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the m E p.com |
March 2003 |
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my E l e c t r o n i
c pen |
March
30, 2003
‘And this is the judgment, that the
light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light becaues
their deeds were evil” For ALL WHO do evil hate the light and do not come to
the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is
true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have
been done in God.” John 3:14-21
God is rich in forgiveness – but are we? and to forgive first ourselves, or
last?
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March
28, 2003
”the bombs bursting in air”
on a balmy late
march night, i sulk into silent darkness for what seems like an eternity of
waiting for some quiet time to myself, my thoughts. without so much as putting
away boiled mashed carrots, all i require is a tall glass of water and this
time and space to allow my shoulders to fall.
when it’s eleven degrees in this city on a Friday night in late march, things
buzz. heading toward the city from the burbs at seven-forty PM, tail lights
form a never-ending ribbon of energy heading downtown. mine are included on
this night, but i am not. i certainly don’t mind. i’ve done my share. tonight,
it’s just me and CNN for a while and hopefully plenty of much-needed shuteye
after that.
margaret atwood writes a letter to the Globe and Mail today. in a
sad moment for all of us, she reminisces of the America we used to know; Mickey
Mouse, Ella Fitzgerald, Elvis, Huckleberry Finn, Thoreau, Walt Whitman, Emily
Dickenson. America was fun, she writes. and then “you put God on the money”. i
won’t attempt to paraphrase the rest.
you don’t have to be margaret atwood to remember a kinder, gentler America.
where are the Bruce Springsteen’s of today? today’s rock groups? ‘real’
American Idols? heck, i’d even settle for the mysteriously disappearing Garth
Brooks.
it feels good to write about music and literature in light of what is actually
going on in the world this week. something we can believe in once we come home
from church. and there, i pray that this bleak moment in time is only a blip on
the horizon in this still dawning age of aquarious.
______________________________________________________March 24, 2003 war time
eventually,
thoughts of ‘i’m lucky not to be at war’ are doused by sheer volume. as if
wearing large headphones, we’re trapped into war thoughts – and ultimately, war
itself.
there seems to be no respite this time; is it my age?
it’s me and snootsy on in the inside; looking out at only war, only war.
i turn, and it’s war. like a hard casing on my back, i shake, and casings of
war break off – but they grow back before large tax refunds seem to matter.
it’s situation out of control in this SUV world – and i imagine i’m as
ill-prepared for it’s consequences as the next guy. and finding it just as
difficult to go to a place where in 2003 one man against one man still means
many men will die
_________________________
later on.
if i’m critical of
the world; i’m critical of myself.
where is the line drawn between a stereotype and an insult? do i have to insult
myself first before i proceed to blame someone else’s personality traits on
which city they’re from? it’s only because it’s a beautiful thing. perhaps
that’s the form of control i command. i don’t really require any in my day to
day life, but i’m certainly guilt of parceling you depending on where you’re
from. i’ll tell you what you’re wearing, what you’re eating, and how much
you’ll pay for a martini.
the water sound was corey’s toilet backfiring.
i’m spending too much time here, complaining, but i’m enjoying the ventilation.
a bit of brain exercise i guess for someone who wasn’t quite sure when this
would finally catch up to her. and this is only the tip of the iceberg, as you
can imagine, with so many Daves.
(often she wishes that when they were born, she had named one of them Bodkin
Van Horn)
Look, I’M
not the only one who seems to have a perverse fascination with Mrs. McCave and her twenty-three Daves.
March
14, 2003
mia kirshner
strikes me immediately as a glaringly pretentious manic depressive who wouldn’t
know a real emotion if it hit her in the face. “some actors like to
sequester themselves, but at the end of the day in retrospect” be nice,
poots.
but it’s mid march and little toots and i are still sequestered in our duplex
waiting for the spring. we’re getting slightly manic, ourselves. God knows, we
know how to out-pretense the next guy.
flailing urges to spend and save, my precious metals aren’t so precious these
days. although war is inevitably dead-ahead, there’s this collective global
denial thing going on. i’m praying for myself while i watch my investments
hinged on war. it’s the most
adult-like sin i’ve ever committed and i ain’t proud of it.
i hear a small coogly voice coming from the back room. tiny and edible, like
the words on this page.
now if i could only figure out where that water running sound is coming from…
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March
13, 2003 why
i hate daycare
let me count the ways:
·
the masses do it
·
the masses do it blindly
·
breeding ground for obedient, tax-paying
corporate citizens
·
breeding ground for viruses
·
as mrs. partridge said to danny upon
realizing that his hampsters had bred beyond oblivion: “Danny, you just
can’t spread your love that many ways”
·
we need more deadlines why?
·
what if my child just wants to zoooooone out
today?
