The Bohemian in a helmet ( personal story)

I am not really a sports fan. Professional sports lost me a long time ago. The cost of tickets for most of them is a joke, and the level of dedication to the game is generally low. Sports heros talk of their great love for the team and city of for which they play, until they get traded. Then they speak the same words about their new adopted home.

There was a time I loved sports. Let me tell you about that now.

In Quebec City, where I grew up, the only game in town in high school was Canadian football. Most people would think that Canadians would choose hockey, but that was not the case in my hometown.

Hockey was something that was played on the street with friends, and watched with passion on TV. The real dream was to play high school football. My brothers had both been high school football stars in the Fifties. I was fourteen years younger, and had grown up with their stories...and in their shadow.

I was more the bookish type, although with a linebacker's build. I walked into my high school in Grade Eight - and spent the first year just getting used to the new environment.

If you ever saw the movie "Dazed and Confused", that movie was exceptionally close to my high school years - without the seniors with wooden paddles though. The first time I ever saw that movie, it was like an acid flashback to a forgotten time.

The weekly football games were the cultural highpoint of the week, and Quebec High School's field was always packed on Saturdays during football season. It wasn't a large field, but it's crowd of students old and new was always large and passionate about the game.

In my second year of high school, I decided to try out for the junior team. I still remember the first day I received my equipment. Our school budget was fairly low, and much of the equipment was probably at least twenty years old. My helmet ( in 1973 ) looked like something from a football photo from 1950. My team jersey, mended lovingly by a generation of mothers, had it's faded yellow "72" on a dark blue background.

Suiting up for the first time was like being some knight of old. Hip and shoulder pads, a jock, the football pants ( also tattered ) , and football cleats and helmet all went on with the same care as that of any NFL pro.No pro was ever more proud of his team outfit than I was back then. I was a grid iron Don Quixote.

Our team didn't even have a name. No mascot. Zip. It did have some awfully cute cheerleaders though, but I digress...

This wasn't America, it was small town Canada - and we knew there were no talent scouts out there watching. We were doing all this because we loved it, and for no other reason.

The coaches on our junior team were volunteer parents. Both were EXCEPTIONAL. They infused us with pride and confidence in ourselves, the team, and in the game. They demanded the highest level of sportsmanship from us, and our best effort, at all times. The practices were brutal.

We would often go off running to a local park. That park featured some iron stairs that were probably about seven or eight stories high. We would run them for about a half hour or so - in cleats. Then we would run back to the field and practice plays. Most of us would be lying exhausted on the field by the end of all that, and we were in great physical shape to begin with.

It was a little like Navy Seal Hell week - every practice.

I still remember the first game. I awoke early, and my equipment was already packed. I lived about a twenty minute walk from my high school. When I arrived, the team was already starting to assemble. The crowds were slowly forming, and the fall leaves were swirling around the awaiting crowd.

The nervous energy in the changing room was electric. Soon we were dressed, and listening to our coaches final words. I think I know how military men in must feel before their first battle.

I was left offensive tackle, we seemed to all fit a sterotype. The rich kids as offensive runners, the working class as linemen. Offense quiet and subdued, defense crazed and loose. We didn't feel those differences though, we saw ourselves as a machine.

We assembled in a large circle, and started chanting. It was a school tradition, and I had heard that chant many times from the outside. Now I was in the middle of the lion''s den, and the sound was exploding off the tiles in waves.

Then we were off...

Our first game was against a French team from out of town. We were all totally bilingual, but had decided we would not let the other team know that fact right away. It was always nice to hear them insulting us, oblivious to the fact we understood every word. Occasionally, we would even overhear the next play being discussed. We always waited until about the last five minutes to start talking to them in french.

They got off their bus, dressed in brand new equipment. We hated them immediately. They were new to the game, and still learning. We had it in our DNA.

They won the toss, and we received.

I ran out to the field, and took my place. My guard and I were good friend, and instinctively knew how to work together. The ball was snapped, and thanks to a beautifully executed cross block, a hole appeared exactly where we wanted it to in the defensive line - just in time for our teammate with the ball to go roaring through it.

A few plays later we were ahead.

My coach asked me to try as defensive tackle on the next set of plays. I agreed, but wasn't sure as to my ability.

The quarterback of the opposing team seemed to be like most I would come to know. The typical "jock" pretty boy, who loved the fame and attention of center stage. Dressed in his brand new gear, he was confident and brash. The second I saw him, I decided that I was going to do my best to change his view about football forever.

We went into our stances, and I could see the ball out of the corner of my eye. As it lifted off the ground, a strange thing happened. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and I launched myself forward through the gap between the two players in the offensive line. They tried to stop me - but I exploded though them still in slow motion.

" Mr. Pretty Boy " was now about fifteen feet away going back, and I could see his eyes searching for an open receiver. His arm started to move backwards, and only one thing came to my head...

Scream

So I did...

This animal sound came out of my throat, in the loudest voice possible. Other than that there was dead silence, except for the wind whistling in my helmet.

"Pretty Boy's" eyes stopped looking for his receiver, and started looking more like a deer in a semi's headlights. I doubt he even had time to register an image, before he saw me as I threw myself at him at a dead run.

I hit him at shoulder level, and the two of us were suddenly airborne. We flew backwards, and he landed on the hard field with a thud - followed by me landing on top of him with an even greater thud.

Suddenly it was like time had restarted again, and a loud cheer broke the silence.

I rolled off of my foe, leaped to my feet, and reached down to help him up. He was dazed, and waved it off. His team mates ran to his aid, and I walked away to a hero's reception by my side.

He sat out the next few plays.

After that I was given the honour of never leaving the field for the entire rest of the season. There were a lot more plays like that, and I had lived up to my family's reputation, and the team's.

We were an exceptionally well balanced team, and went on to win the city championship. I went on to be voted MVP lineman for my performance that year, and had my plaque given to me by a visiting Montreal Alouette at our team supper at year's end.

I went on to senior football the next year. The coaches were a lot worse, and the spirit that I had so loved was gone. The "team" was a mass of individuals, and game day was something I started to hate. They had killed everything I had been so drawn to.

My coach even forced me to play as linebacker, which I despised - and was terrible at doing.

One quarter into the third game, I suddenly realized it was all pointless.

I walked over to the coach, and told him I was quitting right there and then. He told me I could not.

I just walked off the field, and left my equipment in the shower room.

I was finished with the game forever.

Walking along the road to satori on a fifteen hour date. ( personal story)

Well, I've told you the story of "C". and I. Let me tell you about that other woman I was mentioning, let's call her "L".

( Funnily enough, for about the first year of my new life as a single man, all the women that entered it came in alphabetical order. It took a long while to break that trend, and I was beginning to think that I was destined to spend the rest of my life waiting to meet a woman named Zelda or Zoey....)

It was the end of winter in 2004, and the first signs of spring had just begun to show. This woman contacted me after seeing my profile on a singles site. I had dated quite a bit by then, and had got to the point where I had just decided to go with the flow. No expectations, just the desire to share a coffee and see where it all could lead.

"L". and I talked on the phone soon after that e-mail, and I found her quite interesting. We decided to meet the next day for a coffee.

That Saturday morning, I awoke to a very nice spring day - one of the first of the year. It was cool, but the promise of warmer weather was showing. I gave "L." a quick call to confirm our time and place to meet, and left the house. I took the subway to the Sherbrooke Street station, and was running a few minutes late thanks to some delays.

As I walked out of the station, I slipped on my cell phone's headset and tucked it under my black wool beanie. I selected her cell number, and pressed "call".

She answered right away, and she was waiting a few blocks away on the corner. She was sitting there enjoying the sun and we chatted as I walked towards her. The streets were packed full of people that were taking advantage of the sudden change in the weather, after all those long months of cold and snow and darkness.

I turned the corner, and there she was. She was very pretty, with shoulder length black hair. Her eyes looked up at me, over her sunglasses - and she smiled. We were dressed almost the same, in jeans and black leather jackets.Two dharma bums on a busy city street. We hugged, and went for a coffee on St. Denis.

It took us both perhaps five minutes to realize that we were mutually interested. It was quickly agreed to go and have supper, and I suggested a restaurant I had heard of.

We walked over, and had a pleasant supper together - discussing anything and everything we could think of. That restaurant has a cozy and serene tea room in the back, and after supper we retired there for some bubble tea and more conversation.

