Category Archives: Uncategorized

Those Special Days

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I love the days that are special days.  I look forward to the coming day, planning events and getting all the perfect bits and pieces that make the day, the time, and the people, important.  This method of living through the calendar days requires accumulating “things.”  It is not these “things” that are important in and of themselves, but the people, the event, and the time that they are associated with.  Specifically, this year, as by coincidence, Mother’s Day and my brother-in-law’s birthday fall on the same day.  At this point, I am already half-way through thinking, planning, and purchasing “the things” that will fill this “double-day.”

More and more, I am attracted to those things that are more artistic.  I will buy a book full of words that are pretty and that tell a decorative story, rather than any story that is full of thrill and complex mathematical  problems that require suspending belief in the real world.  I prefer a few well-placed words, to a book that I can’t put down.  So, now, when I start the “accumulation of things” for “the special days” in the calendar, some, “tasteless, bland, white” card, figurine, book, and ecetera  is what I will look for, and usually it is what I get.

Part of my plan, which is a new criteria that developed only during the past year, is to try to fit the purchases of “the things” inside of a budget.  I wan to get to the day, with something that says, more “special, loved, and cherished” than any other day.  So, what I spend on the other deadline days in the calendar, should, not be able to compete with the “special days” and the amount I spend.  There is no way the money I spend can indeed reciprocate and represent the “specialness.”

How do I do this?  I have recently discovered “niche marketing” and the “niche market.”  I am finding more “hand-made” things, and “one-of-a-kind” things, in little shops that do not compete in anyway with giant marketplaces like William Sonoma and Crate and Barrel.  There, I can endlessly spend money, but rarely am I satisfied with the “thing” I have bought.

Being without a car, has led me to here, in my journey.  Because I have to walk, I try to fit everything I need to do, within a small radius of space.  And, I have discovered, the stores along those trendy streets, where the designers go, where the artists live and sell, and where things close to home are on sale, for a reasonable price, I can fulfill my wishes and desires… all in a small radius of a walk.

Also, I am a fan of those reality shows that average joe professionals host, and sometimes, compete with each other in.  It is a community that shows up on television at least once a week, and I am usually there, watching.

My hurrays for all the up-and-coming niche markets!  I feel I live a rich life and that I live it in reality.  I am comfortable and I am surrounded by all the comfortable things, which, for some reason, have to be earned through graduating from school and finding a way to make a living.  If this, is in fact, the real world, then, I give my hurrays again.  There are more and more…  One day, I too, will join with the “cottage industry” and end up on the trendy street.  I won’t only be giving on those special days, but I will also receive as much as I give.

It Is Easy to Love Someone Who Is Beautiful

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It is easy to love someone who is beautiful.  When we are in love, everything is perfect, even when we yell at each other angrily, threatening the bindings around us.  At that time, no one is perfect, and definitely love is not perfect at all.  Because  I usually dismiss anything that is not perfect, I storm out and leave you.  The next day, with regret and embarrassment and tenderness, I plead for forgiveness, and demand a condition: stop starting arguments over things that are past changing.  Things sometimes are broken and things sometimes can’t be dealt with through demands an irresponsible, uncaring handling.

Sometimes even when the sun is out, the storminess of a relationship is enough to make the day feel cloudy and overcast, and damp, and hopeless, and like even asking a question is not going to take anything anywhere….  Let alone being the answer to the question of the problem.  The mind whirls around and around, the quiet sound of moving emotions, a quiet soundtrack to the beating heart.  And, so, in confrontation of the situation, we find a way to think of doing what is always so impossible after an argument.  We will re-explain ourselves.  We will listen to what you are saying, and accept it as real, and worth my careful consideration and effort in careful handling.

And, so, I am in love with a beautiful man.  And, we argue, not because it makes us work on our relationship, but, because, our relationship sometimes is not perfect.  We are always threatening the end to each other, but, something makes us come back.  Is it the politeness we have with each other?  Does this mean we are always stuck in second gear?  Never continuing to go to THAT place?  What will make us comfortable?  What will make us stop making threats to each other?  And, make our arguments about our poor taste in fashion, or our mistake in meeting an appointment because we are absent minded… not an issue of being a cruel and evil couple.  Are we truly in the deepest love with each other?  Are we poor at the games couples play?  Why, do we have all these troubles and problems?

