MONDAY…
--- Edmonton loses the Cup in game seven to Carolina. The players and deserve the win but this may be the least deserving city to have the Cup in its possession. People there would rather see a monster truck than the Stanley Cup.
--- Big storm this evening. Even losing power for ten minutes or so with lots of wind and rain and lightning. Kind of neat.
TUESDAY…
--- Work is kind of busy with a presentation in the afternoon as well. A walk this evening is nice.
WEDNESDAY…
--- Not a bad day… busy at work… lunch with Shannon… some catch up time with Laura… and a phone message from mom and dad and their European trip.
THURSDAY…
--- Busy work day. Lunch with some I haven’t had it with in a while. Sarah and Kiyomi… and Linda Scobie. Mike is there too but I’ve seen lots of him lately.
FRIDAY…
--- Not so busy at work. Lunch in CNI (a rare thing for me) with Laura and Karen and Atlas and that gang.
--- Atlas, Trevor and I go for golf after work. Rusty but fun all the same.
--- Go home to die… tired after golf.
SATURDAY…
--- Work some overtime today. Back to AFIS for the first time since I took the CNI supervisor job. It’s a nice change.
You’ve got to see the Baby!
It’s a tough thing to avoid the family life if you want to be a part of modern western society. I’m up late watching a hockey game on TV. The Stanley Cup is won and the players hit the ice in celebration and parade around the famed trophy to the delight of all. This is an event that has gone on for generations. We have black and white footage of Maurice Richard and his team mates in one of the happiest moments of their lives. If ever there has been a moment for the macho man, this is it!
Yet somewhere in the last ten years or so, it was decided that the player’s wives and children need to hit the ice with them. So now, instead of a pointless clichéd interview with a player proclaiming giving 100% and loving the team mates who he’s shared this with, we get TV cameras and microphones shoved in the face of a player’s three year old kid… hoping for a “Kids Say the Darnedest Things” moment.
I’m not saying family isn’t important for an athlete. But there’s a time and place for everything and I’d much rather the black and white footage of Richard and the boys than Carolina defenseman, Glen Wesley’s family portrait time. It brings the Seinfeld episode to mind… where Elaine and Jerry are pressured for the entire show “You’ve got to see the baby!”
And a few days after it’s all over. Chris Pronger asks out of Edmonton because of family issues. No other details have been made available yet but I don’t know what happened in the eight to ten months since he signed a five year contract to play in Edmonton. I left my home for work. I haven’t asked the RCMP to send me back to my home city to do my job. I know it must be tough to be away from family… I’m always away from family. But if you sign a contract to play hockey in the NHL (or any other professional sports league) you must understand that, for the terms of the contract, the city you live half the year in will not be your choice. If you get traded you’re traded. And if you are far from home, that’s the way it is. I don’t care how much money an athlete makes but I do feel they have to honour commitments to the cities they play for. If all players want an exception made for them, we’re back to a league where only a handful of cities can remain competitive. Sometimes, the even playing field has nothing to do with money… it sometimes has to do with attitude.
Even I come up in the family question this week. That is to say, it has been suggested that, at my current age… and being single… my best bet to find someone may now be as the guy who slides in with the single mother for the ready made family. So now my ability to find the right woman will depend on my ability with her kids. Not that it wasn’t hard enough searching for a girl I would get along with. Now I will need to consider her kids too.
Truth be told, the above paragraph may very well not be the intended message I received. But it came to mind after I received it. I may be over blowing that one but it does add a feeling of pressure if my main goal is to actually find someone to share the rest… or at least some portion of… my life with.
So the single guy can’t watch the championship game of a sporting event anymore without having a doe eyed child mumbling into a microphone while sweaty daddy beams. And favourite athletes may ask off of the favourite team because he has dragged his wife too far away from his in-laws. Single or not, in-laws play a roll in my life too.
And the single guy in his mid thirties has to consider that he may always be single or maybe he’ll just have to join a family of woman, her children, and the occasional dealings with the father of her children. Other situations are possible… but the odds are starting to stack up against mid thirties single guy… especially if he’s not looking for children.
So what can one do? Drown oneself in work? Think again! Our office is a baby making machine. This calendar year, some eight or nine babies have been or will soon be born. It seems that once a month, another co-worker lets the secret out of the bag that she’s pregnant… or he’s about to become a daddy. And the cycle starts new each time. Pictures of the drowsy infant are e-mailed around the office. Computer screens show female co-workers lying in bed with weary smiles. I never expected to see these co-workers in this way. I’m not sure why I should see it now.
And a few months after the picture, the visit. Think of the reaction Michael Jackson gets when he walks through a throng of screaming fanatics. Or the reaction David Beckham would get if he walks the streets of London. If Elvis returned from the grave to play an all day music festival.
