the snake and the hurricane

Colour me ... oh colour me ..

2009-09-07T15:28:00.009-04:00

Choose the colour carefully, for I shall become the colour you paint me.

2008-11-15T00:27:00.004-05:00

While looking through my son's grade 10 history book one night, my eye was drawn to one man in the middle of a picture, in the middle of a crowd celebrating the end of World War II. I froze when I realized who he was. There he was, in a small town in Holland, just outside the town where my mother grew up. There he was, in a photograph that I'd never seen before, that he likely never knew existed before he died. There he was, frozen in time, over a half century ago, having fought and won a war, now going home. There is no mistake - he's my dad.

vincent

2008-10-18T23:58:00.002-04:00

Momentum

2008-10-13T20:33:00.001-04:00

Oh, for the sake of momentum
I've allowed my fears to get larger than life
And it's brought me to my current agendum
Whereupon I deny fulfillment has yet to arrive

And I know life is getting shorter
I can't bring myself to set the scene
Even when it's approaching torture
I've got my routine

Oh, for the sake of momentum
Even though I agree with that stuff about seizing the day
But I hate to think of effort expended
All those minutes and days and hours
I have frittered away.

And I know life is getting shorter
I can't bring myself to set the scene
Even when it's approaching torture
I've got my routine

But I can't confront the doubts I have
I can't admit that maybe the past was bad
And so, for the sake of momentum
I'm condemning the future to death
So it can match the past.

when I can't confront the doubts I have
I can't admit that maybe the past was bad
And so, for the sake of momentum
I'm condemning the future to death
So it can match the past.

Aimee Mann, Soundtrack to the movie Magnolia

Read This First

2008-10-13T14:35:00.002-04:00

http://www.metanoia.org/suicide/

If a Tree Grows in the Forest Does Anybody Care?

2008-10-04T14:55:00.011-04:00

On était les 'pionniers' de Charlebois: the first group of grade nine students to eventually graduate from this beautiful, new, state of the art, francophone high school in Ottawa. Many students went through the doors of that building, many friendships were found and lost, and many memories were born. The school is now closed, but like everyone, it left me with many fond memories. Although there were many caring teachers at Charlebois, the one that had the biggest impact on my life was Mr Bernard. The Guru. Mr Bernard was my grade 12 and grade 13 English Teacher. Sadly, The Guru doesn't know it but he changed my life.

As a teenager, I was incredibly shy and would never lift my hand up in class for fear of making a mistake. I daydreamed constantly and was unable to focus in class. I couldn't do my homework because I hadn't paid attention in class, and I couldn't organize longer assigments so I could have them finished by the due date. Math was the worst, every year I got a phone call from my Math teacher telling me that I had gotten a mark of 40 something, but they would bump it up to 50 so I could pass the course.

That all changed for me in grade 12 when I was assigned to Mr Bernard's English class. One of our first assignents was to write a short story. I can't tell what I wrote about because I don't remember. What was important, however, was the impact that that story had on my life.

I remember the day the assignments were handed back to the class. Mr Bernard hung on to my mine and asked me to stay after class for a few minutes. When everyone had left, he called me up to the front of the class and told me I couldn't possibly have written the story. The quality of the writing was too good, I was to go home, redo the assignment and hand it in the next day.

It wasn't the first time I had been accused of submitting something I hadn't written, though I'm not sure why. I have never forged anything in my life. I could only assume it was because I presented as a student who didn't have much potential. So I went home and did what I had done before. I redid the assignment and handed it in without telling my parents. I didn't want them to be disappointed in me.

Mr Bernard caught me in the hall the next day and asked to speak to me. He handed me back my story, along with an apology. He had been wrong. I looked at my work and realized he had given me 100% as a mark. A+. That's when it all changed. From then on, I poured my heart and soul into all my English assignments. I became the only student in my day to be christened by The Guru with my own nickname: "Trash". Although I'm not sure I would like it now, I knew at the time it was an honour and I cherished it. I continued to get A+ throughout the next two years of High School. At graduation, I was recognized as the student who was "Most Likely to Write the Great Canadian Novel". This teacher had seen a creative talent in me I didn't know I had, he encouraged me, and he inspired me. I eventually became a teacher myself, a Special Education Teacher and then a Vice Principal. I have just established a partnership and will be writing my first book. It's not a novel, but a book of strategies for kids with ADD.