I am afraid we will start using our bank accounts as ammunition in our on-going battle.  I am afraid that we will, or at least one of us, will end up a street person, dragging the world’s belongings around with us, picking up shopping carts and other towing contraptions with us.  We sleep in filth, covering the shopping cart with garbage bags so that n one will take it, or, any of the things inside.  I am afraid that all we will have of each other, will be some framed photograph that is the last one we can hold on to…  It being the last vestige of evidence of having been married to each other.

We have not taken our argument of each other to the front of our children.  They do not hear our dissatisfaction with each other.  As much as they are concerned, we are a happily married couple with a happy family that will be together for all of eternity.  It boggles my mind, that anyone, any two people, can be in love forever….  Happily ever after.  How much of it is work?  And how much of it is love?  It is difficult.  So, when we have that time, that place that our children do not go to (at least, not with us), we redirect our view.  We are starting to find some other view.   Some other reason.  Some other way to love.  “Staying together for the  Children” is not something that will hold us together for very long.  Right now, it almost feels like we are lying all the time, especially, to our children.  So, whenever we get that chance, to go to that place, we do.  We send our children to Grandma’s and Grandpa’s, and we have that time.

This is not a quick and fast way to make our marriage work, but it is something that we appreciate in each other.  We are working with our relationship with the things that work in it.  We are going towards loving each other like we did, before two others, namely, our son and daughter, became our family.  On our eyes, we want to be that “Number 1” to each other that we once were.

The Spring is coming.  Fear of floating around the universe alone is not appealing.  I truly hope that we can work out the problems stopping our relationship from being all that it can be.  Either that, or we fiend out the limit that our relationship is… through work and caring, and mutual effort and understanding of each other.  I am someone who truly wants to be on this journey of life that is here now.  I hope that it is  something that I will not be in regret with.  I don’t want to fail at living my life.

Robbery At the Pharmacy

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I was going to the drug store to pick up some essentials the other day, in my scheduled way as I just run out of things from using them, regularly.  The automatic door opened, first, the first door, the, secondly, the second door.  As soon as I was inside, I was greeted by Muzak playing on the overhead P.A.  It is always cheery and cheerful, and I started to feel like looking at the shelves to see what I could need.

I had a prescription for an infection in my ear, and I needed to fill it to take care of the infection and to keep it from spreading from my ear, to my throat, and ultimately to my lungs.  So, glancing at some shelves in a cursory manner, I walked quite directly to the Drug Counter.  As I approached,  no one was by the counter, so I went up to the Drop-Off Aisle.  When I got there I noticed something odd about the situation.  Just behind a wall of shelves I could see the head of the Pharmacist and the head of a man conversing with her.  The odd thing was the loud, rough way he was speaking.  When I looked more closely, he was waving a knife, and demanding the Pharmacist be quicker about handing him the drugs.  I gathered he had demanded some narcotics.  I hesitated to bring attention to myself, and even though he was only waving a knife, coming close to someone wielding a knife could mean a life-threatening wound.  So far, the Pharmacist was managing. She was quite quickly handing over the drugs, and it seemed, in the large quantities that happen to be on the shelves of every pharmacy.  The robber, it seemed, also knew what narcotics were.  He kept listing the ones he wanted.

I was frightened, and I was sure the Pharmacist was frightened too.  There was no one else behind the counter, like usually there were always at least two assistants.  I got caught in a debate with myself, whether to stay, and alert the robber that there was someone else here, or, to quickly run to the front, the back, or somewhere in the store to get help.

As the robber became more desperate with the passing time, I made a very quick decision to run to the cosmetics section, as there was no guarantee there would be someone at the cash at the front.  As my guess was right, I tried to tell her there was a robber.  I literally did not know what would be done next.

The lady, looked astonished and double asked me again, what the matter was.  I explained that there was a robbery happening at the Pharmacy counter, and suggested, I think, quite desperately, that she call the police.

She picked up the phone and dialed 911.  I heard her explain, when the call was answered within seconds, the difficulty, and I heard her give the address of the store.  I stood there dazed, watching her, listening to her, feeling a little bit frightened, but very willing to stay with the women I knew were in the store, just in case (in my very simple mind), that there was no one else, or even, no men working in stock or behind the Pharmacy counter.