This is the reactions you see when the babies come to visit the RCMP. Dozens of women run from their work to hold the baby… to tickle the baby… to watch the baby cry… to try to “goo goo goo” the baby back from the tears to the smiley mode that was present before they scared the be-Jesus out of it in the first place!
I’ve got no problems with babies. I can understand how people who are the parents of babies love those young lives more than anything else in this world. But I don’t think a baby’s appearance should have rock star reactions either. Be calm everyone. Form a single line. Have your twenty dollars ready to hand over to mama… cause baby’s time ain’t free!
Hey, if pro athletes charge for appearances. And I see their babies on TV, batting at the Stanley Cup with baby paws, I’d expect to have to pay in order to see a baby up close too!
After all, to us non-parents, all babies look the same. So I can take no chances. I must meet every baby I can. Because the one I avoid may be that celebrity baby who got to parade the Stanley Cup around the ice in front of millions.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Making It Up As I Go Along #223
MONDAY…
--- Work 8 to 4 with a workshop thing at the office. It’s as good as it can be but is only really positive in that it allows me to watch the hockey game tonight.
TUESDAY…
--- Back to regular evening shift. Some quiet time in the morning… normal work stuff this evening. A little TV tonight. Very dull day… I did Chip Wagon for supper with Mark and Dave and I walked at one break with Linda.
WEDNESDAY…
--- Edmonton wins at hockey in OT. I don’t watch but check on the progress while at work.
--- Supper tonight with work Shannon.
THURSDAY…
--- Skip out on staff appreciation day. No more BBQs for me right now… I’d rather work my regular evening shift. So it’s me and Louis in CNI and Shannon and Karl in AFIS by the time the night ends. Greek for supper is pretty good and a long walk after I get home tonight is relaxing.
FRIDAY…
--- Just Louis and me at work tonight. Pretty long night with lots of work and not enough time for us to do it all. Plus… that guy can sure talk! Good fellow but I’m not used to so much time with one other person who can just keep a conversation going for so long. Not being used to it, by the time the night was over I was ready for bed.
SATURDAY…
--- Quiet day around the house. It’s hot today so I’m hanging out in the AC.
--- Hockey game tonight is good and Edmonton keeps showing cities like Ottawa how a real hockey city is supposed to be. Dora the Explorer gets sent away to another venue (unlike when the kid’s show took priority over hockey in Ottawa earlier this playoff)… The fans sing the national anthems (both of them) loudly. And the team plays with heart.
Watching Those with No Sense
My grandfather used to love watching professional wrestling. At least, he loved watching it when I was around anyway.
As a kid, I’d sit in the back of the van with either mom or dad driving those five hours to get to my grandparent’s home in central Newfoundland. It would often be an after school trip on a Friday that would have us leave again for home after lunch on Sunday… but the trip would always be a relaxing one for me.
The adults would play a game of cards on Friday and Saturday nights. I’d get a little bowl of chips and all the soft drinks I wanted while they laughed and thumped cards onto the table with authority. And, when it was time for a break, tea and cookies would come out… the news would be turned on… and my grandfather would curse about the banana my grandmother would lay in front of him. “I’m going to turn into a God Damn monkey!” he’d grumble as she’d walk back to the kitchen unconcerned.
Saturday would come and my grandmother would supply me with all the porridge I could want to eat. Brown sugar and milk being the highlights of the bowl of heavy goodness.
And maybe I’d go out back and play for a bit. Hitting rocks with a stick, batting them baseball style out over the expanse of space where my grandparents property dropped off as a hill down to the sea. I’d try to better each hit, sending the next rock further out into the expanse of blue sky until it dropped into the calm blue of the bay.
My grandmother would come out and put clothes on the line and sometimes my father would come and ask if I would like to go walk out to the base. The base is an old US army site from the second world war where they stored ammunition on an island in the bay…an island that was turned into a peninsula so that the soldiers would have easier access to it.
And in the late morning I’d be back in the house watching TV in my grandparent’s living room. My grandmother would be nearby. Always puttering in the kitchen making soup for lunch or supper… or just about any other time someone was in the mood for a snack. She’d pop out and ask if she could get me anything and I’d lay there on the sofa, flopping in the crocheted pillows mulling the proposition for a while. After she’d repeat the question, I’d be forced to give my answer… sometimes accepting her generous spirit… sometimes turning it down… and yet other times answering in the negative only to change my mind and sheepishly wander to the kitchen five minutes later, hoping cuteness would be able to win some service.
Often the snack would be fresh blueberries in milk with sugar on top. Blueberries fresh out of the bucket that sat in the fridge. Of course, they were originally picked back out on the hills a ten minute walk from my grandparent’s home. It was often a destination for us all as we’d go pick and eat and bring back several buckets full of blue yumminess. Although I was too young to be so disciplined to not eat the berries out there on the hills and my grandfather was too busy in his workshop to be bothered to go out in the bushes.
