingdom.

I love you Santa and I hope to come in my country .
- Ilinca, Romania.

I wish that my Dad didn't have to die from cancer
- Tanya-Louise, Ontario.

I love seeing everyone's faces light up when they see you at the shopping centre.
- Katy, United Kingdom.

I am asking again for many families to come and adopt all my friends and me. I promise we will love them so much. Sabrina, China.

Last year we left out for you a piece of mince pie and a beer, but when we got up next morning we noticed a bit of icing was taken from the Christmas cake. Mum said you must have been extra hungry!
- Paul, United Kingdom.

My English is terrible. But My hope is great.
Javier, Chile.

We will put some paper on the floor so your muddy boots don't upset Mummy
- Kit, United Kingdom.

I don't speak English so well as I would like but I'm sure that your heart is so big that you'll be able to do something in particularly for poor children. Many wishes

- Nicolò, Italy.

I was a pretty bad kid last year and now I'm back with my family and it's great I am doing really good now and just want what’s best for everybody.
- Jenn, Montana.

How are you able to get down the chimney and be in so many places throughout the world in just one short night? I need to know because my mom says her Christmas dress is too small from last year and she says there's no time to go and get all the things done in time for Christmas?
- Elizabeth, Alberta.

Pleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaassssssssssseeeeeeeee get my dad out of jail.
- Kaliska, Arizona.

I really want a parent for my best friend Jade
- Laura, Pennsylvania.

I hope your slay has air conditioning because it can be really hot in Barbados
- Stu, Barbados.

My grandpa just died and everyone is sad. I want everyone to be happy for Christmas. I love my whole family and just want this Christmas to be happy.
- Phillip, New Jersey.

You're never too old to send a letter to Santa!
- Holly, 18, Nova Scotia.

Dear Santa Claus,
I hope this letter finds you and Mrs. Claus well. I know this is a very busy season for you as it is for me and my fellow officers at the Fort William Detachment of the Anishinabek Police Service.
During this season, as you are working at trying to fill little boys and girls dreams, me and the other officers in the region will be working hard to keep the streets and neighbourhoods safe for them as well. This season tends to bring out the best and worst in people.
For Christmas this year Santa, all I want is NOT to have to give anyone bad news because of a drunk driver. Cst. R Bannon

Santa: We know how busy you are and thank you for all your visits to the hospital. My friends and I can’t play with a lot of the toys, but thank the elves for thinking of us. If the elves have time, can they maybe make notes to some families, maybe with some extra time, to write us letters. That would be the greatest. Just not for my hospital Santa, but everybody’s. We love you Santa. Nicholas Children’s Hospital

Why are you
smiling Nicholas..

Because Christmas is love and that makes me happy...

And your smile Dear Nicholas makes life more beautiful,

promise you will never stop smiling...

I promise Santa

____________________________________

2011-11-28T20:13:00.000-08:00

A Christmas Wish

Family

Pedestals stand tall and apart from a maze of angles and vistas sketched in time all from the footprint of ancestors, untouchable in character, foundation, devotion and ability. Now limbs of inheritance reach from the base of each pedestal, extending not in the shadow of the maze, but in the radiance of light, resonating the strength of family.

Family is not chosen, each and every individual, so unique in character, are bequests.

No matter what we have done for ourselves or humanity, if we cannot look back at having given love and attention to our family, our footprint is invisible and remains in the shadow of the maze.

Family is not an important thing, it is everything… feel consecrated that you belong to a unique, unusual and exceptional family and that effect only promises to reward individuality and character on each and everyone.

This holiday season I wish for all the joy of family, that foundation and core strength of peace, serenity and love.

November 28, 2011 Wendi Stevenson Clark

Checkmate - Chapter XIV

2011-11-26T13:16:00.000-08:00

Published November 26, 2011 and available at WATCHWORD:

http://www.wix.com/rgm33/watchword#!

Enjoy

Checkmate - Chapter XIII

2011-10-30T15:35:00.001-07:00

Now available for your enjoyment at our website @

http://www.wix.com/rgm33/watchword

Enjoy

Wendi Stevenson Clark

Sunday's Gift

2011-10-23T08:00:00.000-07:00

Today would be a wonderful day not to take life so seriously.

Today may end up the way you prefer - and it may not.

Happiness is not about being a winner - it's about being gentle with life -

being gentle with yourself.

Let life be a dance, and choose the kind of dance you want for today - perhaps a gentle loving dance.

- Jonathan Lockwood Huie

Did You Hear The Laughter from the Gods

2011-10-07T11:45:00.000-07:00

when listening with delight to the beauty of Children
…it makes the heart too big for the body

While we try to teach our children all about life, Our children teach us what life is all about. Angela Schwindt

It's funny how God uses simple people to do great things... Whitney, age 16

It does not matter how much money a family has. If there is a lot of love in a home, that family is richer than any millionaire could ever be.... Elana, age 15

If you give your enemy a second chance, she might turn out to be your best friend...Meghann, age 13

You can't catch a hard baseball in your mouth... Joseph, age 10

Youth is a perpetual intoxication; it is a fever of the mind... François Duc de la Rochefoucauld

It is OK to fail, but it is not OK to give up... Kate, age 8

You should always try, even when you don't think it will help... Jennifer, age 11

The color of people shouldn't matter... Somer, age 10

I should always try my best. If I don't succeed, then at least I will feel good about myself... Laura, age 16

Life is hard no matter how old you are. .. Rosalinda, age 13

People are quick to condemn you for the things you've done, but they'll never give you credit for all the times you resisted temptation... Heather, age 16

Sometimes the most loving answer is no... Leslie, age 12

Nothing hurts more than guilt... Jessica, age 12

You should be careful around those younger than you.

It is surprising how much of an impact a word or action can make on them... Sarah, age 12

Someone is always better than you in one thing, but you are better than them in another. Alecia, age 12

Trust is the most valuable thing you'll ever earn... Susanna, age 17

You will never be happy if all you do is think about all the things you don't have. Christy, age 17

It's good to receive compliments, and it's even better to give them... Aaron, age 17

You never know how loud you are until you have to be quiet... Sarena, age 10

You should never jump out of a tree using trash bags as parachutes... April, age 10

Simply saying, "I believe in you" can make someone's day... Mary, age 16

A pen and paper are all you need to create a new world... Michelle, age 13

When you pray, you get a happy feeling inside like God just walked into your heart

and is warming himself at a cozy fire... Charles, age 16

The more mistakes I make, the smarter I get... Jennifer, age 13

Simply saying, "I believe in you" can make someone's day... Mary, age 16

The greatest teacher is not the one who talks all the time, but the one who listens... Lauren, age 14

The art of communication is not what you can hear being said

from the other person's mouth, but what you can feel from his heart and see in his eyes... Leah, age 15

Children make you want to start life over... Muhammad Ali

Treat the earth well: it was not given to you by your parents, it was loaned

to you by your children. We do not inherit the Earth from our Ancestors,

we borrow it from our Children... Indian Proverb

Reference: Wit & Wisdom by H. Jackson Brown, Jr American Indian Quotes & Thoughts

Thanksgiving Day Wishes

2011-10-04T19:26:00.000-07:00

Never forget that the highest gratitude is not to just utter words of thanks, but to live by them,

This weekend, we will gather in good cheer, expressing our gratitude for good harvests and all other good fortunes,

But remember those who may be too tired to say thank you, gift them of yourself, gift a Smile...