At this time, I heard the rough voice, and the pounding of feet on the floor.  I turned my head, and sure, enough, I saw, a quick glimpse of the robber, running out with a knife and a bag, which I knew, was full of narcotics.

The Beauty Counter lady gave a surprised, “Oh!” and she turned to me quickly, as the robber disappeared through the Exit door, and said, “Is that the guy?”  I nodded, unable to find my voice.  Then I answered to confirm the sighting.

At this time, the Pharmacist also came running to the Beauty counter.  There was a lot of quick, loud, shouting, and a voice that sounded relieved. She was able to clam down a little more when we confirmed that the police had been called.

Unlike myself, as I will often leave or take myself out of the situation that involves limelight and danger, I stayed and talked to the two women and, the now gathering of, other employees as the Beautician announced over the P.A. that a robbery had just occurred.  Within a couple of minutes, a police cruiser with lights and siren came up.

The police, unlike what happens in a movie, literally, walked into the store via the entrance door and walked around the store, casually until they saw the pharmacy and approached.  One of them, the bigger one, asked, “Is there a problem here?”  And very quickly after this, it became a forensic science as the police tried to put together the crime scene…  I know, because they asked me what I saw, what I did, and my name and address.

They did not keep me long…  And the store was closed anyway, and I felt exhilarated by all the excitement.  I had to go to the mall, instead, to get my things and my prescription.

One of the surprising things about the situation was that we were not in a dangerous neighborhood.  We really had not need to take precautions, and, neither do the stores or the banks have to install special alarms.  I began to wonder whether a different group of people were moving into the neighborhood.  The type who do desperate things because they are always involved in crime and violence.

For a week now, things have been quiet and there is normalcy.  I have not seen any unusual people or, any suspicious behavior, or, even heard secondhand of strange things.  I am going about my business in the way I always do.  The excitement is over, and I am now lulled back into my sense of safety and the continuation of life.

The Name of Diva

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The Girl-Woman–the Diva.  The diva is cool enough to be Queen of all people, but isn’t.  She is given her space.  Her man bows, serves and loves.  Her fingers hold the power to give and to dismiss, with a flick or a gesture to show.  She is fawned over, and stroked in affection.  The things she has and the things that are beautiful are all together, all hers.  When she chooses, it is to make or to break.  It is to be a friend, a love, a mistress, a commander, or a thief.  Divas are both hated and loved, because they do anything and everything that they want to do.  They deny anything that isn’t.  We watch divas… everywhere, but especially if they are on stage.  They are absolutely beautiful.  All women hate them, and mall men love them.

I look at the beauty of a statuesque diva.  She is still, and always, without the true age.  She can hold your gaze, if she dislikes you…  Beyond every other human being, but that is a rare occurrnce in demonstration.  MOre likely the space that is around a diva keeps everyone except whom she likes, away from her.  They are the personification of wealth.  With the merest of action of strength, they can move oveans and mountains.  Beware, an angry diva.

A cat fight will break out.  The women and the diva.  At the end of the four-letter screaming match, the toy dogs carried in purses will be let out, off their leashes, and flying fur will ensue.  Only the arrival of statuesque men, biceps bursting through shirts, will able able to recapture the dogs and save the diva from breaking her nails.  Everyone will run away, carrying their precious cargo.

A diva has no bad habits, so they are of course, only admired by everyone.  The envy of a diva is in her need to be loved, which she displays only with the most best friends, or though the entourage of men that she keeps.  She is forever unreachable, the Rapunzel that holds the key to the door at the bottom of the tower.  Woman all see their own imaginary tower, their own imaginary entourage, and make lists of their most best friends to surround themselves with.

The diva is the epitome of women.  The most powerful, the most loved, the most wealthy, the most beautiful.  All the things that women want, are had by the diva.  So, how do we compare?

I think that if I have everything that I want, then, I will make the comparison.  The diva is n that  place.  I will be in that place, because I know where it is.

Surprise On The Hill

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We didn’t know it, but when we ran down the hill and raced into the depression well there, we entered a cesspool or cesspit of flies.  These were the horse flies.  They were large and black and loud.  If they started to bite us, they’d be the ubiquitous Black Flies of Cottage Country.

