Parachuting with my good buddy Michael Martin

We arrived at Westlock right on time and I was hungry. Excitedly we got out of the truck and walked toward the long building which at the rear housed a hangar. In front of the building upon the dusty parking lot were 3 picnic tables with a dozen or so people sitting on them, some talking, some smoking, some drinking coffee but all were waiting. Some looked the adventurous type others looked like they were getting something over with.


After eyeballing the building I walked toward the door I had assumed was the office. Mike stood outside taking in the beautiful warm sunny morning. Inside were 2 women behind a counter and immediately I was attracted to the brunette. She was full-figured with long hair, big brown eyes, and a sexy mouth. Her teeth were fairly straight, nice and white with a slight over bite that helped pout her lips giving them great sex appeal.

I wanted to speak to this girl exclusively and watch her lips form words and react with a smile to my questions in an effort to make light conversation before getting down to business. I informed her of our reservation and gave her our names: Russell Samways and Michael Martin.

“Is this your first time sky diving?” she asked.

“Yes”

“Okay, well I’ll get you started on the paperwork and when you’re done come get me and we’ll get you guys suited up”

Out the door I went, grabbed Mike and we started in on signing our lives away. Paper work in hand, we marched eagerly to the girl at the counter where she looked it over and took a photocopy of it just as our instructors came into the room for an introduction.

My instructor was a man of my diminutive height with long grey hair, most likely in his mid 50’s and a deep rough voice I’ve come to associate with chronic pot smokers. He was very easy going, enthusiastic and energetic - part of what I figured was a requirement of his job - given the circumstances. He had a relaxing mood about him.

Mike’s instructor on the other hand was a tall young man, in his mid - 20’s. He seemed more reserved than his extroverted contemporary but a seemingly nice fellow none-the-less.

By the way this is Mike.

After suiting up in a multi-coloured dive suit that would make any gay person proud I announced to my instructor that it is imperative that I eat something substantial. Of course the response was:

“Are you sure? You’re about to jump out of a plane.”

I assured him that jumping out of a plane was the least of my worries at that point and as well I was thirsty.

I was directed to a man by the name of Rick, who besides being a sky diving videographer and instructor, also doubles as the cook. He took me to the kitchen, which reminded me of kitchens that are typical of cottages or cabins that I’ve stayed. He opened the fridge door exposing shelves chock full of packs of bacon, sausages, cartons of eggs, fruit and bags of bread, the other fridge was as well chock full of bottled water, assorted cans of pop and fruit drinks. After giving me the run down on my meal options I decided on a toasted egg and tomato sandwich, which I might add was the best toasted egg and tomato sandwich I ever had, along with being my first toasted egg and tomato sandwich.

While we waited for our plane Mike and I walked around the premises and inspected the hangar area where some students were being instructed on how to land properly while others were learning how to pack a chute. I was thinking to myself what colour chute I would end up buying if I continue with this hobby, how much it would cost and whether or not I would get a suit that matched my chute.

All the while I was still on the ground I tried not to think about what would be going through my mind when we got to 12,500 feet

As we gained altitude I looked around at the others in the plane, the man and his father, the old Taiwanese man with the freckles and my buddy Mike. I let my mind think that this may be the last faces I’ll ever see in my life, but quickly reassured myself that this was just normal and from the bottom of my stomach welled up an urge to yell out “Yeah Budday”, in true Jersey Shore fashion.

So I did.

 It relieved me a little and Mike turned around to look at me as I reached out for a high-five which ended up breaking out into an all around - plane wide high-fiveathon.

 High-fives were going everywhere, even the old Taiwanese dude got in on it. I helped a lot of us, and kept the energy level in the plane high, which is where you want it to be, when you’re about to do something that a lot of folks would call crazy.

 The mood was much better when I looked out the window and all I could discern were squares and rectangles masqueraded as fields of wheat, canola and hay. Again, due to the moment I felt like screaming so I let out a long, loud “woo hoo,” which brought a smile to everyone’s face as a few more high-fives went around.

As I watched the first person jump out and disappear I felt an overwhelming sense of excitement I had never witnessed in my body before.

I remained calm as the next set of people jumped out, I was informed that these first 2 groups were students who were taking their solo dives for the first time. Normally I would have put myself in their shoes, try to imagine what it would be like, recreate it in my own mind but I had nothing to compare it to, and due to possible anxiety - put the whole idea out of my head.

 This was the plan: try not to think about what I was about to do, but then it was our turn to move up the seat and get closer to the door. Sliding up the seat is easy when it’s just you but when you have another human being strapped to your body it becomes a concerted effort of pelvic thrusts and pulling with your heels.