Give them a smile of yours, no one needs a smile as much as those who feel they have no more to give.

Wendi Stevenson Clark

It is Sunday Land

2011-10-02T12:43:00.000-07:00

A land of indolence, dreams and peace...

What progress, you ask, have I made? I have begun to be a friend to myself.

Hecato, Greek philosopher

DREAMERS OF DAY

2011-10-01T13:22:00.000-07:00

In the sunshine, sometimes far away, are our highest hopes, desires and wishes.

We each hold a library, unique and special.

In it are volumes reflecting hopes, desires and wishes.

Follow, without reservation, that sunshine that offers light to your destiny, spirit and truest life.

Dream awake, dream deliberate and dream wilful.

Dreamers of the day, perilous to some,

perform their dreams with open eyes.

They follow the sunshine that offers light, never lacking to see the flowers that blossom around them with strength.

Witness; now in the shadows, tiered in stone, the burdens that are left behind, tutorials in your library, so not to be repeated.

Follow the Sunshine

Inspire others to dream, to do and become more

Wendi Stevenson Clark

Watchword

2011-09-28T14:39:00.000-07:00

Watchword linked to Paulo Coelho's Blog giving details to his NY Interview of September 26 & I have also linked the Discover Your Personal Strength page from Anthony Robbins. Highly recommended - Build the best you

http://www.wix.com/rgm33/watchword

go to the Practical Knowledge Page and then to Searching For

Wendi Stevenson Clark

CHECKMATE

2011-05-14T13:19:00.000-07:00

July 31, 2011

Kayn’s reputation preceded him. He enjoyed the charade of being brought in as a consultant and thereafter quickly rising to positions of authority. He remained active on the many Board of Director for the Corporations securing his expertise. His walls decorated with professional acknowledgements. To justify his annual honorarium he would not hesitate eliminating what he would convince others as being frivolous overheads. He championed himself as a respectable human being, prideful of his chameleon Coat of Arms, allowing his characters into the light... his target always those perched innocently far beneath him.

Chapters I through X are available in Page formatting - select Chapter from along the right hand column

How Does It Feel To Touch The Stars

2011-05-09T11:37:00.000-07:00

To reach a star takes infinite patience and unquestionable courage.

The majesty one beholds at the foot of the Rocky Mountains impels visions and dreams.

Lying at the gateway are trails into the valleys which travel beyond human footprint. Trails of heritage and understanding of the visions of the few who have passed through.

Astraevs, named for the God of the Stars, arrived in the wilds of the Rockies’ while only a colt; his caregivers never successful in harboring his spirit, his self-determination, nor his brute strength; at 18 hands he would not be held behind gates. In the darkness and silence of the forest and with the stars guiding him along the trail he knew he was home.

Now, years later breaking through the tree line of the forest his movements were swift. Spring had arrived and as he had done for many years he was escorting his herd down to the valleys. They knew no fencing, no limits; their home was vast and free from humans.

The sun rays clarified the hidden shadows as the herd passed down the trail towards the valleys. The emerald ponds reflected the shadow of the Sea Eagles soaring far above the snow caps of the mountains stopping long enough to rest and then disappearing far beyond the summit continuing their venture to the west coast where they would meet the millions of salmon along the mighty Fraser River.

Astraevs stood tall at the crown of the ridge taking in the landscape. It had been a long winter season and the herd anxious to greet their destination. His eyes followed the fouls and colts, always wanting to stop and play, cantering into the tree lines along the trails. He watched the weighty moms, careful in their steps descending the trail. He knew the trail at this point would remain safe for their travel; barren of berries and seeds, only attracting the winter white owl, nesting in silence in the stump of the fallen evergreen protecting her young, who were settled deep inside the hollow.

At day’s end they gathered, with the young amidst them; Astraevs remained behind, standing alone, the solider positioned on the highest hill blended with the other shadows rolling down the stone cliffs. The stars, his stars, so bright that the moon travelled in their shadow. Silence travelled along the trail. His courage remains unquestioned; his allegiance unwavering. Honorable for his tolerance for the young, the aged and the weak.

The herd moved without interruption, day and night. In the distance the silence of the forest was swallowed up by the sounds of the waterfall, the water crashing down onto the stones and carrying on into the spring ponds surrounded by the valleys and where they would make their home until the leaves of fall surrounded them.

Astraevs had selected two colts, now sufficient in size and maturity to train with him to protect the herd.

They positioned themselves on the perimeters of the herd, always catching the sun rays that lead into the dense forest, throwing a kaleidoscope of colors through the shadows keeping safe deep within the brush the doe’s only hours old, speckled with white spots laying in complete silence.

Along the far side of the springs the Mountain goats roamed; travelling from above the tree belt of the Mountains to the valley knowing the treasure of mineral deposits surrounding the springs for their attention.

As the days passed the valley’s vegetation burst in colors with the tiger lilies, crocuses, willows and daisies all abound. The evergreen layered in new colors of jade and the aspens now full in colors of sea moss rolling in the breezes, throwing their shadows at night under the stars.

The valley was also now home to many new colts and fouls, kid goats and the spotted fawns, all rising and staying close by their mom’s side.

Astraevs and the colts remained separated from the pack. Scents and sounds of wolf packs in the distance and the grizzly tracks surrounding the springs trained the young colts towards courage and patience. They no longer run into the forest chasing echoes, now following the lead of Astraevs.

The summer carried on; Astraevs and the colts challenged only a few times by a passing Mountain Cat or the families of Black Bears travelling into the forest for berries.

On this fall evening as Astraevs lead the herd away from the valley he turned looking at the harvest of colors that lay on the ground knowing that it wouldn’t be long before the ground would be covered in snow; the falls would defy gravity and remain suspected over the cliff until the following spring, yet would offer an audience a never ending pattern of constantly changing colors and shapes against the snow covered springs.

Astraevs was content knowing he was returning to the Mountain where he could climb to the peaks that would reach the Stars.

Mothers Day Joy

2011-05-05T15:03:00.000-07:00

A Mother vows to shield and save from harm that vulnerable and innocent life that is about to enter into hers, yet it is a vow that is truly unattainable and without solution; but never does she stop her crusade for its attainment. A Child walks in the sanctuary of the protective arms of their mother.

For most, this is a day remembered for joy and celebration; but it is also a day to hold in respect and awareness for those many that, without trial, without discussion, have had to give a child back when life reclaims them.

Mother’s watch and reject the reality of this decision, yet watch the acceptance by their children of their destiny.

When life steps in and takes a child back, Mothers are left with sorrow, anger, guilt and a pain that, initially they wish would never go away because somehow it allows and justifies them to remain in the safety of their darkened rooms.

Mothers no longer fight the bruising of guilt; instead reach deep within themselves for acceptance. In strength of mind and spirit Mothers grow, admire and comprehend the depths they have traveled to find the strength in their souls for understanding, knowing that perchance they are left to perpetuate the life that was lost and can now appreciate the time they had.

Mothers cherish the memories and the time no longer taken for granted. The memories of laughter, of comfort will never leave and only give them the strength to share with others.

Mothers don’t wait for a special day each year to express their love. They are surrounded each day with the reassurance and knowledge that their love continues within.

Mothers look up and see the playful images of their child in the excitement of a sunrise, or they find them sleepy and dreamy in the rays of a sunset. They stop and watch them playing in the cumulus clouds crossing their vision and find their joy in all the colors of the rainbow.

