‘Twas The Half-Day Before Christmas

‘Twas the half-day before Christmas, because we’d all slept in. Outside it was icky, and chilly with wind.

The oldest was back east, with his wee family growing, while we’d legged it westbound, no choice in the going.

With Mum in her new-do, and Me caffeinating, the kiddos are at various stages of waking.

The cat is a’-prowling, like a leader so glorious, leaving for us, her remnants so odorous.

Ensconced in our new digs, its old bones protecting, we’d planned for the shut in no one was selecting.

Laundry is launder-ing, there’s lunch ’round the bend. Most keepings of house is nearing the end.

There’s eggnog, and boxes and various things, to keep us all busy til the fat sleigh bell rings.

Our usual festivities ahead of us lie, potatoed together as Hans Gruber flies.

With all that has happened, from early til now, we timidly watch the days counting down.

The horizon is littered with hopeful good stuff, and all we can do now is push past the rough.

So gather together, but separate, let’s say. And celebrate as we do. For This Is The Way.

From our house, to your house, we wish you good cheer. Merry Christmas to all, and a Happy New Year.

‘Twas Some Hours Before Christmas

‘Twas some hours before Christmas, the yard muddy-green.
Our wood stove was crackling, and most rooms were clean.

With two elders out working, and the rest layin’ low,
the afternoon slid by watching “That 70’s Show”.

With Mom making headwear, and me being on-call,
the plan was to eat, and watch, and generally sprawl.

The cat got a new toy, a pink fluff for lazy,
that caused her to temporarily go spastic and crazy.

The puppers are flaked out, and sawing up logs
but most of the time they are barky-bark dogs.

The youngest keeps tabs on the fat guy in red,
as Daughter Dearest is styling Mother Dears head.

While Number Four snorts at the jokes on the show,
the litres of tea that I’ve drunk starts to flow.

We’re chillin’ out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool.
Theres a couple of weeks til they go back to school.

Until then, however, it’s time for the Famdamly Unit.
The fighting, the wrestling, the true Christmas Spirit.

There’s eggnog, and popcorn and all kinds of lights,
and nary a dusty bunny anywhere in sight.

This year’s been tricky. A humdinger for sure.
Sickies, and late nights and a financial cure.

But here near the end, where the time winds away,
Just being together, and happy, is okay.

So be excellent to each other, and party on dudes,
To do so otherwise, is simply just rude.

It’s the season, as always, so let’s just be clear:
Merry Christmas to all, and a Happy New Year

Twas The ‘Noon Before Christmas

‘Twas the ‘noon before Christmas, the sky colours swishin’.
Die Hard was playing, as was the tradition.

With famdamly gathered, in rooms made for living,
seasonal pjs unboxing, the first gifts a-giving.

Steaks had been grilled on the bbq with care,
with mash-ed potatoes and broccoli to pair.

With I in my work kit, and Mom holding fort,
the junior mint kiddos focused on Christmas-y sport.

When elsewhere and else when, what did arise?
Nothing, nada – no Holiday Surprise.

You see, aside from my work week, this year’s quite the breeze.
No trips, no upsets, just tranquility – yes please

So early we scooched together on cushions,
to nosh away on pre-festive rations.

Tomorrow will bring Christmas #2 in our own home.
Another year passes, and too quickly for some.

For now we’ll take quiet, the odd 12 hr stretch,
over anything that might resemble emotional fetch.

There’s too much bad news. Fake news – whatevs!
So tune out the Nancy’s who lament the Negs!

As I sit here scribing this years entry in blogs I don’t manage,
I think of the many years without such advantage.

We’re happy. We’re healthy and most importantly – together.
There is so much less we could have, I could go on forever.

Instead ‘tis the season to spread joy, mirth and cheer.
So Merry Christmas to all, and a Happy New Year!

There can be only One

Opinions are like assholes. Everyone thinks theirs doesn’t stink.

That being said, the words and phrases contained within these passages are representative of an opinion that is mine, and mine alone.

We fragile, fickle happy-go-lucky lot are a tossed salad of douchebaggery and strongly scented meatbags of confused emotional responses.

Our words are like nuclear weapons, scorching and flattening the earth of our hearts and minds, mushrooming up above us and around us, leaving us choking and blindly stumbling around in a dark and hazy news feed.

While the beasts of the field, and the fish of the sea, and the birds of the air do what they used to do on the Discovery Channel, we bludgeon each other with spiteful rhetoric and ill-intentions.

Every day, in every way, we find new and creative ways to be complete and total evil metal dickweeds.

But wait you say – who the fuck are you? What makes you so important? Who died and made you an ambiguously powerful deity figure?

Record. Scratch.

Wait wait wait.

That’s not what I meant.

You’re twisting my words.

Why won’t you hear my side?

And that’s when it hit me.

This isn’t about you or me.

Or Us versus Them.

It’s about communication.

