Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Riding along as hard as I can, my legs burn, my throat and lungs are in peril. I smell the aroma of the BBQ’s on a warm prairie evening.
The sun still visible high in the sky for another few hours.
I now smell the trees and bushes, the urine in the woods, the smell of the liquid soap you used to have in your apartment in university.
Riding on:
Another scent: the smell of your mother’s kitchen and the flowers she had at the table the last time I was there.
I can smell far off lilacs on the wind which blows up willows all along the trail and collects on its sides where the grass catches it on its path to spread life.
It floats on the air, rhythmic lines on a sheet of music, gets in my nose and tickles it, gets caught in my freshly clipped hair giving resistance to the air as I ride along.
Children on their bikes pointing at me and speaking as I speed by, inaudible but I smile and nod to the parents - unfamiliar with the polite Newfoundland gesture - as I pass, unthreateningly.
Riding on I smell of the yards I walked past on August afternoons in St. John’s and my Mother’s eucalyptus flower display.
I pass the mill and the sound of its mighty machinery picking from the vast piles of logs that arrive there each day by overburdened logging trucks and its sleepy drivers. Now the smell of the freshly cut logs, one if my favourite smells. When driving I often roll down my car window and invite in as I drive past it on the road. Each time it fills my vehicle with the pleasant smell of freshly cut wood and the oils in the grain. Just a pleasure to witness.
Then the peculiar sign - Livestock grazing project in progress. This is all too evident when I catch the smell of horse manure the best smelling of all manure. If there were a choice I'd say horse manure is the least upsetting. In fact I don't mind the smell of it at all. Then my nose comes across one of the smells of my childhood, the unmistakable stench of cow manure, so strong at times I swear it clears my nasal passage. My grand parents were cattle farmers and produced milk as well, so I'm very familiar with the unmistakable stench of cow's manure.
On past the old railroad bridge and the smell of creosote which has dripped down it's sides and now years past its usefulness, its only good enough to be used as a pedestrian bridge.
Riding back I catch the smell of your mother’s kitchen, which I attribute to the hand soap next to the sink of which this path smells a lot like.
Again I pass the smell of deciduous trees and decaying humus. The likes of which transport me back to fall days as a youngster and my early teenage summers growing up in Ontario.
I pass two guys and a girl, each with an overpriced venti sized coffee in hand, doing so: to be urbane no doubt, walking along the trails of this city discussing their proposed intellectual pursuits; and this being amongst the firsts time they’ve recognized - they like to hear themselves talk.
The air around her smelling of cheap perfume.
The kind you get when you realize other girls in school are wearing perfume and you do so just so you fit in. The kind of perfume you purchase before your sophistication for such things has evolved. The stuff that you think smells good - but doesn’t to others - and years from now you laugh at your own insouciant attempt at early adult vanity.
The sun still visible high in the sky for another few hours.
I now smell the trees and bushes, the urine in the woods, the smell of the liquid soap you used to have in your apartment in university.
Riding on:
Another scent: the smell of your mother’s kitchen and the flowers she had at the table the last time I was there.
I can smell far off lilacs on the wind which blows up willows all along the trail and collects on its sides where the grass catches it on its path to spread life.
It floats on the air, rhythmic lines on a sheet of music, gets in my nose and tickles it, gets caught in my freshly clipped hair giving resistance to the air as I ride along.
Children on their bikes pointing at me and speaking as I speed by, inaudible but I smile and nod to the parents - unfamiliar with the polite Newfoundland gesture - as I pass, unthreateningly.
Riding on I smell of the yards I walked past on August afternoons in St. John’s and my Mother’s eucalyptus flower display.
I pass the mill and the sound of its mighty machinery picking from the vast piles of logs that arrive there each day by overburdened logging trucks and its sleepy drivers. Now the smell of the freshly cut logs, one if my favourite smells. When driving I often roll down my car window and invite in as I drive past it on the road. Each time it fills my vehicle with the pleasant smell of freshly cut wood and the oils in the grain. Just a pleasure to witness.
Then the peculiar sign - Livestock grazing project in progress. This is all too evident when I catch the smell of horse manure the best smelling of all manure. If there were a choice I'd say horse manure is the least upsetting. In fact I don't mind the smell of it at all. Then my nose comes across one of the smells of my childhood, the unmistakable stench of cow manure, so strong at times I swear it clears my nasal passage. My grand parents were cattle farmers and produced milk as well, so I'm very familiar with the unmistakable stench of cow's manure.
On past the old railroad bridge and the smell of creosote which has dripped down it's sides and now years past its usefulness, its only good enough to be used as a pedestrian bridge.
Riding back I catch the smell of your mother’s kitchen, which I attribute to the hand soap next to the sink of which this path smells a lot like.
Again I pass the smell of deciduous trees and decaying humus. The likes of which transport me back to fall days as a youngster and my early teenage summers growing up in Ontario.
I pass two guys and a girl, each with an overpriced venti sized coffee in hand, doing so: to be urbane no doubt, walking along the trails of this city discussing their proposed intellectual pursuits; and this being amongst the firsts time they’ve recognized - they like to hear themselves talk.
The air around her smelling of cheap perfume.
The kind you get when you realize other girls in school are wearing perfume and you do so just so you fit in. The kind of perfume you purchase before your sophistication for such things has evolved. The stuff that you think smells good - but doesn’t to others - and years from now you laugh at your own insouciant attempt at early adult vanity.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
(Written originally sometime between 2001-2003)
So I’m watching Conan O’Brien, he’s doing his monologue and he says: “Vice President Dick Cheney is in great health for someone the age Strom Thurmond”.