They hear their laughter from the birds calling from the trees and feel their child’s arms wrap around them from a passing warm breeze.

………………………………………………………

This is also a day that many children may be without their Mother. Again life reclaiming them long before their time. They are left in pain, in sorrow and lost, craving the security that always surrounded them.

And they as well reach deep within themselves to find strength, knowledge and the memories of joy and happiness.

They grow to understand that the strengths taught to them by example are now theirs to pass on to their children.

They too look up and see the love of their mothers in the sun, in the clouds, the rainbows and the gentle breezes.

Instead of a noose, we choose to keep all the happy memories in lockets around our necks.

Mothers Day is set aside for celebration; only we can determine a celebration worthy of our memories and our happiness.

Holding Strong Through The Wind

2011-04-29T17:02:00.000-07:00

He Shall Not Stop Until his Family is Absolute

His family reaching far beyond the boundaries of his backyard. He will remain forever united with the fraternity of the Navy Hospital Corpsman; and since his retirement from the Navy his extended family also includes his neighbors.

Yet, still missing were his three children; His son and two daughters who he had given up for adoption after losing his wife and their mother, and being called into service.

He serviced throughout the Pacific during World War II with strength, courage and honor; yet never stopped thinking, remembering and looking for his three children. He knew he did not have the entitlement to look at these individuals as his; a decision he continued to battle with.

He inherited such a legacy from his father who led his life with the true conviction and belief that your success was reflected in the true character of your children. He was taught the importance of how to see yourself and how to see others. He always taught that strength should be determined by yourself and not determined by strangers. Seek guidance each and every day to have your eyes stay focused on what is important.

He knew his resilience would never match his fathers. He admired his strength and how he stood up under never ending challenges and strain. He knew, if his father were alive, he would have accepted the decision that his son had made years before; but his son has not allowed himself that acceptance.

His favorite times were to sit on a park bench watching families at the park. He admired them; spanning generations all projecting such confidence and faith. For he could only imagine his own children all playing in a park, surrounded by faith, strength, and love. He could only hope that they were raised together.

Since returning from service he never stopped searching for the adoption records. There are things that pass through families along the blood line that perhaps will not surface in children, or in grandchildren, but eventually they will surface.

Now, years passed with no success in locating his children.

Over time he stopped talking to others about his decision; his wounds refusing to heal.

Just in case they did come looking, he returned and remained in his home town, in the house that they all resided at from the hospital.

Every year he set aside his written thoughts and love to each one on their birthdays and special holidays. His wish was only that he may get to enjoy special days with his children.

His battle ten years ago with cancer was fought alone; never accepting any other outcome but success. As determined and dedicated while servicing his Country, he must return to his search. He would find his children, now indeed adults, and never stop asking for their forgiveness.

With the passing of each week, each month and each year, he waited with hope and strength.

Then, his phone rang with a young man introducing himself as his son. All the strength that had been instilled in him by his father sustained him during that brief telephone conversation. With no conditions he was blessed and honored this young man agreed to come to his home for a visit.

A week later he stood at the train station; pacing up and down. Having to force himself to breathe each time a train pulled in.

Still waiting after an hour doubts set in that perhaps this was not going to happen; and he knew he must accept this.

When from the end of the corridor a tall young man in uniform came through the doors walking towards him. No words were necessary; they embraced each other for a very long time, with the only audible words heard were please forgive me.

That same day he was introduced to his two daughters and his grandchildren.

He had found the strength to walk the unknown road his father had always encouraged him to take and found his earthly joys at its end.

Thank you Mr. Royce

2011-04-25T15:24:00.000-07:00

He stood at the doors, still trembling, tear stains marking his checks. He had been taught to be brave, but today he needed more, he needed shelter, love and reassurance. Ignoring the further jabbing from classmates passing by him as he waited patiently for his ride home.

For over two weeks he had kept this problem to himself. He followed all the rules and guidelines set out by the school attempting to resolve the problem and had repeatedly reported it to his teacher; but after two weeks of being bullied in the hallways he again went to his teacher seeking help and was told “not to be such a baby.”

He had honored her position in his classroom and when he received her dismissal and cruel words he cried out in frustration.

Once in the car he felt secure, safe and loved and proceeded to explode with emotion releasing the damages of his day; without pause it came pouring out reflecting fear, sadness, embarrassment and frustration. He announced that he would not return to that pain that disrespect and that hate.

Unknowingly he had accepted someone else’s problems and abuse and this became heightened into complexities beyond his understanding when the classroom teacher chose not to validate him.

For the next three hours he only allowed spirits of condolence to blanket him absorbing his pain, trying to guide him back to his strength and his gentle spirit.

On this night when he felt as if he had been robbed of his innocence he sought and received understanding and sought probable solutions.

He learnt even at 10 years old he had alternatives; he had presence and he as a member of his classroom had relevance. He was reminded not to attempt to recognize the cruelty of the teacher that day but was rest assured she would stand accountable for her actions.

He was reminded that he did not fail or misunderstand that while in the schools attendance they had accepted responsibility to provide a safe environment for him and in this situation they had failed.

After discussing and reviewing his options, including standing back and allowing his parents to charge, and take over the teacher and classroom until all had surrendered, would bring a brief victory, but the long range affects would probably not work in his favor; this action was compared to bullies charging bullies.

His confidence returning, he agreed he would return to the school and ask to meet with the Principal. He would present his problem with facts and ask the Principal for his assistance.

The next morning his courage had not risen to allow him to cross over the threshold of the main office leading to the Principals office.

The following day, without hesitation he took action. At 10 years old he found the courage to make his appointment.

Mr. Royce, the Principal quietly listened and took notes; once completed he asked questions relevant to each occurrence over the past two weeks. He then stood and walked towards this young man knelt down and apologized, shook his hand and guaranteed that he was taking immediate responsibility for correcting this matter.

All the young men involved in the disturbances admitted to their involvement and were immediately removed from the school; and the teacher, well Mr. Royce recommended to the school district that she be sent on a remedial course.

He left school that day, secure in his environment. As he entered the car that afternoon his confidence was infectious, not as the conquer, but as a young man who had been shown respect and validation.

……………………………………………………………………

Now, years later sitting as a visitor in the Province Legislature Assembly witnessing with embarrassment the antics of the elected Members of Parliament, he remembered the judgment and the guidance he was blessed to have received many years before.

Perhaps Mr. Royce could recommend a remedial course on conduct to the Honorable Members of Parliament.

Men of Character & Honor

2011-04-22T13:07:00.001-07:00

A Gentle Man, the beginning and the end of imagination.

With dignity and pride abounding from his broad shoulders and frame he passed through the doors of Mawata Armories wearing jeans, a work shirt and of course his cowboy boots. Only at seventeen could he demonstrate, without borders such enthusiasm, strength and courage. His Country called on him and he responded. He and 120 other young men proudly formed the 14^th Army Tank Battalion and eighteen months later after making it ashore on the north coast of France in August 1942 he was captured by the German Luftwaffe in the battle that later became documented as the Battle of Dieppe. He remained in a concentration camp until March 1945 when the allies defeated Germany. After the restraints, the dead bolted doors and barb-wire cages were unlocked and torn down, he remembers being assisted through the deserted camp only announcing with spirit “I Just Want To Go Home.”