Sitting there on the low cushions, we were almost completely alone. We grew a lot closer, and spend a long time just enjoying each others company, and discovering one another.

After that, we decided to go for a drink at a bar.We walked outside, and it was now quite cold. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, and she curled hers around my waist. We walked a while, and found a bar. We had some wine and listened to a good blues band for a time, holding hands.

She leaned over, and told me something that no other woman has ever said to me before. It was something that I very much needed to hear, and it will remain forever between the two of us. That one phrase changed my way of thinking about myself, and that for the better.

After that, we went for a long slow walk together along St. Catherine Street. Freezing, we walked into a coffee shop with some comfortable sofas and had some hot chocolate curled up together there. It was a magical night.

We had both missed our last subway, and so we made the decision to spend the rest of the night together until it opened again. We went for a smoked meat together. We wound up passionately discussing Buddhism. She was from the Tibetan school, and I was from the Zen one. The irony of having that discussion over smoked meat was not lost on either of us.

Hours later we were waiting together for the subway to open. We were back outside now, on another glorious sunny spring morning sitting on a bench together. We were in an area of town that had quite a few passing homeless people, and once again "L." had managed to say something to me that caused this moment of satori in my heart and soul.

One second they were just " bums " . After she finished speaking, they became me - and I became them. I saw them for the first time as the people, and the souls, that they really had been all for that time.

It seemed so much like part of some plan. Literally a few minutes later, while I was still reeling from that moment of sudden enlightenment, a rather strange looking homeless man walked up to us - holding a clean winter jacket in his hands.

He was very polite, and he had noticed us sitting together there.

He asked us only one thing. He was dressed warmly, and he didn't need the coat he was holding. He politely asked us if he could leave it on the bench beside ours. His only request to us was that we could tell anyone that wanted it to take it.

And then he walked away...

On cue, about ten minutes later, this East Indian fellow walked by - in shorts. In March... It must have been ten or fifteen degrees Celsius...

He was shivering. I have no idea how, or even why, he could have been dressed like that on such a day. He looked rather surprised at the warm winter coat on the bench beside us, and we motioned to him to take it. We explained all about the man, and his gift.

He took the jacket off the bench, slipped it on over his shoulders, zipped it up - and walked off happy at his sudden change in fortune.

I looked up at that clear blue spring sky, and said a simple thank you for the lesson that I had just received.

There are no coincidences in life, I truly believe that to be the case. There are just messages that we can chose to ignore - or to learn from.

" Thank's L. , for pointing that one out to me."

Confessions of a hopeless romantic ( personal story)

Since my divorce, I have dated more than I had in my entire previous life. Before my divorce, I would occasionally run across a woman and the first date would extend into a relationship that lasted as little as three months - or as long as seventeen years.

Flirting was something I never really "got" , and I would typically be the guy in the corner that would see a woman and think " What could she ever see in me ? " I would sometimes look in the mirror, and just see the " Elephant Man " staring right back at me.

After my divorce, for some strange reason, all that changed. Within one month, I was already dating. Shopping for clothes ( something I always despised doing ) suddenly became a pleasure. I suddenly "got" flirting, and became quite good at it.

Two women stand out, so far, in this period in my life.

Let me tell you about one of them.

"C." was a woman I had talked to often at work. She would call in every night, and we looked forward to our chats as we did what we had to do. She had the most incredible voice I have ever heard, a voice filled with tenderness and intelligence. When she laughed, that laugh was as innocent and pure as that of a child. She would call in , and ask for me, and no matter how busy I was, I would always take that call with a smile - and spend the next five minutes happy and relaxed.

One night, we had some free time to chat. We began to compare notes. We found out that we had the same birthday, were the same height, had the same hair colour. We both found that quite hilarious. By the way the conversation was going, I knew she felt the same way I did about our relationship.

We hung up our phones, and about fifteen minutes later she called back. She asked if we could talk. I gave her my cell number without hesitation. Five minutes later, it rang...

We talked for a long while, and we decided to exchange photos over the Internet. We took each others e-mail address, and promised to communicate with each other in the morning.

I sent off my photo, and a little note. About an hour later, or so, she phoned me.

She warned me that she only had one photo - and it wasn't a very good one. She made me promise to call her before opening it, and was nervous. I gave her my solemn promise , and waited for the notification that she had sent it to arrive.

I might add here that she was a military policeman. That caused me some concern, as most of the ones I had seen were not typically my type. Knowing her personality and intelligence, I was willing to make some exceptions.

I got the notification, and picked up my cell phone and dialed her number.

She was really nervous, and I told her not to be. I told her how special she was to me, and that I wasn't exactly Brad Pitt either. She told me to go ahead and look at the attachment, and reminded me again that her father had taken it at a Christmas party and that it was really a bad photo.

I clicked on it, and her photo appeared on my monitor.

I nearly fell off my chair.

I was speechless...

As her nervous voice started to apologize, I found myself staring at this beautiful young woman sitting on a sofa. Her long blond curly hair was pinned up, minimal make up - and she still resembled Claudia Schiffer.

The only thing I could say was " T'es belle comme un coeur." For those of you that don't speak French, that simply means " You're quite beautiful."

We decided to go out that week, and see how it would go. I left my apartment, and went to meet her. We called each other on our cells, and I started to walk to the place we had decided to meet at.

I was about a block away, when I first saw her getting out of her car. She was dressed in a denim miniskirt, flat shoes, and a simple blouse, her curly blond hair effortlessly piled up with some clips, and those " Tina Fey" type glasses.

I HATE those glasses, but suddenly...

Standing a foot away, I was staring at one of the most beautiful women I have ever had the pleasure to go on a date with. The fact that her intelligence and personality were equal to that beauty was stunning. Few women I have ever met have matched her in all of those. While some women spend hours trying to look beautiful, she just threw things together with little effort - and still looked like a fashion model.

The worst part, the part that I just melted over, was this :

She was totally clueless to how beautiful she was, and that was no act.

As we started walking to get a pizza together, I started to see these reactions from the men walking by. It was pretty much the same, and occurred about a dozen or so times as we took our short walk to the restaurant on that warm August night.

A look at her. A look at me. Another look at her. Then just this look of just complete confusion. She was, again, clueless to what was happening around us.

After about the sixth time, I grabbed her hand and pulled her close to me. I whispered in her ear " Just watch the reaction when the next guy passes..." .

She began to notice it too, and we both started to laugh at it. By the time we reached the restaurant, we were both in hysterics.

We had a great time together, but there was one only one problem that I had. She was twenty-nine, and I was forty-seven. I realized, sadly, that when she was my age - I would be in an urn on some shelf somewhere.

People tell me it's a sin
To know and feel too much within.
I still believe she was my twin, but I lost the ring.
She was born in spring, but I was born too late
Blame it on a simple twist of fate.

- Bob Dylan " Simple Twist Of Fate"

Copyright © 1974 Ram's Horn Music

I walked away from that relationship soon afterwards, and it was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do in my life. I hope that life rewards her with all the love and success she so richly deserves to have. She is going to make some lucky guy a wonderful wife.

" C. , Thanks for sharing your life with me for that short while. Thanks for making me a better person. Thanks for being what a woman should be to a man. Thanks for simply being you...

T'es belle comme un coeur."

Nice to know the boys in Washington have got their priorities straight ( political commentary)

After spending years telling Americans how they are in great danger from terrorism, it's nice to see that Attorney General Alberto R. Gonzales and FBI Director Robert S. Mueller III have now turned to protecting the land of the free from ( wait for it ) .....pornography.

The new squad will divert eight agents, a supervisor and assorted support staff to gather evidence against "manufacturers and purveyors" of pornography -- not the kind exploiting children, but the kind that depicts, and is marketed to, consenting adults.

Congress began funding the obscenity initiative in fiscal 2005 and specified that the FBI must devote 10 agents to adult pornography. The bureau decided to create a dedicated squad only in the Washington Field Office. "All other field offices may investigate obscenity cases pursuant to this initiative if resources are available," the directive from headquarters said. "Field offices should not, however, divert resources from higher priority matters, such as public corruption."

Public corruption, officially, is fourth on the FBI's priority list, after protecting the United States from terrorist attack, foreign espionage and cyber-based attacks. Just below those priorities are civil rights, organized crime, white-collar crime and "significant violent crime." The guidance from headquarters does not mention where pornography fits in.