But most Saturday mornings and afternoons would be spent there in the living room. Me on that sofa with the crocheted pillows… my grandmother in the kitchen… and the occasional bird beating its brains out against the giant living room window. Every so often a great “bang” would rattle the window and cause my grandmother to putter in from the kitchen, “tutting” as she’d make her way to the window to see if any little bird bodies were lying on the front steps.
Sometimes they were there, dead, and sometimes they’d perk up and fly away again. Always we’d shake our heads for the poor little birds with no sense.
And at the right times, my grandfather would stomp up over the stairs and take a break from his workshop to sit in his chair, ask “Netty” to get him a cup of tea, and click the TV over to where the wrestling would soon come on.
There was no questioning if we’d watch it or not. If wrestling was on then it was assumed everyone would be quite happy to watch it. And watch it we would!
My grandfather in his chair with his tea, and me squirming on the sofa, body slamming crocheted pillows like my favourite WWF superstars would do to the losers in the plain trunks.
Those poor losers. It was always known who’d win each match. They’d be standing in the ring waiting for the other man to come and beat the tar out of them. And the other guy would get announced with cheers or boos (however the case may be). He’d come with music playing and great colourful pants and accessories. Maybe he’d even bring a manager to help him along the way to certain victory. And the loser would be thrown around for a few minutes until the finishing move was applied and he’d lay defeated on the mat. Like the poor little birds that beat their brains out against the living room window, those poor guys had no sense.
But it didn’t matter. My grandmother would come in occasionally and question if I was too young to see men beating each other up in such ways… and my grandfather would scold her with a “Jesus Christ Netty!”
And this was my introduction to the world of professional wrestling. With my grandfather on sunny Saturdays while little birds beat their brains out against the great window. A few hours later, my grandfather would stomp back up over the stairs once again. More wrestling, but on a different channel. It would often be the exact same program as the one we saw earlier that day, but we didn’t mind. We’d watch those losers get beaten by the superstars and we’d smile and point at the feats of strength… and I’d continue to imitate the moves on those crocheted pillows.
--- Work 8 to 4 with a workshop thing at the office. It’s as good as it can be but is only really positive in that it allows me to watch the hockey game tonight.
TUESDAY…
--- Back to regular evening shift. Some quiet time in the morning… normal work stuff this evening. A little TV tonight. Very dull day… I did Chip Wagon for supper with Mark and Dave and I walked at one break with Linda.
WEDNESDAY…
--- Edmonton wins at hockey in OT. I don’t watch but check on the progress while at work.
--- Supper tonight with work Shannon.
THURSDAY…
--- Skip out on staff appreciation day. No more BBQs for me right now… I’d rather work my regular evening shift. So it’s me and Louis in CNI and Shannon and Karl in AFIS by the time the night ends. Greek for supper is pretty good and a long walk after I get home tonight is relaxing.
FRIDAY…
--- Just Louis and me at work tonight. Pretty long night with lots of work and not enough time for us to do it all. Plus… that guy can sure talk! Good fellow but I’m not used to so much time with one other person who can just keep a conversation going for so long. Not being used to it, by the time the night was over I was ready for bed.
SATURDAY…
--- Quiet day around the house. It’s hot today so I’m hanging out in the AC.
--- Hockey game tonight is good and Edmonton keeps showing cities like Ottawa how a real hockey city is supposed to be. Dora the Explorer gets sent away to another venue (unlike when the kid’s show took priority over hockey in Ottawa earlier this playoff)… The fans sing the national anthems (both of them) loudly. And the team plays with heart.
Watching Those with No Sense
My grandfather used to love watching professional wrestling. At least, he loved watching it when I was around anyway.
As a kid, I’d sit in the back of the van with either mom or dad driving those five hours to get to my grandparent’s home in central Newfoundland. It would often be an after school trip on a Friday that would have us leave again for home after lunch on Sunday… but the trip would always be a relaxing one for me.
The adults would play a game of cards on Friday and Saturday nights. I’d get a little bowl of chips and all the soft drinks I wanted while they laughed and thumped cards onto the table with authority. And, when it was time for a break, tea and cookies would come out… the news would be turned on… and my grandfather would curse about the banana my grandmother would lay in front of him. “I’m going to turn into a God Damn monkey!” he’d grumble as she’d walk back to the kitchen unconcerned.
Saturday would come and my grandmother would supply me with all the porridge I could want to eat. Brown sugar and milk being the highlights of the bowl of heavy goodness.