As soon as I had remarked to my friend, who had run down with foolish me, “I hear a lot of buzzing…. and things are flying at my face!” she said, “Oh my God!  We’re surrounded by flies!”  This exchange made me very frightened.  The ground was soft–perhaps with sponged-up rain water–and I immediately imagined we were standing on top of a shallow grave.  If we stopped longer or stepped harder, we would sink and be standing on top of corpses!

In my teenaged mind, this was entirely possible!  Just the week before, our music teacher had given us a little talk on Italy and Italian symphonies.  She showed us pictures of the Catacombs beneath Florence (it could’ve been Rome, but I am not sure).  She had gone on a summer vacation there, and although the Catacombs are nothing but holes and tunnels beneath the city, she was able to show us pictures.  All along the underground tunnel path, were cubby holes where the dead were placed, and, because the Catacombs were centuries old, the pictures showed us skeletons… dirty from age and mildew… not the bright white skeletons of western civilization.

I learned a little about the beauty of Italian symphony that is played with the Italian Operas, but I learned a life lesson about the Catacombs.  We have learned not to be barbaric.  Because we now have technology, and more and more engineers are being born, we have learned to be more civilized, without living with threat.  Now, people will not get their hands amputated for stealing.  The punishment appeals to the thief’s mind, and leaves the future open for a life.  Without a hand, there are about 80% of jobs that become unavailable for the reformed criminal.  Changing the entire future of the wrong-doer, is not going to make him change.  He, himself has to decide to do differently.  The police, and the government, only have an unending job of taking care of the criminals for the rest of their lives.  I am not sure if a criminal would learn something different, other than that the police, and the government, are terrorists.

I thank my teachers in high school.  I did hear the lesson, and I  did remember the lesson the next week, but it wasn’t until I heard about the increasing amount of terror in North America, that made me put the lesson in life context.  People’s lives are being affected every day, in a way  that makes being alive, a nervous experience.  I am not a fan of terrorists, but I wonder, what is it that they are missing from life?  Is there a way to preserve life, in any way?

I am mourning the recent Boston Marathon Bombings, as many, many, innocent lives have been affected.  I am nervous, a lot more often now, with even taking public transit.  I am buffeted by the wind, the rain, the snow, but on my mind, if I cross paths with a suspicious mind and I start feeling the dark clothing, the dark glasses, or the sports jacket, I wonder if I can outrun his path of travel, and get home free?  I am both fearful, and resentful that this is a way of life.  I fear, it will become much more accepted… and that we will end up living in a police state–the only way to prevent complete chaos from violence.  I would like to live somewhere beautiful, somewhere that I love, somewhere where the alarm clock in the morning is the only surprise every day.

I pray that everything will be alright.  I am young, and I am still working and living.  It would be nice to have a nice life, too.  I rue the terrorists.  I hope they find better lives too.

The Pursuit of Happiness

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Aged cheese and aged wine.  Grapes and cake.  Sometimes people just need some time and a good way to forget.  There is so much in life, and to think that the majority of the good things are bad is depressing in itself, without some devastation to make it all the blackest of sin to be living.  The question I am thinking of, because I was just thinking about my life in terms of life-changing events, is:  “Is the beginning of the end already too late….  Or is there just more to work with?”  Immediately, I started having berating thoughts:  “What if I was just plain lazy?  What if I always did the easy thing, chose the easy way, and made anything difficult to do something I couldn’t have in my life, even in the sense of the difficult as something to contemplate?”  What if I don’t know how to do anything worth while?  Will I die a horrible death?  Will I suffer until I die the horrible death?  I started on this road of thought because I started comparing my life with, obviously enough, my sister’s life.

She started fast out of the gate….  Always the straight A child, the one who won more than the “Participant” award.  She would win first place, she wuld win the cool prizes with $100 or a new wardrobe, and she had the cool friends, who, for some reason were in Indie bands who played in the bard around town.  She got into the best schools, and had the vest and coolest hobbies.  She could talk on the phone half a school night and still get the straight A’s again.  She could always choose the winners of the year before they were announced on Oscar night.  She used cool words, even the Professors thought were cool.  And, to end off the comparison with her graduation from a Masters Program, she took a two month trip through Europe.