"The Department of Justice and the Federal Bureau of Investigation's top priority remains fighting the war on terrorism," said Justice Department press secretary Brian Roehrkasse. "However, it is not our sole priority. In fact, Congress has directed the department to focus on other priorities, such as obscenity."

Sources say Acosta was told by the FBI officials during last month's meeting that obscenity prosecution would have to be handled by the crimes against children unit. But that unit is already overworked and would have to take agents off cases of child endangerment to work on adult porn cases. Acosta replied that this was Attorney General Gonzales' mandate.

Acosta's meetings with other law enforcement agencies also were not particularly fruitful, sources said.

Criminal defense attorneys and an American Civil Liberties Union spokeswoman say they are appalled at the Justice Department's plan to prioritize the prosecution of obscenity when narcotics trafficking, public corruption, and fraud are rampant in South Florida.

Lida Rodriguez-Taseff, a spokeswoman for the American Civil Liberties Union and a partner at Duane Morris in Miami, said, "It's amazing that we're wasting our resources on the morality police instead of battling organized crime, illegal drugs, corruption and undocumented immigration. I can't even believe this."

"Don't forget, it took less than two weeks after the unveiling of Janet Jackson's right boob at the Super Bowl before the president's congressional cronies were holding hearings on the matter -- but it took 14 months before Bush caved to public pressure and allowed the 9/11 Commission to be formed. Again, you pick the real obscenity.

So Justin exposing Janet's boob is a sin, but White House staffers exposing Valerie Plame is a win. Profiting from porn is a sin, but Halliburton's wartime profiteering is a win. Two men getting hitched is a sin, but Tom DeLay and Jack Abramoff playing with each other's clubs is a win. And telling students condoms can prevent STDs is a sin, but lying about WMDs is a win."
-Arianna Huffington

The longer this Administration goes on, the more it seems to be borrowing the script from Alice in Wonderland for it's playbook.

"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"

I see...

Free Will versus God's plan - a dilemma

When I look at the Bible (which I have read),I just find many questions. This is just one of them.

Disclaimer alert - I do believe in God , and in Jesus. Take everything that follows after this as being in that context. Thank you

God sends Jesus to Earth on a mission. The Old Testament God ( tired of being in the background, and smiting and smoting, and turning people into pillars of salt ) decided to send down someone to show us first hand about his message.

It also allowed him to understand US in the same way. By sending down a part of himself ( His only Son), it also perhaps allowed HIM to see us as we see him - in some strange way.

Except it was a suicide mission.

It is plain to see that what happens to Jesus afterwards was part of a set plan. It certainly was not an accident. The minute Jesus was conceived in Mary's womb - God had to have known what was coming.

God does his work, tips that first domino, and has to know what will follow. Is that really free will ?

Without Pontius Pilot, Judas, and the Roman Centurions - there is no Christianity. If they never show up, and play their parts, Jesus lives out his life and dies of old age - perhaps only a overlooked footnote in history.

So, as that centurion that looks a little too much like Michael Madsen starts his little dance around the Cross while the assembled masses start to hum "Stuck In The Middle With You" - he too is just doing God's work.

What is the result ?

A new religion springs forth, with a new figurehead. God is still there , but now his Son becomes the symbol for Man and his belief in God.

God has replaced himself with a human aspect.He has taken our form.

My trouble with the Crucifixion , is that aspect of it as being something evil.

If it was inevitable, if it was part of the plan, then it sprang forth out of God's mind, and cannot be. If it was not inevitable,then what was Jesus's purpose ?

The efficiency and power of non-violent protest against oppression ( political commentary)

I have always strongly believed in non-violence. Through my life, and in my reading, I have noticed one thing.

Violence in the name of political change almost never works, or takes forever to accomplish the desired goal.

The Palestinian cause ? Almost forty years after the first terrorist acts were commited in it's name - Palestinians still sit in camps all over the Middle East, they do not have full control over their country. Their manifesto is so stained with the blood of the innocent, that it is almost illegible.

The Irish cause ? Forty years after it's debut of violence, finally peace has been declared, and violence temporarily put away. Recently, violence has showed it's face again in that conflict.

If one looks at other causes that took the other approach, they have managed to accomplish their goals in a much quicker way, while maintaining the moral high ground.

The US Civil Rights problem ? Rosa Parks started it ( almost all agree) in December 1955. Within ten years, much of the injustice against black Americans was well on it's way to being resolved. The Voting Rights act was signed in 1965.

Gandhi took about fifteen years to throw off British colonial rule in India, against one of the most powerful countries in the world at that time.

I suspect, though, that most of the myths and misconceptions surrounding Gandhi have to do with nonviolence. For instance, it’s surprising how many people still have the idea that nonviolent action is passive.

It’s important for us to be clear about this: There is nothing passive about Gandhian nonviolent action.

I’m afraid Gandhi himself helped create this confusion by referring to his method at first as “passive resistance,” because it was in some ways like techniques bearing that label. But he soon changed his mind and rejected the term.

Gandhi’s nonviolent action was not an evasive strategy nor a defensive one. Gandhi was always on the offensive. He believed in confronting his opponents aggressively, in such a way that they could not avoid dealing with him.

But wasn’t Gandhi’s nonviolent action designed to avoid violence? Yes and no. Gandhi steadfastly avoided violence toward his opponents. He did not avoid violence toward himself or his followers.

Gandhi said that the nonviolent activist, like any soldier, had to be ready to die for the cause. And in fact, during India’s struggle for independence, hundreds of Indians were killed by the British.

The difference was that the nonviolent activist, while willing to die, was never willing to kill.

Gandhi pointed out three possible responses to oppression and injustice. One he described as the coward’s way: to accept the wrong or run away from it. The second option was to stand and fight by force of arms. Gandhi said this was better than acceptance or running away.

But the third way, he said, was best of all and required the most courage: to stand and fight solely by nonviolent means.

http://www.markshep.com/nonviolence/Myths.html

Look at the Solidarity movement in Poland - it resulted in a rather quick victory, against a worthy foe.

The Orange Revolution in the Ukraine ? Another rather quick victory.

How about Lebanon and the Syrian withdrawal - almost overnight.

Tianamin Square ? While not directly a success, it did trigger the government to listen to the voice of the people more.

Over and over again, non-violent political protests have reduced or eliminated oppression. While doing this , it has kept the high moral ground of not killing or injuring people. That strengthens the will of the people, and lessens that of it's oppressors.

Iraq today could get rid of all American forces overnight, if they renouced violence and took to the streets by the hundreds of thousands, and refused to move. There would be nothing that the American military could do to stop it. Newscasts all over the world would show that the USA was not welcome, and that there was no need for military force against a non-violent enemy.

Non-violent protest allows both sides to win, and no one to lose.

Some suggested reading, if interested:

Letter from Birmingham jail - Martin Luther King.

http://www.nobelprizes.com/nobel/peace/MLK-jail.html

Thoreau's Civil Disobedience:
http://eserver.org/thoreau/civil.html

Gandhi's speeches:
http://www.mkgandhi.org/speeches/speechMain.htm

This could really only happen to me ( personal story)

Well, here is another true story, it happened to me the a few weeks ago this as I was getting ready to go off to work. I decided to go get some food, and had to go to my bank machine and have some extra cash on me.It was around 9 PM , and I had a couple of hours before starting. I got to my machine, walked in and....

It was out of service.

I had a few dollars on me, so I decided to go get a coffee. I came back after, and saw two technicians at the machine trying to fix it. I figured I would go get some Lebanese food, a small snack, and come back in a few minutes.

As I walked back, I see that the technicians have left...and the van is there to refill the machine.

GRRRRRR......

Well, nothing to do but wait..... So I took a seat on a low concrete wall nearby. In the back of my mind, I was thinking " You know God, I know you are probably really busy with Katrina, Iraq and all that - but it would be nice to have a few extra dollars right about now...." After another ten minutes the guards leave, and I walk in to the automatic teller and withdraw my money. And on the way out, I notice something.

A set of keys in a lock. The door is unlocked and partially open, and I swing the door open an see the alarm panel inside.

( I work in the alarm business btw )

Oh yeah, the keys are for the machine - and the code to disarm the system is written on the tag. And I have something on me ( I can't tell you what) that can disable the security camera.

( It gets better, btw....)

There are some lab workers from a medical lab there, and I get them involved as witnesses. Remember , there are two armed guards who may suddenly show up - and holding the keys and codes for the teller isn't really a good idea - imho.

