In Trust

Why do people lie?

It is in my nature to trust folk. I don’t want to distrust folk. Even after being lied to time and time again I hold out that possibility that this time they are telling the truth. I assume that instead of lying there are instead misunderstandings. Miscommunications. (Please note that I am not referring to you…as far as I can tell, you have not lied to me and in this my gut agrees).

I try to trust myself and my gut instincts (some call it Ki). But when my gut activates my spidy senses I tend to feel that I am wrong. In the wrong. I tell myself that I must be wrong. And then, once again, I am put in the position of the goat. By not trusting myself I put myself in that position. I know this. Yet I want to trust in others before myself. Not hold anything back. But I need to protect myself and only I can do that. It’s a perverse game. A form of violence.

Yes, the saying goes ‘trust must be earned.’ Why? Why must trust be so fleeting. What many do day to day is, as far as I can see, based on trust. Deals are created and work when folk trust each other. You need, however, to add ‘carrots’ – a sort of ‘you can trust this person cuz if they back down they will lose $$ so therefore you are safe’ kind of thing. Trust is shored up. But that’s not real trust is it? Can trust really be bought and sold? Is it a commodity? The cynic in me states that ‘one can trust folk to act as they act in accordance with human nature.’ But shouldn’t it be human nature to desire harmony?

But then again, as I’ve already stated, I don’t trust myself. Perhaps that’s the first step. Trusting in myself. I've been called greedy. Yes. Greedy for a reflection that I could trust. Using that reflection as a form of self validation. I sincerely wish that I had come to this point sooner. Perhaps I wouldn’t have pushed some folk away. But then again, without having these folk as a mirror I am now forced to look inward. This is actually the hardest thing I have ever done. Going inside. Beyond the memories and the stories and the (re)creations. Facing and seeing myself. Warts and all. I need to allow myself to see through my own eyes.

Cuz Only You Would 'Get' This

My boss was chosen today for jury duty today -- Andrew Stevenson murder case -- meaning he'll be off for 6 to 8 weeks. I get two jobs now. Human resources doesn't think that this means I should have a raise at all as it falls under 'other duties as may be required' in my job description. At least there will be at least one sane and level headed juror.

The new electrical panel in the booth (same place as the old one) doesn't pass inspection cuz our sound board is in front of it. Against code (though it's been this way for over 15 years). I now have to shop for and purchase a small digital console 'in my spare time' at work and strip the fucking booth again. At least we'll go digital.

Had to fire a sound tech on Sunday. Did it gently...encouraged him to go out and learn his craft but that he wasn't 'there yet' in terms of working in our space. He cried. I did a show. At least this show went well.

Just ran out of propane for barbecue and can't go out cuz the meat man is scheduled to arrive between 5pm and 9pm so I'm nuking my chicken (too hot for a stove). At least I have chicken (and a good excuse to stay in).

The score for the piece that the bride to be for the wedding I'm playing at next month wants to walk down the aisle to is crap. Starts well but gets very chunky. I'll be rewriting sections. At least I have a bit more than a month to learn it.

What I miss most? Sending stuff like this to a person who I know 'gets it.'