And maybe I’d go out back and play for a bit. Hitting rocks with a stick, batting them baseball style out over the expanse of space where my grandparents property dropped off as a hill down to the sea. I’d try to better each hit, sending the next rock further out into the expanse of blue sky until it dropped into the calm blue of the bay.
My grandmother would come out and put clothes on the line and sometimes my father would come and ask if I would like to go walk out to the base. The base is an old US army site from the second world war where they stored ammunition on an island in the bay…an island that was turned into a peninsula so that the soldiers would have easier access to it.
And in the late morning I’d be back in the house watching TV in my grandparent’s living room. My grandmother would be nearby. Always puttering in the kitchen making soup for lunch or supper… or just about any other time someone was in the mood for a snack. She’d pop out and ask if she could get me anything and I’d lay there on the sofa, flopping in the crocheted pillows mulling the proposition for a while. After she’d repeat the question, I’d be forced to give my answer… sometimes accepting her generous spirit… sometimes turning it down… and yet other times answering in the negative only to change my mind and sheepishly wander to the kitchen five minutes later, hoping cuteness would be able to win some service.
Often the snack would be fresh blueberries in milk with sugar on top. Blueberries fresh out of the bucket that sat in the fridge. Of course, they were originally picked back out on the hills a ten minute walk from my grandparent’s home. It was often a destination for us all as we’d go pick and eat and bring back several buckets full of blue yumminess. Although I was too young to be so disciplined to not eat the berries out there on the hills and my grandfather was too busy in his workshop to be bothered to go out in the bushes.
But most Saturday mornings and afternoons would be spent there in the living room. Me on that sofa with the crocheted pillows… my grandmother in the kitchen… and the occasional bird beating its brains out against the giant living room window. Every so often a great “bang” would rattle the window and cause my grandmother to putter in from the kitchen, “tutting” as she’d make her way to the window to see if any little bird bodies were lying on the front steps.
Sometimes they were there, dead, and sometimes they’d perk up and fly away again. Always we’d shake our heads for the poor little birds with no sense.
And at the right times, my grandfather would stomp up over the stairs and take a break from his workshop to sit in his chair, ask “Netty” to get him a cup of tea, and click the TV over to where the wrestling would soon come on.
There was no questioning if we’d watch it or not. If wrestling was on then it was assumed everyone would be quite happy to watch it. And watch it we would!
My grandfather in his chair with his tea, and me squirming on the sofa, body slamming crocheted pillows like my favourite WWF superstars would do to the losers in the plain trunks.
Those poor losers. It was always known who’d win each match. They’d be standing in the ring waiting for the other man to come and beat the tar out of them. And the other guy would get announced with cheers or boos (however the case may be). He’d come with music playing and great colourful pants and accessories. Maybe he’d even bring a manager to help him along the way to certain victory. And the loser would be thrown around for a few minutes until the finishing move was applied and he’d lay defeated on the mat. Like the poor little birds that beat their brains out against the living room window, those poor guys had no sense.
But it didn’t matter. My grandmother would come in occasionally and question if I was too young to see men beating each other up in such ways… and my grandfather would scold her with a “Jesus Christ Netty!”
And this was my introduction to the world of professional wrestling. With my grandfather on sunny Saturdays while little birds beat their brains out against the great window. A few hours later, my grandfather would stomp back up over the stairs once again. More wrestling, but on a different channel. It would often be the exact same program as the one we saw earlier that day, but we didn’t mind. We’d watch those losers get beaten by the superstars and we’d smile and point at the feats of strength… and I’d continue to imitate the moves on those crocheted pillows.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Making It Up As I Go Along #222
MONDAY…
--- Pretty crazy busy day and I skip out on a meeting/presentation to keep getting some work done.
--- More of the invisible stage of things. Today I had 22 e-mails at work… all spam… I barely see friends at work (even when working the same shift as them). 4 e-mails when I get home… all spam. And two afternoon phone calls are telemarketers. Whatever, I seem to go in these loops of a few weeks as a social butterfly followed by a few weeks of dropping off the face of the earth. Consistency, there ain’t none!
--- And the car is making screeching sounds when I start it up… sounds that don’t go away until I get into second gear. Good thing I brought it to the garage two weeks ago! Hacks.
TUESDAY…
--- Takes two days for the garbage to be picked up in our neighbourhood this week… two days and counting on the recycling.
WEDNESDAY…
--- The recycling abandonment and lateness of the garbage removal is explained. Today I find a little slip of paper in the bottom of my mailbox that tells me our waste disposal day is moved from Monday to Thursday. Many didn’t get the note… it looked like regular garbage day last Monday.
--- Kind of quiet day at work… but still sort of busy too.
THURSDAY…
--- Least busy day since I have gone back to CNI. I guess it’s a good day for a meeting, but the social committee isn’t something I’m dying to discuss today.