I know the company that delivers the cash - and decide to call my office and get patched into them through our phone system (which is taped , and I want this all on tape). I talk to this company about ten times a night, and know the dispatcher.

I get patched in, and say " Hey, I have the keys and codes for your bank machine right here." He says " That's another division" - and patches me through to the proper one. Well...actually to the voicemail, which says " Call this local in case of emergency. "
I try calling....Invalid selection, and I get disconnected. I call back, and get EXACTLY THE SAME THING from the dispatcher.

" NO ...WAIT !!! ...." (click)

After this , I hang up - and dial 911 and explain everything. I tell them the keys will be at the lab, and that they can call this number and talk to this man and get them. I then leave, figuring I have done my civic duty.

About five minutes later, the money van comes SCREECHING back to the teller, and the guard RUNS out and into the machine area. She runs back to the truck, and starts looking inside the truck frantically. I figure, I will go say a word to them.

I walk behind her about ten feet away ( remember they ARE armed , and that they are a tad nervous right about now.) I gently go " Excuse me......" and suddenly this rather beautiful young ( armed ) woman spins around.

" Are you looking for the keys ? "

" YES !!! "

I explained everything, and asked them to call 911 to make sure they didn't send a patrol car for nothing.I then walked away, for the second time that night.

The best part, I learned afterwards that the drawer probably contained half a million dollars ( a friend who knows the business told me.) The " cherry on the sundae" , as we say in Quebec in french, not ONE person involved in the entire affair had even said a simple thank you.

I did look back up at the sky, and said " OK , nice job. I got the point...."

It could only happen to me.....

" Fabric flowers in a falling rain" - (photograph)

Another shot from Saturday, taken in a gentle falling rain outside a dollar store in Cote Des Neiges, late in the afternoon, while I was standing there getting quite soaked waiting for people to stop coming out of the store - and into my shot.

It was a grey misty day, and the sudden explosion of colour just caught my eye as I walked by it.

(Note to self : next time you go out to take some photos in the rain - bring an UMBRELLA !!!)

Rain rings trash can bells
And what do you know
My alley becomes a cathedral

- Bruce Cockburn
-- Thoughts On A Rainy Afternoon --
copyright 1969, released 1970

"Cerulean blossoms reach for an angel's embrace" - (photograph)

I took a long walk in the rain today, and decided to return to St. Joseph's Oratory to see if I could take some pictures to share with you.

This is one of them.

In this concrete world full of souls.
The angels play on their horns all day,
The whole earth in progression seems to pass by.
But does anyone hear the music they play,
Does anyone even try?

- Bob Dylan (From the song "Three Angels")
Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1970,1976 Big Sky Music

The Shadow Messiah walks with the Hassidum on Shabbat ( personal story )

Another story from my personal life, if that at all still interests you.

I got divorced in December 2003, after a seventeen year marriage. From the moment my wife and I discussed it, to the time I left, was quite short. There were no arguments, and just a few tears along the way. The temperature that period was unseasonably warm, almost fall like.

I spent three days moving, and on that last day ( Dec. 6th ) as I loaded up the van I had rented for that final time - the snow suddenly began to fall quite heavily. It was like someone had just flicked the switch marked "Winter". That van had summer tires, and an Arizona license plate - and needless to say, that last drive with a full load was well...interesting... to say the least.

I love snow, and I took that as a sign that everything was going to turn out as it should - and as it actually did, I might add.

One of the first tasks at hand in settling down was to get vertical blinds for my windows. On a bitterly cold morning December Saturday morning, I decided to take a walk and go shopping for some. It was quite early, and the store was a long walk away - at least thirty minutes.

I could have easily taken a bus or taxi, but I needed the fresh air and the exercise. I dressed very warmly, and started walking in the frigid morning air. I found a good deal on a pair of blinds, the windows were double size and they were quite long. I slung them across my shoulders and wrapped my wrists around each end - and started the long walk home with them on this bright frozen winter morning.

It felt good to be alive, and I could feel myself starting to return to some sense of order in my life. The air was so cold that it almost hurt to breath it. I picked up my pace to get home as quickly as possible, and to get started in putting them up.

On my way, I had to pass through an area that has a large Orthodox Jewish population. As I walked the streets near a synagogue, the sidewalks started to fill with Hassidum on their way to temple. It was quite fascinating to see, and I took in all the details.

I stopped and waited for the traffic light to change, as I watched. And then I looked down, and realized something quite strange...

The bright winter sun low in the horizon was shining directly behind me, and before me on the street was this twenty foot shadow Jesus cast upon the snow. The blinds had become my Cross to bear, and the irony of where I was now standing was not lost on me. My stations of the Cross had accidentally taken me on a journey on Shabat,the holiest day of the week to the Orthodox Jew, to stand in front of a synagogue in some metaphysical Groundhog day type of moment.

My only regret was that I had not brought my camera. I wonder if the Hassidum realized why I suddenly started to laugh out loud. I really wanted to call out to them " Sorry, I'm not the Messiah, I'm just another lunatic moving into your neighborhood ! " as I started crossing the street.

I got home several minutes later, still smiling at the revelation that everything was going to be just fine, from that moment on.

My Resurrection had just begun.

Bob Dylan - No Direction Home ( musical commentary )

When you feel in your gut what you are and then dynamically pursue it - don't back down and don't give up - then you're going to mystify a lot of folks.
Bob Dylan

I guess it's a pretty good time to talk about Bob Dylan, one of my longtime favorite musicians. Martin Scorsese will be doing a film on him that will be shown on PBS September 26th and 27th at nine PM.

What can I say about this man, that has not been said already ?

Probably nothing...

I'll try anyway.

In an era when McCartney is letting his name be used in commercials, and the Stones are charging ridiculous prices for tickets to their shows - Dylan stays true to himself, and to his art. He began " The Never Ending Tour" in about 1988, and he still is going strong. Right now he preparing to tour Europe, and the prices announced for his shows are what the Stones are probably charging for a " Jumping Jack Flash(light) " , or whatever new corporate marketing trinket they can conceive of. Prices for his shows in England are about thirty euros.

This is a man who has challenged his audience, and himself, every step of the way. From his teenage rock and roll years, he transformed himself into a folksinger. Moving to New York City from Hibbing, Minnisota - he met his idol Woody Guthrie as he lay dying, and became the voice of his generation, as Guthrie had been to his.

Before Dylan, singers had their songs written by other people in popular American music. After Dylan, the concept of performer was replaced by artist/performer. Music would never be the same again.

Who else but Dylan could write a lyric as intricate and poetic as this verse from " Mr. Tamborine Man ? "

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Copyright © 1964; renewed 1992 Special Rider Music

He introduced the pill popping Beatles to marijuana, which he had assumed they knew all about. When he had listened to " I Want To Hold Your Hand" on the radio, he had heard them sing " I get high, I get high..." in the chorus.

Actually, it was " I can't hide, I can't hide " sung with a Liverpuddlian accent.

In that hotel room in New York City, with all the curtains closed and wet towels stuffed under the doors to block the smell, the Beatles were introduced to a new world of creativity. We can thank Dylan for that.

At his height of popularity as a folksinger, Dylan picked up an electric guitar at the Newport Folk Festival, to a chorus of boos and catcalls from his "fans". He paid no attention, turned up the volume to the maximum - and created the genre of folk rock all by himself, with a little help from his friends The Band.

He influenced everyone, and then disappeared after a motorcycle accident for a while at his home in Woodstock, New York. During his recovery, a bootleg of his new work surfaced, and showed Dylan was still trying to push the boundries of music.

Through the latter part of the Sixties and early Seventies, many of his contemporaries burned themselves out and died early deaths. Morrison, Joplin and Hendrix passed away, and the Beatles broke up while the Stones circled around like a ship without a rudder. In that period, Dylan kept on going strong.

Dylan got divorced, and the crushing effect on him produced "Blood On The Tracks". It's one of those "musts' in any CD collection, along with " Blonde On Blonde ". Anyone who has ever had their heart broken can relate to the bittersweat tone of that CD.

Juat a sample of his lyrics, from one of my favorite songs from " Blood On The Tracks" - " Simple Twist Of Fate "

People tell me it's a sin
To know and feel too much within.
I still believe she was my twin, but I lost the ring.
She was born in spring, but I was born too late
Blame it on a simple twist of fate.