What a Difference a Year Makes

So I ask myself. Have I been wasting my time this past year? The answer lies somewhere between and outside of 'yes' and 'no'. After Xman left I was crushed. Vulnerable. Insecure. Taking care of two wee ones day to day and finding the approach of each new day to be difficult to say the least. Last summer (around August) I met someone with whom I could talk about my feelings and as we chatted (primarily through email) I found myself thinking less about Xman and more about the possibilities of life. I started going out with this person for coffee. Then we began attending music events. To go out and be as an individual person--not a mom, soon to be divorcee etc.--was wonderful. I knew from the onset that this person I was hanging out with was not 'the one' yet I enjoyed the company. My feelings turned to love. Slowly. Tentatively. As I felt my ability to trust return I eagerly awaited the arrival of each new email in my inbox. It was not all good. His issues/wants/needs and my issues/wants/needs would clash. Mutual insecurities and past betrayals haunted us. I was helped by him though. And I was hurt by him. Differing views on what constituted friendship made the whole thing lopsided. I got to know him well. I don't believe the same can be said for his knowing me. At least his actions/words etc. did not reveal any empathic understanding of who I was. Only of who he thought I was. That said, this past year was 'gotten through.' Now, once again in August, I find myself with and without that person with whom I had gained some solace. I am still with him because I do know him. We, because of what we are involved with, will out of necessity see each other each week. I am without him because any other communication besides that which will occur when we must see each other is over. My girlfriends told me that if I hung out and went out with him I would not be approached by any other possible suitor. That was ok by me. I was enjoying the moment and not all that interested in the future. He was recently begun going out again solo. Ladies who had kept their distance from him because of me are now making themselves known to him. I hope he will find what he is looking for. I guess when push comes to shove I really wanted him to see me and know me. To act as a true reflection of who I was because I found it very difficult to see myself. Now I see that the reflection he presented to me was not real. For whatever reason he could not/would not see me for who I was--for who I am. It was for that reflection that I pushed. Funny that the basis of our relationship occurred through email and text. Funny that he would tell me that he wouldn't speak of these things to me face to face. Funny that I have always loved and used words in text to express myself. Funny that from the onset he tried to instill in me a sense that words were basically useless in terms of gaining a true understanding. The glorious contradictions of life. I have a file in his name in my email account that holds all of our correspondence throughout the entire year. A year's worth of correspondence. Exploration. Wrath. Humour. Exasperation. Wit. Love. Like other memories, I'll keep it stored away. Not to dwell but to cherish. Bitter sweet. All in all, it was a pretty good year.

I Hugged My Kids

Barbecued honey glazed and garlic chicken with a wee bit of Thai chili paste alongside steamed basmati rice and barbecued broccoli gently sprinkled with soy sauce. Belly is full.

No sitter tonight. No class tonight. Good to take a break. Must be the way it's supposed to be.

Had a scary moment on the phone with Xman. Seems that he got it in his head that if he takes joint custody of the children he won't have to pay support. He screamed and yelled and I hung up the phone. He spoke to his lawyer who told him that he was wrong. Hmmmm....I wonder. Will he still make an effort to see the kids more often now that he knows his financial responsibilities will remain the same? Time will tell. I won't be holding my breath.

It was good that this happened in a weird and perverse life lesson sort of way. I immediately reverted to my good ol' fight/flight instinct. I felt that my back was to a wall and my children were behind me holding on to a leg each. I freaked out. I was terrified. Terrified that he might get away with it. Terrified for the kids. They need/want to spend time with him but he has a whole lot of fence mending to do before they would be in any way shape or form ready to spend half of their time with them.

To be fair, I asked them. They consider home to be with me. They don't want it disrupted. Ok. For now I will stay the course.

As it stands, the kidlings will be off to stay with him on Saturday for 2 weeks -- part of their summer vacation avec daddy. I will miss them (once again...'miss' is a totally inadequate word) but we shall all get through this. I just might go out and discover some new friends? Who knows. At least I know that my fight/flight, even when triggered, won't last long. A short time after the phone call, a coolness came over me and I started to cover my bases. Contacted my lawyer. Made arrangements for additional child support (in case XMan were to pull out now completely). Hugged my kids. Hugged my kids. Hugged my kids.

Just Getting Some Words Out

Week off with kidlings. Just hanging out. This and that. That and this. Nice. Haven't slowed down and just allowed myself to 'be' in a very long time. Kidlings will be off at their dad's next week. It'll be hard but . . . we shall persevere.

Xman wants to discuss something in person with me this week. Ok. Not really wanting to face whatever it is but I guess it's necessary. It'll have to do with access or $$. Sigh. I have to remember to not fall into the trap that this is somehow my fault. Guess I'll let him know that he can drop by tonight after the kidlings are in bed.

Had a dream about the King of Wands upside down. A friend who wants to be solitary. Well then.

It hailed yesterday. Strange. Large chunks of ice pelted down.

Practice is going well. Was told that I was beginning to become a 'pain in the ass.' Nice to hear those words again. I'm physically stronger then ever before. Long, hard, sweaty practice last night and I've woken up with nothing sore. Nice.

Playing guitar again. Doing a wedding end of September. Working on getting pieces under my fingers again. Opening up the neural pathways and building up the strength so that the music can come out. Approaching music in a different way. Hard to explain. Letting the sound reveal itself.

For the rest of the day? Not sure. Will see what unfolds.

Wanted?

Kidz home. Sanity returns? Training for eventual empty nest syndrome.

