What I said at Alex and Taelor's Wedding

I promise by the end to give a “Dumb” quote too.

Inside of me resides a poet,

By the rhythm and rhymes,

Listen well , you will surely know it.

All of you here are invited guests,

Alex and Taelor cherish this day,

The start of one of life’s big tests.

Marriage!

Imagine with me, IF, you will, each of

You in turn, could stand where I am,

And speak, wouldn’t that be a peach.

The wisdom that would pour out,

On this celebration, would enrich

This life-stage, I have no doubt!

August 27, 2011.

                             Will always mark the day,

When these two singles become one couple:

Before God; for life’s-work; and music to play.

Friends and family, together, become

 communities of valued memories,

Of time, before this day and then some.

Love, joy, peace, patience to name only four,

Goodness, kindness, gentleness, self-control

Active words woven that encourage more.

To know, each, Alex and Taelor is the others’ companion,

Sharing experiences, building on strength and love,

In the little and big things, that tie together this union.

Alex and Taelor

It has been said there are only two things in life;Time and money,

And if you have much of one; you do not have much of the other.

The exchange rate might look like this:

Seconds are to quarters, Minutes are 2- $10 bills and hours a handful

of $100 dollar bills, so don’t experience life together cheaply.

Empty your hour glasses, your watches, your clocks and any digital time pieces;

For one another.

Time passes and is marked by each days  the certain sunrise and succeeding sunset.

Money floats on the ebb and flow of employment but not tied only to, hard work or working hard but

working smart too.

You two are about to, embark on one of life’s biggest tests; some call it a journey; some a quest.

MARRIAGE.

The currency is love.

The exchange rate is individually mysterious,

Love is yours to give and it is yours to receive; unconditionally.

Each 24 hour day is another opportunity to both give and receive love, unconditionally.

Your goal is to find a balance, to balance the little and big things, this goal is to be accomplished, each Day. Balanced to 0, zero, nil, at the end of day when the moon takes the task of lighting the way.

Hit the” refresh” button, just before you drift off to sleep.

Wake up to a new day, in the morning air; that may be warm or cool or brisk!

You have each other to, share in the mundane, the adventurous or risk.

We here are your invited guests, friends and family,

 We are a community to draw on, our experiences;

Witnesses to, share your joys with, starting with today.

AUGUST 27, 2011 is THAT day, for both of you; it is one of your first dreams to come true.

More dreams, that you will have, a lifetime together, to imagine, to enjoy.

Here is that “Dumb” quote from Richard Dumb; Taelor and Alex “Don’t’ follow your dreams, chase them!”

Deer ... in the headlights.....

The voice I heard on iTunes, was beautiful.   A professional.  The control, the tonal quality (although it was a "mastered" recording) was crystal clear.  She sang softly with passion, making it easy for me to believe what she believed.  The passion, prompted the audience, to sing along and be her back-up vocals, they were for a moment and forever a community of one voice.  The way it was always meant to be.  With passion.  I want to approach my passion as a professional, that is - daily.  Each day I need a community - all the different directions I am pulled; work, father, husband, lover, cook, best friend, dog-walker, hobbyist to come together behind the writer in me and together spread words all over the page till they are all spent.  They need to bring the things they see and taste and experience find a valid place in my writing.  The story can weave it 's way though to the reader and move the reader, or not.  I would be disappointed in my self if someone reading any of my writing - after reading would stare at the computer like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car, unmoved, unable to break the trance.  So on that note....

I was crossing the road, after dark. My dog pulled to get off the 5 lanes of asphalt on to the grass.  The sweet smelling grass on the far side.  I stopped in the middle, the suicide lane, they call it.  Waiting for traffic to pass and make it safe to cross.  I looked down at my feet, my breath visible and being torn away from me by the speed and numbers of the cars, trucks and vehicles going by, oblivious that there was a man and his dog, right outside their windows, standing still.  I looked down at the asphalt and seeing my dog, unsure, what to do except keep an eye on traffic now going both ways; north and south past us; a metal and plastic and rubber stream, whipping up the wind.  I was still looking down when I noticed a familiar soft flower, moving across the hard ground, still looking soft while losing a few petals. The vehicle draft, carried and tumbled the rose, the pink rose in my direction.