Copyright © 1974 Ram's Horn Music

You can read the rest of the lyrics of that song ( and all his others ), and hear samples here:

http://bobdylan.com/songs/twist.html

I had the great privlege to see him live, in Quebec City, in 1975 with the Rolling Thunder Revue. I was sitting in the third row center, in an arena normally used for hockey games. Dylan came out, with a white face and hat, and his band was a collection of some of the best musicians of that time period.

Here's a clip of Dylan, which is pretty much exactly the view I had of him in action - from that third row seat that night. I can still remember him doing "Isis" that night.



Roger McGuinn from the Byrds showed up, and Joan Baez did her "hippie chick" go go dance :



They all rocked out the house, with Dylan at the top of his game. The second part of the show opened with Dylan and Joan Baez sitting together playing acoustic guitar and singing. It was a magical moment, and one of those memories I will treasure forever.

I saw him again in the late Seventies, from the back of the old Montreal Forum. This was during a period where he had rearranged his old songs to such a point that it sometimes took about a minute to even recognize them, even for a diehard fan like myself.

The last time I saw him was on the Slow Train Tour in the early Eighties. That show was is a small theater in Montreal called the St. Denis. It opened with a full gospel choir doing a few songs, and then Dylan walked out and the magic began.

Since then he has continued, and proven his talent again with his recent releases. Every time he has been written off, he transforms himself, and proves once more that few artists in the history of modern music have the creativity, determination, and drive that Dylan has always shown.

I know one thing, I'll be watching those shows on PBS, and buying a ticket the next time he plays in Montreal.

Bob - thank you for everything you have given me - and the rest of the world.

Here is Bob Dylan, during that "Rolling Thunder" period, doing one of my favorite Dylan tracks "Shelter From The Storm" . It's loose and free, with Bob actually playing slide guitar.

"The Dambusters" - 617 Squadron ( history )

For those of you that do not know about the Dambusters, they were a World War Two Lancaster squadron. Thanks to a British inventor ( Wallis) a special bomb was developed to destroy German dams. He had come up with the concept himself, and not as part of any military plan. In fact, he had to fight against the British military's indifference to this strange new idea. It took a while, and a lot of effort on his part to get the financing and attention he needed to test his idea out.

Ironically, in regards to my previous post - he had worked on the production of the R-100.

It worked brilliantly, and at a time where Britain was under great danger and needed every possible advantage it could get. The ability to destroy a German dam with a single bomb was unheard of, and yet Wallis had invented and proved that it could be done to the skeptics in the British military.

Here's how it worked, in an animation :



617 Squadron was given the job to use it. They trained to fly very low and fast over the night time countryside of England in heavy bombers, and the men actually contributed to the tactics and technique needed to deliver their bombs on target. Time was running out, as the bombs needed to be delivered when the waters in those German dams were at the maximum level in springtime for the best effect.

The nineteen planes took off on May 17th, 1943 - carrying one hundred and thirty three men aboard. They flew off into that pitch black night, across the sea and over the Netherlands towards their targets deep inside Germany at a height of about one hundred feet - and at roughly two hundred and forty miles an hour, to avoid detection by German radar.

The attacks were made at about sixty feet, at night and over the water, sometimes under intense enemy anti-aircraft fire.

Here's a short documentary on what that mission entailed :



They were a complete surprise to the Germans.

The Moehne and Eder lakes poured around 330 million tons of water into the western Ruhr region. Mines were flooded and houses, factories, roads, railways and bridges destroyed as the flood waters spread for around 50 miles (80 km) from the source. Estimates show that before 15 May 1943 water production on the Ruhr was 1 million tonnes, which dropped to a quarter of that level after the raid.

The attack had a limited tactical success, but was a great blow to German moral. The raid had proved costly for the Allies as well. Eleven planes of the initial nineteen made it back to their bases in Britain.

In all, 53 of the 133 aircrew were killed and three bailed out to be made POWs.

617 Squadron didn't stop there though. They became one of the best trained air units in the world, and their members came from many nations.

The pinpoint accuracy, and the methods they developed in bombing were the basis for a new concept in the art of air warfare . On many occasions , they were able to bomb important targets, and seldom caused civilian deaths. Once, they bombed a French factory ( again at night), and destroyed it. The factory cafeteria, filled with workers was untouched.

Another invention was developed by Willis, a ten ton bomb so large that the bomb bay doors of the Lancaster's had to be removed to even carry it. They could not be left loaded on the planes when they were on the ground for very long, because their enormous weight would damage the tires and landing gear if they were.

One German secret weapons program, was eliminated by just such a weapon. On the Pas De Calais, the V3 ( a super gun targeted at London) was almost ready to begin operations. It was a cannon that could rain down a continual barrage on the British capital from an impregnable fortress dug deep into the soil of the French coastline.

Secret plans were being drawn up for the evacuation of the entire population of London, unless it could be destroyed. The only thing between that evacuation and destruction of London was 617 Squadron and it's " Tall Boy " bombs.

Five hundred feet down, in a heavily concrete protected structure, the German scientists and military men running the site thought they were safe. Against any normal attack, they would have been.

But 617 Squadron and their "earthquake bombs" were something they could not have even imagined. Ten ton bombs, dropped from incredible heights, they were traveling at near supersonic speed when they drilled themselves over one hundred feet into the French soil above their heads.

The effect was like a small localized earthquake, devastating to anything nearby.

The men inside that fortress are still buried there today. It took only a few bombs to finish off the site forever.

They also dropped radar chaff on the night of D-Day, which took incredible planning and accuracy. The Germans thought that two large fleets were at sea.

They also sunk the Tirpitz, a German ship that was taking a lot of naval power to box in, in a fjord in Norway.

I believe that no other single unit in WW2 did as much to shorten the war as did 617 Squadron. In doing so, they lost many men. It was an all volunteer group, and the men knew they had little chance to survive in the long run, and yet they trained, fought, and played hard.

617 Squadron still flies today, and it took part in Desert Storm. The legacy of the brave men that formed that first squadron continues to this day.

When I get to the Netherlands, one place I plan to visit is the grave of Guy Gibson, in Steenbergen-en-Kruisland R.C. Churchyard, Holland. He was the squadron leader, and the holder of a Victoria Cross when he was killed in action late in the war.

My childhood dream ( personal story)

The British airship R-100 over Toronto - 1930

"The soul comes from without into the human body, as into a temporary abode, and it goes out of it anew it passes into other habitations, for the soul is immortal." "It is the secret of the world that all things subsist and do not die, but only retire a little from sight and afterwards return again. Nothing is dead; men feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals… and there they stand looking out of the window, sound and well, in some strange new disguise."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

I am not someone who normally remembers his dreams, the number of times this has happened in my life I can count on one hand - and I am 48 years old now.

When I was about five years old, I told my Mother about I dream I had experienced the night before. She went white as I started talking, and she kept mentioning that story until the day she died. She told me I had totally shocked her with my calm detailed description of it, coming from such a young child.

I told her that I had been standing on Dufferin Terrace in Quebec City.I said that I was standing in this really large crowd of people, and I was very small - perhaps as young as five years old. I could remember holding someones hand, and looking up through a small circle in the crowd at the sky overhead. I could see ( and still can, the memory is that vivid ) the outlines of hats on the heads of the adults framing my view of the sky , as I stared up in wonder through that vast crowd from my child's height perspective.

I told her that I figured it was late afternoon, by what I saw. That photo I posted above is one I found on the Internet, and cropped it to about the size and perspective of what I remember seeing. If you can imagine that image, as it would be seen through a crowd by a very small child, you would be imagining exactly what I saw.

Up there, not very far above, was something that filled me with wonder and amazement. It was a little like seeing a UFO, in the type of emotion it brought to me. It floated and hummed above me, and there was this feeling of electric excitment in the adults around me.

I described an airship, ( in 1962, not a common thing for a child to know of. ) Remember there was no History Channel at that time to talk about such things. Canada also had not had Goodyear blimp visits either. There was simply nothing in my life experience that could account for what I was describing to her.

I told her about seeing the shape, of hearing the engines "humming" , and of it's reflecting the sun.

Here is the fascinating thing about that dream.

It had actually happened, exactly as I described it.

In late July 1930, the British airship R-100 had made a trans-Atlantic flight to Canada. It had passed over Quebec City, and about 40,000 people had turned out to see it - on Dufferin Terrace.

Both my parents had been there, as young adults.