Mike was the first to go, he didn’t look as excited as I had hoped he would but it’s not something you can predict either. His face had a look of nervous excitement mixed with trepidation or at least that what I got, despite the silly goggles they had us wear. He looked back at me with his mischievous smile and then he was gone.

“Okay, here we go, skooch, skooch,” said my instructor as we slid up the seat to the door. As I got nearer the exit I could feel the wind whirling inside the plane and how it was cooler in temperature.

“Now, just like we practiced, arms folded, head back, chest out, now on the count of 3.”

I decided long ago that I would have my eyes wide open as we jumped out. I purposely closed my eyes moments before and spun them around in my head to make sure I had plenty lubrication.

 As he counted 1, he pulled us nearly out of the door - sort of the same way you see the athletes do it in a Bobsled. On the count of 2 we were out the door and I felt the cold air hit my face.

 My first reaction was that I’m gonna be cold on the way down, but by the time that thought entered my mind and left, we had already dropped a few hundred feet and made 1 complete tumble. Then I smiled as I was floating toward earth, facing it and looking around at the scenery.

 It truly feels like you’re floating, you feel the resistance from the air and you can push against it, the tears in your eyes spins around inside the goggles and your face gets pushed and contorted.

Then came the videographer, she flew in with the helmet-cam and started waving to me as the instructor dipped his hand down and we spun in a 360 laterally, back and forth, “cool” I thought, I’m definitely doing this again.

She reached out and we held hands for a moment during which time the air flowed up between our bodies with increased force, she detached and before I knew what was going on she gave him the signal to deploy the chute and our several thousand feet of free fall - nearly lasting a minute - was over.

You might think it’s a violent jerk when the canopy opens up and you slow down but it wasn’t at all, it was a controlled decrease in velocity due to the tandem chute deploying in stages instead of one quick pop.

All the way down I could feel my body weight hanging from the instructor, but the pure tranquility and peacefulness of floating down to earth is an experience out of this world.

 The warmth of the sun on my face the sound of air slowly moving past my ears and the feeling of being so high above the ground with nothing below my feet but a few thousand feet of air and then finally the ground.

Using the big words again

There are so many new words that I have learned over the years and the impetus for this has been books. Reading literature and learning words that I have not been exposed to before.


Some of the words I learned from certain books wasn’t something I was introduced to through school.

I was always made fun of for using big words but I always say: “What’s the use of using so many words to describe something that could be summed up in one word.

Recalcitrant is a good example. Why not use the word recalcitrant to describe someone instead of saying they were: disobedient, defiant, against rule or authority.

However I don’t even like using that word because it just sounds “pretentious”

I've always loved the way music elicits memories and emotion (Originally Written February 2012)

I've always loved the way music elicits memories and emotion.




On a cold windy night, in a warm dark room, laying in a bed with the one I want to be with. Soft sheets, Satsuma candles giving off a slight glow and pleasant smell. Her skin softer than the sheets, my arms around her, her breath on my neck. Her kisses softer than her skin, the smell of her hair, hair that never tickles my nose. She gets up to turn on some music; her hair falls gently upon her soft shoulders in the barely discernible light. Enough light to see her feminine curves the tanned soft skin and her beautiful smile as she looks into my eyes and returns to bed. Her skin, momentarily cool to the touch until my hand warms the spot.



"I wanted so badly" The first four words of time and time again by the Counting Crows began one of the most cherished and beautiful moments I have ever shared in my life. I wanted so badly - and right there and then I had it. Us lying in that bed comforted by each other's warm caress, our kisses warming our souls. It was the first time I heard the song and it left an indelible imprint, for a long time I would sparsely listen to that song, I didn't want to wear out the feeling it elicited. That moment with (I shant say), with that song playing I would live forever.



I wonder if she ever knew how much that meant to me?

It's Wednesday again

It’s Wednesday again.


Seems like Wednesday was yesterday. But yesterday was Tuesday and Wednesday was over a week ago.

I notice Fridays and Wednesday’s the most.

Friday is the beginning of the weekend.

Wednesday is either the end of my set of work days, the very beginning or the middle of my scheduled work days.

It seems as though I’m having déjà vu, however I know it’s the passing of time - time that I have wasted, an immense amount of time for which I have created nothing.

In my life I have wasted a lot of my time and potential. I have known times when I could have created something that would have done well, put my name on a small map but something that I thought of would have gone from something intangible to tangible.

Finally I have realized outlets for which I can create but yet I haven’t put it out there.

I’ve been told to pursue certain avenues, to publish here or to submit there. I’ve only pursued a very small amount of the things I could have.

On idle days such as these I could be doing so much, however in my dreams is where I spend most of my time. I read, I research, I expand my knowledge, I read more, I exhaust myself and then I sleep.