To which I say “that’s funny, because Strom Thurmond is like 87 and the oldest senator to serve in the US”
Now how the hell do I know that?
It’s because I’m living in a society that is bombarded by Americanization
So I’m watching Conan O’Brien, he’s doing his monologue and he says: “Vice President Dick Cheney is in great health for someone the age Strom Thurmond”.
To which I say “that’s funny, because Strom Thurmond is like 87 and the oldest senator to serve in the US”
Now how the hell do I know that?
It’s because I’m living in a society that is bombarded by Americanization
(Originally written 2:15AM,September 23, 2000)
Why do you think it’s freezing cold in outer space?
Why do you think a vacuum is so cold?
Why do you think a meteor only burns up in the atmosphere?
Why does electricity make a whole lot of heat?
How can the Aliens that have travelled to earth move so fast?
Are they tapped into spontaneous energy that we don’t know of?
When will we manipulate the brain for greater purposes?
Do we have to use hormones to stimulate this way of thought?
Is there not always a person - often normal - that manages to make a breakthrough?
There was something different - that made them think like that way wasn’t there
Why do you think it’s freezing cold in outer space?
Why do you think a vacuum is so cold?
Why do you think a meteor only burns up in the atmosphere?
Why does electricity make a whole lot of heat?
How can the Aliens that have travelled to earth move so fast?
Are they tapped into spontaneous energy that we don’t know of?
When will we manipulate the brain for greater purposes?
Do we have to use hormones to stimulate this way of thought?
Is there not always a person - often normal - that manages to make a breakthrough?
There was something different - that made them think like that way wasn’t there
(Originally written 4:53pm, June 22, 2002)
Going along the weather beaten road I chanced to notice the clouds above me. The clouds were illuminated by the brilliance of the sun of which I had never seen before.
As I looked upon the clouds the layers were each designated with a ray of light, giving it depth, so that you could see all the curves and total shape of these clouds.
A sun beam shined down beautifully upon a slight patch of land recently caressed by rain. The trees of an enormous colour green, the grass a fine contrast to the leaves playfully blowing in the gale.
Further along the road I seen the sunbeam dance along the land, shining upon, beautifying, paying homage to each piece of land, as if it were its turn to get up and speak.
I followed with my eyes this sunbeam until a flock of birds - hundreds of sparrows flew together into the light - It was the most beautiful array of nature’s wealth I have ever seen.
Going along the weather beaten road I chanced to notice the clouds above me. The clouds were illuminated by the brilliance of the sun of which I had never seen before.
As I looked upon the clouds the layers were each designated with a ray of light, giving it depth, so that you could see all the curves and total shape of these clouds.
A sun beam shined down beautifully upon a slight patch of land recently caressed by rain. The trees of an enormous colour green, the grass a fine contrast to the leaves playfully blowing in the gale.
Further along the road I seen the sunbeam dance along the land, shining upon, beautifying, paying homage to each piece of land, as if it were its turn to get up and speak.
I followed with my eyes this sunbeam until a flock of birds - hundreds of sparrows flew together into the light - It was the most beautiful array of nature’s wealth I have ever seen.
(Originally Written May 13, 2002)
I remember how proud I was that Christmas. It must have been 1986 and I got a pack of wooden pencils with my name engraved upon them. That, I remember was a great Christmas, I felt very happy and warm, everything seemed the way it should.
That Christmas we got some more Lego blocks and a plinko game.
I remember going to bed one night after playing in the living room, the pot lights in the ceiling were on and illuminated the red carpet. The orange lights shone down giving the carpet a brilliant colour that seemed like if you licked it, it would taste like orange Kool-Aid.
That night we left the Lego blocks on the floor without having to clean up our mess.
It was snowing
I remember how proud I was that Christmas. It must have been 1986 and I got a pack of wooden pencils with my name engraved upon them. That, I remember was a great Christmas, I felt very happy and warm, everything seemed the way it should.
That Christmas we got some more Lego blocks and a plinko game.
I remember going to bed one night after playing in the living room, the pot lights in the ceiling were on and illuminated the red carpet. The orange lights shone down giving the carpet a brilliant colour that seemed like if you licked it, it would taste like orange Kool-Aid.
That night we left the Lego blocks on the floor without having to clean up our mess.
It was snowing
Friday, June 17, 2011
I want to hold you in my arms once more and look out upon the city which was mine and is yours to come.
In my younger years when time was on my side and youthful ignorance on yours.
A time when responsibility was yet to be taken as serious as it is now and sleeping in - missing class - was as easily justified as deciding not to brush your teeth before going to bed on nights that you didn’t have the energy to do so.
To hold you once more in hopes of selfishly capturing the feeling of excitement and endless possibilities a new relationship brings and the carefree comfort that those hormones release in your veins.
I know it will never be the same with you in my arms, I just lust for the nostalgia.
In my younger years when time was on my side and youthful ignorance on yours.
A time when responsibility was yet to be taken as serious as it is now and sleeping in - missing class - was as easily justified as deciding not to brush your teeth before going to bed on nights that you didn’t have the energy to do so.
To hold you once more in hopes of selfishly capturing the feeling of excitement and endless possibilities a new relationship brings and the carefree comfort that those hormones release in your veins.
I know it will never be the same with you in my arms, I just lust for the nostalgia.