The scene I was described was perfect in every detail. Neither of them had ever talked about it to the family, and there had never been any media mention of it during my lifetime.

I guess that is why I have never feared death. I wonder what I will remember from this time around ?

Robert F. Kennedy's speech on Martin Luther King's assassination ( history )

In reading a fellow bloggers writings tonight, I suggested to her that she listen to one of the great American political speeches, Robert Kennedy's remarks on the night of Martin Luther King's assassination.

I struck me that it might be a good idea to share it with all of you as well. I consider it one of the best examples of one man's ability to speak with a profound compassion in a moment of great need for leadership.

I can still remember that night. I can still remember that sudden shock, and the loss of a man whose only desire was to better the lives of the oppressed. Three months later, Robert Kennedy fell to still another assassin's bullets.

So much was lost by those murders, the possibility of a better world - or at least a different one from what we know of today.

If you click on that link, you will be able to listen to Kennedy as he spoke on that night that was so filled with horror, anger, and confusion.

Before you do, let me describe that scene to you.

It's the night of April 4th, 1968 and Kennedy is scheduled to give a campaign speech in Indianapolis. On the way there, the news of King's assassination reaches him. The police warn him not to speak, and yet he still makes the decision to do so anyway.

The crowd ( mainly African American ) extends for blocks around the flatbed trailer Kennedy is standing on. They have not yet learned of King's murder, and are happy to see Kennedy showing up to speak to them. He is wearing his brother John's old overcoat as he arrives, and walks over to the microphone.

Ignoring his speechwriters ideas, he simply speaks from his heart. Listen to the crowd's reaction, and how it changes, as he does. It's not a very long speech, but Kennedy manages to speak of those things which needed to be said that night. His simple eloquence and undeniable compassion transform the moment and transcend the horror. He speaks of not only the terrible loss, but the overwhelming need to continue the struggle towards a better future that King had been so much a part of.

This quote is from another speech he once gave. History has proven that his words now apply as much to his own life and actions, as they did to those he was referring to as he spoke them.

"These men moved the world, and so can we all. Few will have the greatness to bend history itself, but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation. It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance."

If I remember correctly, Indianapolis was one of the few large American cities that was spared rioting and destruction that night. Kennedy's appeal to the "better angels of our nature" managed to quiet and still a moment of great tension, and to turn away the potential storm clouds of violence and revenge from at least one city and it's people on that night.

All because of one man's words, courage, and vision.

Why blog ? ( commentary )

"Why not? ", is perhaps the better question.

Since very early in Man's time on the planet, humans have chosen to express themselves creatively. There is not a great difference between our ancestors going deep into caves and painting images on the walls by flickering candlelight, and today's blogger sharing his thoughts and views while typing away on a keyboard by the light of his monitor.

While Gutenberg opened up reading to the masses, the Internet and web blogs have given everyone with a computer and a connection the chance publish their thoughts for the world to read. Unlike traditional publishing, the motive is not profit - but simple joy in the creation and effort behind such endeavors.

By some calculations, the estimated number of bloggers is around two and one half million people, or perhaps two percent of all people with access to the Internet today.The earliest pioneers, like Justin Hall who started his blog in 1994, had to work from scratch. Today, one can create a blog in perhaps ten minutes - or less.

Today we have bloggers sharing their lives with anyone that cares to read their thoughts. We have both American soldiers in the front lines blogging, as well as Iraqi citizens. History is being recorded, almost in real time, from thousands/millions of different viewpoints. Hopefully, this mass of information will all be archived somewhere for posterity for sociologists and historians ponder over in the future. It will provide an interesting wealth of information about life in the early twenty-first century, from the most mundane to the most profound.

Unlike any other point in mankind's history, never before have so many people's lives and thoughts been captured like some insect in amber - forever digitally engraved and preserved. Imagine how our view of the past would change, were we able to listen to the voices of those that had lived it. Not just the people in charge, but of those who lived their lives out of the spotlight. To hear not just the general's words - but those of the foot soldiers, and all the villagers too.

The recent disaster of hurricane Katrina showed the ability of the common man to become a journalist. Even CNN was referencing to certain bloggers on their newscasts. One could see the story from the mainstream media viewpoint, or turn to people living in the region writing of what they saw and felt.

This gave a level playing field to those that chose to use it. Information today has been democratized, and so has the media. Journalists no longer need networks or newspapers, artists no longer need agents or record companies. Anyone with the interest and the time can present themselves in to the world, and to anyone that wants to listen to them.

Through my exposure to the Internet, and to such things as Internet forums and weblogs, I have found myself spending more time online - and less time in front of the TV. Why listen to an "expert" , when one can go online and begin to research an event on the Internet ? Instead of one viewpoint, one can find one hundred...or one thousand.

So, spend some time checking out the other bloggers on this site, and on others like this one. Every one of them has something to share with you, if you care to spend some time listening to what they have to say.

Even better, start your own and add your voice to the growing chorus.

"Capturing the Wind" - (photograph)

Another photo from today.

"Ite Ad Joseph" - (photograph)

Just a photo I took today of a portion of the monument at St. Joseph's Oratory, while I was out taking a long walk on a sunny afternoon.

The Tao of D'oh ! ( humour )

We all have those moments in our lives when the carefully cultured exterior we construct and present to the world is shattered by an act of our own simple stupidity.

Let me share some of mine.

I was in the first grade ( I believe ) and we were all running around playing tag in the schoolyard. I was being chased, and running at full speed. I looked over my shoulder, to see where the kid chasing me was - and then looked back in front of me...

"Mr Forehead ? "

"Yes ?"

"Meet Mr. Monkey Bar..."

The resulting impact( which may explain a lot about me in the years that followed) was a wonderful example of physics first hand.

I still have a slight dent in my forehead. I had to get stitches ( I forget how many) without any anesthetic. It was a Sesame Street version of that scene in Blackhawk Down where they work on that soldier.

Sadly, I had not yet learned to swear.

As a slightly older child, ( pre-teen) I received a pen knife. My mother was against it, but figured it was a male child's right of passage. She allowed it, with some trepidation.

I was as happy as a clam ( and have you ever seen a depressed clam, btw ? ) and was so proud to now finally be a " MAN " . My mother was at work, and so I decided to make sure it was exceptionally sharp. They had these sharpners in those days that were interlocking steel wheels with a wooden handle, and you drew the knife down hard between them to sharpen it.

I went and got the one we had in the kitchen drawer.

I sat on the sofa, and began to work at my task. I sharpened it by pressing as hard as I possibly could. I took a newspaper, and slashed at it.

Voila. Almost like Zorro, the paper was sliced perfectly.

Still not sharp enough for me though.

So back to work ... Pass after pass, minute after minute, harder and harder - the blade was starting to actually get warm to the touch.

Then it slipped, and I noticed something quite unusual.

The jeans covering my thigh were sliced open in about a three inch slash. So was my flesh , to about a two inch depth.... Blood was spurting out, and then the pain began. The knife had been so sharp it actually had not hurt...for about 3 secs.

I ripped off my T-shirt, and forced it against the wound. I took my belt off, and secured it. I then realized I was ok, and that I could now wait for my mother to get home from work.

That was a quite a wonderful conversation, btw.

Needless to say, the knife and I quickly parted ways. It was only when I was an adult that I got another one.

I still haven't dared sharpen it.

Then there was the time I first decided to completely shave my head, a few years ago. That's initially a tough decision for any man to make, as one never knows quite how one will look when finished. It's like a scratch-and-win for the follicly challenged.

It was summer, and exceptionally hot. I made the decision this was the time.

I got out my trusty Twinblade and the shaving cream. I started to work diligently at the task now before me. That's the thing about shaving your head totally, one cannot stop once started. It is a road that, once taken, must be followed to it's end.

I quickly concentrated on the job at hand, and refused to even look in the mirror until after I was finished. As I was rinsing the blade, I noticed the water in the sink seemed a bit dirty. I found that a bit strange, but kept going. Nothing was going to distract me.

Then my ex-wife walked by, and looked in the bathroom...

The expression of utter shock on her face was a bit confusing, and so I turned to look at my reflection in the mirror. The top of my head looked like I was wearing a red beanie. That "dirt" had actually been blood from about two dozen or so cuts.

The good part?

I didn't get the razor taken away from me.

Being an adult is GREAT !

I'll stop there for today.