I stood transfixed as this pretty blossom tumbled toward me, again scattering a few petals; to the winds of traffic, hoping to appease the uncontrollable current of streaming traffic.  I bent to pick it up.  I rescued it. The traffic had all passed. I looked to the west and up and down that side of the road and saw no one.  I turned around to face east and saw a female on the side of the road where I had just been moments ago.  She was looking at me as I was looking at her.  No, wait she was looking at the rose in my hand. She did not move. She did not speak. She just stared.  She stepped out into the road, to walk in my direction, she stopped in the middle as she knew, she would not make it to the middle or back to the curb unless she hurried, she turned and dropped her soft knitted pink gloves to the ground like petals of the rose I shielded from the next flight of cars and trucks.  They ignored both my dog and I and the woman on the side of the road I had just come from. She stood transfixed, staring into the headlights.

So much so she did not notice me standing with my dog beside her on the sidewalk, until the traffic had passed. I handed her the pink gloves, she looked at my hands and not my face.  She saw the rose as she accepted the gloves. She looked down at the dog with out reaching to pet her. There was no eye contact, there was a sound that made me think she said "thank you." She stuffed the gloves into the pocket of her jacket.  Her dirty toque was plopped on her head.  She held out her hand.

I said, "Is this rose yours?"  She opened her hand to accept it.  I said "watch out for the thorns". I heard a sound from her that was lost in the next wave traffic that washed the night air over us.  She firmly grasped the rose and stem, ignoring the thorns or what I said.  She did not look at me, but past me to a man watching, waiting further up the sidewalk.  It was only then did I notice the few blood droplets splashing to the walkway below.  I looked up in time to see catch her eyes staring into mine.  It was a vacant stare, yet there was a hardness to it and more, but what?  In that moment everything froze, and I stood staring like a deer in the headlights - of her stare and then it was gone as she brushed past me, to go to the man, on the sidewalk in front of the motel.  The sign flashed the time, the temperature and vacancy. 

As they turned into the driveway, he had a firm grip on her elbow and she turned her head in my direction,
I recognized there was another rose, needing rescuing.  I stared after them, once they were out of sight, I turned to cross the road, to the sweet grass that waited for my dog.  There was no traffic, I do not know how long I stood there.  The dog was now sitting looking up at me, hoping to go.  We went, across the 5 lanes of asphalt, I was only able to rescue 1 rose that night, as for the other one, I hoped that she had more life in her and would not wilt, or dry out or cross the road without looking both ways.  I could sense that there were more dangerous things in her life then crossing roads with out looking both ways.

I knew that shortly I would have to go back across the boulevard.  I would go home to a warm place. I could not help but see her face every time I closed my eyes.  I felt I had let her down, I had saved only one rose.  My dog pulled on the leash, as we crossed the road, reaching the sidewalk.  I turned to go away from the motel, toward my home, a bed warmly waiting.  The dog stopped me in my tracks, as she pulled toward the motel, it was her turn to rescue a rose, she was a girl dog after-all, pink leash taut as she shouldered into the direction... dragging me to where the thorns drew blood, and the sign flashed vacancy.  What was I to do..... now.

       

Satellite Missed Me

Well this will be, the second one in recent times.
An, Object Dropped Out Of Diminishing Orbit (ODOODO).

I got news for; you and you, and me too.
It missed me. Missed you too, otherwise WE
might see IT on You Tube.

It is not, that I might get fame if I became a flaming pile of flesh and satellite shame.
Oh quite a different tangent, wrong place wrong time, does the punishment fit the crime?

Am I being clear or are you lost, playing catch with a satellite, and my life I lost?
There I said it, ROSAT said "catch me I am falling", I said "what is taking so long...?"
"Why, are you stalling?"

Let us all not forget, the gravity of the situation, you will not just fall but plummet.
I will not ignore the situation, or let a space agency bring it, down to DUMB IT.

Hey I want to be a winner, I want to get a souvenir!
Why not a 1.6 metric ton gigantic heat resistant mirror? 

Maybe it is all a dream, in my head as I sleep, as a result of sipping potion?
Or as the odds would have, we will only meet, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

I know I sound like it is in the past, but we are waiting for you, ROSAT to blast,
In through the sphere at most, height, with a flash, and
with out a sound, save for the rushing of wind by and amongst your fewer parts,
until you come home to Earth where your life did start.

