The Day Before Christmas

‘Twas the day before Christmas, sometime after 4,
Not a snowflake was sighted, through window or door.

The turkey was roasting, and drippings with goo,
as poor puppies waited to go for a poo.

The kids were XBoxing and shouting at bots,
Potatoes were peeled and headed to pot.

With Mother a-tubbing, and I in my chair,
The tree lights sat glowing, with nary a care.

When out on the lawn there came not a sound,
no howling, no thunder, there was no one around.

The sky was a pasty white-grey shadowed thing
That last one got away from me, but it had a nice ring.

I glanced through the pane, and then – pain in the groin!
from the boney and one-tooth-less fruit of my loin.

You see kids are oblivious to their feets and each hand,
To what they are doing and where they will stand.

It’s noisy, it’s crazy, they’re smelly but sweet.
These kids make the moments of living a treat.

We do a good job, their mother and I,
of raising these rugrats from low to up high.

They’re happy, and healthy, and most are well-read,
they are all fairly sociable, though none make their bed.

Each one is a treasure, a rare work of art,
And yes they’ll still giggle at the sound of a fart.

So as we tuck in for our holiday fun,
remember these moments, savour each one.

It’s Yule Time, it’s Christmas and Festivus too,
and tomorrow, of course….

THERE’S NEW DOCTOR WHO!!!!!

Merry Christmas 2014 to all of you, from all of us.

Bitchin’ Dude

Wow, do i whine a lot or what?

First World Problems.

My favourite tv show isn’t meeting my paltry expectations. Woe is me.

Meanwhile, a family has lost another son to some over zealous radical fanatic with a camcorder and a YouTube account. A town teeters dangerously on the edge of social destruction, and little girls are lost and far from home.

Sometimes a minor shift in perspective (read:swift kick in the realistic behind) is healthy. Our problems are ours. We are compelled to make them communal, but at the end of the day it only really bugs us. It’s our issue.

How serious is it really? Will your life go on without the right amount of sugar in your latte today?

How about that property line? Can you get by with the branch hanging over that extra inch?

Maybe, instead of pissing and moaning in 140 brightly coloured characters over the most trivial, inane shot? We can use our powers for good.

Pick a minute. Any minute, and for 60 whole seconds, you only say something nice. Something positive. Something, anything, constructive.

I know. Practice what you preach. I get it.

But if you’ve gotten this far, then thats my minute done.

See what i did there?

Woah. Bitchin’, dude.

Year One

So it’s been about a year since I committed to be committed to my blog.

Listen:

It hasn’t gone the way I expected, but it is safe to say it also hasn’t gone the way I expected. It’s like swimming in the ocean, and getting temporarily caught in the undertow. At first there is panic and a sense of foreboding, surrounded by the rushing, swirling maelstrom of dark water. Then suddenly deep breath fills your lungs, and you are sitting in wet sand looking out at the horizon. Kind of like cup of soup.

I am very shortly entering into the seventh year of my new reality. The new life i forged for my family’s well being, and my professional contentment, and it has been eventful and chaotic. Change, however, is inevitable. Seven years is a lifetime to a cell, and we all regenerate in our own time. What life used to be about is no longer what it is about now – and I guess that is why it is called growing up, sliding down from the pedestal we put our daddy or mummy on. The Orient expresses a multitude of ageless and varied ways in which to find inner peace, but sometimes we just need to find a big friendly button to reset ourselves with.

Thanks to our ability to experience the passage of Time, We evolve and accept our new realities because to not do so would drive us to insanity and depression. Time away and Time alone allows for fondness of the heart to grow, and the opportunity to recognize those parts of life that are most important. Regardless of whether it is Time/She, or Time/He, is the fact that we wear it like a burden, and stake our claim to its stain upon us, really the best thing we can do with it? How do we just let it flow?

That may sound a bit philosophically full of itself, but it (if I can, just for a tic tock, turn this linguistic robot off) sure would be satisfying to know definitively that my careful thoughts don’t mean I am becoming boring.

Letting go of that which hurts us, or injures us, is the only true way to find our way in the forest. Of the nights and days I’ve already lived, I never assumed I could be the one carrying injury within me. Still, the trees shield us from the worst of the weather, and ground beneath our feet is firm and strong, giving us safe and steady passage along that long, flat line to tranquility.

As it is, i am home, and I am once again faced with my own wandering self-actualization. I am Dad. I am Husband. I am The Caretaker and The Provider. And my family looks to me for strength and support and guidance. What can I say? Except that i am as imperfect as everyone else. I believe in the mystery and wonder of the Universe, but it scares me. I am afraid of, but believe in the necessity of Death; in Heaven, whatever form it may take; and in the simple things that make life bearable – hugs, the smell of fresh ground coffee, having a place to belong.

So we get on with ourselves and our lives as best we can, despite the disappointment in the results immediately in front of us. It won’t always be this way. There will be ups and downs and sides. I will still get frustrated by laundry. I will still forget something. And, to paraphrase Bill Shakespeare, start most mornings off by saying “Get up Son, kill the moon and all that jazz” or whatever the quote was that sounded niftier in my head.

It’s Time to refocus my focus. It isn’t actually all that bad. I just need to find my Tao. Grab myself by the collar and run headlong into the great outdoors. “Let’s go, pal. You’re not quite over the hill! Into the dale, kiddo!” or some other such Tolkeinesque frolicsome blithering.

