I have more than one friend and I am always looking to meet new friends.
I have one friend, who is not as tall as all of my other friends.
She is a bit brash when we are alone together or in public. There is a constant demand to be the center of attention. That is, until she gets tired of being ignored then she will go off and sulk, or take some quiet time and nap.
We take meals together, we take walks together. I seem to always clean up after her, though. She has a serious side, but most times there is much play in her. I was quiet upset last year when there was an emergency, my thoughts were quite dark, about losing my friend as a result of this urgently needed and unexpected surgery. Any less of a surgeon and we would have lost her.
She survived, and the road to recovery was long. It has been almost a year, she is now back to normal. Out of respect for her privacy, I have not used her name. We travel together by car. Enjoying shared outings will, always bring great joy.
She is not young and in her middle age she takes good care of herself, and she is a confident communicator. Especially when things don't sounds just right, she lets her opinion be known.
There is a special place she fills, and I try to reassure ev er y day, that it is there when I leave and
I kept it hers when I was gone and until I return. Still I see the doubt in hers eyes when I go, she thinks I am never coming back, each time I leave alone.
I do each day return home, and though she may live for many more years, there will be a day, when I go, she will not look down from the top of the stairs. Then I will return, but she won't be waiting for me, there will be walks or runs that I will go on alone, as she won't be able to join me and lastly there will be car rides, that we normally share, that I will take alone.
I hope that she will know at that time that she has always been this mans' best friend.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
No Comment
Under the cover of major darkness, they took. They did not look evil.
They did so without getting permission, so it makes their act stealing.
Had they done so in broad daylight, maybe someone would have yelped STOP!
They were dressed in the rights clothes, and talked to people when they had too.
They outnumbered everyone else. So maybe they felt it was their right.
I thought it wouldn't, couldn't happen. I was wrong. I was naive, to trust.
It hasn't happened to me yet, but that is not to say it won't. There is no shame with your name on it, you were defenseless!
To those who are the victims = ..... - { , find strength in all of your friends and family. You will be amazing.
They did so without getting permission, so it makes their act stealing.
Had they done so in broad daylight, maybe someone would have yelped STOP!
They were dressed in the rights clothes, and talked to people when they had too.
They outnumbered everyone else. So maybe they felt it was their right.
I thought it wouldn't, couldn't happen. I was wrong. I was naive, to trust.
It hasn't happened to me yet, but that is not to say it won't. There is no shame with your name on it, you were defenseless!
To those who are the victims = ..... - { , find strength in all of your friends and family. You will be amazing.
Monday, June 18, 2012
I have seen the face of Evil, He is in the neighbourhood.
There was once a man who lived near others. Whenever he met his neighbors he would smile
in a tight lipped manner, a grimace or maybe a smirk that meant he was fooling
the world. And he liked it much. His eyes were almost always behind sunglasses, and there has been much rain, but he still wore them.
He seemed to be very busy, many people coming and going, but
none stayed to visit. The visitors
always parked their vehicles near the garage, the man with the shaven would appear immediately
after their arrival, like he was waiting for them.
The visitors were not guests, they were there to buy and the
man always was ready to sell.
The local gendarme would visit in varying degrees of
regularity, but even when they knocked and rang his doorbell, he did not
answer, if he was home and often he was.
I think the man thought that the gendarme were vampires, he never opened
the door so he would never have to invite them in or worse.
Sometimes it was machinery, all kinds, sometimes it was
things moved in and out only after the night sky absorbed the light which would
have shed a light on the dishonesty there.
There was once man who parked his vehicle at a coffee shop
just down the road, he had many friends, there were days when business was
quiet, oh not the coffee shop, his business he ran out of his truck with his
cell phone and circle of family and friends. Much laughter and joviality goes on they do enjoy their all day coffee breaks.
The gendarme thought he was involved in the drug industry,
maybe that was a side, but they did not know what he really did. Very few people did and if you did you were
involved. Maybe it was precious metals,
like copper wire… just an example, or better a possibility.