I sleep to dream, many times I set the alarm clock for a sensible hour and hit snooze 20 or more times at 10 minute intervals just so I can go back to the dreams. Each time I wake I bring with me knowledge from the dream, and for a brief moment it’s fresh and if I chose I can train it to memory.

Dreaming is what I have done.

Originally written June 21st, 2010

It's Monday the 21st of June, Portugal beat North Korea 7-0 and I'm in the living room, waiting to watch the last game of the day. There is a brief waiting period in between the airing of the 2nd game and the last game, and the station plays a drama as a filler in between World Cup games. The TV show previous to the last game is "Ghost Whisperer", you know! The show with Jennifer Love Hewitt - she see's dead people.

Anyway it's my understanding that the commercials being played during certain shows is a reflection upon the people who watch it. So far today whilst observing "Ghost Whisperer" I've seen the exact same commercials over and over 4 times. Wonderbread avec essential nutrients, Sensodyne pronamel, Lamasil vaginal wipes - that you can throw away (bonus) and Ziploc!

So the people who are watching "Ghost Whisperer" should enjoy the benefits of eating bread that has essential nutrients in it, as well as toothpaste that makes your gums numb they most likely have vaginas and they store shit in Ziplocs.

The Vacuum Left Lovely Striations

Originally Written December 22, 2011:





The Vacuum left Lovely Striations

I remember when we were kids and Mom would be at work and Dad would be taking care of us. On those fun filled nights of hide and go seek and wrestling with our Father he'd often vacuum the living room floor before Mom got home, leaving a pattern in the rich red carpet. He would go over it a few times until the pattern was uniform and he would work his way back out of the room so that at the end was a full room with gorgeous, texturous, red carpet showing the path of the vacuum. It was really impressive to see especially in the night time when he'd turn on the yellowish pot lights in the ceiling giving greater contrast to the carpet and its texture.

He was very proud of this and understandably so, it looked like artwork, Seventies style, given the colour of the carpet, the yellow pot lights in the ceiling, all with the backdrop of the rust coloured drapes that went as high as the ceiling and down to the floor and nearly the full length of the room. Pair that with the orange lamps that lasted well past my puberty and into my Twenties. The thick black obsidian ashtrays at the arm of the rust coloured recliner (that years later I would cut with my very first pocket knife in order to see what was making the ribs of the arms so round), which were supported by golden tripodal stands 3 feet in height, that left impressions in the luxurious carpet. The framed paintings on the walls made of black felt and oil colours, some of which had coloured string wound around tiny nails giving the scenes a 3D quality and of course the floral patterned sofa. It was Seventies styled, because none of the décor had been replaced at this point from its original 1977-78 inception.

The carpet was on display at this point and we - just the two of us at the time - were not allowed into the living room, fret we may make our own impressions upon the carpet. You see our Father wanted his wife to see the great job he did cleaning up the living room (which doubled as our play area) putting away the toys and vacuuming the floor; All this as an offering to our Mother when she returned from her 12 hour shift as a nurse at the hospital, where all three of us were born.

This of course would create a conflict with his two young boys as we were - in all affects - banned from our recreation area. Now Dad, God bless his heart, did this toward the end of the evening, soon before Mom would get home so that we wouldn't be exiled from the beloved living room for very long and then when Mom came home and she had sufficient time to see the spectacle we returned to Canaan.

Because we were exiled it goes without saying that we wanted to get Dad in trouble and as soon as Mom was settled away we gave her the report. Finding this somewhat comical, I remember my Mom saying one time: "Now Isaac that's foolish, you know you didn't keep them out of the living room, afraid they would walk over the carpet". This of course was not met with the same playful intent in which my Mother meant it and would in fact hurt my Father's feelings and he would be insulted. She never realized how much it meant to him to have such a tidy home ready for her when she arrived from her long tiring shift, and how proud he was of the tidy room with the freshly vacuumed carpet purposefully lit from above via the yellow pot lights, which really acted as a spotlight.

I enjoyed looking at the carpet, and I knew exactly what my Father was up to when he did this, I appreciated it in my own little way. In the way a son appreciates what his Father was about when he grows up and realizes he carries the same attributes, some of his mannerisms and many of his traits.

Later in years when it came upon me to vacuum the carpet as part of my chores I found I was doing the same thing as my father did, I would often travel over the same area several times, just so the light hits off it in just the right way and each time I thought of that one particular night.

I hope my children recognise in themselves my attributes before I’m gone and they can express how it makes them feel.




It was perhaps the things left unsaid

Tonight I went out.


I learned 2 things:

1. Tattoos are in
2. Wearing clothes like you belonged on an episode of Jersey Shore is in