In comparison, I did the things that were less.  How do I come to this conclusion?  Easy….  I do the easy jobs that pay less.  I married a man that drives a Honda instead of an Audi with leather seats that even looks sleek and sporty in grey metallic and four doors.  I have thought about having a big family, with three children and an option to have four or even five…  but I just can’t afford it.  Children require a two-income family.  And on two incomes, if I consider the need of a private school education, my husband and I can only afford to have one of each… a boy and a girl.  And lucky us, it just did happen in this million dollar way….  One for me and one for who I married.

In a sense, when the first child was born, it definitely marked the end of my life in some sort of big way.  Everything I started doing, and that I keep doing, now, is look after the life of my children.  Their schedule comes first, and lucky me, I have a job that is flexible with me to run to the aid of my children when it is necessary.  I was of the generation of feminists who demanded equality with men in every way, but, surprise, when a woman falls in love with a man… the man always comes first.  They are chivalrous because we love them that way, and we let them come first, because they like us this way.

So, I ask again, is the beginning of the end too late….  to have the things that you always wanted?  Or is the compromise…., always necessary?  Will I never have the chance, ever again, to experience the things that I thought I would have the chance to experience…  Sometime?  I don’t have to think about now…  Now, my children know what it is that takes to raise them, already, and I will not disappoint them.  In some way, it is an investment, after 65 I will not work any more, and somehow, I would like a home to live in for as long as possible….  And in this way, I invest in my children.  I am looking at least thirty years into the future.  So, with this mark as the beginning of the end, have I missed out on a life of glamour, the one I envision where I get to fly the world, taking photographs of famous people, famous models, and creating great artistic works that people will hunt for?

All of a sudden my teenaged dream of this life of glamour was replaced, even before I knew it.  I did marry an artist, and in some ways, I live vicariously through him, often, but, even he, doesn’t have the glamorous life I dream about.  It’s a lot of nine to five work.  We are mutually looking at our lives, feeling that it has been replaced with domesticity.  Our children now walk us.  We daily rate what is most important, and yes, our children take top place.  I revel in their victories and cry with them in their sorrows and failures, as does my husband.  We laugh, now in a way we never thought we would laugh.  Laughter used to mean something coll and funny, now, it’s love that comes tumbling out of our mouths. We cherish those moments.

Until we are able to have more time for ourselves, we will continue to sell our souls for the money that keeps our family together, in our home.  So, is it beyond possible to change our lives and have those things we have dreamt of?  Is it too late?  I hope that it isn’t true.  I watch as younger artists gain so much more with half the time that I have.  I watch as young graduates take those enviable jobs that I have secretly wanted, with half the experience I have.  As these opportunities are “taken away” from me, I ask again….  Have I been too lazy and only settled on the easy things?

Let us hope, then, that this is not the truth.  I hate the idea of compromise, but I am not completely sure that I understand the concept of compromise.  I look at the time ahead of me, and I am now beginning to think, “things never really change.”  I consider myself as someone who is born to be an artist.  It matters that I hold onto this part.  It keeps me occupied, and I know that I will be occupied, and I know I will be occupied beyond the years that my children need me.  I would be pleased to be an older artist…  So, is the beginning of the end too late?  I don’t think so.

A Prayer: The Impact of the Divinity, Superman

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The wind tunnel is crazy.  It blows my jacket up and flips my umbrella inside out.   The more open space there is, the more wind there is.  Sometimes all the buildings in a row can accelerate some breeze into a gale force.  I have had to turn my back against the wind just so I can keep my eyes open.  It’s difficult.  The only way to stop the wind, is to stop the Earth from revolving.  Or is that rotating?  If Earth spins faster, would there be a difference in the things that grow, or in the weather?  The divinity of Superman is his ability to change the direction of the Earth in its orbit.  He could probably propel it towards another solar system.  I spend my days worrying whether I have enough sleep rather than whether the universe will collapse and implode on itself, the force great enough to create another universe, without Earth and without human beings.

It will be a decision of life and death, if Superman were to truly exist and if he were to do exactly that–to recreate life in the void of space.  The power he holds, as a divinity, with the power of flight, strength and sight, makes him the responsible one.  He can verify the right and the wrong, and, if the  seeing of what human beings have created of themselves, becomes a burden in the weighting of justification, he will weigh his judgement and make the decision.

In Superman’s universe, the act of living is an idea.  It is the ability to think that makes living truly a life.  Human beings have the ability to decide for themselves what it is they are doing and will do.  However, Superman exists because the ideas that some people have involve the acts of life that destroy.  So, will Superman take it upon himself to change the course of humanity?  Will he fly out to outer space, and spin the planet yet again…  hoping that the change in direction or speed, will change the course of humanity for good?