--- Abu Musab al-Zarqawi is killed in Iraq. I know he was a bad person for the things he did but I find it rather disturbing to see supposedly good people celebrating in the streets or, worse yet, happily proclaiming it on news networks (a place where objectivity is supposed to be the goal). I just find it belittling of the human race to be so openly happy over killing someone. And the kid that died with him is a side note that people don’t seem very concerned about. I don’t think society takes the deed of killing seriously enough.
FRIDAY…
--- Tired day at work due to poor sleep last night. It also means I sleep on the sofa for a while tonight too. Busy day at work, a trip to the dentist and lunch with Kiyomi on a rainy cool day tells about all there is to tell.
SATURDAY…
--- Not a nice day out. So Karl and I go to the Museum of Civilization for a double bill of Imax movies. Greece and Kilimanjaro are both visited on massive screen. We follow that up with a pub for an early supper and I’m home for hockey tonight (although I fall asleep in the third period and miss the winning goal).
Take Me Home July
Take me home July.
Where hills surround my city as they did in my youth
Rocky, tree covered and earthy mounds
Much better than a compass
There’s no need to find north, south, east or west.
Take me home July.
Where winds blow constant
Smells of the sea mix with pine and marshes
You can drive me blindfolded
Yet the mixture of these aromas place me.
Take me home July.
Where ocean swells meet rugged cliffs.
Small breaks in the rock wall give room for beaches.
Beaches for families, lovers, or lone thinkers.
Sea beaten stones are toys or souvenirs for young and old.
Take me home July.
Where downtown streets follow no grid.
They follow old cart paths of past years.
Some zig zag along the path of the land
Others stop dead like cul-de-sacs where a home once stood.
Take me home July.
Where the maze of roads hide foot paths.
A driver misses them but a walker ducks in between homes
And comes upon a courtyard within a block.
A hidden neighbourhood much nicer to walk than busy sidewalks.
Take me home July.
Where a stroll to a record store is a treat.
It brings scenic views and smells along the way
And chance meetings with old school faces
Or an uncle who had the same idea that day and smiles when he sees you there.
Take me home July.
Where alleys hide pubs from tourists who’d never think to look.
But where locals gather for music, drink and food.
A warm sheltered place for comrades to gather
Away from misty fog or wind swept rain outside the windows with no view.
Take me home July.
Where a sunny patio brings lost friends together.
They sit and talk of light times or the meaning of life
Only to pause when a familiar face happens by
And stops for five minutes of catch up before continuing on.
Take me home July.
Where family gathers for supper out back.
The leafs rustle, the BBQ sizzles
Unassuming talk as the meal slowly prepares
And a game of cards inside when darkness falls.
Take me home July.
Where sun and moon rise from the sea,
Where distant fog horns whisper you to sleep.
Where friends want nothing but to share your company
And where family wait impatiently, wanting to envelop you.
--- Pretty crazy busy day and I skip out on a meeting/presentation to keep getting some work done.
--- More of the invisible stage of things. Today I had 22 e-mails at work… all spam… I barely see friends at work (even when working the same shift as them). 4 e-mails when I get home… all spam. And two afternoon phone calls are telemarketers. Whatever, I seem to go in these loops of a few weeks as a social butterfly followed by a few weeks of dropping off the face of the earth. Consistency, there ain’t none!
--- And the car is making screeching sounds when I start it up… sounds that don’t go away until I get into second gear. Good thing I brought it to the garage two weeks ago! Hacks.
TUESDAY…
--- Takes two days for the garbage to be picked up in our neighbourhood this week… two days and counting on the recycling.
WEDNESDAY…
--- The recycling abandonment and lateness of the garbage removal is explained. Today I find a little slip of paper in the bottom of my mailbox that tells me our waste disposal day is moved from Monday to Thursday. Many didn’t get the note… it looked like regular garbage day last Monday.
--- Kind of quiet day at work… but still sort of busy too.
THURSDAY…
--- Least busy day since I have gone back to CNI. I guess it’s a good day for a meeting, but the social committee isn’t something I’m dying to discuss today.
--- Abu Musab al-Zarqawi is killed in Iraq. I know he was a bad person for the things he did but I find it rather disturbing to see supposedly good people celebrating in the streets or, worse yet, happily proclaiming it on news networks (a place where objectivity is supposed to be the goal). I just find it belittling of the human race to be so openly happy over killing someone. And the kid that died with him is a side note that people don’t seem very concerned about. I don’t think society takes the deed of killing seriously enough.
FRIDAY…
--- Tired day at work due to poor sleep last night. It also means I sleep on the sofa for a while tonight too. Busy day at work, a trip to the dentist and lunch with Kiyomi on a rainy cool day tells about all there is to tell.