We all have a great and powerful orifice at our disposal. This gaping hole has the ability to transform moments of instant Karma into magical mystery tours.

With this magnificent maw, we have the ability to change the world.

But there is a catch.

In order for it to work, there can be only One…

At a time.

So stop, look and listen baby, that’s my philosophy.

Otherwise, you are just like all those other assholes out there, spewing hateful shit unrepentently, leaving skid marks where there should have been opportunities to bridge the gap between Fear & Acceptance.

Of course, that’s just like, my opinion, man.

I’m an asshole, and proud of it.

Dank Means

Todays post is phoned in.

My computer is waiting for a new battery, so I’m using my phone. Be grateful I’m a caereful editor.

In the past few weeks, the tone of communications amongst human interfacers has continued its downward trend from hostile to beligerently unyielding. As I twist backwards in position with my literary broom of sweeping generalizations, I also take note of the random assortment of bullshit that inevitably floats to the top.

In a time when we should be uniting, we are torn. In all possible ways, we seek to injure, maim, or at the very least cajole into obedience with fierce repost and vigilant meming. The view is flat and unimaginative. No amount of humour from the land of Milk and Lumber can assuage the bitter pill of a spiteful news feed.

Careful and reasoned debate seems to hold no interest. The shrill call of our electronic sheep splashes out at us, and newsy noisemakers and floozy fakers dominate our earballs. We don’t get no respect. 

Seek not a solution within these passages. I am as much a part of this herd mentality as anyone. I wish I could point to a friendlier sky to fly to, where we can all be united in contentment and say “Be Well”. But I can’t. Not with this attitude.

Maybe it’s not about the have nots/will nots/can nots. Perhaps I should just do. Or do not. Because there is no trying to be better. There either is. Or there is not.

Don’t start nothin. Won’t be nothin.

Ain’t that the truth.

Fahrenheit 457

I had intended to take a few days off after my last scintillating post.

That was 457 days ago.

I was not captured by Fae Folk, nor was I waylaid watching a lazy game of chess, played by two sleepy giants on a hill side, while the decades fell away around us. I wasn’t even that far from my computer. I just…. I just had no words to share.

In my absence, new life has come to Planet Earth. Great hopes have become grave concerns, and the impossible, it seems, became reality. Yet I still had nothing of benefit to say.

A change of perspective, and a new home, followed by a new sense of purpose, have all provided me with positive developments. I am richer for the challenges and opportunities they all bring. I am, at the very least, where and with whom I want to be: my family.

So why now?

I had wanted to try to write a novel for some time, so back in the fall I took a course, and roughed out an outline. To be honest, it is a silly story, but it is, I think, uniquely me. But it stalled. I left it, not sure of where to go next.

So here I am again. For no other reason TODAY than because I felt the need to, I am here writing something. Anything. To get the ball rolling, and maybe keep it going.

There is so much to distract and divide us on the airwaves, in our periphery, on our minds, each and every day, that carving out a few minutes for quiet reflection seems somewhat impossible. The world seems bent on reminding us in a multitude of ways why everything and everyone sucks. It’s shameful and exhausting. And I need to focus on better things.

So for better or for worse, here I go again. I can only hope this flicker becomes a flame. That I can stand the heat and stay, sweating and heaving in this kitchen of my own design. That I have what it takes to keep the home fires burning. Even now, the glowing embers of my ambition whisper with the force of a thousand voices, telling me to keep writing; keep going. To keep shaping and forging the sacred and the wounded words that float in and out of my heart and mind, into the sharpened philosophy of my so called life.

If I don’t, then life will carry on. The world will turn. And only I will be left holding this smoldering ball.

Game On.

The Eve Before Christmas

The Eve Before Christmas

‘Twas the Eve before Christmas, A Thursday this time.
The Netflix was chilling, with Frosty-ful rhyme.

The floors have been clean-ed, or so I am told,
And the laundry will one day, be ready to fold.

The Newton-Rath Younglings, from squirtly to Teen,
are louder than Motley, bare-chested and keen.

With Mom packed with peanuts, And I two drinks in,
It was finally looking like a big Christmas win.

When down in the basement, my mind did go wander,
To the exploits of earlier, memories not fonder.

You see, laundry machines, they don’t kick on their own.
They wait, just like pirates, Til’ everyone’s home.

So early we gathered, the girl and us boys,
to look upon washers, not washing – no joy.

From Canex to elsewhere, flew eldest and me,
to find a replacement swirl-swirly GE.

It’s sorted, we got one, so don’t fret a smidge.
It’s not like we had to go find a new fridge.

Smitty’s the man, at least in our neck,
We hauled it ourselves, but it was cheaper by heck.

So here we’re all sat, ’round the tube for a bite.
My lovelies are bigger, but all just as bright.

Our clothes will be laundered, Our hearts will be light,
So to all a Merry Christmas And to all A Good Night

Choose Your Own Adventure

I don’t understand.

Maybe it’s because I’m Caucasian.