Sleepover at Nans
I was excited to sleepover at my Nan’s, the first time in perhaps 20 years or more. It was always a place where sleep came easily and the sense of comfort and well being was omnipresent.
I was excited if it would bring me back to my childhood and the way my feet always felt warm in the bed and how the lights of the passing cars would create silhouettes on the ceiling and walls as they approached and then passed the house. Each time I heard a vehicle coming I would open my eyes and look toward the ceiling and walls but the silhouettes did not appear. A second time I heard a vehicle coming and did the same thing, and again no silhouettes. It was then that I realized there was no way for the light to shine upon the window as it did some 20 years ago because since then 2 houses have been built next to Nan’s house and they block the a view of the road. If one looked out the window back then it that gave the viewer a field of vision some several hundred uninterrupted feet. Now the nearest window is about 30 feet away and situated nearly right on the road.
Pity how things change.
I was excited if it would bring me back to my childhood and the way my feet always felt warm in the bed and how the lights of the passing cars would create silhouettes on the ceiling and walls as they approached and then passed the house. Each time I heard a vehicle coming I would open my eyes and look toward the ceiling and walls but the silhouettes did not appear. A second time I heard a vehicle coming and did the same thing, and again no silhouettes. It was then that I realized there was no way for the light to shine upon the window as it did some 20 years ago because since then 2 houses have been built next to Nan’s house and they block the a view of the road. If one looked out the window back then it that gave the viewer a field of vision some several hundred uninterrupted feet. Now the nearest window is about 30 feet away and situated nearly right on the road.
Pity how things change.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
She held her stomach as we taxied down the runway, cradling it, supporting it.
Minutes earlier when I stood up looking for a garbage she looked alarmed as if my behavior was threatening. I had the stone of a nectarine in my mouth and it had fallen apart and I wanted to spit it out, so I simply stood up looking for the attention of the stewardess, but when I got up initially the woman next to me had a fearful look in her eyes as though she had just picked out the shape of a grenade or a gun in my pocket. She was certainly wondering what I was doing and what my next actions were to be, after the stewardess presented the garbage bag the woman was relieved and went back to a less heightened sense of awareness.
I wonder if her smell has been enhanced to detect danger as other animals are when they are pregnant. The maternal instincts are obviously apparent, but it amazed me how she protected the fetus inside her from the bumps on the tarmac by cradling her stomach with her arms as though it was cushioning the slightest impact. It was no surprise that she would want to do this, but I had never seen it done before, which made me assume that this was her first pregnancy and she - like many other new Mothers - was very vigilant and cognizant of the being living inside her and nervous in a way a man will never be able to appreciate.
Minutes earlier when I stood up looking for a garbage she looked alarmed as if my behavior was threatening. I had the stone of a nectarine in my mouth and it had fallen apart and I wanted to spit it out, so I simply stood up looking for the attention of the stewardess, but when I got up initially the woman next to me had a fearful look in her eyes as though she had just picked out the shape of a grenade or a gun in my pocket. She was certainly wondering what I was doing and what my next actions were to be, after the stewardess presented the garbage bag the woman was relieved and went back to a less heightened sense of awareness.
I wonder if her smell has been enhanced to detect danger as other animals are when they are pregnant. The maternal instincts are obviously apparent, but it amazed me how she protected the fetus inside her from the bumps on the tarmac by cradling her stomach with her arms as though it was cushioning the slightest impact. It was no surprise that she would want to do this, but I had never seen it done before, which made me assume that this was her first pregnancy and she - like many other new Mothers - was very vigilant and cognizant of the being living inside her and nervous in a way a man will never be able to appreciate.
This time, for the first time, home didn't feel like home.
He landed and was picked up by one of his best friends but it didn't seem like he was home, the final destination, it just felt like a stop over a vacation. No sense of permanence pervaded this place or his thoughts. Home - he was pained to say - wasn't home anymore.
Home was an ideal, a finality that was no longer a possibility or at least not anytime soon.
He landed and was picked up by one of his best friends but it didn't seem like he was home, the final destination, it just felt like a stop over a vacation. No sense of permanence pervaded this place or his thoughts. Home - he was pained to say - wasn't home anymore.
Home was an ideal, a finality that was no longer a possibility or at least not anytime soon.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Dreams
If dreams are all we have to begin with why do so few of us ever attain them? When did we stop believing in ourselves? When did we all of a sudden one day decide that to follow our dreams is futile? Do we all have a vocation or do we just settle for something else and how great is the happiness that comes when you fulfill a dream?
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Magnum who?
So apparently Tom Selleck is on a new television show, I was not fully aware of this, nor do I really care other than the fact that he used to be Thomas Magnum - as in Magnum PI, for those less knowledgeable when it comes to 80's nostalgia. As well he's 66 years old, holy shit!
I've just learned (after 1 minute of research) that the name of the show is "Blue Bloods" which also stars Donnie Wahlberg of New Kids On The Block fame.
Anyways I was at the Gym the other day and this show with Tom Selleck was on, nobody was really watching it and some guy - in pursuit of changing the channel - politely asks
"is there anybody watching this?"
Which causes everyone to look around at the television, at the moment Tom has the camera's attention in a big scene.
Surprised and happy to see one of my favourite PI's (Jim Rockford #1) I announce
"My god man, surely you're not going to turn off Magnum PI during his big scene?"
This was obviously met by confusion as no one in the gym was old enough to know who Magnum PI was, and they had no clue what I was talking about.