·
fighting with a tired child and a snowsuit
twice a day: need i say more?
·
and we all take a nap at precisely 2PM. NOT!
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i’m just as happy as the next guy (read, American) that E. Smart was found safe
and sound, BUT COME ON FOLKS! that totally uninformative press conference (yes,
i actually watched it) on CNN was enough to make a real Canadian gag. i couldn’t
get pictures of Iraqi women watching it out of my mind. if i weren’t trying to
be a good catholic, i’d comment on religious fanaticism as well.
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March 12, 2003 things
that appear mysteriously in march
so a glossy staple-bound periodical sporting the subtitle
‘eclectic curiosity’ arrives in one of the papers on the weekend. we can’t
recall which one, and i’m having a hard time filling out the reader survey.
but anyways, the thing is oozing montreal, so we can’t seem to ignore it. Like
Gorey’s doubtful guest, it’s this mysterious new presence gravitating in our
home. it starts to follow me around. i take it to bed. that’s where i notice a bizarre
editorial comment about sled dogs, and the lone letter written by a guy from
nowhere, chastising them for both their opening AND closing lines. (did they
lose all the other letters in their recent burglary, i wonder?) Oddly enough,
after making several good points, his letter ends with a one-word sentence that
doesn’t work. Bizarre. needless to say, i rifle thru my entire website seeking
some of my more eclectic (laugh now) montreal prose. is any of it good enough?
of course it is.
then the baby started to cry and my life-driving urge to become famous slipped
away yet again.
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but earlier on in the day…
rounding the bend on sunnyside, i’m pondering the most un-montrealish name
‘sunnyside’ when those light fluffy snowflakes get smaller. through the large
houses to my right, i notice that i can see – or not see – only whiteness down
the mountain, where normally i see a lovely vista of the city. in a second, i’m
engulfed in a strange daylight-darkness. in the covered jogging stroller, she’s
cozy and asleep. looking up into the sky, i make out large balls of grayness –
but are they up there, or coming down here? the wind swirls around the houses,
and the next thing i know i am one with about sixhundred pounds of blowing icy
snow. hey, stop that, you’re
stinging my face! now you’re sticking to my scarf, hey, i can’t even keep my
eyes open! who authorized this blizzard right now, right here, on top of this
mountain during my morning walk in march???
and just when things couldn’t get any freakier,
C-C-C-RRR-A-A-A-CKKKK !
a serious, mountain-top boom of thunder!
well i’m getting the hell out of here.
and that was the end of that.
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March
10, 2003
clockwork strikes again as the child sleeps by 8:05PM.
the bigger she gets, the more of her there is to love.
indoor disease strikes in mid-March covered in more snow.
making sure lethargy has become my friend and not foe,
i’m keeping occupied reading, writing, and filling the fridge with delectables
uncounted and expensive.
3 cala lillies 22$
chunk of swiss gruyere 13.50$
pure vanilla extract 12.99$
lovely evening with cousin-in-laws
pricey
i’m coming into orange, but not into shoes.
_________________________________________
March 09, 2003
after failing to
find a pair of shoes,
Poots takes some time to rant: The woven web of
waste
addendum: they wanted to print this in the HUMOUR section, AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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addendum March 5, 2003
when there is more snow than sity, it’s the city that
looks foreign.
one of the things that people who love living in this city love about this
city,
is having a conversation about the weather in French, with two other people
who also speak the French of another place and time.
it’s like living on the edge of the world and if you can’t understand why
it’s because you don’t understand why.
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March 5, 2003
ash wed
THE OTHER DAY
my MOTHER ASKED ME iF i EVER THOUGHT i MiGHT LiKE TO BE
SOMEONE ELSE FOR A FEW MiNUTES,
just to see what it would be like.
i
thought about it before i answered.
i THiNK iT MiGHT DRiVE YOU iNSANE, i said.
as i age, i am becoming more conscious of intolerance brewing in on me, and the
way that i convince myself that it’s not really happening. Those who have aged
before me are role models of kindness, and narrow-mindedness alike. Does one
allow for the other? And, as long as i see my own values aligning with theirs,
i give myself the right to my own opinions. Just because you can fight against
unkind things doesn’t make your stance better. Somehow, somewhere, that made
sense.
still snowy in the sity, circular reigns of warm weather piano music forms skeins of harmony around my
mind. Pity the one who cannot feel it.
Who doesn’t close their eyes and take themselves away into any heaven
you call your own is a sad and lonely mind to spend this life in. how much
happier could i, would i, be, if i knew their sorrow. None, says i. none. and
never knowing the difference makes it that way.
March 1, 2003
WHiTE RABBiTS
copyright
Poot's n' Toots Place
1996, 2003