He speaks with valor and pride of his Country. A mighty Nation he does not separate by location, or by political beliefs; never doubting his honor in serving and supporting his Country in any way he can.

Now at 89 years old, he remains tall, still wearing his cowboy boots, confident in his stride and states with unquestionable enthusiasm, honor and pride of his time, with his family at the Military Museums.

Asked to speak regularly to classes at various venues including elementary schools, he talks of his life including all his tales and his patriotism to his Country. As a member of a barber shop quartet he regularly visits hospitals and care centers always achieving his purpose of leaving behind a better moment of joy and memories. On other days he volunteers to transport seniors to their various appointments, not in a publically sponsored vehicle, but his own.

And this is where I met this Gentle Man; in the waiting room of a medical office, both there as guests waiting for our associates to conclude their business.

Silent towards his gallantry it was only when the conversation ventured into the political arena did he speak with principle and conviction honoring the history of his Country. When called up to defend her boarders, he accepted with distinction his opportunity to follow the admirable path of his predecessors. He spoke not of personalities or parties only of the imperishable strength and pride of his Country that he demonstrates in return as a citizen, coaching by example for all to witness.

His love and pride for life is so striking you remind yourself of the necessary ascend you must take to travel along a similar plateau that this man travels.

He talks of a successful career after returning from the war. Again chosen in loyalty and benefit to his country and its future sustainability.

His eyes pond while he talks of his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.

He talks, not of identity bias, nor the never ending demands and self -indulgent pity that he occasionally watches travel between the Three Oceans of his Country and always, with respect, inquires what they have done for their Country.

As silence again travelled throughout the room he spoke with pride of the many historical decisions that have been made by the citizens of this Country. Without attempt, he instilled pride in each and everyone that afternoon and reminded all of what has made this nation so great – not the elected officials that occasionally have gone into their parliamentary seats by abstention; but of the will and determination of this nations great and proud citizens, united in their desire for a Country that they can in turn guard for their children and their children’s children.

Motherhood - An Open Transom of Grace, Wisdom & Integrity

2011-04-14T12:18:00.000-07:00

They are separated only by a framework of silk strands; within each boarder, a kaleidoscope of strength, adventure, understanding, courage, passion and life.

The reward and title of Matriarch is set aside and accepted much later in life; and within their restricted code of demeanor, it is rewarded not by age but by the strength of family.

They protect and sow strength, character and vision all while celebrating individuality cushioned within their care and vision. They blend humility and pride seeking confidence yet understanding never to walk past hesitancy or resistance without regard.

In return they ask only for what they have given – respect.

Never dictating leadership but choosing to guide, inspire and in time, appreciate.

They celebrate individuality. They celebrate heritage, knowing that the core of their forest will sustain the fragile branches of new life.

They reserve the right to shed tears; their breath taken away witnessing pain and joy in celebration.

They led their lives by example, blessed with strength, courage and understanding. Their rewards reflected in the eyes of their family; continuing to teach, never settle in their shadow; only in their light.

Never accepting repugnance as an avenue of character; instead steering them to find the depth to persevere the length and rewards along a new path.

They articulate on the strength and values of family and of friends. Without doubt, without reservation, emerging at all times to be first and only, before one more verdict, one more treaty, one more test.

They tutor the value of living life; not that it is too brief, but to not waste time in finding it’s joy.

They demonstrate that life’s happiness is not a label, nor a test, nor judgment by anyone other than its guardian; teaching of life’s canvas and it’s infinite, boundless creation of promise and assurance.

They demonstrate strength in their unconditional unity of family.

They demonstrate courage in their resolve; in resounding silence yet unchallenged in its strength and structure. They quote from their past heritage:

He who loses wealth, loses much

He who loses friends, loses more

But he who loses his courage loses all

They demonstrate leadership by their guidance, not by force, but by understanding.

They demonstrate knowledge, by acceptance and not judgment of failure.

They reveal pain with strength and resolve when witnessing life.

They plead to all, when seeking life’s changing questions; do something with the answers they find.

And they find humor and joy from the mouths of babes not yet witness to Life, only concerned for their dedication - expressing with overwhelming annoyance “But life is so hard” and in response they can only ask “Compared to what”.

They look in reflection at their greatest rewards in life and see it through the eyes of their family and of their friends and accept without further reservation their deed of Matriarch.

Travelling Through The House

2011-04-05T12:04:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to My Family

This was a family home, far more than a house to a family.

I walked through the corridors feeling the history. Happiness, sadness, beginnings and endings; all embraced with tenderness, love and unwavering dedication for its custodians.

The doorframes all etched the growth lines of the children who once lived here. The pantry displays an etching of heart’s containing initials of possibly parents, grandparents and so on.

The wooden floors, faded by the sun define the markings of where the kitchen table once gathered the family for dinners and celebrations. Recipes dating back to the 40’s were found, forgotten and left behind, lying on the shelves of the pantry. Opening the doors to the kitchen cupboards a fleeting scent of the family dinners quickly passes by. Outlines of water rings on the floor tell stories of the many family pets that have walked through these corridors.

Photographs lying in a drawer, displayed in black and white, show the ancestors now long gone. Ranging from infants to the greatly aged, all are moments frozen in time of this grand family’s pageantry. Their love, joy, intimacy and sincerity; this unpretentious structure filled with the warmth and character of this family became a home and their castle.

The walls weathered, yet still warm to your touch. The floors displayed the rings of age notched from the pine trees milled from the surrounding forests.

Each of the bedrooms silently held in trust the tales of the many generations that found comfort within their walls. These rooms relished in anticipation of the spring breezes and sun rays that would gracefully zigzag through the rooms. The shadow of blue jay’s resting on a window ledge danced over the floors, warm from the sun. The chirping of the chipmunks on the lawns brought you the knowledge that they again wait for gifts from the kitchen of this home. The living room walls still thriving with family dreams, hopes and wishes for all their tomorrows. Taking a seat on the hearth of the grand stone fireplace you are wrapped in the understanding and wisdom that was shared with all the previous generations that sat in this room, gaining the knowledge for their tomorrows.

Friends and relatives would gather and celebrate their joys and share their losses and fears. Yet always, when it was time to go, they would be bursting with spirit and strength.

With pride, grandparents share the wisdom and character found within the structure of this home. The vast porch displayed with pride worn floor boards where rocking chairs have eased the pain from scratches, heartbreak and fear.

This home embraced and stood resolute over generations of a family filled with love, teaching spirit, value and strength.

The Appeal

2011-04-03T20:07:00.000-07:00

His face was etched in fear. The closing arguments had only been given late last week and already the Judge was convening Court.

His defense attorneys stood at his side. The Judge looked down showing no emotion as he read from the scripted pages, but the only word he heard was Guilty.

The reporters fled from the court room, anxious to return their stories for the morning edition.

The Crown prosecutor smiled as he rose from his desk, taking a long knowing look at the uniformed officers in the stands who had testified on behalf of the Crown. He also searched out his prime witness, a misleading, angry old man who had sat in the back of the court room for the duration of the trial. They exchanged affirmation, no further conversation was necessary.

As he was lead away in handcuffs, the defense attorneys were already discussing the Appeal.

The greatest regret at this moment was raising his head to look into the eyes of his father; yet as they met, the aged eyes only showing understanding and pride towards his son. They showed no fear or defeat.

Due to the nature of the charges his passport and securities would be surrendered to the court clerk in order to successfully achieve bail; set at $250,000.00.