Are the lives of human beings changeable?  Is the design of a human being a set of hard and fast rules?  Is this the only way to create life?

Why do human beings believe in divinities like Superman?  Do they wish to change?  Do they resent and rue the existence that exists?  Do human beings wish they were different?  Do they wish that everyone alive, including themselves, were like Superman…  with insight and ability of such greatness?  Do they wish they had the degree of superpower Superman has?

Maybe if human beings imagined the best and did what they could in the degree of human-ness and humanity that they are capable of, the, in a way, we would have Earth Day for real and for sure.  We would not need a superhero with superhuman powers to determine the ultimate existence of human beings.  We would ourselves, determine that human beings have life, and that we are living in a way that does not destroy life.  Would we then, not always imagine the better creation?  The creation that would exist if we were to ask Superman to change the direction of spin the planet is in?

Like I said earlier, I worry more about walking through a wind tunnel, than I do about trying to change the way human beings are.  I do not stay awake at night wondering if the earth would stop spinning or if the universe would implode.  I often hope that there would not be so many days that rain, and I always wish there were more days of hot weather.  I easily wish to see more of my friends and family, always rueing the time i am always lacking, and sometimes, missing and losing.

I thank the Marvel Comics people for creating such an amazing and inspirational character like Superman.  He filled my childhood days with ideas of a superhuman being who had the superhuman ability to change life because he had supreme judgement that never failed.  It is as if he were given his superpowers because he understood and could see deeply into human psyche and therefore use his powers for good, for sure.

So, with this musing on Superman and Earth Day, I wonder, if, ever, life on earth will ever change?  Human beings will always be flawed, and will always make mistakes of life and living.  It is how we live…  And grow.  I make a prayer, with, this, that people will take care… and that perhaps, Superman, will take care, and hope that life will not get any worse, at bottom, and that we will always get better.

The Facts of Life

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How many facts are actually real enough to be THE facts of life?  There are many things that happen, that live, in people’s lives.  There are many things that are common to everyone regardless of where you come from, what language you speak or whom you marry.  Some people make enough money in a month to create banks and run countries, while others, spend their waking lives on street corners hoping for some change.  So, WHAT, are the facts of life?

Starting with the view of a child, a mother and a father are usually the fact.  What they say, what they do, where they take you, is all a fact of life.  They determine everything.  They are everything.  But, how many children live this fact of life?  The statistic is 50% of all marriages fail and end in divorce.  So, is it an actual fact that a mother and a father are a fact of life?  Even thinking of the simple things I always had because my mother was there to ask me to go and help her in the garden, makes me think, I was lucky, for a fact.  Even, the insects in the garden, amongst the soil and muddy water, are they facts?  All the spiders, earwigs, potato bugs, ants, daddy long legs and worms… just to name those I have seen in my gardening exercises…  are they facts of life?  For one thing, I know that a lot of people do not hesitate to go and step on these insects… especially the closer these insects are to the house, or your bedroom.  I always kill the spiders in the house..  I even kill cockroaches despite their massive size and incredible crunch of their shell….  If you look at the crushed cockroach, there will be a splatter of blood.  Does this commonality between every people, make insects and the killing of insects, a fact?

Then, what about soldiers?  What on earth makes people dare to lose their life just to get paid for doing it?  Is it human nature to want the excitement of possibly never seeing anything else except guns pointing at you as you point yours back at them?  Then, there ‘s the actual fact that people actually fire their guns, and if the fails, they will use the blade attached to the gun and stab every enemy the see.  Because of this, soldiers are heroes.  Everyone who dies, and those that return home veterans, is a hero.  Seeking out death, it seems will make you a hero.  But, why is it that there are people who consider killing and causing war a legitimate jog and career?  Is it a fact of life to create confrontation, disagreement, and rape and pillage, in order to create money?  Or, is it just a fact of life?  A way to keep from falling asleep where everyone else is making a killing with each project they do.