Quotes from the boy:

"I don't mean to be mean but I don't really like daddy much. He didn't have much time for us. He worked and when he was home he spent most of his time on his laptop. We were told to go to our room and watch tv. His girlfriend is nice but she gets headaches everyday and needs her quiet time."

Talked to him that it was ok to express his feelings and no he wasn't being mean or bad. That he had every right to feel the way he was feeling. I asked if he tried to talk to his dad about how he was feeling. He said no. I said it was ok to talk to his dad about these things too. It might help?

"Mommy, why can't you just go out and find us a new daddy...one that can live here with us?"

This one threw me. I've been trying to keep my 'personal' life (not much of one to tell the truth but . . . ) personal. I've not wanted to bring anyone into the kidz lives right now. I've really not wanted to bring anyone deeply into my life right now. Hmmm.... Guess I should put an ad in a local?

"Wanted:

Single but difficult mom seeking man to share her life and take on the responsibility of aiding in the care and growth of 2 exceptional children. Must be low maintenance and not become liken to a '3rd child.' (Been there....done that). Should be tender and affectionate yet able to throw her hard. Must be independent and self sufficient. Humour is an asset."

Forever And A Day

So tomorrow, August 1st, will be my 10 year wedding anniversary. Well, it would be if I were still married. Technically I am still married but, other than the paperwork and some other niggling details yet to be sorted, that particular 'forever' commitment ended two years ago.

Funny how 'forever' has become, like most things, a disposable commodity like machines with plastic parts, paper napkins and items bearing 'made in China' stamps. Nevertheless, folk still buy into the dream of forever. Buyer beware. Like the Highlander they want to believe that their love will last throughout all of time. Forever love. But if we take time to be, essentially, a creation or social construct or mass hallucination or even if we merely take it as a point of reference, a belief in forever is as much a fantasy as believing that there is a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

A friend told me the other day that a rainbow, when seen from space, is actually a circle. No beginning. No end. That's actually a 'forever' that I can take stock in and believe. Thus, if something begins 'out of the blue' chances are, it's going to end. Yes, some marriages actually make it to the 'until death do us part' bit but, there's still an ending. Are some spirits 'reborn' and meet somewhere 'in time' again and again throughout what we try to perceive as eternity? Perhaps.

I believe that I have been blessed with meeting at least one such being during my life thus far (and no, it wasn't the man I married). How do I know? As much as this person told me that I had no idea what they were about or who they were and that I knew nothing about them, I had already recognized their essential self. I knew them despite the affectations, scars and defensive posturing we are all guilty of embodying as we deal with the day to day crap that gets thrown at us time and time again. It's because of this recognition that I began to question notions of forever in the first place. That said, being only a foolish and silly human, notions of eternity and infinity are too large for my wee brain to comprehend -- thus the need to create 'time' as a reference point in the first place. Order out of a perceived chaos as it were.

Regardless, at this particular point/moment in time I feel like shit. I waver between demoralized abject despair and not wanting to care about anything anymore. (Phil Collins' lyrics scream through my head along with Max Webster's 'Bust the Busters.') Each is incredibly self indulgent but since I neither have a pint of rocky road ice cream in my freezer nor some homegrown organic to smoke I should be allowed instead a bit of time to wallow in self pity. Besides, at least I know this feeling won't last forever.

And tomorrow is just another day.

Vanishment

I disappeared the other day. It was something that I wanted. What I asked for. The result, however, was unexpected. I arrived at work on Thursday and checked my bank account. It was payday. I'm never quite sure how much my end of month pay is because I never bother to calculate my overtime in advance. I like to keep the extra dosh as a surprise. I was surprised. No pay had been deposited. I called payroll. The woman who answered the phone asked me to hold the line. When she returned to speak with me she told me she had no idea what happened. She had to check with her supervisor. I hung up and waited. Well. I carried on doing my job. Kind of. I had a sneaking suspicion. I suspected that something was up beyond my comprehension. I had recently looked up at skies and said 'Bring It!' I've been frustrated. Lonely. Fed up. 'Just Bring It!' Whatever was to be brought I figured I could take. I sent a message to a friend and among other pitiable things I whinged on about, I wrote how I wanted to disappear.

The payroll supervisor got back to me. She didn't really know how it happened but apparently I had been disappeared from the main database. Not only me but my job as well. There are various checks and balances in place at the institution where I work to prevent this from accidentally occurring. Whenever someone is deleted, that name is to automatically go on to other lists so that other folk can verify that that someone is indeed supposed to disappear. It seems that my records had been deleted but that my name hadn't automatically gone to any lists. The payroll folk have no idea how this could have occurred.