While he was waiting to be processed several of the officers, known to him through his law practice, stopped to express how sorry they were, all assuring him that this was a grave error and that justice would be done.

His license had been suspected over a year ago, which had forced him to close the doors to his practice.

He had a new understanding of friendship. For those he thought would be there for him at this time had all vanished.

The Crown had successfully created moral panic within the law community and, in the court of public opinion he was perceived as guilty. Like McCarthyism, the Crowns case showed little regard to the actual guilt or innocence.

Once released he took only the balance of the day to rest; he was anxious to find justice and returned to his lawyers offices the next day. An experienced trial attorney had been brought in to handle the appeal. It was comforting to hear that this well respected attorney had requested first seat on the appeal after hearing the grounds of the ruling from the Judge.

As he walked along the street, well known as Decree Avenue he could not help but pass those, who up until this trial he considered his friends and associates on many of his files, and had been to his home; now they looked away, seeking focus anywhere but on him. He did not know how far he would have to reach from within to seek and sustain the strength he needed, but he knew he had no alternative.

He had successfully put himself through law school, always having the satisfaction of knowing the only other career that would fulfill him as had the practices of law, would be that of Superman.

Each day preparing for the appeals that took months and then turned into years he would mechanically rise from his bed, force himself to breath, and pray that he would get through another day. The hardest climb for him was judgment. For the ensuing nine years, his life would remained in suspension. Yet all around him life carried on; he was thrilled to witness new life and saddened to witness death. He found it hard to remember his life before. In many ways a lot seemed frivolous. His losses were immense. His circle of trust had become very small. In self preservation, he had built so many layers of armor unto himself. He now only expected the worst; he was prepared for that. In silence his family and his few friends stood at his side; never waving from his truths, never allowing him to feel alone.

The judgment from the Supreme Court came quickly. The decision was unanimous; the Court had ruled that the Crown and the Judge had both erred in law and a new trial was ordered.

Yet, appearing in Court under a new Judge and a new Crown prosecutor, there would not be another trial. The Crown after studying the case, the arguments, and the evidence that had been withheld and could only on this day apologize to the Court and to him. Apologize for the travesty of justice that was allowed to dictate his life and the Courts. Acknowledging that the office of the Crown would never be able to return nor repay all his losses, both in life and career. The Judge would also speak with great remorse apologizing and condemning the actions of the past several years, both by the Crown and the Bench.

As he left the Court he was hesitant to review the full extent of his damages. Time was the cruelest of all because it would not give him back his yesterdays, nor apologize for the loss. Yet he looked upon having the freedom of his tomorrows.

And where he asked, are the reporters for this news. In due course his success had been reported, far from the front page, it appeared in Section 4, page 12.

A lifetime has now passed. He and his family moved to find their freedom and as each day passes it is returning, perhaps in a different atmosphere than what he thought would be his life.

Even after all this time the Superman Cape still remains ready for use.

Scattergun Un Cuento de Competators

2011-03-25T19:33:00.000-07:00

Scattergun - A Competitors’ Tale

No hour of life is wasted that is spent in the saddle.

Winston Churchill

The first time I saw him along with two billion other viewers was through the magnifying glass of a television screen broadcasting the opening ceremonies of the XV Olympic Winter Games.

He thundered onto the snow crusted field of the stadium followed by the charge of the painted ponies ridden by the aboriginal people of Alberta. Sixty thousand visitors and athletes representing fifty-seven nations applauded his confidence, grace, and agility. The Jamaican bobsledders, highlighted in their canary yellow parkas, cheered as he stormed past their seats.

At twenty-five, he truly reflected Darwin’s law of survival of the fittest.

His lineage would never allow anything but the spirit of a warrior. He commanded the lead of the pecking order in any pasture or paddock. He would not agree to only form part of a pack. His grace and speed allow you the vision of his ancestors swimming ashore from a shipwrecked Spanish galleon.

Engulfed in the sounds from the crowds, the bands, and the flags; nothing altered his regard for crossing the field ahead of all others; he danced with his head held high, ears and tail raised flowing in the wind. His shadow crossed over the snowy field for all to see.

Breed from European descent his eyes wide and ears pricked, he was born to run; and at the call of an eagle’s cry under the bright blue sky that afternoon, he turned the herd as one about and galloped off the field. The rise of the competition has led to the refinement of his ancestors.

He proved an invaluable warrior that demanded your respect on a Polo field; he did not shy from the charge of the other competitors or from the aggressive mallets as they passed by his head. His strength and agility, his power and grace made him a perfect competitor. The playing field was his backstage.

His loyalty and respect were unquestionable. Strangers were well advised not to take advantage of his good grace and ride him as mounting their own; he reserved reciprocation until he had his audience on the field. It was quick and masterful as the warrior would eliminate, at his will, unwelcomed followers.

He refused to accept age and when retirement was upon him he rebelled.

He knew not leisure and reminded everyone of his power and charge.

Yet, after time, he did not object, he enjoyed his days, accepting his new role as Lord of the Manor. His pasture was lush; he shared his stable with few. A creature of habit, he scoffed when asked to be a trail pony. He would continue to lead the pack in his pasture.

He taught wisdom and built character within the young of the pack. When asked to consider a child’s saddle he was hesitant, but showed his loyalty and trust and stood tall. As he walked inside a paddock supporting a young child, he knew the care that had been entrusted to him.

Each time the pack looked on in silence, respecting the lesson that was being taught.

Each day he returned to the paddock where he would be blanketed, saddled, and await the excitement of his young riders. With wide eyes and ears pricked he shouldered them with grace and elegance, quickly to correct their errors. His reward was their affectionate tiny arms around his neck.

His heart only grew with devotion. How fiercely loyal he remained.

Many years thereafter while waiting for his Doctor to arrive he said goodbye. The pack surrounded him until they knew he was safe and resting.

The warrior as always had completed his last post on his terms; when the Doctor arrived, his attention was spent on the young riders, who did not understand what they had witnessed.

The Doctor, a young man, with great wisdom, took the time and sat with the youngsters calming them with stories of their pony’s happiness in the days before and that he is in heaven in a place that he will run and play.

Within a few days a card of sympathy was sent to all the young riders from this young man quoting Stanley Harrison –

Somewhere in time's own space
there must be some sweet pastured place
where creeks sing on and tall trees grow
some paradise where horses go,
for by the love that guides my pen
I know great horses live again.

Always the warrior, he shall not be replaced, only remember in admiration.

The Yard Sale

2011-03-20T15:04:00.000-07:00

We’re moving.

So out goes the call to the Nobleman of Yard Sales, my brother-in-law.

We all have our strengths, mine is not holding a Yard Sale; bartering is not my strength. While vacationing in Mexico the local marketers always welcomed me by Adios Senora BoBo. I understood Adios and Senora; BoBo was self explanatory.

The planning, organizing, advertising, greeting, negotiating and finally the closing, I fall apart at the moment the gates are open.

Everything must go; I don’t want to pack all these bits and pieces. His instructions were simple; sort what you don’t want to take and we will have a yard sale. Simple, right.