Not the first time that has happened.
Perhaps I should be more in tune to my audience.
I've just learned (after 1 minute of research) that the name of the show is "Blue Bloods" which also stars Donnie Wahlberg of New Kids On The Block fame.
Anyways I was at the Gym the other day and this show with Tom Selleck was on, nobody was really watching it and some guy - in pursuit of changing the channel - politely asks
"is there anybody watching this?"
Which causes everyone to look around at the television, at the moment Tom has the camera's attention in a big scene.
Surprised and happy to see one of my favourite PI's (Jim Rockford #1) I announce
"My god man, surely you're not going to turn off Magnum PI during his big scene?"
This was obviously met by confusion as no one in the gym was old enough to know who Magnum PI was, and they had no clue what I was talking about.
Not the first time that has happened.
Perhaps I should be more in tune to my audience.
Maybe I won't
Usually when I see something that is out of the ordinary or something I believe will strike you as funny or unique I say something about it in order to bring it to your attention.
Well, today I decided against that.
I seen a girl today giving out food samples, which is nothing out of the ordinary, save for the fact that she had - what seemed to me as - a well groomed goatee situated under her chin.
I thought it unfortunate, and therefore didn't bring it to the attention of the person that was there with me.
I think I will refrain from such from here on.
Well, today I decided against that.
I seen a girl today giving out food samples, which is nothing out of the ordinary, save for the fact that she had - what seemed to me as - a well groomed goatee situated under her chin.
I thought it unfortunate, and therefore didn't bring it to the attention of the person that was there with me.
I think I will refrain from such from here on.
Friday, April 15, 2011
I actually Watched for you
I looked for you today, a few thousand miles away
My heart waiting for that glimpse that it would surely recognize
The sun is shining where you are; it always is or seems to be
Not sure if you chase the sun or if it chases you
My heart waiting for that glimpse that it would surely recognize
The sun is shining where you are; it always is or seems to be
Not sure if you chase the sun or if it chases you
Saturday, April 9, 2011
How Beautiful Is Our Province?
I just had a conversation with a fellow Newfoundlander and his was telling a bunch of us about his trip home this summer and what they did when they were home.
He told was telling a story about one of the many days his family and him went for a drive around some of the communities in our province and I interjected: "and the reason you guys went out for lunch so far away is because you were enjoying the scenery"
As he was telling the story I was listening attentively and it occurred to me: OUR PROVINCE IS SO BEAUTIFUL WE ARE OUR OWN TOURISTS!
He told was telling a story about one of the many days his family and him went for a drive around some of the communities in our province and I interjected: "and the reason you guys went out for lunch so far away is because you were enjoying the scenery"
As he was telling the story I was listening attentively and it occurred to me: OUR PROVINCE IS SO BEAUTIFUL WE ARE OUR OWN TOURISTS!
The recipe
In order for a really, really good song to occur 2 things need to happen: The introduction of 1. A really good inspired guitar player and 2. Someone in pain.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Home
Newfoundland seems like a distant possibility to me now. I have no game plan anymore, I have no "ticket" back home. What the hell can I do that would allow me to live back home? Home
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Usefullness (originally written August 15, 2009)
In watching Justice Sandra Day O’Connor of the American Supreme Court, I learned something from her answer to a question. The question was to the effect that given her childhood growing up on a 300 sq mile ranch in Arizona and all the wide open spaces and the opportunity that comes with that, there must be a certain type of folk that lives that type of life. She started by saying that you have to be able to do things on your own to be able to fix things. There were no telephones or electricity and when something went wrong or got broken you had to be able to fix it, didn’t have to be beautiful, you just had to fix it. She went on to say that they would keep bailing wire and old nuts and bolts and scraps of metal and things of the sort. Immediately I thought of myself and the many pounds of stuff that I’ve been unable to throw away due to what I consider to be its usefulness. I still have copper wire that I removed from electrical components back in the 80's. I used to sneak out in the garage get my father’s soldering iron to take apart old radios which I found, Christ I’ve still got the magnets from the speakers. I would take it all apart, transformers, transistors, resistors, capacitors all taken from their boards and then I’d take them apart. I would always keep the copper wire. I knew better, but part of me thought it could be gold. It was ever so thin and wound neatly, and that stuff I had pounds of.
To get back to my point, Justice Day O’Connor spoke about having things around, things that would or could be useful. Well I have lots of things which I keep around that I believe are useful, in fact I have hundreds of pounds of things which I consider useful. Things that when I was a teenager my mother would call junk and tell me to either pack it up or throw it away, suggesting there was no point in “keeping all this junk”. I agree most of it is probably junk and definitely of no real value, but the obsessive compulsiveness evident in an 8 year old wouldn’t let me throw away the containers of rocks and beach glass I had found as a child. On one of those days in my late teenage years when my mother told me to “thin out the place” - meaning my room, the rocks and glass were sure to go, all 20 or 30 pounds of it collected over many years, thrown out onto the gravel driveway where it had a better chance of providing grip in the winter months than to poke holes in the tires.
Again back to the Justice, the folk she spoke about were resilient and self reliant, much like the folk that I grew up around.
My Uncle Edwin is known for being referred to a pack-rat as have I on dozens of occasions, my grandfather was a farmer and let me tell you he had a stable with rafters full of junk, but it was all useful. Maybe it was a broken pitchfork that hadn’t been replaced yet, but still had a good handle or scrap metal that would come in handy for a part on the tractor but it was all in contingency. The point is, is that I now believe it runs in the blood, it’s not nurture, its nature. I have more books with bookmarks still in them than I have books that I’ve finished, and I have a lot of books. Here lately though I’m trying to change that.