No harm no foul. It was only money. They cut me a cheque. Nothing bounced.

Strange tho' that I could disappear so quickly. Strange that the timing of this happened just after I had decided to challenge fate? the gods? universal energy?

The same friend to whom I had written my whinge list suggested that I might now need to be careful of what I ask for. Much like the folk in stories who meet up with a genie I should take care when asking for anything because I just might get it.

I've been thinking about what I would want to ask for. I'm stymied. I may not be satisifed entirely with my current situation but I can't really come up with anything that could make it better. I kind of like the journey and the sense of adventure that is wrapped up in my not knowing what is coming up. I guess I continue to have hope and faith in tomorrow. Hope doth springeth eternal. At the same time, despite my whining, I'm doing ok. The choices I've made in the past that have led to where I am now are ones that I probably wouldn't have made any differently if I had the chance to make them again.

I do believe that I will stop yelling at the sky. At least for a bit.

Seeing

My girl has a ‘lazy’ eye. There is nothing physically wrong but her strong eye has taken over the responsibility of seeing. Her weaker eye is getting weaker. We have used glasses, eye drops, adhesive patches and the like. It’s been a frustrating process. Invasive. It's been about five years! My daughter is incredibly strong but enough is enough. We went to the eye doc again yesterday and I asked him about possible alternative visual therapies…a wee bit of internet research has revealed the existence of such approaches; the caveat being that the closest practitioner is in Cambridge, ON. The doc, as should have been expected, dismissed the idea right away saying that what we were doing was right and sometimes it just didn’t work. Maybe.

So I got her a pirate patch to wear after school and on weekends over her strong eye instead of the adhesive bandages that cause a rash and hurt her skin when removed. She’s happier with that. Her words after viewing herself in the mirror ‘Oh mommy, I look absolutely ridiculous! I love it.’ I have also started to work with her in terms of relating the images she sees with her weaker eye to her brain. Instead of just letting her ‘carry on’ I’m trying to be a bit more pro active. (While simultaneously attempting to ignore the rising waves of mommy guilt for not trying to do something about this sooner). We are looking at things together and I am asking her to describe for me the details she is seeing (describe the veins of a leaf…what do they do for the leaf…what do they remind one of etc. all in an effort to make her have to consciously see through that eye and interpret the images) I’m thinking that physical therapists don’t just ask folk to walk on the sore leg until it heals but offer techniques to strengthen the leg. I’m trying to work out ways to strengthen the connection between the visual input and her brain. I can’t move to Cambridge (or can I?) but I need to try something new. At least, according to the doc, there is nothing physically wrong with her eye or the optic nerve. I need to try something but the invasive crap feels wrong.

Perhaps I’m too close to this. I have a healthy distrust of doctors so my biases may be blinding me. Our next appointment with the doc is in December. Until then, I'll work with her and wait & see.

A Little Knowledge . . .

New people have entered my life. One has entered slowly yet, simultaneously and contradictorily, the entry was immediate. I just didn't recognize the impact right away. But, at the same time I did. It needs time. Hmmmmm......

Others have been filtering in. A new balance is to be achieved. I feel that everything that is going on around me is right. It's supposed to happen. I don't know why. I'm not sure if I'm really supposed to know why. Maybe why isn't the correct question? I am feeling more centred. Peaceful.

A recent meeting with a postive thinker has provided me with much needed, and free, childcare. A quaker I met today brought me messages of peace as well as information on upcoming meetings. I will not go but it's nice to be asked to the dance. Dads are coming up to me in the playground to talk. The commonality between all? They are all searching. Actively or passively. Searching for answers. Meanings. Understanding.

I've been thinking about knowing. What is knowing? We use our senses...sight, smell, taste, touch and hearing. Then our minds do the requisite calculations and voila...we know something. Doesn't this put the act of thinking right up there with seeing and smelling in terms of sensory observation? If thinking is a sense does this change how the world is perceived?