SATURDAY…
--- Not a nice day out. So Karl and I go to the Museum of Civilization for a double bill of Imax movies. Greece and Kilimanjaro are both visited on massive screen. We follow that up with a pub for an early supper and I’m home for hockey tonight (although I fall asleep in the third period and miss the winning goal).
Take Me Home July
Take me home July.
Where hills surround my city as they did in my youth
Rocky, tree covered and earthy mounds
Much better than a compass
There’s no need to find north, south, east or west.
Take me home July.
Where winds blow constant
Smells of the sea mix with pine and marshes
You can drive me blindfolded
Yet the mixture of these aromas place me.
Take me home July.
Where ocean swells meet rugged cliffs.
Small breaks in the rock wall give room for beaches.
Beaches for families, lovers, or lone thinkers.
Sea beaten stones are toys or souvenirs for young and old.
Take me home July.
Where downtown streets follow no grid.
They follow old cart paths of past years.
Some zig zag along the path of the land
Others stop dead like cul-de-sacs where a home once stood.
Take me home July.
Where the maze of roads hide foot paths.
A driver misses them but a walker ducks in between homes
And comes upon a courtyard within a block.
A hidden neighbourhood much nicer to walk than busy sidewalks.
Take me home July.
Where a stroll to a record store is a treat.
It brings scenic views and smells along the way
And chance meetings with old school faces
Or an uncle who had the same idea that day and smiles when he sees you there.
Take me home July.
Where alleys hide pubs from tourists who’d never think to look.
But where locals gather for music, drink and food.
A warm sheltered place for comrades to gather
Away from misty fog or wind swept rain outside the windows with no view.
Take me home July.
Where a sunny patio brings lost friends together.
They sit and talk of light times or the meaning of life
Only to pause when a familiar face happens by
And stops for five minutes of catch up before continuing on.
Take me home July.
Where family gathers for supper out back.
The leafs rustle, the BBQ sizzles
Unassuming talk as the meal slowly prepares
And a game of cards inside when darkness falls.
Take me home July.
Where sun and moon rise from the sea,
Where distant fog horns whisper you to sleep.
Where friends want nothing but to share your company
And where family wait impatiently, wanting to envelop you.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Making It Up As I Go Along #221
In bad form, last weekend went by without a word of my sister’s birthday. Shocking it isn’t… I’m not too good about such things.
MONDAY…
--- Hot day. Felt like 35 (95F) with the humidity. Work is pretty busy for evening shift and there is lots of lightning on the drive home. No thunder or rain but lots of dry lightning.
TUESDAY…
--- Still hot… so I decide that it’s time to get rid of the snow tires.
--- It’s my Ottawa anniversary. Three years ago today I moved to Ottawa and started working with the RCMP. It feels like fifty years and it feels like last week… all at the same time.
--- Some groceries on the way home.
WEDNESDAY…
--- Another hot day. I watch a lousy movie in the morning. “Stealth” makes you appreciate quality films… cause it ain’t one.
--- Supper at the mall with Atlas and Mike.
--- For the second straight night, I fall asleep on the couch and don’t go to bed until after 4:00 AM.
THURSDAY…
--- Cooler day. Just right temperature actually. A few of us go to the Chip Wagon where we can sit out while we eat and listen as a baseball game is played a few hundred feet away. Minor League baseball in Ottawa… on a nice sunny evening… means about 500 fans in the 10,000 seat stadium. Sports town this is not.
--- How to feel alone… most of your mail is junk (real estate flyers are the latest big one)… and messages on the phone are blank (sure sign of telemarketers)… and 8 out of every 10 e-mails is spam. It’s all happening at once too! We’re everyone go?
FRIDAY…
--- In a bit early for a meeting. Work is quiet with three of us in CNI tonight. Supper with Sue and Bill is good.
--- The next isn’t great today. I think I fell asleep on the sofa last night and didn’t do it in a proper position.
SATURDAY…
--- Wet and cool so I stay in and see if I can make my neck feel better. A horrible movie makes you want to laugh… a little reading and some baseball on TV.
Witnessing a Greatest Moment
Tired and quiet, the car rolls through the darkness. Flashes of distant storms light the sky but no rain or rumble accompanies it. This is the best time… when I have finished a night’s work and have the next several hours of night to do with as I please. Sleep, movies, reading, a walk… it’s all up to me and the city around me is quiet no matter what I choose.
And late in the evening is the time when those things that aren’t quite ordinary are possible to see. There are the flashes of lightning that remind you how there’s more to the world than TV commercials, trendy music and the artificial hustle and bustle that we all seem to feel is our meaning for life.