You can finally rest, you have surpassed the test, just remember, to miss all life
in your entrance, small or grand, (like you have a choice).  When will they ever
learn, these learned men of science, that the sacrifice of 1 mistaken life, takes
away from the knowledge they gain, if along the way there was anguish and pain,
if it is heard as a whistling and a deadening thud. It is not the person who hears the sound
that needs to fear; tis the one that hears none.

Then somewhere shrill and near a siren will sound all too familiar: - odoodo; odoodo;

ODOODO....ODOODO.............................................

Dealing with My Demons

For me, it did not start when some Grade 1 school teacher verbally tore down my hand-printing, no it was much later. Nor was it when my grade 3 teacher described my hand-writing attempts a "messy, more practice needed." I would have to wait for high-school to be at war.

I joined cadets the year I went to Junior High-school (grades 8 -9). I got busy between school, homework, chores, Cadet Nights (Wednesdays) and field exercises ( some weekends). The mock warfare and military discipline, in no way prepared me for the onslaught that would start in a few years. Once I turned 16, I joined the militia, too.

It happened in grade 11. Grade 11 was already a challenging year, Physics was beyond me, but I struggled through.  Socials 11 was a fact-filled, fast paced and memorization was at a premium.  How else do you get 898 out of 1500 and on the bell curve come out with a B +.  I think Jenny G got 1283.  I had just come off of a French 10 failure in June.  Then I walked into my grade 11 English class just 2 months later, in September,  with Mr. D Ross.  D stood for Dinky to the student body,  Mr Ross was well known for picking a few favorites, and it was for every one else to dread coming to his class.

My demon was about to begin to act out.

I have difficulty remembering the details. However there were the odd F's and E's and D's and maybe a C-.  The comments were acidic.  They attacked my imagination.  On papers that were subjective, one's where you voiced your opinion; I often had the word FAIL written across my paper. Mr. Ross, had decided I was not worthy of Fairness.  There was an occasional C with the word "passable" but I was still failing.

My concerned parents, took action. My parents even helped me write an assignment, to see what grade I would get.  I got back a "D".  They called the school office and requested a meeting with myself , Mr. Ross, the principal and my dad.

The principal met with my dad, the principal then met with my dad and me; lastly the principal, Mr. Coffin met with all three of us, in his office, behind closed doors.

The meeting was not long.  There were some terse exchanges.  The tension was palpable.  I don't even remember if I was asked to leave at one point.  I know that Mr. Coffin agreed with my dad's opinion; that Mr. Ross had been overly unfair in grading my work.  You see, my dad had provided copies for Mr. Coffin, of all the marked papers, to review in advance.

The result of the meeting was positive, there would be changes to my grades reflecting successful completion, and I would be getting a C.  Sadly, the damage had been done.  To this day I can not escape this Demon.  Between high-school and early in my military career I compiled a small body of work; then one day in a fit of self-pity, decided it was unsatisfactory and only worthy of, being thrown out.  Epic poetry and all, gone.

Every time I want to write, I stumble.  Some times, when I plan to write, I hesitate long enough for the inspiration to dissipate.  Each time I drag my pen across the paper, I expect to receive a red "F". 
The demon is still there.  Following, everything I have written is; The Threat of mockery, negative commentary, and an unfair review.


Much time has passed, much time wasted, with OUT writing.  I was married, my wife and I had 3 children.  I left the Army to land on multiple different employment experiences, no career found in any of them.   I joined the Royal Bank as a trainee and became a manager of customer service, moved my family to Chase, BC; until the branch manager, who had his favorites, decided that I could be laid off with 4,000 others in the Royal family that year.  I did not settle on a career again until 1998.  My demon was on the move again.


I joined Canada Revenue Agency (CRA), my youngest son was diagnosed with a chronic illness and we moved to the lower mainland, the GVRD, which Surrey is the largest part of.  I met my new team leader, who picked a few favorites and it, was for everyone else on the team, to dread coming into work each day.  Even now, years later, I have difficulty submitting work for approval, in case it is not good enough except to be rejected.

My demon was back, the attack was more insidious, and more devastating as that path had been walked twice before.  My demon does not want to win, and then it would be out of a job, my demon just wants me to know fear, IT waits for me to think about writing words, IT waits for me to pick up a pen or pencil or sit in front of a keyboard

My demon waits as, IT can only stare me in the eye from a blank page or from a form of technology like a computer screen.  I am not angry or afraid and I fight.  I fight back, weakly.  I am dealing with this demon the only way I know how; I write words.  If .... no, when I succeed, it will be my demon that will get the "F".