He knows me better than I thought. He was at the house bright and early the next morning, had made the coffee, and when I walked into the garage he was pulling everything out of the garbage bags I had previously labeled for the landfill. His expressions were defining; for the following four hours all I heard was how crazy I was, these mirrors have never been used; how crazy I was, this ratchet set has not even been open; how crazy I was, these lamps are still in boxes, and on and on Instructions were left with my family that I was not allowed access to another garbage bag. Everything that I felt was landfill destined was to be placed in the garage where it would be later assessed. I kept my head down for the rest of the day; I had been made to feel that I had taken the food out of my family’s mouth.

The morning had arrived. All the advertising, the sorting and displaying was done. It was a country yard sale so the assortment was large. Advertising had been put in all the newspapers for 300 mile vicinity.

My brother-in-law was ready, almost giddy with excitement. He looked at me and suggested that I stay out of the way and if anyone has any questions to refer them over to him. To secure his interests, my son, who had framed his first $5.00 bill from the tooth fairy, immediately took up negotiations with his Uncle to secure an acceptable deal for the numerous books that he had donated to the sale.

The gates opened at 9 am sharp, and in they came. Walking, biking, driving cars and trucks, with and without trailers. A kaleidoscope of caricatures engulfed the yard, the house and all the buildings.

I am the shopper that has never seen a Boxing Day sale and now feel if I took one more step backwards to avoid the crowds I would be in my neighbors pasture. My brother-in-law was everywhere; weaving and dodging in the crowds. Regardless of age, he was engaging in conversation, not allowing anyone out of the yard before he closed on a sale. He had already sold the series of children books to a young man who had come prepared with his red wagon.

Now over at the play house having a conversation with two children who had taken cover inside. They assured my brother-in-law that they were perfectly fine and pointed to where their parents were. He left, comfortable knowing their parents were close at hand.

The garage had been set up as the library corner and it was bustling with activity. All the neighboring women were deep in debate critiquing the diet and exercise books spread along the table. The country community, regardless of their destinations, always came prepared; from the trunks of cars were folding chairs, thermos’s of coffee, juice boxes, lunch boxes and of course mini donuts. After being given a coffee, I was asked how successful all those diet books had been for me. No comment. I glared over at my brother in law wanting to remind him that these were the books that had been destined for the recycling bin. A neighbor thought they might be a good Mothers Day gift for her mother-in-law; this of course brought a thunderous roar of laughter. Unless a member of their family summoned them, everyone was content continuing their tête-à-tête, while all the men were spread about the yard looking at tools and supplies. I admired this group of women; they never questioned, or were questioned of their place in the family.

Their attention went over to the costume jewelry counter where there was a young teenage couple contemplating purchasing the Pink Panther diamond on sale for .50 cents. There was a reference made to their appearance being that of a young Beauty and the Beast. Finally, they agreed on the diamond. They were thrilled, not only was the ring adjustable they still had change for a coke.

Feeling somewhat guilty as to my level of enjoyment in the library circle, I excused myself and went out looking for my brother-in-law to offer my assistance.

Failing to locate him, I joined in a conversation happening between a father and son. They were sitting on bar stools belonging to the brass framed bar counter. The son was reminding his father that they had been sent here today to find kitchen chairs and he knew that Mom would be mad if they came home with a bar counter and stools. His father took heed to his son’s comments and called a friend, who agreed to come and buy the counter and stools. With that done they selected six kitchen chairs and loaded them onto the back of the truck.

A truck and trailer had arrived in the field and was parked beside the barn and storage buildings. I did not recognize the rig or the driver so I wandered down. He quickly introduced himself as the husband of a library wife with the donuts and confirmed that she had made a deal with my brother-in-law for all the left over items. There were Christmas decorations, buckets, barrels, ropes, a ladder and tires. I admitted to him that I hope they didn’t pay anything for this and he confirmed that all this was going down to a church in a small community south of the City. The church had burnt down last winter and they were helping rebuild it. They had lumber, paint and benches from another sale this week. He commented that the community would sure be excited about all these Christmas decorations. My brother-in-law now standing beside me whispered that maybe this would be a good place for the play house to go. I was grateful for his suggestion and quickly agreed.

By 6 p.m. the crowds had departed. Only a few items remained and they were quickly turned over to the library wife with the mini donuts and her husband.

To my surprise the diet and exercise books had been sold earlier that afternoon.

I was no better at mastering the art of bargaining, but I certainly enjoyed attending this Off Broadway performance, all under the Directorship of the Nobleman of Yard Sales.

In Laws

2011-03-15T16:45:00.000-07:00

Sooner than later I look forward to becoming an in law and recognize that I only hope for the same grace and regard that was bestowed upon me by my in laws.

I think the use of the word In-Laws should be banned. Your preconceived state of mind prepares your subconscious towards battle. Your armor is on, your guard is up and my better half or, what was at that time, to become my better half is telling me not to worry, everything will be fine. I ring the doorbell.

They greet us at the door; they don’t seem like monsters. For the next few hours, I quietly listen to their interest, their son’s faults, their favorite travel destinations and the ground rules for a successful union; they should know, they are quickly approaching 50 years of marriage. It goes so well, that I find myself making arrangement for Thanksgiving; me the one who only looks for the depressing characteristic in human beings.

We do have several common interests, which helps when the conversations flow into silence. I learn a new respect for their dedication to their Fraternal Organization. I, of course, am not privileged to know the secret handshake or greeting. I am however given family recipes. They taught me the true meaning of recycling. When we met at the neighborhood restaurants, I watched with pleasure, the exchange between everyone from the front desk greeter to the chief, who came out and greeted them each and every time, even if they were only ordering a beverage.
For the next few months’ brief get-togethers occurred on a regular basis. I listen with modesty to their stories of the war and only try to understand the sacrifices that they have made. Together they have raised two sons, both diverse in their wants and needs, yet both projecting the many dreams of their parents.

One of my favorite stories was of my mother in law deciding to retire at the age of forty. I looked somewhat confused, as I didn’t think that she had worked outside of her home. She truly reflected the vision of the Domestic Goddess, long before that reference was created. She had decided that at forty it was acceptable to retire from house cleaning. No discussion, no debate from her family. It had been decided. So from that day forth she dedicated her time to herself and family. She sincerely believed that if you did housework properly it would kill you; and at forty she, after repeated attempts, readily admitted she found no success in housework and no future in it as a career. She knew it was time to throw in the towel.

Watching, her husband's eyes twinkle with joy each time he listened to his wife tell that story. For all his stories of war the true heroes in his eyes were his wife and family; for in his absence she raised their two sons for many years, without fear or uncertainty. I listen to her pain, telling her story of the race for her son’s life, after contracting Polio. Only after having my own child did I understand the pain she projected telling that story. She never truly believed that she had done enough towards keeping her son safe from suffering.

They were the first to open the discussion on in laws. There own in laws remained a contentious issue for both. It was with great humor that I listened as they bantered back and forth justifying why each other’s in laws were the problem. To my benefit they did not want that title. Life has graced them with true powers of understanding.

They had successfully dedicated their lives to raising their sons; only asking in return understanding, love and their memory celebrated in the eyes of their grandchildren.

For all that was said, the one thing that was not said enough was Thank you.

The Spirit of Legends

2011-03-09T10:59:00.000-08:00

Ernest Hemingway said Spain was his favorite European Country. His reverence for the Running of the Bulls was documented in 1925 while in Pamplona. He said this was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. They run in unison, they run with strength.

Since arriving in the Foothills of Alberta there are many landmarks and exceptionality’s, which are cherished and admired both in their breathtaking beauty. The majesty of the Rocky Mountains, the wildlife, the wonderful clean air and the folklore.