Certain things are going on in my life that, when I actively attempt to think about them, my understanding/knowledge of them lessons. I know that I can't know these things through thinking. How do I know this? I don't know. But I do know. You know? It's a knowledge linked to feeling. A combination of the senses I recognize with, perhaps, some senses that I don't. These unknown senses don't need to be understood to do their job. I don't know exactly how my heart and lungs work but I know that they are doing what they are supposed to be doing. My body/myself remain alive. I am more than my body. It makes sense that other parts of me, be they emotional, spiritual, soulful or other, would be, when functioning at an optimum level, not have to necessarily involve my conscious input to do what they do.

So I'm thinking about stuff lately. Not exactly sure where, if anywhere, it will take me. It's fun. Keeping me off the streets (for the most part). Regular scheduled programming will continue at a later date.

Is Your Mechanism Working?

Driving home from the kids' dance class today I felt on edge. Strange. A whoosh of heat came through me. My mind was wandering. Floating. Walls have come down and I'm picking through the rubble. I'm working on teasing out emotional knots that have accumlated over the past couple years. I thought I had dealt with most things but now realize that I had dealt with the external factors--kids, finances, loss of partner etc. The internal factors had been shunted aside. First things first. Now, I guess, is the time to start dealing with the other crud. The nitty gritty. The essence of who I am beyond what I have experienced. Been through.

Traffic slowed in front of me. A car was stalled. The woman in the car was leaning back with her head in her hands. Waiting. Traffic pulled around her and waited at a red light. I looked left. Another woman jumped out of her car and fussed with something in her trunk. When she moved on there was yet another woman out of her car. She was shaking her head. Her car had started to make a strange noise and she didn't want to continue. Her girl friend, driving in a car behind her, got out to help. I carried on on to the highway thinking 'that was strange.' I kept driving and my mind flew away again. I made it to the off ramp and faced another slow down. When I got to the corner there was another car sitting at an intersection. Another woman in the drivers seat. Stalled. Hazard lights blinking.

I continued home. I haven't stalled.

Icarus

So I reached out and touched the sun. And. And what? Of course I got burned. If only it were a flesh wound. I'll take a couple of days to lick my wounds. Add salve to my ego. And. And what? Continue. Of course.

You see. I needed to know. I already did. But I needed to be told. Straight from the horse's mouth. I was told. I was told that he couldn't. Not wouldn't. Couldn't. He went on for a bit. Explanatory circles. In the end, he had to go. "Ok," said I. "Cool," was his response. So clean. So neat. He hadn't been anything but himself. Sure. I get that. I hadn't been anything but myself. How could I be? How could he? I remember, however, the incident last year when one of my stafflings nearly fell through the ceiling. He had been told where to walk. He had been told to be careful. I was still responsible though. If he had been injured or killed my responsiblity would have been much more palpable. He wasn't hurt. I was still responsible. Life or death.

So.

At least I know I am capable of feeling. Capable of putting myself 'out there.' Not as scary as I thought really. Despite the outcome. The past few weeks were fun. I was happy. I don't know if I'll be quick to try again but I must take care. Take care not to sink. Too far down. He said that he used to try to fly. He keeps saying stuff like that. Stuff that resonates as truth inside of me. A reflection of myself. I'm hoping that I don't lose that part. That truth.

I too need to fly. If only to keep myself at arm's reach to the sun.

Caught You Looking

Mirrors mirrors on the walls . . .

Catching fleeting glimpses of myself doing things that I have never before been able to see is unnerving. Unsettling. I feel like a voyeur of my own life. I, like many others I suppose, am uncomfortable with myself. I cringe when I hear recordings of my voice. Photographs rarely come close to capturing who I feel that I am. I would probably run screaming into the woods never to return should I ever get caught on film during sex. It's not that I carry a bad image of myself. I just prefer to see myself through your eyes than through my own.

So I face the mirrors and look above myself. I focus on a spot beyond where I am. I can see myself but am not the central image. I am one of many. I can work this way. Then I realize that I have done the same with you. Only occasionally do I look straight at you. Take your gaze. Create a oneness. I now recall that you have never looked away. You have met the gaze but haven't challenged it. You have accepted it and, allowed it to go its merry way when I needed to change my focus. You have been patient. And gentle.

There are so many reflections. Many types of reflections. Reflections upon reflections. Reflecting light. Reflecting Sound. Bats use sound waves to situate themselves. They send out signals that bounce back to them. The faster the signals are reflected back, the closer the object is. There must be a physical sensation/feeling attached to these signals. Wouldn't the bat need to 'know' if the surface is hard or soft. If the fruit is ripe or not? Otherwise, this navigational system would be too simple. Unelegant. When the natural world appears unelegant I tend to think that it's my perception that's flawed. I'm missing a piece of the big picture.