To get back to my point, Justice Day O’Connor spoke about having things around, things that would or could be useful. Well I have lots of things which I keep around that I believe are useful, in fact I have hundreds of pounds of things which I consider useful. Things that when I was a teenager my mother would call junk and tell me to either pack it up or throw it away, suggesting there was no point in “keeping all this junk”. I agree most of it is probably junk and definitely of no real value, but the obsessive compulsiveness evident in an 8 year old wouldn’t let me throw away the containers of rocks and beach glass I had found as a child. On one of those days in my late teenage years when my mother told me to “thin out the place” - meaning my room, the rocks and glass were sure to go, all 20 or 30 pounds of it collected over many years, thrown out onto the gravel driveway where it had a better chance of providing grip in the winter months than to poke holes in the tires.
Again back to the Justice, the folk she spoke about were resilient and self reliant, much like the folk that I grew up around.
My Uncle Edwin is known for being referred to a pack-rat as have I on dozens of occasions, my grandfather was a farmer and let me tell you he had a stable with rafters full of junk, but it was all useful. Maybe it was a broken pitchfork that hadn’t been replaced yet, but still had a good handle or scrap metal that would come in handy for a part on the tractor but it was all in contingency. The point is, is that I now believe it runs in the blood, it’s not nurture, its nature. I have more books with bookmarks still in them than I have books that I’ve finished, and I have a lot of books. Here lately though I’m trying to change that.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Isolation
The sense of isolation is overwhelming when going on a new job in literally “Butt Fuck” nowhere. Leaving a town you now call home, to drive several hours to a plot on a map to work for 12 hours a day with a bunch of guys you’ve never met, in fact I wasn’t spoken to for nearly 3 hours after getting aboard the truck.
The feeling of powerlessness is evident as well, especially when the forced air system is constantly blowing out 35 degree air and the bed is as comfortable as laying on hot rocks. There’s no connection to the outside world. The internet was something I had days ago, and phone reception is as come and go as the frequency at which you see bears in winter. There’s a venetian blind in my window that has the whole left side missing, so now my privacy is next to nothing, considering my room is at ground level and near the main entrance to “Zone 3”, which I am a proud occupant of.
The kitchen opens for breakfast about half an hour after we’ve already left and the washrooms constantly smell like an antiquated sewer system in France. There is free shampoo in fact, it says Bvlgari but I’m confident it's a sham, it’s a luxury not soon to be extended this way anytime soon.
Right about now I’m weighing the convenience and functionality of an iPhone against the un-just cost of utilizing such a device. But then again without internet service and zero reception, it’s as useful for interacting with others as writing a message on an etch-a-sketch and sending it via St. Bernard.
On the way here, driving past run down houses that people still inhabit and the junk that has accumulated outside of them it made - and for the most part - always makes me anxious. What if I end up like this, owning a yard with a 1970’s ford truck chassis and tow truck parts all strewn about, that is just as much a part of the landscape as the daffodils that once flourished there in the better times that have passed? What can I do so that I will not end up this way? It just makes me real uneasy about living away from home.
I can hear every move that the person in the room next to me makes. I can hear the sheets pulling across the linen and even when they scratch their head. The bed I am in makes a god awful noise every time I move as does the bed of the person next to me. There is no TV in my room or this place - not even in the “common room” which is so common it bears no particular reason or specialty for it to have its own room. Why would anyone go into that room? It’s a waste of space and energy - just another room to heat.
The place smells of my old Sunday school, you know the smell of heating oil and musty air, a place that had mould and mildew but dried out and got it again and dried out again. A place where it wouldn't be uncommon to find old desiccated mouse skeletons tucked away in long forgotten nooks and crannies. There is a lamp shade above a mirrored cabinet like my grandmother had back in the 80’s, and the cabinet is kind of teasing me because at least below the one in Grandmother’s house there was a sink!
I walked into the room I am in and noticed there is no chair for the desk so now I have to sit on the bed and lean up against the wall - which shifts an inch or so toward my neighbour.
I also noticed a spot on my right sock; upon further inspection I determined it to be black lubricating grease, due to its tell tale smell. Just so happens it’s one of my favourite pairs because of their comfort and that they are anatomically correct, I got them for Christmas last year from Stephanie. I liked the socks so much I hardly wore them and especially not when out to work. Oh well, so much for breaking habits. This is the kind of place where your mind keeps you company and then eventually tortures you, not enough around to distract you from the things you rather not think about.
Alas, my only solace in a place like this will be sleep.
The feeling of powerlessness is evident as well, especially when the forced air system is constantly blowing out 35 degree air and the bed is as comfortable as laying on hot rocks. There’s no connection to the outside world. The internet was something I had days ago, and phone reception is as come and go as the frequency at which you see bears in winter. There’s a venetian blind in my window that has the whole left side missing, so now my privacy is next to nothing, considering my room is at ground level and near the main entrance to “Zone 3”, which I am a proud occupant of.
The kitchen opens for breakfast about half an hour after we’ve already left and the washrooms constantly smell like an antiquated sewer system in France. There is free shampoo in fact, it says Bvlgari but I’m confident it's a sham, it’s a luxury not soon to be extended this way anytime soon.