Would that I could be ( poetry )

Would that I could be like that first spring breeze,
Flowing around your shoulders like a treasured shawl,
Warm patterns of love, renewal, and promise,
Embroidered upon the fabric of it's form..

And would that I could be like the universe,
And you the beautiful astronomer,
Forever yours to discover,
Forever part a mystery too.

Would that I could be like the morning sky above you,
And cast your night away,
And warm your world,
And cast this winter's cold away at last.

Would that I could be,
Everything above , and much, much more.

Would that I could be,
Lost in my illusions, instead of lost in thoughts of you.

Never blame me for seeing the future in your eyes,
Nor could I ever blame you for seeing the past in mine.

You made me to remember things forgotten,
To re-discover things again once lost,
Unwrapped like tiny presents, as much a gift,
As any gem or ruby.

Would that I could be the answer to your question.
Would that I could be the thought upon your mind tonight,
Would that I could be solved like some equation,
Written out in chalk across this cold and starry winter night.

03/04/05 ( For L.D.)

The Tropical Shirt ( humour )

Time for a bit of (I hope) levity.

It's a hot night as I write this, and I am enjoying a 500 ml can of Navigator beer. I seldom drink, but tonight I decided to indulge myself. It's imported from Holland, and I do believe they call it " Navigator" because that is what one needs after having a couple of them.

With that in mind, let me continue with a true story.

Let me tell you all about a "wardrobe malfunction" that happened to me last year. It was in at the start of summer, and I felt the compulsion to buy myself a tropical shirt.

That's the great thing about compulsions, they defy all logic.

You know, those Hawaiian style of shirts ? The type you see on rich wrinkled elderly tourists walking around Southern tourist destinations? Yeah, that type.

I had seen it in the mall a few times, and I ( for some strange reason )imagined that it might look really good coupled with a pair of jeans, and possibly a leather jacket. Each time I walked by, it called my name.

Actually...it screamed it.

That store had a sale a week or so later, and I had my opportunity. I should have realized something was wrong when the salesgirl started giggling when she placed it into the bag. I left the store quite a happy man and took the short walk home to proudly wear it, and admire my wise purchase. I got home, and ( with ZZ Top's " Sharp Dressed Man" playing in my head) pulled it out of the bag and put it on - and walked into my bathroom to admire my bold decision to make a rather daring fashion statement.

Cue music...

lookin' sharp and lookin' for love.
They come runnin' just as fast as they can
coz every girl crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.

Looking into that mirror, I instantly started to have some serious doubts. ZZ Top stopped playing. Those bright colours had suddenly revealed some strange hidden things I had not noticed before - the scales had dropped from my eyes. It was like a fabric Rorschach Inkblot Test come to life.

Let me describe it to you:

It was dark grey, with large orange tropical orchards, and less than subtle black silhouettes of naked women in various pin-up poses - and skulls are at the center of those large bright orange flowers...

(Don't jump me on the naked women/skull thing, it is really subliminal and I only noticed it when I got home. At least that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.)

I cast my doubts aside, and the next morning I wore it while I chatted on webcam with my l'il sis. Ely saw it as I came on her screen, and was unable to type for about five minutes because of her tears/howls of laughter.

And...she couldn't breath for a short while. I thought that she was having a heart attack, or possibly even a stroke, as I watched her on my computer monitor writhing in convulsions.

This is how she described it in a thread on the website we are both moderators on.

Take it away Ely ! :

Omg....
I will never forget that day.
C1 on webcam with the ugliest shirt you can imagine and with a proud face saying: "I just got this shirt, do you like it? I think it rocks"

First I tried to figure out how to tell the truth without hurting his feelings... then I thought "screw it"... this is the worst I have ever seen.

Doh, little did I know he had bought it just for this....

Best laugh I had for ages.

( On a related note, one night I walked into work proudly wearing a bandana, an earring, and a black sleeveless T-shirt with jeans. My co-worker, an exceptionally good friend of mine, looked over and said with perfect timing "All you are missing is the parrot..." These are the type of people that one should treasure as friends.)

I wore that shirt outside later that same day, and blind people turned their head as I passed by. This shirt is louder than any car stereo on the planet. The only possible use for it would be if lost in an isolated area of the Earth as even someone flying at ten thousand feet altitude could not help but notice it. Should some archaeologist one thousand years from now discover it, he/she would immediately assume that man in the early twenty-first century had lost his ability to see. There could be no other academic conclusion based on the horrific polyester proof laid out there before him.

Even Al Pacino could not have gotten away with wearing that shirt in "Scarface."

So... it now sits in my closet (lighting it up like a nite light) as it has from that very day, as a subtle warning to the dangers of dressing myself.

Every time I even accidently glance at it, I can still hear Ely's laughter in much the same way you hear the ocean in a seashell when you hold it up to your ear.

For Those That Perished - R.I.P. ( political cartoon )

May God show you the mercy and the compassion in death, that you were denied in life.

One of the most beautiful places in the world I know, is the view from Dufferin Terrace in my hometown of Quebec City. I'd thought I'd share it with you today.

That's a view of it, taken from the St.Lawrence River, looking up.

Come and take a virtual look with me, and let me show you how breathtaking that view can be from the Terrace itself.


www.geocities.com/SoHo/9765/terras2.mov

Lower Town is far below you, and you can spend hours just looking at it. It's where the city started, and it still maintains it's historical link with the past. In the summer, firework shows are done there. Rain or shine, or even in on the coldest winter day, you can marvel at the opportunity for rediscovering it's treasures - or rediscovering yourself. It's a constantly changing picture, and no artist I know of can come even close to challenging it's majesty.

Quebec City has to be one of the most beautiful places to visit anywhere in the world. It's filled with history, and I highly suggest anyone with the means and the opportunity take some time to visit.

Go and walk on the Terrace, and see the panorama of the St.Lawrence River far below you. Walk along the walls of the city, and celebrate it's charm. Go to the Plains of Abraham, and discover yourself in nature - in the heart of the city.

Quebec City - my hometown.

An original editorial cartoon, by yours truly.

Make Poverty History.Org.

Get involved, and add your voice to the many already calling for justice for those who need it most.

It will take a few minutes of your time, and possibly force those in power worldwide to address this issue once and for all.

As it says on the website:

Every single day, 30,000 children are dying as a result of extreme poverty. This year, 2005, we finally have the resources, knowledge and opportunity to end this shameful situation.

There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread. ~Mahatma Gandhi

Green Eggs and Ham - by Dr. Seuss.

Just me being silly, like I needed an excuse for that. I decided to try out the audioblogger aspect of the blogging experience, so I grabbed my cell phone and figured that " Green Eggs and Ham " might be a good place to start.

It's quite impressive. You dial a number in California (thanks to a calling card, that's a dollar for 200 minutes here - wooot ! ), punch in a few numbers and you get five minutes at a time.

Literally seconds later - it's posted here. For free....

O.K. , I am impressed....

Thanks, Audioblogger.

Mike Brown Resigns ( political commentary )

"Brownie, you're doing a heck of a job,"
- George Bush (last Friday)

U.S. Federal Emergency Management Agency Director Mike Brown, under fire over his qualifications and what critics call a bungled response to Hurricane Katrina, has resigned, senior administration sources tell CNN.

The Bush administration has been under fire for being slow to aid hundreds of thousands of Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama residents who were displaced by Hurricane Katrina and the floodwaters that followed when the levees in New Orleans broke.

"Mike Chertoff made those decisions and I certainly support him," Cheney told reporters at the Austin convention center, which is housing about 1,500 evacuees. Some have called for Brown to be fired, but Cheney deferred to Chertoff.

Brown, who has been FEMA's director since 2003, has been singled out for especially harsh criticism, even from some Republicans such as Mississippi Sen. Trent Lott who said he had been "acting like a private, instead of a general."

The buck stops ......THERE. Waaaaaaaaay over there.

Bush redefines the word "comprehensive" ( political commentary )

"I can assure people ... that this recovery is going to be comprehensive. The rescue efforts were comprehensive, and the recovery will be comprehensive."
- George Bush (today)

com·pre·hen·sive
1 So large in scope or content as to include much: a comprehensive history of the revolution.
2 Marked by or showing extensive understanding: comprehensive knowledge.


Well, the people that were stranded and awaiting aid for days might find another word for the "comprehensive rescue effort". The ones that are still alive, that is.