What I did not realize at the time was that I actually had a learning disability. Diagnosed with ADD as an adult, I now finally understand why I couldn't be successful in school. If I were going through the Education System now, I would likely be identified as being Gifted and Learning Disabled. Most ironically, IQ testing has revealed that my aptitude are the highest in Mathematics, with a score of 147. Yet I was "passed along" in school so I wouldn't have to take the course over again.

Mr Bernard may never know the impact he has had on my life. However, it is not the positive influence on my writing and on my self esteem that is the greatest gift he has given me. What made him stand out as a teacher was that The Guru did not see all the trees as being the same. There was a tree in the forest that he knew needed special care, special pruning. He could just as easily have chopped it down, instead he gave it the special care that it needed. What he has passed on is the desire to look through the forest to find the tree. All trees are different and some trees need extra special care to grow tall and beautiful. This is the basic idea that drives me in my work in Special Education. To find the skill in my students, to nurture them, to believe in them and to lead them to believe in themselves.

Although I may never see you again, Mr Bernard, I hope that you know that I am grateful for this gift. It is the gift that keeps giving. Pay it forward. Yet the night is still young, Mr Bernard, I might still get to that "Great Canadian Novel".

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Robert Frost, 1923

Photo was taken in August 2008 at Ritchie Falls, near Haliburton, Ontario.

How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?

2008-10-02T22:10:00.011-04:00

Jakkson. Siberian Husky, seven months old. Adopted from an animal rescue organization. Chained to a tree in the woods for the first six months of his life, one of a pack of fifty dogs being trained as sled dogs. Jakkson was scared. All the time. He spent most of his time hiding somewhere in the house, unless taken for a walk or let out in the back yard. Somehow, Jakkson found a way to get out. A brand new ten foot high fence was put in the yard this summer, yet he finds a way to get under it!

Having spent minimal time around humans, most of his time around other dogs and cats, Jakkson managed to escape the yard three times. Each time, he ended up at a house where other dogs lived. The last time I went to pick him up at a house across Harmony Creek, I wasn't certain at first I had the same animal. Oh yes, the same size, the same beautiful distinctive markings. This dog was however walking around on the main floor of the house like he lived there. His tail was no longer curled around between his legs but bobbed up and down like Pippi Longstockings' pigtails! It struck me at that moment that that was exactly what he needed, what was necessary, what would have to happen. It was determined in that moment - we needed to adopt another pet.

Adopting another dog at this point was not an option. It would have to be a cat. Preferably free. A google search led me a few blocks from home. A little kitten, black, six weeks old needed a home. It had been found trying to cross a busy street by the owner of three dogs and four cats. No room for one more. Once I picked up that little vibrating ball of fur, I knew I had to take him home. This is where he was meant to be.

So Ziggy came home wth me. I brought him over to Jakkson to introduce them to each other. At that moment something changed in him. There he was - that dog - that Pippi Longstockings dog. Ears perked, up on his elbows, tail at attention. That bloody dog thinks he's its mother! Sniffing, licking, grooming, Jakkson follows the Ziggy around all day now. The Bodyguard.

I had made the assumption that just loving him and taking care of him would be enough. That food, shelter, water and my love would be enough to make him come around, to make him feel secure, to make him happy, with time he would come around. I've learned in life, however, that sometimes we have to build that bridge.

Nails on a Chalkboard

2008-10-02T21:55:00.004-04:00

2008-09-10T22:53:00.000-04:00

When she jumped, she probably thought she could fly.
The Virgin Suicides, 1999

The Hole

2008-09-10T22:22:00.000-04:00

I am tired. I need sleep, but it won't come to me.

The Hole

The dark is deep; it is silent. It is there.

It wraps its forked tongue around my neck until I can no longer breathe.

They are the ones, the indifferent. They carry on, trudging, plodding, ranting.

Their eyes look right through me. My screams are silent to them.

I plead with them, but they do not feel me. They do not feel me.

The ground opens up and I fall. Down, down, down.

The pain courses through my veins, cold, icy. It belongs to every minute particle that defines what is me. It belongs to me, it is me.

The parts make the hole.

2008-09-01T22:22:00.000-04:00

You must be the change you wish to see in the world.

Mohandas Gandhi