Right about now I’m weighing the convenience and functionality of an iPhone against the un-just cost of utilizing such a device. But then again without internet service and zero reception, it’s as useful for interacting with others as writing a message on an etch-a-sketch and sending it via St. Bernard.
On the way here, driving past run down houses that people still inhabit and the junk that has accumulated outside of them it made - and for the most part - always makes me anxious. What if I end up like this, owning a yard with a 1970’s ford truck chassis and tow truck parts all strewn about, that is just as much a part of the landscape as the daffodils that once flourished there in the better times that have passed? What can I do so that I will not end up this way? It just makes me real uneasy about living away from home.
I can hear every move that the person in the room next to me makes. I can hear the sheets pulling across the linen and even when they scratch their head. The bed I am in makes a god awful noise every time I move as does the bed of the person next to me. There is no TV in my room or this place - not even in the “common room” which is so common it bears no particular reason or specialty for it to have its own room. Why would anyone go into that room? It’s a waste of space and energy - just another room to heat.
The place smells of my old Sunday school, you know the smell of heating oil and musty air, a place that had mould and mildew but dried out and got it again and dried out again. A place where it wouldn't be uncommon to find old desiccated mouse skeletons tucked away in long forgotten nooks and crannies. There is a lamp shade above a mirrored cabinet like my grandmother had back in the 80’s, and the cabinet is kind of teasing me because at least below the one in Grandmother’s house there was a sink!
I walked into the room I am in and noticed there is no chair for the desk so now I have to sit on the bed and lean up against the wall - which shifts an inch or so toward my neighbour.
I also noticed a spot on my right sock; upon further inspection I determined it to be black lubricating grease, due to its tell tale smell. Just so happens it’s one of my favourite pairs because of their comfort and that they are anatomically correct, I got them for Christmas last year from Stephanie. I liked the socks so much I hardly wore them and especially not when out to work. Oh well, so much for breaking habits. This is the kind of place where your mind keeps you company and then eventually tortures you, not enough around to distract you from the things you rather not think about.
Alas, my only solace in a place like this will be sleep.
Why do people feel the need to document their lives? I don't mean by way of pictures because that's perfectly normal. I guess I'm talking about what I do, I keep all my movie stubs, and each time I fold it or put it away in my pocket I think of the person that will look at it later in my life or after I've gone. I especially think of this when I store them away in my box of keepsakes, I would keep the stubs for the person I went with as well. I stopped doing this when I realized that most didn't really care when I'd present it to them later. I started again when I found out that my girlfriend at the time was doing it as well and we used to have a box ( in fact the box is probably still there, next to the light on the end table) in which we'd store some of the keepsakes from our years together. It reinforced the whole idea of keeping bits and pieces of your life and the time spent with others.
I keep them so I can always go back when I couldn't remember if I had seen a certain movie, it also helps to put a date to things. In particular when I thought of who would be checking out my keepsakes I would think of my children looking through these stubs and discussing the movies I had seen and make comments about how I loved the movies. At some point I'm gonna have to put all the stubs in one place and maybe at some point I'll stop hoarding things, however, you'll never see me on an episode of Hoarders
But essentially it's a way to document my life.
I keep them so I can always go back when I couldn't remember if I had seen a certain movie, it also helps to put a date to things. In particular when I thought of who would be checking out my keepsakes I would think of my children looking through these stubs and discussing the movies I had seen and make comments about how I loved the movies. At some point I'm gonna have to put all the stubs in one place and maybe at some point I'll stop hoarding things, however, you'll never see me on an episode of Hoarders
But essentially it's a way to document my life.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Thanks Aunt Judy :)
When I found out my Parents were going to a Kenny Rogers concert I was so happy for them I was absolutely beside myself. But when I found out that they had to drive to St. John’s in the night to get there I was terrified, I was terrified they would hit a moose. I was inconsolable I tell you, I had no idea of what a moose was capable of but I had heard stories in my few years that made me very weary of them and sacred for the safety of anyone who had to travel at night.
I begged my parents not to go in the days leading up to the concert. Only now as a grown man do I realize the guilt trip I must have laid on my Parents. They told me it would be OK but never did they once put my mind to ease.
On the day that they left, I was brought to my Grandmother’s where I would stay the night, only I refused to get out of the car - thinking that if I stayed in the car they wouldn’t leave and if they did I would at least die with my family in a car accident caused by a moose.
My uncle had a girlfriend at the time named Judy - who is now his wife, and it was her who came out to the car to talk to me. She explained how it is very unlikely for an accident to occur and that my dad was going to be driving very carefully because of that very reason. What else she said I’m not sure but she eased my mind, and I stopped worrying about their drive in town. It was as though I had been given a drug and as it rushed my bloodstream it dissolved all anxiety and fear of my Parent’s dying that night. One could say I was comfortable with the idea of them driving in. But before that woman came out to the car to speak to me I thought I would never see my parents alive again. It was some years later that she had a daughter of her own and her daughter ended up in a car accident involving a moose. Despite having to be in a back brace and receiving cuts and bruises she came out of it pretty lucky.
On a lighter note in the days after the accident when I visited my Cousin she told me that when the emergency responders cut her out of the car she was covered in moose shit - she even had moose shit in her hair.
I begged my parents not to go in the days leading up to the concert. Only now as a grown man do I realize the guilt trip I must have laid on my Parents. They told me it would be OK but never did they once put my mind to ease.
On the day that they left, I was brought to my Grandmother’s where I would stay the night, only I refused to get out of the car - thinking that if I stayed in the car they wouldn’t leave and if they did I would at least die with my family in a car accident caused by a moose.