The world we create for ourselves is so often insignificant. The display in the sky that’s here now has occurred for all time. It even happened when amazing animals of fiction dominated the planet. These animals, that we’ve now made movies about as we fantasize as to how they were, once witnessed the same beautiful display that lights up the sky now. Did it mean anything to them? Did they look up in puzzlement? Did they cower deep in a cave? Did they have enough sense to even notice? I would think they did.
It has always seemed that animals have a better sense of nature, and their place in it, than people have. When storms come, animals seem to sense the danger. They hide away or run to safe ground well in advance of the rain, flood or earthquake. And we, in all our wisdom, sit in boarded up houses, ignoring all warnings and drowning in our living rooms as a hurricane wipes out our city.
Survivors stand foolishly on television proclaiming how “if it’s my time to go then I’ll go… but I ain’t leaving my house!” Some see this as brave and noble… I’ve always seen it as stupidity and dumb luck. Most of these survivors of nature’s wrath have to go off and get themselves a new dog or cat after the ordeal is over. It’s not that the original family pet didn’t make it… they were just sensible and ran off days before.
But back to the wonderful strangeness of the night. Back home, it was late at night that I felt most inspired. Walking the downtown streets or going for a late night drive would always invigorate my mind. There’s something about looking into the darkness and not being able to see what’s out there… it sets the imagination running.
And the simple desertedness of the city is in itself out of the ordinary. Roads are there for cars… sidewalks for people… and manicured lawns show that those people aren’t far off… yet, at night, they’re all gone. It’s almost like a scene out of a science fiction movie… when all the people have been whisked into another dimension, leaving you as the only person left in the city.
It seems like I notice things in a different way at night. The night before, after checking my mail and walking back to my place, I looked in the parking lot and noticed a striking change. For more than a year, a black car sat parked in its space, unmoved. The yellow lines were painted around its rear tire… pebbles left from wind, rain and snow gathered in a little pile up against this partially yellowed tire. I often imagined that the owner lay decomposing in their condo. One day, the smell would drift out to a neighbour and the car would be towed away while the tomb, a few doors down from me, would be emptied of its furniture.
But on the night before this one, I looked up from my mail to see the black car gone… its spot empty… and my world suddenly felt different. I had to go to the spot to make sure I wasn’t overlooking the car somehow. But there was the pile of pebbles, bare and unprotected. The car was indeed gone.
And on this night, with the lightning brightening the road for a few milliseconds at a time, I drift towards home and glance at an oncoming van. It drives very slowly and I wonder what the problem would be to have a car driving an empty four lane road at pedestrian speed.
With a flash of lightning, I get my answer. For in the lane next to the van, a dog runs with joy and liveliness. It’s a Blue Terrier and it runs smiling like only a dog can. It runs boldly in the middle of the lane. It runs as if it belongs in this road just the same as the van that drives along beside it.
Darkness brings the dog to a silhouette. Its form is seen running still on the edge of the van’s headlights. Another flash of thunderless lightning once again shows me the smile. And it’s contagious. I drive on smiling… that dog just ran with too much happiness for there to be any doubt. I know I’ve just witnessed this dog’s greatest moment.
A hundred yards further down the road another flash of silent lightning shows another out of the ordinary sight. A man runs in the middle of the same lane as the dog ahead of it. But where the dog runs with exuberant joy (I swear its paws hardly touched the pavement) the man runs defeated. It’s obvious that the man hasn’t run in a long time. His stride is short and choppy and his clothes look more like those of the couch dweller than the jogger. My guess is that a break in his TV program was the right time to let the dog out for a little sniff of a bush and raise of a leg.
But with a flash of silent lightning on a still night, the dog had other ideas.
MONDAY…
--- Hot day. Felt like 35 (95F) with the humidity. Work is pretty busy for evening shift and there is lots of lightning on the drive home. No thunder or rain but lots of dry lightning.
TUESDAY…
--- Still hot… so I decide that it’s time to get rid of the snow tires.
--- It’s my Ottawa anniversary. Three years ago today I moved to Ottawa and started working with the RCMP. It feels like fifty years and it feels like last week… all at the same time.
--- Some groceries on the way home.
WEDNESDAY…
--- Another hot day. I watch a lousy movie in the morning. “Stealth” makes you appreciate quality films… cause it ain’t one.
--- Supper at the mall with Atlas and Mike.
--- For the second straight night, I fall asleep on the couch and don’t go to bed until after 4:00 AM.
THURSDAY…
--- Cooler day. Just right temperature actually. A few of us go to the Chip Wagon where we can sit out while we eat and listen as a baseball game is played a few hundred feet away. Minor League baseball in Ottawa… on a nice sunny evening… means about 500 fans in the 10,000 seat stadium. Sports town this is not.
--- How to feel alone… most of your mail is junk (real estate flyers are the latest big one)… and messages on the phone are blank (sure sign of telemarketers)… and 8 out of every 10 e-mails is spam. It’s all happening at once too! We’re everyone go?