He had people coming and going too. You never saw very much actual “business” a
lot of coffee and tobacco, many people sat in the back of his SUV, young girls
and women, mostly. Young men and older
men would hang out and talk at his driver side window like some fast food
takeout joint. They might wait their
turn at the front bumper passenger side, patiently, like it was worth their
life to just wait.
The gendarme had noticed too, the bearded man spent much time both inside
and outside, he had his granddaughter and son there too. He was well connected, the most casual CEO,
with a thriving corporation, or maybe a thieving corporate body followers. All ages welcome!
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Dare to Dream
The place you live may be called home. The area that home is in may be called a neighbourhood. Neighbourhoods, bordering one other join together and may be called villages, towns, cities and several other names or titles.
Then there are regions and provinces and countries. They all have names that have national significance, but without one thing, one very precious thing... they would be as common as dust and ancient history. There is at least one heart...beating, then another and more, lungs breathing in hope and completing the cycle of respiration by exhaling ... dreams, and seeds of dreams.
It seems easier times in parts of the world that do not have war but have only strife. How is your heart tonight does it beat LoVe or ImAgInE ... or PeAcE to dream. There are heroes you have never met and soldiers that have saved you from what they see even when their eyes are closed,
Then there are regions and provinces and countries. They all have names that have national significance, but without one thing, one very precious thing... they would be as common as dust and ancient history. There is at least one heart...beating, then another and more, lungs breathing in hope and completing the cycle of respiration by exhaling ... dreams, and seeds of dreams.
It seems easier times in parts of the world that do not have war but have only strife. How is your heart tonight does it beat LoVe or ImAgInE ... or PeAcE to dream. There are heroes you have never met and soldiers that have saved you from what they see even when their eyes are closed,
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
The Golden Years
He did not want a dog. However in his view a dog was better than a cat. He knew that they had bought a home; his wife and two boys were hopeful to get a dog. A companion for one and for all. Dogs were expensive, dogs took time to train, who would take on the responsibility? They talked to some friends and the their neighbours and went for a drive. It was all a blur, after they had arrived at the breeder's.
There was one puppy that stood out. The puppy was a boy, and that appealed to the man. The puppy was gentle and self-assured. He did not demand attention, yet showed appreciation when attention was given. His fur was golden with a wide white fur collar from ears to shoulders and the legs were white too. Several weeks later the puppy was allowed to leave its mother.
The man took great joy in puppy training and massaging the ears. Where ever the family went the dog - Goldie - a sheltie, went too. Much brushing of the the sheltie's fur kept it fine, more walking kept Goldie fit. The family did long walks, local hikes and camping trips. Goldie liked to go camping best. The neighbourhood was seldom disturbed by a bark from this amicable family pet.
Goldie would, as commentary, howl when the clarinet was played by any member of the family. It was a woeful sad howl, in the exact same key that was being played or misplayed. As Goldie got older, the boys began to move away; first the oldest and then the youngest, but Goldie remained with the man and his wife. One of the boys had moved to the East coast then to Ontario. The other boy completed a year of local college and then onto university at UBC. Goldie never wandered far, if and when he wandered off. Goldie always like the shade of the back yard, under the branches of any leafy trees and the cool plush green grass beneath.
Goldie like the neighbours' large blue spruce tree best. The neighbour however, was often seen chasing Goldie away from the cool respite, even on a hot August day. As Goldie had gotten older, walks became shorter, veterinarian visits increased. Goldie had gotten old. Maybe it was cleaning the plates of human food. Maybe it was that he was a pure bred sheltie and he hadn't herded any sheep his whole life long, and with the 2 boys gone, there was nothing left to care for. Then one day, 12 year old Goldie, disappeared. Goldie had wandered off walking. One young man was in shock as he tried to absorb the information over the phone. The other young man was just silent.
The man and his wife had gone walking and searching, the neighbours all kept an eye out for the valued member of the pack. The man and his wife returned that night and the next with out finding Goldie and without his companionship. Two days later - Goldie returned, they found him, under the big blue spruce; out of the hot September sun, lying down asleep in the coolness he always loved best. Goldie had returned home, returned to the shade, but this time there was no waking him to chase him away. For Goldie was, now running, on forever fields with the wind in his face and fur; herding the largest herd of sheep ever seen.