Memory is a reflection. So are moods. Emotions. Thoughts. We sit. We reflect. We reflect upon our world. We reflect upon our moods. Ourselves. These reflections feel incomplete. That perhaps we are only acknowledging part of what is being reflected our way. We see the reflection. Or touch it. Smell it. But we don't fully experience it. Actually, at some level we must be experiencing it fully. We just aren't aware of it. We stop at the image and get scared. Scared that someone else might be there. Looking.

Crackers

I've taken to getting myself a bowl of soup at lunch time while I am at work. It's not the greatest soup in the world but, it's hot and relatively inexpensive. $2.14 will get me a large bowl of soup and 2 packages of crackers. Thing is, I can't eat soup without at least 5 packages of crackers. I like the texture to be mushy, not runny. When the consistency can be equated with baby puree I am happy. When the soup of the day is Thai red chicken curry or French Canadian pea, I am ecstatic! So what do I do? Instead of picking out the allowable 2 packages of crackers, I take 5. This always leads to some form of discussion at the cash.

Cashier: You know I have to charge you more for the extra crackers.
Me: Yes, I understand that.
Cashier: You get 2 packages free with the soup.
Me: Ok.
Cashier: Do you still want the extra crackers?
Me: Yes, please.
Cashier: I'm afraid I will have to charge you and extra $.30.
Me: Ok.

The cashier will then shake her head and hand me back the change and offer me a soup club card.

Cashier: If you get this card stamped 10 times, you will get a free soup.
Me: Does that include the extra crackers?
Cashier: Ummmm....I don't know. I don't think so. But you get 2 packages free.
Me: Never mind. I'll do without the card.

Thing is, I used to try to use these cards for shoes, coffee, soup, books and the like but I would invariably lose the card and have to start over again. I don't do cards anymore.

Today, when I got my soup, the cashier looked down at my bowl and 5 packages of crackers and then after ringing in my purchase whispered:

I haven't charged you for the extra crackers today.

I thanked her and left a $.30 tip.

Cue Music

Picture this if you will. Last night at approximately 9:30pm I went upstairs to deliver the final 'go to sleep' message to the wee ones. The boy was in the girl's bed and I separated them in order to help bring peace and quiet.

At 9:32pm I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and going to the back door. The boy, in his jammies, put on his shoes and his bright yellow raincoat and proceeded to go outside clutching his two stuffed frogs -- Reebeet and Peebeet -- tightly to his chest.

'Where are you going?' I asked.

'Away. I'm going to live with my daddy. He left so why can't I.'

It was raining. Lightly. I followed him outside. I suggested that he come back in and we give his dad a call.

'No. I don't want to talk to him. But I'm serious. I'm leaving.'

Tears welled up in my eyes, fell down my cheeks and mixed with the rain. Barefoot, I walked with him as he approached the road and turned to continue down the sidewalk. He kept a few feet ahead but stopped every 4 or 5 steps in order to turn around and make sure I was still there.

We walked like this for awhile in silence. We turned the corner and a car stopped and the driver and passenger asked me for directions. It was surreal. My son and I both stopped and seemed to break out of our trance. I provided the information and turned, once again, to look at the boy. We stood facing each other in the rain. Neither of us were moving. It was not so much a stand off but a recognition of the distance between us. A recognition that he was angry, scared, confused and frustrated; that we both were. A recognition that getting older was hard. A recognition that even the relationship between a mother and son required attention. Work. I held out my hand and, at first, he backed away.

I remembered a favourite poem of mine (of course I can't for the life of me remember the author or title right now). The poem depicted a scene wherein a mother and son are outside and the son goes too close to the edge of a cliff. The mother could not cry out for fear that her son, becoming startled, would fall. Instead, she opened up her blouse revealing her breasts. The boy, seeing this, runs towards her into her embrace and safety.

I told the boy that I loved him and that I would not leave him. I told him that I would stay with him regardless of how many 'even ifs' he could come up with. He reached out and grabbed my hand. We walked, side by side back to the house. I brought him up to his bed and held him until he fell asleep.

Tears and rain remained moist upon my cheeks.