FRIDAY…
--- In a bit early for a meeting. Work is quiet with three of us in CNI tonight. Supper with Sue and Bill is good.
--- The next isn’t great today. I think I fell asleep on the sofa last night and didn’t do it in a proper position.
SATURDAY…
--- Wet and cool so I stay in and see if I can make my neck feel better. A horrible movie makes you want to laugh… a little reading and some baseball on TV.
Witnessing a Greatest Moment
Tired and quiet, the car rolls through the darkness. Flashes of distant storms light the sky but no rain or rumble accompanies it. This is the best time… when I have finished a night’s work and have the next several hours of night to do with as I please. Sleep, movies, reading, a walk… it’s all up to me and the city around me is quiet no matter what I choose.
And late in the evening is the time when those things that aren’t quite ordinary are possible to see. There are the flashes of lightning that remind you how there’s more to the world than TV commercials, trendy music and the artificial hustle and bustle that we all seem to feel is our meaning for life.
The world we create for ourselves is so often insignificant. The display in the sky that’s here now has occurred for all time. It even happened when amazing animals of fiction dominated the planet. These animals, that we’ve now made movies about as we fantasize as to how they were, once witnessed the same beautiful display that lights up the sky now. Did it mean anything to them? Did they look up in puzzlement? Did they cower deep in a cave? Did they have enough sense to even notice? I would think they did.
It has always seemed that animals have a better sense of nature, and their place in it, than people have. When storms come, animals seem to sense the danger. They hide away or run to safe ground well in advance of the rain, flood or earthquake. And we, in all our wisdom, sit in boarded up houses, ignoring all warnings and drowning in our living rooms as a hurricane wipes out our city.
Survivors stand foolishly on television proclaiming how “if it’s my time to go then I’ll go… but I ain’t leaving my house!” Some see this as brave and noble… I’ve always seen it as stupidity and dumb luck. Most of these survivors of nature’s wrath have to go off and get themselves a new dog or cat after the ordeal is over. It’s not that the original family pet didn’t make it… they were just sensible and ran off days before.
But back to the wonderful strangeness of the night. Back home, it was late at night that I felt most inspired. Walking the downtown streets or going for a late night drive would always invigorate my mind. There’s something about looking into the darkness and not being able to see what’s out there… it sets the imagination running.
And the simple desertedness of the city is in itself out of the ordinary. Roads are there for cars… sidewalks for people… and manicured lawns show that those people aren’t far off… yet, at night, they’re all gone. It’s almost like a scene out of a science fiction movie… when all the people have been whisked into another dimension, leaving you as the only person left in the city.
It seems like I notice things in a different way at night. The night before, after checking my mail and walking back to my place, I looked in the parking lot and noticed a striking change. For more than a year, a black car sat parked in its space, unmoved. The yellow lines were painted around its rear tire… pebbles left from wind, rain and snow gathered in a little pile up against this partially yellowed tire. I often imagined that the owner lay decomposing in their condo. One day, the smell would drift out to a neighbour and the car would be towed away while the tomb, a few doors down from me, would be emptied of its furniture.
But on the night before this one, I looked up from my mail to see the black car gone… its spot empty… and my world suddenly felt different. I had to go to the spot to make sure I wasn’t overlooking the car somehow. But there was the pile of pebbles, bare and unprotected. The car was indeed gone.
And on this night, with the lightning brightening the road for a few milliseconds at a time, I drift towards home and glance at an oncoming van. It drives very slowly and I wonder what the problem would be to have a car driving an empty four lane road at pedestrian speed.
With a flash of lightning, I get my answer. For in the lane next to the van, a dog runs with joy and liveliness. It’s a Blue Terrier and it runs smiling like only a dog can. It runs boldly in the middle of the lane. It runs as if it belongs in this road just the same as the van that drives along beside it.
Darkness brings the dog to a silhouette. Its form is seen running still on the edge of the van’s headlights. Another flash of thunderless lightning once again shows me the smile. And it’s contagious. I drive on smiling… that dog just ran with too much happiness for there to be any doubt. I know I’ve just witnessed this dog’s greatest moment.
A hundred yards further down the road another flash of silent lightning shows another out of the ordinary sight. A man runs in the middle of the same lane as the dog ahead of it. But where the dog runs with exuberant joy (I swear its paws hardly touched the pavement) the man runs defeated. It’s obvious that the man hasn’t run in a long time. His stride is short and choppy and his clothes look more like those of the couch dweller than the jogger. My guess is that a break in his TV program was the right time to let the dog out for a little sniff of a bush and raise of a leg.
But with a flash of silent lightning on a still night, the dog had other ideas.
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