Are we too complacent?  Do we only pretend to live?  We continue  to do our routines every day despite all the pedestrians that are run over and killed every year.  We continue to go out late at night despite the presence of guns among civilians, despite those people who put you into a portion of the population that dares to mug, do drugs, or rape and even kill.  Just walking down the street, then, is a hero’s walk.  We do not even have rules to protect us, like the rules of war… that that prevents soldiers from being overly brutal.  The rules of engagement.  All soldiers ply by these rules, but not those who mug, do drugs, or rape and even kill.

So, it seems, from these examples, two facts can be considered actual facts of life, that every single person will live to see.   Number one, everyone who is alive, will have a birthday.  This day is yours.  This day will never change, and it is completely your day.  Number two, everyone who is alive, will die.  Everyone who is born to live, will have a day when they will die.  These two facts will never change.  You can only live if you are born, and you can only leave earth, and be considered human, if you live to the end  of your life.  As for insects that we all kill, let’s hope they literally decompose and never come back.

As for taxes and avoiding them, it is more of a game than an actual fact.  I find them a nuisance and try to find my out as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

I am not entirely convinced that there are anything in life that can actually be guaranteed.  I find too many disagreements.  I wouldn’t agree with many things anyone has to say that seem to prove that we all share life as a commonality.  That we all live, somehow, in the same way.  We are stranded alone, individually, on a floating blue ball, called Earth, in only one of a billion solar systems, in an infinite universe.  It’s always a wonder to me, a miracle, that I am considered close to people because we breathe the same recycled air and we drink the same recycled water.

So, everyone, Happy Earth Day.  It is coming this April 22nd.  Enjoy!

The Climb Up Whistler Mountain

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We are climbing up Whistler Mountain.  It is a slow ascent as we walk up.  Ar first, it is all stones, and there is a railing and some gravel that serves as a path.  We walk  slowly to acclimatize our heads, hearts, and lungs to the increasing high altitude–we do not want to faint.

Small rodents inhabit the mountain and are unafraid of the people who are along the path up.  They come running and rushing across, and squirrel-like they pause at “safety” beside slightly bigger boulders, benches made from stone, and small vegetative bushes.  They are fast and we are unable to capture these moments on our cameras.

The kids are loving our journey.  They’ve been in the car today for two hours, and they were behaving, abstaining from fights and not really in need of a session of yelling familiar songs out.  But, they are also glad to be out of the confinement.  My eight-year-old is keeping up with the others.  He is strong and has spurts of energy to rush suddenly up twenty metres ahead.   There, he either waits for us to catch up or he runs back down to scream at us about what is up ahead.  He has not yet developed an interest in cameras and photography, only borrowing his dad’s camera to randomly take shots…  I am not sure if it is interest on his part, or if he is just killing boredom when he plays with the camera.

From the car in the parking lot, Whistler does not look to be such a sandy color.  It is darker, and the lighter coloring can almost look like snow.  We are enjoying our climb and since the ascent is quite quick, we begin to feel light-headed and out of breath if we try to rush.  I have to call my eight-year-old back a few times just to keep up and to make sure he isn’t rushing straight into a visit to the hospital.  Nonetheless, he arrives at the top a good ten minutes before we get there.  He is safely at the top, relieving me of my anxiety when I see him there.

It is absolutely stunning.  Being surrounded by mountains and also to have the ability to look down and see the depth of the valley from the height, makes being alive at the top thrilling.  I still savour that emotion of being the smallest biggest thing.  It could’ve been the altitude, but no one took pictures of the event or of the sturdy “flag-planting” and that last “out-of-breath” breath.  We stood there gazing.  My children were also more quiet, choosing to walk around the whole plateau.  If I can, one, day, I will paint a picture of it.

It was not that long ago, and being in the city today, I feel as if I am living in the smallest place on earth.  It is comfortable here.  The openness in a green space is not really that gigantic in comparison to the plateau on Whistler.  Surprisingly, probably because it was summer, there were no gales of wind and sleet…  It was calm and sunny.

I am waiting for the buds on the trees to come out.  I am waiting for the grass to turn green, and I am waiting for the crickets to start to chirp.  This is the everyday minutia.  It is here, and not on the path up the mountain, not on the plateau that allows for sight into infinity, and not in waking my children every morning or tucking them into bed every night.  In those quiet moments of living, I feel singly, and am an amoeba, surrounded.

If you can…  find some vacation time to go and climb Whistler Mountain.  They might have created some gear to help you up the mountain now, but I am sure the experience is just as worth having.