Possibly it’s due to the fact that I was born with a certain amount of privilege.

Could it be that I am missing some obvious point, again, about the nature of humanity and what makes us act the way we do?

“I don’t agree with you, and you don’t agree with me. Our perspectives differ. Our belief systems conflict. We don’t live in the same world. You can’t understand me, and I don’t want to understand you. So you should die. So I can live without the conflict of being human pressing in upon me at every waking moment.”


Being human is living through conflict. Challenging our daily reality and growing through it. Isolation and absolution lead to a dead end – emotionally, spiritually, ethically – and in all the ways and means that that lump of grey matter in our heads interprets our hurts, as it works alongside that chunk of meat in our chests.

I fail to understand on a daily basis. I can’t possibly know where you are coming from. Very likely your perspective might not jive with mine. It’s entirely possible I could say or do something that you might consider offensive.

We may never agree.

Oh well. So what? Big deal.

A planet full of individuals, and we expect consensus? We demand uniformity?

Who do we think we are?

Seven or so billion people, waking up, seeing the world through the only eyes we have to see through.

It is astonishing we’ve made it this far.

But not really.

We chose to be here.

Life, all aspects of it, is conscious choice. That is our birthright. Our destiny. Our personal freedom from a Universe of total calamity and chaos.

We get to choose. One day at a time. One small choice after another. Small moves, Ellie.

Some choose to hate. Others choose to love unconditionally. We participate, or we isolate. The full spectrum from white to black, and all the shades of grey.

Last night, some chose to hurt, injur and destroy a fragile piece of humanity. Understanding the why of the thing will only drag us around in circles.

So I choose not to try to understand.

I move forward, choosing to empathize with those people who suffered. To send my heartfelt condolences and best wishes to their recovery.

I choose not to focus on the ill wills of those who have chosen to isolate, to harm, to hate.

Because I don’t understand. And I never will.

There are seven or so billion people on the planet. We aren’t going anywhere.

Unless we go together.

So choose your own adventure.

But choose wisely. The rest of us are watching.

Humane Society

So the world is going to shit, if you haven’t noticed.

Conflicting reports regarding the treatment by and of Syrian refugees flooding into Europe is a hot topic, and no one seems to know what the right answer is.

ISIS is on the verge of becoming a serious global threat, if you are prone to that kind of pandering.

North America is ignorant and blind to the rest of the world and what is truly going on. The environment is melting around us, the aliens are manipulating our leaders, and pop stars dictate interpersonal ethics.

Apparently, this is the part of those popular movies that describes the early 21st Century as dark, dystopic and fraught with oppression and angst.

There are enough side by side comparisons of modern day Japan and “Blade Runner” to make the point.

Things are bad all over.

Should a persons personal religious beliefs give them accommodations when doing their job? Historically, no. But we aren’t talking about history. We are talking about right now, and right now, the world is quickly filling up with all kinds of fanatics.

Fanaticism is not the sole property of religion, mind you.

We have the 1%, who are fanatical about keeping the economic structure of modern civilization the way it is because, let’s face it, they have all the money.

We have the faceless hordes of the computer savvy and not so savvy operating clandestine operations from behind keyboards, doling out vigilante justice to whomever comes up on their radar.

Corrupt politicians, sketchy police officers, a variety of terrible human traffickers and child exploiters the world over doing whatever the fuck they want, to whomever the fuck they want, whenever the fuck they want.

We have those refusing to do their job according to the law, and being paraded around like rock stars for it. those who can’t do one small task, and are being paraded around like criminals for it. Fake news, fake doctors, fake healthcare and fake help.

This was supposed to be the Golden Age of Humankind, striking out as one voice among the stars. Expanding our knowledge of ourselves in the cosmos, the inner space and the outer space.

What the fuck happened?

When did we lose our humanity? When did we become so terrible to each other that we would willingly tear down someone elses’ life because we didn’t agree with it?

When did cops – ALL cops – become the bad guy?

When did PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY become a hateful thing to say, let alone become an unpleasant aspect of life?

When did our society become so inhumane?

And how the fuck can we fix it?

Because I really don’t know. And I really, really want to.

Or else we are fucked.

A very August afternoon

I suppose I’m overdue for something pithy and full of vinegar.

Perhaps a smattering of smarmy, eye-winking, gum-smacking soliloquys carefully crafted to tickle your funny bone and lighten your loafers.

Better yet, an eloquent barrage of verbal velvet, gyrating languidly in the back of your pre-frontal cortex, abducting the daily doldrums out of their slumber, and into full on neural rave mode.

To finish, I could tie together the subtle and no so subtle poppity-pop culture club refs and riffs with swimmingly gentle ease and mighty mighty deft tone ninja reflexes.

The final parting shot, a clever rehash of the overall jive I’m laying down.

But I’m not going to do that.

To be honest, I realized I should probably put something up this month.

Here’s mud in your eye.