Legend has it that each year the running of the bulls occurs throughout valley’s in southern Alberta. Like the westerly Chinook winds they say the bulls arrive from the vast forestry’s in the Rocky Mountains. They stay hidden from human belief and verdict, remaining camouflaged within the tree lines of the forests. Legend conveys that no fence or ground level guards stop the bulls, yet all account, no fence or guard has ever been found damaged following the runs. Historians throughout the valleys portray the legends, suggesting the bulls run in silence through the forests; never startling the livestock as they pass through the hills and valleys. Few Historians attest to witnessing the runs. They speak of the majestic animals having horns sculptured to frame their faces as warriors and patriots for their herds, painted in a landscape so that only Mother Nature could accept rewards.

Local galleries portray the renderings and beauty of the valleys, the mountains and the forests, yet no canvas documents the spirit of the legends.

Spring had finally arrived in the Foothills, the winds whistling through the trees and down the valley’s, the birds weaving and dodging, the horses cantering and calling into the skies, all grateful for springtime, especially in the Rockies.

Mother Nature always tells you of a danger or an unknown; the birds will stop singing and take shelter, the horses will stir and race for safer ground, but nothing today, this glorious day continued with the unique Alberta blue sky’s’ reflecting down onto the valley.

It was late afternoon and the shadows, always arriving from the forest, lay still on the grass. Only the breeze and your footprints could be heard, there was complete stillness. The horses, resting at the pond paid no heed to my presence. My calls remained unimportant to their interests.

Each day, before the stillness of night, we are treated to a waltz of shadows. With the winds rolling through the trees the shadows, of all different shapes, slowly extend and move, up and down the ground covers and seemingly want to stretch in order to reach the reflective images in the pond.

This night the reflections from the pond included much more than the intricacies of the willows, all the young leaves and limbs of the great aspens all rolling in the breeze. Without movement there were reflective images of what appeared to be the heads of cattle. Their reflections span the length of the pond indicating more than a dozen. They stood in strength and silence. The horses not at all rattled by this reflection they turned and walked towards the stable. They moved calmly into their stalls reflecting no regard for what we left behind at the pond.

Perhaps the reflection was nothing more than cattle from the adjoining pasture coming into the valley. The evening advanced and allowed time to reflect on the folklore of the legends and the running of the bulls. It shall all be sorted in the morning.

Yet in the morning there was no evidence of any trespassers, neither bulls nor cattle, nor was there evidence of damaged fencing.

The gates opened and the horses left the stable, gazing over the valley undisturbed. Visitors to their valley, including the forsaken coyote crisscrossing in pursuit of rodents; the lonely wolf sitting under a cluster of pine trees, or the calf of the masterful moose still trying to lift himself over the fence, have all known the thunder of the horses hooves as they pursue the trespassers, charging with raised heads, flared nostrils and not retreating until the trespassers have escaped over the fence.

With no reaction from the horses, other than their mandate this morning to seek the moist spring grass awaiting them in the valley, I gave no further thought to the chameleon shadows of last evening.

This day offered sunshine, fresh air, birds singing and the chinook breezes. Grabbing the cutters I walked through the valley so to get to the willows, which, with all winters moisture were in splendid bloom. Like a patchwork quilt the long natural grass surrounding the willows had been bent and pushed to the ground, like when the deer take shelter in the grass creating beds for themselves. Unlike the area needed for the deer, these were much larger in diameter. I remember seeing a herd of elk so they must have slept here.

Now early evening I walk to the valley to call the horses to the stable. The shadows were rolling along the grasslands, the leaves singing in the breeze. Again the horses resting at the pond showed no interest in my presence. As I walk to the pond everything remained still, other than the faint snapping of ground cover you hear when walking. I peek across the pond and tonight it only reflects the waltz of the aspens. Halters now on the lead horses, we turn towards the stable and meet with the majesty of a long horned bull. The horses show no hesitancy moving forward past the vast essence of this beast. His coloring was deliberate and powerful, yet he allowed us to pass and move into the stable. After the horses were settled, I looked out onto the valley, paying attention to the pathway just taken, yet I saw nothing.

The next morning, the horses released into the valley, the sun again holding great warmth and the birds singing; but this morning laying in the shade of the aspens and the pines were the bulls, free of tags, of branding. Any concern that I had for the safety of the horses was quickly set aside. The bulls lay in peace, hiding from the heat of the sun, the horses seeking the dew covered grasses. The valley remained in harmony. Not until the afternoon breeze came down into the valley was there movement from the visiting bulls and only to the pond for water. Their majesty was silencing, their colors were taken from a pallet. Then in spirit and body they rose, walked into the forest and they were gone. Unlike the two previous nights, the horses waited at the stable door for my arrival no longer interested in their reflections at the pond.

The pond again, now only holds the shadows of the great aspens and the willows. Again the long wild grasses roll in the breezes of the Alberta Rockies.

You don’t speak of the Spirits, or attempt to add to the folklore of the Valley, but I see the evidence of their presence when I travel to the forestry and see the young long horned calves, with only colors that would match their great ancestors.

Company’s Arrived

2011-03-05T14:55:00.000-08:00

No One Said It Would Be For Five, Ten or Fifteen Years

When I Opened the Door There It Stood

Puberty

I tried so hard to shut the door and tell it to go away - but it stood strong in defiance and in it came.

I had been given fair warning from his father.

One of these days, you’ll see, you’ll say good night to your darling son, and in the morning a stranger will come up those stairs, hair tangled, eyes expressionless (this would not be the day to remember that the eyes are the window to your soul), no socks and looking for his shoes.

I approach with caution.

I greet the stranger with a Good Morning.

Silence.

Again, Good Morning.

A mumble returns and then followed by a Yeahhhh.

Excuse me, what have you done with my son?

I must admit, he looks similar, yet his appearance, his speech and oh yes, the big one, his attitude, have very little resemblance to my son of the past 13 years.

Again I ask what he has done with my son.

His father sat motionless, having his morning coffee. His face hidden from expression behind the newspaper; but I knew he could not wait to remind me of his warnings starting some six months ago.

It happens, one day you will not recognize him. You will think that someone has kidnapped your precious, perfect son. What you have is the satisfaction of knowing that he will recover. He continued by telling me his story, and one that he sticks too, is that God comes down during the night and removes, for safe keeping, the vital parts of his brain. In about ten or fifteen years you may be lucky and see some improvements – he might remember our names and phone number, be grateful for this; but don’t be fooled. God will return and replace all missing pieces when he is ready.

At that exact moment my son, walking up the stairs, the stairs that he mastered at age 3, proceeded to fall flat on his face. I walked to the stairs to see what he had tripped over – nothing.

What happened?

I fell.

How

I dun no.

You what?

I dun no.

I feel eyes penetrate down on me and I turn to see definite ripples in the newspaper.

Looking over, I address the newspaper; do you have something to add?

Without looking above the horizon of the paper I hear only - I told you so.

Without doubt I knew whatever was wrong; he must have inherited it from his father’s side of the family.

Over the next few weeks, I was busy replacing missing runners, pencils, books, school ID tags, security locks and back-packs, all of course not being lost by my son, but some aliens coming down and taking them.

I was now convinced there was a medical problem. It is not possible a young productive, cooperative, mannerly, boy could loss most of his vocabulary, resorting to a monotone tablet of 10 words or less; his equilibrium balance has vanished; and no longer having the common sense to remember running into a fence hurts - all over-night.