My uncle had a girlfriend at the time named Judy - who is now his wife, and it was her who came out to the car to talk to me. She explained how it is very unlikely for an accident to occur and that my dad was going to be driving very carefully because of that very reason. What else she said I’m not sure but she eased my mind, and I stopped worrying about their drive in town. It was as though I had been given a drug and as it rushed my bloodstream it dissolved all anxiety and fear of my Parent’s dying that night. One could say I was comfortable with the idea of them driving in. But before that woman came out to the car to speak to me I thought I would never see my parents alive again. It was some years later that she had a daughter of her own and her daughter ended up in a car accident involving a moose. Despite having to be in a back brace and receiving cuts and bruises she came out of it pretty lucky.
On a lighter note in the days after the accident when I visited my Cousin she told me that when the emergency responders cut her out of the car she was covered in moose shit - she even had moose shit in her hair.
I’m a fuckin nervous wreck, well not really, but I used to be!
I think it all started when I was a kid. Sunday evenings we could go to my Grand Parent’s’ for supper, usually cold plate. I’d only eat a bit of ham and lettuce and fill up on dinner rolls. There was a collapsible stool that my Nan had for many years, green. My brother and I would take turns sitting on it watching TV, my Mother would time us and we’d have to switch up. Anyways it was on these Sunday evenings sitting on that green stool eating the buttered dinner rolls that I would watch the commercials featuring kids and babies over in Africa, dying of starvation, flies crawling over them, stomachs all distended and swollen. I would sit and watch these poor helpless children and cry, cry my little heart out, every fuckin Sunday.
I remember opening cupboards in my Nan’s house and finding leftovers stored in bottom shelf, the distinct smell of jigs dinner permeating from the space below. I remember the metal plate with porcelain finish that the fresh beef was on wrapped in tin foil. You see my Grand Parents were farmers, they raised cattle as well, they once sold milk locally too. The excitement of a brand new baby calf was always something of a treat to go see. I remember the cold of the night and the breath of the cows in the barn and how the sawdust was stuck to the new born. I remember how small its nose was compared to the rest of the cows and in particular how blue it was. I loved that cow as soon as I had seen it. I wondered how it’s Mom was going to be able to take care of it.
I remember riding to my Nan’s one day to get a glass of tang before riding on home that from my Cousin Colleen’s. I poured the glass after Nan took it from the cupboard and she sat down on the chair and faced me. Her voice cracked as she spoke, she said “You mustn’t be a bad boy”, She started to cry right there in front of me, it was the first time I had ever seen my Nan cry, “You have to be good to your mother, your Father is away and she needs your help”. It hit me that my Mom has a Mom and that my Mom expresses her anxieties, doubts, disappointments and hurt to the woman I call Nan. I didn’t know where this was coming from but I was sure that from now on I wasn’t only disappointing my Mother, but I was also hurting my Grandmother. I realized that day, on my slow and confusing ride back to Delaney’s Road that my actions not only affect those directly involved, but as well those around me and my loved ones. I felt a great responsibility that day; Only I didn’t know what responsibility meant at that point. I was responsible for my actions and how they affect others and sometimes the consequences of those actions are far more reaching than I could have ever imagined.
I think it all started when I was a kid. Sunday evenings we could go to my Grand Parent’s’ for supper, usually cold plate. I’d only eat a bit of ham and lettuce and fill up on dinner rolls. There was a collapsible stool that my Nan had for many years, green. My brother and I would take turns sitting on it watching TV, my Mother would time us and we’d have to switch up. Anyways it was on these Sunday evenings sitting on that green stool eating the buttered dinner rolls that I would watch the commercials featuring kids and babies over in Africa, dying of starvation, flies crawling over them, stomachs all distended and swollen. I would sit and watch these poor helpless children and cry, cry my little heart out, every fuckin Sunday.
I remember opening cupboards in my Nan’s house and finding leftovers stored in bottom shelf, the distinct smell of jigs dinner permeating from the space below. I remember the metal plate with porcelain finish that the fresh beef was on wrapped in tin foil. You see my Grand Parents were farmers, they raised cattle as well, they once sold milk locally too. The excitement of a brand new baby calf was always something of a treat to go see. I remember the cold of the night and the breath of the cows in the barn and how the sawdust was stuck to the new born. I remember how small its nose was compared to the rest of the cows and in particular how blue it was. I loved that cow as soon as I had seen it. I wondered how it’s Mom was going to be able to take care of it.
I remember riding to my Nan’s one day to get a glass of tang before riding on home that from my Cousin Colleen’s. I poured the glass after Nan took it from the cupboard and she sat down on the chair and faced me. Her voice cracked as she spoke, she said “You mustn’t be a bad boy”, She started to cry right there in front of me, it was the first time I had ever seen my Nan cry, “You have to be good to your mother, your Father is away and she needs your help”. It hit me that my Mom has a Mom and that my Mom expresses her anxieties, doubts, disappointments and hurt to the woman I call Nan. I didn’t know where this was coming from but I was sure that from now on I wasn’t only disappointing my Mother, but I was also hurting my Grandmother. I realized that day, on my slow and confusing ride back to Delaney’s Road that my actions not only affect those directly involved, but as well those around me and my loved ones. I felt a great responsibility that day; Only I didn’t know what responsibility meant at that point. I was responsible for my actions and how they affect others and sometimes the consequences of those actions are far more reaching than I could have ever imagined.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
UP HERE
Today I bought a year's membership to the gym at the Grande Prairie Regional College. That means I'm back in Grande Prairie as a resident. I'm not home. I'm away from home. I'm not even near the water.