There was one puppy that stood out. The puppy was a boy, and that appealed to the man. The puppy was gentle and self-assured. He did not demand attention, yet showed appreciation when attention was given. His fur was golden with a wide white fur collar from ears to shoulders and the legs were white too. Several weeks later the puppy was allowed to leave its mother.
The man took great joy in puppy training and massaging the ears. Where ever the family went the dog - Goldie - a sheltie, went too. Much brushing of the the sheltie's fur kept it fine, more walking kept Goldie fit. The family did long walks, local hikes and camping trips. Goldie liked to go camping best. The neighbourhood was seldom disturbed by a bark from this amicable family pet.
Goldie would, as commentary, howl when the clarinet was played by any member of the family. It was a woeful sad howl, in the exact same key that was being played or misplayed. As Goldie got older, the boys began to move away; first the oldest and then the youngest, but Goldie remained with the man and his wife. One of the boys had moved to the East coast then to Ontario. The other boy completed a year of local college and then onto university at UBC. Goldie never wandered far, if and when he wandered off. Goldie always like the shade of the back yard, under the branches of any leafy trees and the cool plush green grass beneath.
Goldie like the neighbours' large blue spruce tree best. The neighbour however, was often seen chasing Goldie away from the cool respite, even on a hot August day. As Goldie had gotten older, walks became shorter, veterinarian visits increased. Goldie had gotten old. Maybe it was cleaning the plates of human food. Maybe it was that he was a pure bred sheltie and he hadn't herded any sheep his whole life long, and with the 2 boys gone, there was nothing left to care for. Then one day, 12 year old Goldie, disappeared. Goldie had wandered off walking. One young man was in shock as he tried to absorb the information over the phone. The other young man was just silent.
The man and his wife had gone walking and searching, the neighbours all kept an eye out for the valued member of the pack. The man and his wife returned that night and the next with out finding Goldie and without his companionship. Two days later - Goldie returned, they found him, under the big blue spruce; out of the hot September sun, lying down asleep in the coolness he always loved best. Goldie had returned home, returned to the shade, but this time there was no waking him to chase him away. For Goldie was, now running, on forever fields with the wind in his face and fur; herding the largest herd of sheep ever seen.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Moisture
I am dried up, like a well. Dry and dusty, a neglected old deep void; which no longer serves the purpose it was originally intended for. The walls which were solid, hard and impermeable, have become a disjointed rock staircase for roots seeking both water and a place to secure the trees above.
All they found is the crumbling foothold with nothing to drink. So.... they too are dying... just as this well appears dead. It will happen inexorably over time. Further below the well there is life giving water. Some things require digging deeper.
Those who dug the well have long since gone. The trees which they planted; have grown tall, wide and their roots have grown deeper too. The country folk who lived here, boarded up the well after their house burned down. They could not abide with living on a place which now represented such tragic loss. They tore down the cupola which shielded the well from debris. This debris consisted of large branches or smaller twigs and smaller leaves from the older trees. They were dying, as they had been there so very long.
No one had lived here for decades. The branches that had fallen from these graying trees, had been cut to length and dried for firewood. The same firewood, that had caused the fire which had engulfed this family's home, charring their dreams and leaving their future in ashes. That is when they had run to the well to get water to put out the fire. The fire that climbed up the side the house and lifting their hopes and dreams out of reach.
They found the well that had been full that morning and again in the afternoon, was suddenly emptied. The life saving contents, gone; but where and why now? The stood helpless, with the only moisture around, was on their faces, that too dried up from the heat and light of the flames which shot higher than the trees, right to the stars or so it seemed.
Now many years later, dark angry clouds were building over that very spot. There was going to be heavy rain. Droplets gained speed and size, together they became rivulets, erasing the dust clouds that the swollen drops had made on landing. The rain came and the wind continued to increase. The volume was so much there were now streams.
Streams joined and some dry slopes appeared to be river beds. Underground the dry well no longer appeared dry or empty. The well began to sardonically fill, not from the top down, but from the bottom up.