The rippling newspaper responded to my concerns only by telling me to take a pill and sit down.

I consulted our family Doctor. I was told that puberty sometimes lasts maybe five years – this is the same Doctor that told me life begins at 40.

Standing at the living room window watching my son walk towards the house from the Highway, he suddenly disappeared, with no evidence of where he went. Then the cotoneaster hedge moved – he had fallen into the hedge. When he surfaced there were obvious scares from his battle in the hedge.

I had resolved, for my own sanity to self mediate these unexplainable occurrences and define it as being done at the hands (or in this case the feet) of an escaped Anteater. My life had become one, without logic, so for the next few years I can live with blaming a wild mad Anteater.

Days, weeks, months passed, still not satisfaction that this was a natural occurrence so I Google my problem.

I read an article written by a PhD documenting how many of his patients were in and around 13 years old; critiquing them all as coming from middle-class backgrounds, having nice neighbors, many have privileges including travel with material goods and many social opportunities, etc, etc.

Good grief Charlie Brown - at 13 I could not tell anyone if I was from a middle-class family or what my material wealth was and if I had good neighbors. My travels included a tent in the back yard.

Skipping past the definition a typical 13 year old I then read that a lot of the changes, both physical and emotional are attributable to -

the frontal lobes of their brains are not yet fully developed. They tend to be less impulsive, more reflective, more able to learn from experience and require less shadowing’ by adults.

This might explain why I had been called into the vice-principal’s office, told that my son had been removed from class because he had, after being told by a substitute teacher, that she did not like his attitude; he, without hesitation, responded that he did not like her attitude either.

I could not leave him to the administrative Wolves – I would stand at the firing line and take the smoke - I admitted that my son, over the past month, repeatedly had heard that exact same comment at home and I can only image that he was only mimicking his mother.

I’m wondering if this frontal lobe is related to the more in depth description given by his father at the beginning of all of this.

Note to self – measure the circumference of my sons head – weekly.

He had been a master of creation in science projects, introducing us to the Komodo dragon, the migration of the African Elephant, the Polar Bears, the complete history of Canadian Politics and the learning handicaps of right-brained students in a left-brain class room. (The school administration found no humor in his project, yet could not bring forth any arguments dismissing his findings.)

Now, his favorite topic of conversation is the Sloth.

O course, I Google the Sloth.

A picture on the screen came up of a long haired, short legged, long clawed animal hanging from a tree branch defined as sluggish, inactive, slow, lethargic, lacking concern and indifferent.

Well, that sums up the physical and mental characteristics of my son - a Sloth.

I no longer ask where the seven plates have disappeared to – I retrieve them each Sunday when I enter his room. I don’t ask why socks filled with water bottles are hanging from the trees - they’ll come down in the next wind storm, or, where the missing duct tape is – I know I’ll find it, wrapped around something he has created and resolved will change the world - where’s the cat?

I no longer get excited when he and his buddy’s are camping out in the back yard, not having the sense to get out of the tent when there are lightning strikes grounding out beside the spruce tree – which their tent is under. I stand on guard, holding the door open as their screams are at an octave very similar to that of his female cousins as they enter the house.

I managed to convince me that purple hair was not a good color for him and if we do go down for piercings I will be the one who picks out his earrings.

I conceded, like it or not, this stranger, living inside my son’s body, would remain in our home for the next few years. I diarized the potential departure date making sure my son would be in the right line for parts replacement at the end of puberty’s visit. I met with my son, outlined the ground rules of our operation for the next few years, gave him his deadline and agreed; for the next few years, so not to embarrass him, I and my safety net would follow at a respectable distance.

I did take notice early in these years to all the advertising on TV, radios and along every counter in the grocery store, all focused at the generation suffering from temporary frontal lobe disorder, how their lives would be so much better if only they consumed a variety of products. Products that after opening the box exploded with colors, fireworks and happiness. Bottles once opened with all their sparkle and fizz promised to carry you leaps and bounds far beyond any vision of Disney. I became addicted to watching a crane sized pitcher , with short legs, filled with color (not part of nature’s rainbow) jumping up and down, under a sunshine sky, running across a lawn, with all the neighborhood children in pursuit, exploding through walls, all to get to a pool sized vat of ice cubes. I’ve seen this before - oh yes, The Pied Piper.

At a safe distance, for the following years, we agreed that any colors put on our dinner table, if not provided by nature, were few and far between. I was not about to totally deny the joys of teenage years so when the sparkle, the fizz and all the goodies inside the pressurized bags exploded we made sure the rise and fall was all in the safety of a child proof back yard.

Our home has now celebrated its seventh anniversary with Puberty. Thank goodness, all early indications are that my son had arrived in time and was in the right line to start the process of having the beneficial parts returned to his frontal lobe.

When I get ahead of myself like this and belief that the last of the parts are in; I am quickly reminded by his father that signs of sanity and sensibility are rare and I should not count on this condition to continue – consider it a trick.

No sooner than that said my son rises to announce that he will not be able to attend classes today; he has a cold. From what you might ask, good question – from falling into the icy pond after bouncing on the ice until it broke open.

So, I rise from the kitchen table and retrieve my safety net and anxiety pills.

Maybe I should learn to get more enjoyment from the Newspaper.

I Met A Family……

2011-03-03T14:00:00.000-08:00

I met a family, a family of two

Each day they rise in the darkness, allowing them time to prepare and travel to their job

Accepted by some, ignored by others

They carry on knowing their job has sustained them throughout the years

With regard, they stop to greet strangers with their smiles and then

return to their jobs

They don’t hold cardboard signs asking for empathy in the pursuit of cash

They ask for nothing

Yet share their change with children who wait in line at the neighboring Salvation Army

They do not consider themselves eligible to visit the local food bank

With conviction they forage and scavenge through containers left out along the shopping strip

seeking what other felt worthy of disposal.

Respecting their community, they never travel into neighborhoods disrupting containers

Their job remain on the shopping strip

Regarded by shopkeepers they are welcomed into the stores

Not expected to fill up a shopping cart

But an understanding they have come in from the cold

Shopkeepers do not gawk at their appearance

But do find them to ensure that the coffee bar has a warm cup for this family

The shopkeeper knows the story of this family

And with pride brings it forth in detail.

They arrived with Missionaries, a lifetime ago, a Father, Mother, Sister and Brother

They honored this country for allowing their entrance and faithfully vowed to never dishonor the gift bestowed up them.

They shared responsibility for the care of their Autistic son and brother allowing little time for continued education.

Never seeking assistance they found work, perhaps that others would not do.

Their unquestionable faith sustained them following the unimaginable deaths of their father and mother. Killed during a robbery, while working at a convenience store, all for $50.00.

They grieve in silence

Honoring their parent’s wishes, brother and sister work side by side each day of the week, each pushing their own buggy, with pride and conviction.

Regardless of the weather they forage and scavenge and sort with a destination for everything

They wait while others pass, knowing their target will be achieved by day’s end.

Never too tired to greet others with a smile

Never asking for anything in return.

No one is sure where they call home
Shopkeepers have asked and volunteered various shelters for their consideration

They always accept with great regard the shopkeeper’s generosity and time, but soon are found pushing their buggies to their next stop. They depart with a wave and a commitment to meeting again tomorrow.

I met a Family