Boys and Girls

The other night in a bar:

Him: Girls are very complicated.

Me: Really? I don't think so.

Him: So you think you're not complicated.

Me: No. What I want in a fellow is pretty simple. I want someone who is good at what he does but isn't what he does. I want someone who is kind and sincere. Stupid folk need not apply. I'd like someone who will stand up for himself, his ideals and me and, who will stand up to me when warranted.

Him: I'd like her to be pretty and in to me...but not stupid.

Me: Ya, I guess girls are a bit more complicated. You win.

Just a Moment

It's about the moment. A moment in time. Stretched out. Examined. Experienced. Lived. A moment that, once past, will never be repeated. Even in memory, the moment is a mere echo. Less substantial. And then . . . poof . . the moment is gone. Like live theatre. One off shows. How can I appreciate the moment when it occurs? How can I make time stretch so that I can touch and see it. Smell and hear it. Taste it. Rub my back against its shoulders and feel its weight drop to the ground. I don't want to control it. I want to be fully engaged within it. A part of it. A moment where I feel energy coursing around me, through me, within me and out from me. The exact point where energy is both given and received. Kind of sounds like an orgasm eh?

I am, of late, feeling pulled in numerous directions. It's difficult to be fully present in the present as strange as that might sound. How can I expect the metaphorical sex to be any good when my focus keeps being drawn to what's happening outside the window, or, worse yet, what's not happening on the ceiling. On Saturday, I did my 5th kyu exam in Aikido. I had a good time. It brought back feelings of performance. I felt, for the first time in a long time, that I was centred. There. Fully present. As soon as I was finished, my euphoria continued for a brief time but then I looked at the clock. I started wondering when the rest of the exams would be complete. Would I have to leave early? What was the protocol? I had to get my kids. I tried to lend my support to the others being examined but my energy was divided. I was already gone from one moment and living in the next.

I wonder if this 'dog chasing its tail' mentality is part of a larger societal problem? It seems that folk are constantly running towards something that can never be achieved. Much like imaginary numbers. I was first introduced to the concept of imaginary numbers in Grade 11 math. They struck me as hugely problematic. It was explained to me that if we take steps towards a wall and always half the distance from one step to the next, we will never reach the wall. I wondered how math could ever be used to create an elegant equation to explain everything if an end result could never be achieved except through numbers that didn't exist. I was told to accept the equations as fact and not to question how they came about. My aptitude for math dropped that year from a 95% to a 60%.

Perhaps it would have made more sense if I had thought that imaginary numbers were like fiction (please note that I am in no ways a mathematician and am probably completely misunderstanding this entire concept...I do like a good metaphor however and I'm going to run with it). A fictional tale does not pretend to tell you what really happened. Nonetheless, a fictional tale can reveal truths not necessarily evident if one were to relate exactly what happened in real time. Fiction allows one to stop time. Examine the moment, as it were. (I might like to add here that I am a fan of both fiction and non fiction and find their differences to be not that great. The best fiction reveals universal 'truths' that help to explain, unveil, reflect or reveal the world around us in a new and, perhaps, yet to be examined light. The best non fiction tells a story that does the same. I see the dividing line between the two groups to be blurry at best).

But, back to the moment at hand. It is too easy to get distracted. Perhaps this is where meditation could work? Learning to relax one's mind to allow for the moment to be realized fully? I dunno. I just feel that I and many others are missing out on moments when we dwell on past echos or imagine future scenarios. There is a saying that states that one should 'live in the moment.' Easier said then done I think but, probably well worth striving for.

What Helps Make My Job Worthwhile

Me: Hi There. I'm just calling to confirm your booking time and your technical requirements for your upcoming event. We have you scheduled from 6pm to 10pm. Is this correct?

Client: Yes. That is correct. We will be there at 6pm. My wife and I will be there earlier to set up. You have risers?

Me: Yes we have risers. At what time will you and your wife be arriving?

Client: 5pm

Me: Ok. I'll change your booking time to reflect a 5pm start.

Client: That is good. We have told the musicians to arrive at 5:30pm for their sound check.

Me: Ok. How many musicians will there be?

Client: Only one. Guitar, tabla and harmonium.

Me: So there will be three performers?

Client: Yes. That is correct.

Me: Will the guitarist need a vocal mic? Will he be speaking to the audience?

Client: No. He won't be speaking to the audience. He will only say a few words before each number.