He also said this:

"It is preposterous to claim that the engagement in Iraq meant there weren't enough troops here, just pure and simple."
- George Bush ( again today )

In other news :
-SINGAPORE: The Singapore Armed Forces, responding to requests by the United States Texas Army National Guard, has sent three Chinook helicopters to Fort Polk, Louisiana, to help in relief efforts. The government said the Chinooks will help to ferry supplies and undertake airlift missions.
-CANADA: Defence Minister Bill Graham has indicated that three warships and a coast guard vessel are being loaded with relief supplies and 1,000 personnel. They will be ready to travel to Louisiana as required in the coming days.
-MEXICO: Is sending 15 truckloads of water, food and medical supplies via Texas and the Mexican navy has offered to send two ships, two helicopters and 15 amphibious vehicles.
-NETHERLANDS: Will provide teams for inspecting dykes and for identifying victims if there is a formal request from the United States. It will also send a frigate from Curacao to New Orleans shortly to provide emergency assistance, the government said


A story I came across, that I have to share with you. It's from a fellow blogger,and it shows another side of how those with the least to give gave all - while those with the most did nothing.

Artwork by Phil Turber - 2005
http://home.comcast.net/~p.thurber/Phil/2000/MathArt1.htm

We were in motor boats all day ferrying people back and forth approximately a mile and a half each way (from Carrolton down Airline Hwy to the Causeway overpass). Early in the day, we witnessed a black man in a boat with no motor paddling with a piece of lumber. He rescued people in the boat and paddled them to safety (a mile and a half). He then, amidst all of the boats with motors, turned around and paddled back out across the mile and a half stretch to do his part in getting more people out. He refused to give up or occupy any of the motored boat resources because he did not want to slow us down in our efforts. I saw him at about 5:00 p.m., paddling away from the rescue point back out into the neighborhoods with about a half mile until he got to the neighborhood, just two hours before nightfall. I am sure that his trip took at least an hour and a half each trip, and he was going back to get more people knowing that he'd run out of daylight.

He did all of this with a two-by-four.

Now that's what I call comprehensive...

http://www.livejournal.com/users/katrinacane/friends

A Bruce Lee statue in Bosnia brings people together.

"If you always put limit on everything you do, physical or anything else. It will spread into your work and into your life. There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them."

-Bruce Lee

A rather fascinating story, about how people who once killed one another in hatred have now gotten together to honour someone they all admire.

Bruce Lee.

Perhaps a lesson to all of us, about how even people that hated each other enough to kill can gather together and begin to build towards a better future.

"Dreams" ( poetry )

Dreams

12.27.03

You dream of white picket fences, and music,
And children laughing,
And sunny days, in your secret world,
I dream of a cabin in the woods, a guitar quietly playing,
And the the sound of the gentle falling rain on the leaves,
In mine...

We are both children, trapped in the bodies of adults,
Hiding from beauty and love,
And hiding from ourselves, hiding from each other.
Almost touching... and yet a thousand miles away.

Both thinking that we are less, and everyone else is more.

Years pass, and the distance slowly grows,
Yet the dreams stay the same, and we slide into them,
Like a comfortable bed, on a Sunday morning.
So soft, safe and warm.

The world goes on around us, and changes,
We do too, without even realizing it.
Until one day, we stare in the mirror and see a stranger.
And stare at one another, and see the same.

Hurt and scared children, too afraid to say what we feel,
Until the day comes where no words,
Can even speak the depths of our pain,
And even we cannot understand what went wrong.
Until the only thing we have is our dreams.

Henry David Thoreau

In many ways, Thoreau was probably one of the earliest bloggers. His chronicles of his life, and of his unique view of the world, are right there for you to experience.

I suggest anyone with a little time on their hands, and a need for spiritual recharging spend some time going over his words.

You could do far worse things in this life.

The Santa Clara Blues - or how companies became people in the eyes of American Law

http://www.iiipublishing.com/afd/santaclara.html

Thanks "Late" for pointing out this article to me, it speaks volumes about why the world is the way it is today.

I suggest anyone interested in the power of the modern corporation review this article.

Follow the money...

Here is the site I moderate on " Army Ops Tracker"

http://aaotracker.4players.de/board.php?boardid=19

Check out the Off Topic area , and perhaps come join in the fun.

Here is my guestbook there, and you can see how my "family" views me.

http://aaotracker.4players.de/guestbook.php?action=showpage&userid=5628

My web page - the Seinfeld of the Internet. It's really about nothing....

http://www.freewebs.com/canadaone/

The start of my Great Canadian Novel

A Montreal Song

The warm summer rains had returned to find me again.As I looked out to the street below, the first gentle shower began to fall : staining the grey concrete world far below me, soaking the parched grass, swelling the waiting seeds, and stirring them to life.

Those people that remained outside quickened their pace, scurrying to automobiles or doorways, under the protection of newspapers or umbrellas.Only a few children reveled in enjoying the event, playing childrens games, until anxious mothers finally found them.

My attention centered mainly though on the glass of the window pane. Inches from my eyes, a tiny world full of fascinating drama was unfurling. I watched as the drops started out, quickly dribbling their way down until, at some point, most would stop. A small number managed to start and continue uninterrupted, never merging with another, never slowing – but their number was small, and by far the exception to the general order.

For the others, most would pause until anothers momentum could overcome their inertia. When they finally slid out of sight, it seemed their loss was balanced by anothers arrival, it's destiny that of being condemned to follow all who had come before.

Touching my head to the cool glass, I found myself amazed at this miniature performance being played out on the tiny stage of a tenement window, to the backdrop of a blackened, twisted, sky.
Occasionally, the shuddering protest of a window being forcibly slammed shut, or the far away rumble of the thunder low over the hills to the north, would serve to pull me back to reality. But then, eventually, the magic of the raindrops on the window would softly grab hold, and return me back again.

I found myself thinking of all the futile attempts my kind had made in trying to portray life,and our place in it. All the plays and various philosophies I had studied so faithfully in school were wasted energy compared to Nature's impromptu thumbnail sketch in front of me.The collective genius of Man had about as much of an idea of it's position, as one of the raindrops on the glass did.

In fact, it was easy thinking of us all in this way. There was no doubt in my mind that I,at least,was a slowing droplet of water on a never ending expanse of glass, gradually losing momentum, my forward progress lessening with each passing second of the day.

First a thank you to my "Internet adopted sister" ElektrA.

This is my l'il sis's blog. It won't really be of much use to you, if you are not fluent in the Dutch language. That doesn't really matter though, because you can, if interested, "Babel Fish" her URL - and find out how funny automated translation can be.

http://elektra.web-log.nl/

What can I tell you about her ?

Do you have an hour, or two, of your life to spare ?

She is married to a wonderful man, and is the proud owner of two cats ( Dingus and Claymore -aka "Clay". )

She's an intelligent, beautiful, and sensitive woman. She is responsible ( in no small part) for me still being on this planet. During my divorce, she was there for me - and made a huge difference in my life. For that, I will forever be in her debt.

Thanks, li'l sis. You're an angel. You gave me shelter from the storm, and made the biggest transition in my life so much easier to endure.

(Hug)

Here is a poem I wrote for her, during that dark period of my life.

Thoughts on the meaning of friendship

Connected by a slender golden thread,
Stretched taut 'cross endless rolling azure sea,
And harsh rock strewn shores.

Life shared : pain and joy.

In this world of chaos,
Where billions never meet,
Two loners, perfect in our introversion,
Find themselves face to face,
And also find a friend, a kindered soul, a common voice,
Through words on screen, and thoughts electric...

Thousands of miles divide us, But in a flash, minds connect,
There are no such things as distance, or time,
Where friendship grows.

And now, in this day of destruction,
Where castle walls crumble, and tumble to the ground,
And smoke and fire stain the sky,
I can see a silhouette dancing on the horizon,
Calling to me with gentle word, and kind smile.

We will share better times, my friend.
These clouds will pass,this storm will stop,
Our day will come,
There will be time for laughter and smiles,
And sunshine too.

And when this time comes,
I will turn to you and say:"At my worst moment, trembling, Consumed by my greatest fears ,
My anguished soul screaming, ripped in two,
Watching all my world dissolve around me,
I turned...

And you were there...

When my world turned dark, you brought light,
When my world turned cold, you lit a fire,
And you made my world a far better place, my friend "

Well, this was a lot easier than I thought it would be.

Had I known blogging was this easy, I would have started ages ago.


D'oh !!!!