I'm not gonna be playing Soccer in the men's league back home this summer, I won't be playing Ball Hockey with the boys at the CLB Armoury dans la Route de Harvey or going to the Gym at the Aqua Arena and playing squash. No more Tuesdays at O'Reilly's for open mike night. No more Fish and Chip's at the Duke and no more Pints with the boys either. No more auditions for Republic of Doyle or background work here and there. All the fucking things that I enjoyed about my life, and all the possibilities I thought of when that show came to town are now in my past. Not my present.
Is this going to be my life for a while? 15 12 hours shifts in a row followed by 6 days off? 6 days off to do whatever I want - but can't really because I have no where in this God forsaken town to pursue my interests. I could go look for Dinosaur bones like I had always planned when I came out this way, but the rock picks that I bought are back home in Newfoundland a mere 3 feet away from my soccer cleats and guards and my hockey gloves and dress shoes and all the other things that I have left behind.
I left it behind because I would be back to it, back to my life, back to what it is that I am and I do, but now I can't be that person anymore because I have to live up here and work up here and be away from friends and family UP HERE!
However I do plan on playing soccer this summer UP HERE. I guess I'm gonna have to make the best of it and try to attain some semblance of a normal life - UP HERE
But what if I tear a ligament playing soccer and can't work for a month? What will I do then? Will I have to stop doing the things I enjoy and become an old man, put on weight and talk about the days when I used to play sports or I used to have a life and the way things were when I was HOME?
I'm not gonna be playing Soccer in the men's league back home this summer, I won't be playing Ball Hockey with the boys at the CLB Armoury dans la Route de Harvey or going to the Gym at the Aqua Arena and playing squash. No more Tuesdays at O'Reilly's for open mike night. No more Fish and Chip's at the Duke and no more Pints with the boys either. No more auditions for Republic of Doyle or background work here and there. All the fucking things that I enjoyed about my life, and all the possibilities I thought of when that show came to town are now in my past. Not my present.
Is this going to be my life for a while? 15 12 hours shifts in a row followed by 6 days off? 6 days off to do whatever I want - but can't really because I have no where in this God forsaken town to pursue my interests. I could go look for Dinosaur bones like I had always planned when I came out this way, but the rock picks that I bought are back home in Newfoundland a mere 3 feet away from my soccer cleats and guards and my hockey gloves and dress shoes and all the other things that I have left behind.
I left it behind because I would be back to it, back to my life, back to what it is that I am and I do, but now I can't be that person anymore because I have to live up here and work up here and be away from friends and family UP HERE!
However I do plan on playing soccer this summer UP HERE. I guess I'm gonna have to make the best of it and try to attain some semblance of a normal life - UP HERE
But what if I tear a ligament playing soccer and can't work for a month? What will I do then? Will I have to stop doing the things I enjoy and become an old man, put on weight and talk about the days when I used to play sports or I used to have a life and the way things were when I was HOME?
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Pragmatic?
I was listening to "Writers & Company" on CBC radio, and the guy being interviewed - in what I can only assume was an attepmt to use big words - over used a particular word to the point that he was wearing out the pragmatism of the word pragmatic!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
I just folded up that Orange Wool Ralph Lauren sweater that I wore on the day we went looking at houses with the real estate agent. I remember exactly what I was wearing, and how good it felt to be back home and there with you. I remember where we parked and how the cool yet warming Newfoundland wind felt on my face and how good it felt to be back home. The excitement of getting a house that you and I would live in together and what a building block it represented toward our relationship. I thought of what it meant and how happy we would be having a place to call our own.
You suggested rolling up the cuff and I did, I continue to do so. I didn't think it looked cool, but you liked it and that gave me the confidence to wear it that way. That sweater was our new beginning
You suggested rolling up the cuff and I did, I continue to do so. I didn't think it looked cool, but you liked it and that gave me the confidence to wear it that way. That sweater was our new beginning
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
It saddens me slightly. It does so when I look at my favourites bar on my computer and see the Empire Theatres 12 for St. John’s, knowing that I will never be there again in the capacity that I have oft been in the last 6 years. Really I can get rid of it, I won’t be watching movies there much more.
Every day when I see the turbo indicator on the trucks at work I think of the car I wanted (being a turbo) and how nice it would look in the driveway of the place I had called home for several years. Now the car I wanted will never be placed in that driveway. Oh how time has changed.
Today I looked at the application on my computer that lets you know what the weather is like in selected regions, for me I have St. John’s, but now I have reason to change it. I’m not gonna be back there much anymore, I’m no longer going to be living there, so it’s just as well to change it to Grande Prairie, AB. It represents a lot to me, it represents a great change in my life and a remorse for the loss of what was.
Every day when I see the turbo indicator on the trucks at work I think of the car I wanted (being a turbo) and how nice it would look in the driveway of the place I had called home for several years. Now the car I wanted will never be placed in that driveway. Oh how time has changed.
Today I looked at the application on my computer that lets you know what the weather is like in selected regions, for me I have St. John’s, but now I have reason to change it. I’m not gonna be back there much anymore, I’m no longer going to be living there, so it’s just as well to change it to Grande Prairie, AB. It represents a lot to me, it represents a great change in my life and a remorse for the loss of what was.
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