Me: Maybe we'll have a vocal mic on stand by just in case?

Client: Yes that will be good.

Me: Ok. I'll see you at 5pm on Sunday.

Client: How much earlier than that can we get into the theatre?

Me: ??

It's Hard

It's hard. It's hard to bring him up. It's hard to discuss. It's hard to acknowledge.

I want to thank a friend. Many actually. One in particular. My son and I went over for a visit. Bringing candy. With no discomfort she, my friend, brought up my son's dad. In a good way. There was no hesitation. She mentioned his dad in a way that made my son proud. A way that gave my son a feeling of connection with his father. A connection that was ok. I found that I could bring him up with more ease then too.

I'd stopped doing that. Stopped bringing him up. Stopped discussing him. Stopped thinking about him. I tried anyway. Consciously. Unconsciously. When we first split up I tried to keep his name in the open. I tried to keep a relationship current between him and the kids. It was hard. I felt that I was fighting a losing battle. I thought it was important to keep bringing him up for the sake of the kids. I wanted him to call more. See the kids more. I eventually stopped. It was tiring. On the occasions that he did call, I found myself becoming irritated. Feeling interrupted. It was easier for me, as time went on, to just pretend he didn't exist.

My friend opened a door. By bringing up my son's father nonchalantly in conversation, she acknowledged my son's history. His lineage. She acknowledged that his father was a part of his life. This was good. This is good. This is something that I can do. Should do. I am starting to tell stories to the kids about my past. Their dad is a part of my past. Our past. I no longer feel the urge to censor things. I can tell them funny stories. Loving stories. Life stories. What's different is that I don't have to depend on Xman to make the effort to take an active role in their lives. I can't make him call. I can, however, give my children a sense of belonging. A sense of history.

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Coda:

I took the 'missing' posters down from the office walls today. 'I guess she's not missing anymore,' said my boss. 'Yes she is,' I replied. 'It's just that the posters won't help to find her anymore.'

The Lost Compass

The other night my son woke up screaming. He was having a nightmare. As tears streamed down his face I did my best to hold him. Console him. As he tried to catch his breath through heart wrenching sobs he told me what was upsetting him so much. He told me that he had lost his compass. I was lost. What compass?

'My compass!' he shouted. 'My old compass. The compass my daddy gave me. It's lost. Forever. I want it back!'

I have to admit that I had no idea what he was talking about. Had his dad given him an old compass? I asked him what he thought happened to the compass.

'I think I gave it away. To a friend. I want it back. '

I asked him who he had given it to?

'I don't remember!!! My compass. It's gone. Daddy gave it to me. It was old. It had rust on it. I gave it away. I lost it. I want it back.'

I remembered having a couple compasses. I described these and asked if these were the ones he had lost.

'No! Those are new. The one I lost is old. Rusty. From my Dad.' His cries took over his voice. Words were impossible.

I held him. I rocked him. I told him that everything was going to be ok. I told him that I would help him look for his compass in the morning. I was grasping at straws. I felt helpless. I was clinging to him as much as he held on to me. I was able, eventually, to calm him down. He sniffled and snuffled in my arms and his breathing became more steady. Regular. He was almost ready to go back to sleep. As his eyes began to droop closed, he said that there was another thing that was bothering him. I asked him to tell me what it was.

'I see my daddy going down a long dark tunnel. You are going down another tunnel and my sister is going down another. I'm not sure what tunnel to go down. Who should I follow. Should I go with one of you or am I supposed to go down my own tunnel? By myself?'

Ok. I was floored. My son is six. 6. What the Fuck? I got him to start to think about things that would make him smile. I sang a couple silly songs. He giggled. He turned his face toward my chest and fell asleep. The next day, nothing more was mentioned about the lost compass or dark tunnels.

What am I to think about this? Freud and his ilk would have a field day to be sure. I know that my son misses his dad. I know that he hasn't seen him much lately. Xman has been too busy. My son did, however, see xman briefly on Easter Sunday. The nightmare occurred the next night. Ok. My son feels a bit lost. Directionless. I get that. It appears that my son also has an inner well of metaphor deep within him out from which his subconscious draws understanding. I find this to be both extremely cool and vaguely disconcerting.

How do I feel? I feel that I'm doing the best that I can. I feel that I'm living day to day to the utmost. I feel that I'm groping down a long dark tunnel without a compass.