The river deep below was rising, wicked by the amount of moisture at the surface. With the lid on the well, no one would ever know it was at one time empty; nor would they know how vulnerable this source of water might be. The storm had been intense enough to thunder down and wash away what little lumber had remained. The elements had erased the last symbol of the deep sadness which scarred both memories and this beautiful place.
Refreshed, waiting once again to fill the dreams of those who dared to dream. All that was of any significance was a rough-hewn refuse pile at the foot of the hill. Like me. Some cast off piece in a refuse pile. Dried up.
Burnt out. A void, starving to be filled and refreshed too. Alive deep inside, more than what the superficial signs of life allow to be seen.
All they found is the crumbling foothold with nothing to drink. So.... they too are dying... just as this well appears dead. It will happen inexorably over time. Further below the well there is life giving water. Some things require digging deeper.
Those who dug the well have long since gone. The trees which they planted; have grown tall, wide and their roots have grown deeper too. The country folk who lived here, boarded up the well after their house burned down. They could not abide with living on a place which now represented such tragic loss. They tore down the cupola which shielded the well from debris. This debris consisted of large branches or smaller twigs and smaller leaves from the older trees. They were dying, as they had been there so very long.
No one had lived here for decades. The branches that had fallen from these graying trees, had been cut to length and dried for firewood. The same firewood, that had caused the fire which had engulfed this family's home, charring their dreams and leaving their future in ashes. That is when they had run to the well to get water to put out the fire. The fire that climbed up the side the house and lifting their hopes and dreams out of reach.
They found the well that had been full that morning and again in the afternoon, was suddenly emptied. The life saving contents, gone; but where and why now? The stood helpless, with the only moisture around, was on their faces, that too dried up from the heat and light of the flames which shot higher than the trees, right to the stars or so it seemed.
Now many years later, dark angry clouds were building over that very spot. There was going to be heavy rain. Droplets gained speed and size, together they became rivulets, erasing the dust clouds that the swollen drops had made on landing. The rain came and the wind continued to increase. The volume was so much there were now streams.
Streams joined and some dry slopes appeared to be river beds. Underground the dry well no longer appeared dry or empty. The well began to sardonically fill, not from the top down, but from the bottom up.
The river deep below was rising, wicked by the amount of moisture at the surface. With the lid on the well, no one would ever know it was at one time empty; nor would they know how vulnerable this source of water might be. The storm had been intense enough to thunder down and wash away what little lumber had remained. The elements had erased the last symbol of the deep sadness which scarred both memories and this beautiful place.
Refreshed, waiting once again to fill the dreams of those who dared to dream. All that was of any significance was a rough-hewn refuse pile at the foot of the hill. Like me. Some cast off piece in a refuse pile. Dried up.
Burnt out. A void, starving to be filled and refreshed too. Alive deep inside, more than what the superficial signs of life allow to be seen.
Monday, March 12, 2012
1 -2 -3 Times a Gambler
Denise went in and stood back; as to not be apart of the line or not be like a cork in the narrowing space, trapped. A man waited to the side while she took her place in line. He looked at here and kept his distance, trying not to look at her patchwork coat. Her scarf blazing bold and bright with colour. Her gray brown hair which randomly found their way out and around the scarf. She followed, the others and listened to what they were ordering. It was very foreign, the only words she recognized were "coffee" or "tea" and as many variations she could imagine. As she got to the till. She tried to open the cup, unsuccessfully. She handed the shinny mug to the cashier. The Barista, then said, "please remove the lid." " I can't " she mumbled, not making eye contact.
There was an awkward moment as the Barista looked at Denise, she looked toward the outside for an escape route, and the man behind her looked at the mug saying "can I try?" The cashier and Barista both said, "Thanks." Denise barely made an attempt at eye contact and move her weather worn lips, mouthing, "thanks". The lid was off and the barista said, "Bold or Medium," Denise had no idea how she was going to pay and said, "Bold, please". The looking inside the cup as he spoke there was a plastic card, "Good place to keep your gold card, Denise."