Let’s be honest – I am not a guy that frolics. I’m just not that graceful. But you get the idea. I am basically an idiot. And that’s ok.

Skip To The End…….

It’s funny. You know, things and stuff.

All that waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Hurry up to go here. Hurry up to go there. Hurry up and go. Hurry up and stay.

All that waiting for stuff to happen.

It seems like most everything takes forever. Especially things you weren’t expecting to go through, but you now find them permanently etched in the sidebar of your memory.

And then quite suddenly it has already happened and you are on to something else.

It makes me question whether or not Time actually exists. We think about Time. We talk about Time. We bitch about it, like, all the Time. We don’t have enough. We have too much.

We have a multitude of devices, habits and rituals that organize and pass the Time on our behalf so we aren’t sitting around waiting for the Time to run out.

But what if, just maybe, Time is all in our heads. The Universe, possibly, is just this big floating multidimensional puddle of cosmic vomit, slowly sliding down the drain of reality.

It doesn’t register the passing of anything. It is constantly moving in a state of Now.

Somehow, We are all just minnows, wading through ethereal puke, trying to make sense of the Now with a limited vocabulary and a severe case of Hyperopia. That’s fancy talk for farsightedness. (It’s okay – I Googled it. Took no Time at all.)

Once upon a Time, that would be just crazy talk. But fortunately, I think those days may be over.

Or maybe it’s all just a little bit of History Repeating. Like a “This has all happened before. And it will happen again. So say we all.”, sort of a thing. I guess Time will tell.

Man, I really need some down Time….

TL;dr Something something Time. Here we go into the HOME Stretch.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes……

Remember that time when I was somewhere else?

Yeah. Me too. Good Times.

I’m still there, but I’m about to find myself going somewhere else.

Something, something leaves and wind. Time to Face the inevitable. 

Seriously. I just frowned out. No, not really.

I am surprisingly melancholy. I’ve enjoyed my time here, and although I am far removed from all that I love, it has been a real education. I shall treasure it.

Next up, I will find myself in new scenic environs, with all new sights, sounds and coffee shops.

I’m not entirely sure how long this particular “regeneration” of my professional role will last, but it will, I am sure, be another fine mess I have gotten myself into.

I wonder what it will be like?

That’s not  the question I should be asking. 

What I should be asking is What will I be like after it’s all done?

Often, we find ourselves nose-pressed-to-the-silver-plate of unexpected challenge. That’s me when I’m not at home.

So I have elected to utilize my time to reach down, find some gravitas, and discover the person I really think I am. And the person I deserve to be. I “choose” the face I want to wear. 

So stepping to the edge of the diving board, I take a Deep Breath, and jump.

Before I do though:

A moment of Silence for Robin Williams, Lauren Bacall, and Sir Richard Attenborough.

It’s been a hell of a week.

 

Classic Half Empty or Classic Half Full?

I was given the option of writing this entry using the “easy” method, or I could choose the “classic” mode.

Can you tell the difference?

Yeah, neither can I, from here.

Still, I guess it’s nice to be asked.

There has been a lot of that going around. New and improved, with a nod to what was, if you want.

We just can’t seem to let go of how it used to be. 

We need to have that connection, that ongoing tether through the ether, to days of yore.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m all good with classic mode, but it is nice to change it up once in awhile.

Everything old is new again, and there is nothing new under the sun.

I wonder if maybe all our digitized what-iffing goes somewhere to be cataloged, alphabetized and stacked on neatly dusted shelves.

Like some great candy store store of wonder. Colorful jars filled with the soft chewy concepts of our purpose and our intentions…..

Overseen and tended to by a kindly old guy in a pristine white smock……

Woah….

Did I just invent God?

HA! 

That’s hilarious. Me inventing God.

That is Classic Me, all the way.

Eyes And Ears…..And All That Jazz…..

Let me lay it down for you, real easy like.

Children should be seen and not heard.

That’s an old adage that is probably older in practice than we realize.

And it is complete bull-shit.

Here’s why:

Children generally have no filter. They have no concept, in the beginning, of behaviors and attitudes that we as adults tend employ with each other on a minute by minute basis, depending on our audience.

They can only speak truths, and stop doing that when they learn the trick of deceit from us, you dig?

They are a mirror to our own twisted and misdirected pathway from innocence to guilt. And we don’t like it.

We REALLY don’t like it. We never have. Hence the saying.

How dare a child call us out, and hoist us up on our own petard?

Because they can, and they should. We need to be reminded every once in awhile that, as adults or as parents, we aren’t always right. We aren’t always correct. And we don’t always know what we are talking about.

It’s also ok to be wrong. And for our children to see us accepting the fact that we can be wrong.

If they never see it, they’ll never believe it.

Until it happens. In a big way. And their whole world changes in the blink of an eye.

All because, apparently, they should have been seen and not heard.

The correct version of that old adage is of course the obvious:

Children SHOULD be seen, AND heard.

But also:

Parents should watch, and listen.

Stop, Look and Listen, Baby. That’s MY philosophy.

Alright, so Elvis isn’t exactly synonymous with jazz, but you can pick up what I’m laying down, right?

Solid.