Denise was gobsmacked. She could not speak. There were no words, mumbled or otherwise that fit what was happening, in that moment. "Would you like your receipt with your balance, Denise?" As she reached for the card the receipt and the coffee mug and lid, she mumbled "Yes, please." Weakness filled her legs, her knees buckled only a little, placing one hand on the counter to brace her self, she blew out deeply, knowing that air would come rushing into her lungs to refill that void. She saws stars for only a moment. "Where is a chair?" she asked quite clearly. "Look around" the barista was looking at the next guest. The gentleman was no longer behind her. The focus was off Denise now, so she turned to look across the coffee shop. There in the corner of the bookstore, was the man form behind her. He was waving for her to come over there and pointing at a chair with two arms. He had found her a chair.
She looked at his chin, saying "thank you". "No problem" came the reply. "I'll be right back, with your coffee." Soon she settled with her chair facing a bookcase with more books than she can remember seeing, she used to read much. Like her life those days were in the past. Too far distant to help her now. She picked up and flipped through book after book, sipping her coffee in small amounts, just as she was taking only glimpses of the bright pictures and reading a few lines here and there, she paused for a moment,
not daring to listen to the thought trumpeting loudly. "I sure could get used to this!"
That was it, the moment was gone, she left the chair without to much fuss, and walked along the shelves which aimed in the general direction of the door, the way out her escape, coffee cup in hand. Gold card with her name on it in an inside pocket over her heart. She had for but a moment met her Happy, and she hoped too, once again. For now she needed fresh air, the outdoors, any air, before she could not breath, before her fear paralyzed her. She had gambled this time, and she had won a tidy sum. Yet there was so much mystery, that she did not know the answers too, again the wave of fear pushed her toward the ground, stopping her in her tracks...... so she quickly found the only bench on this side of the park, and sat right in the middle of it, like a stanchion, that had found the support it had needed, and it took her breath away.
There was an awkward moment as the Barista looked at Denise, she looked toward the outside for an escape route, and the man behind her looked at the mug saying "can I try?" The cashier and Barista both said, "Thanks." Denise barely made an attempt at eye contact and move her weather worn lips, mouthing, "thanks". The lid was off and the barista said, "Bold or Medium," Denise had no idea how she was going to pay and said, "Bold, please". The looking inside the cup as he spoke there was a plastic card, "Good place to keep your gold card, Denise."
Denise was gobsmacked. She could not speak. There were no words, mumbled or otherwise that fit what was happening, in that moment. "Would you like your receipt with your balance, Denise?" As she reached for the card the receipt and the coffee mug and lid, she mumbled "Yes, please." Weakness filled her legs, her knees buckled only a little, placing one hand on the counter to brace her self, she blew out deeply, knowing that air would come rushing into her lungs to refill that void. She saws stars for only a moment. "Where is a chair?" she asked quite clearly. "Look around" the barista was looking at the next guest. The gentleman was no longer behind her. The focus was off Denise now, so she turned to look across the coffee shop. There in the corner of the bookstore, was the man form behind her. He was waving for her to come over there and pointing at a chair with two arms. He had found her a chair.
She looked at his chin, saying "thank you". "No problem" came the reply. "I'll be right back, with your coffee." Soon she settled with her chair facing a bookcase with more books than she can remember seeing, she used to read much. Like her life those days were in the past. Too far distant to help her now. She picked up and flipped through book after book, sipping her coffee in small amounts, just as she was taking only glimpses of the bright pictures and reading a few lines here and there, she paused for a moment,
not daring to listen to the thought trumpeting loudly. "I sure could get used to this!"
That was it, the moment was gone, she left the chair without to much fuss, and walked along the shelves which aimed in the general direction of the door, the way out her escape, coffee cup in hand. Gold card with her name on it in an inside pocket over her heart. She had for but a moment met her Happy, and she hoped too, once again. For now she needed fresh air, the outdoors, any air, before she could not breath, before her fear paralyzed her. She had gambled this time, and she had won a tidy sum. Yet there was so much mystery, that she did not know the answers too, again the wave of fear pushed her toward the ground, stopping her in her tracks...... so she quickly found the only bench on this side of the park, and sat right in the middle of it, like a stanchion, that had found the support it had needed, and it took her breath away.
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