jan 23 2020
without my dad.
It is evening and my brain still works.
thank you god for that.
when the beer sinks in nicely
bringing a smooth sleepiness
i can be at peace.
pouring the last golden foam
while the blessed heater hums
(counting blessings is my new thing)
perhaps i've been to the other side
perhaps there's nothing on the other side
perhaps age brings perspective
or without my dad
without my dad.
i'm holding a flame
i never knew existed.
cooincidentally, my tweet from this morning was at 7:13
soon will come a retail therapy day
jan 21 2020
time to make the donuts
it is not payday, though my brain remembered;
it is not monday, my brain knows that
as i wake with cold ankles
on the tippy edge of a yellow chair
the bottom of the large IKEA mug, from another time and place,
through a messy pile of piles, the java is emptied,
and i make my way through many milligrams of caffeine.
and many piles of mid-winter kleenex.
the loud but turning tower heats my ankles periodically
as it spins.
no hours on twitter during the mid night;
no many asmr videos,
somehow, amid this exhaustion,
time to make the donuts
jan 19 2020
it is a very white world
and more white falls
as i sip
to my mind
which is currently focused on articulations;
of things which people are not ready to hear
but i am keen to perfect.
how, i told the story to the young recruiter of the most lovely Christmas party
at an unknown teaching institute
and it took three different articulations
to even get half the message across
that it was not the party per se, that was so special, unique, or different,
but that it was my experience which was.
and then, last night, another evening, in a Russian restaurant,
where Chris sometimes hangs out in evenings;
where i did not expect old home week;
and in particular, did not think anyone liked me, particularly,
yet Charlotte said she wanted to sit next to me; her new beau very friendly indeed, as though she had been saying nice things about me:
katrine and eric, locals who moved away and whom we have not seen in a few years;
vadim and his son were pleasant dinner conversationalists from Boston & Toronto:
his son studies psychology: a strong ENTP or J with much Te
i finally met the tall Chloe from pierrefonds; with the skater mom who knew my best friend from childhood
and who wondered how we knew each other:
a massive venn diagram of who knew who from where:
and who walked in but Clara and her sister Sophie, two tall beautiful young ladies, who instantly chatted with my Chloe
about their lives in cegep; after not having been caught up since age 4 and their parents nigel and daniella, whom i once ate a homemade and authentic pasta feast in their kitchen; daniella having not arrived from northern italy long before;
photo credit: Charlotte
and when i thought no one else from my past could arrive, finally,
Danny Shak, his beard, and his wife Karen, who refused to let me introduce him as
"my first boss at Ericsson", and, in the same fashion as the very first day i met him,
asked me a pretty deep & philosophical question, which takes even the most deep and philosophical of ME, off guard:
"so what has been your experience of having children, how has it changed you and what is your overall thoughts on the experience?
which i answered, and after which we danced the Hava Nagila.
and for all of this, these people's lives woen together through Chris, i had to tell him, on the way out, that i loved him.
happy 60th, my old friend.
jan 5 2020
made it out of bed in an hour
worked 2 hours already
just moving forward, helps with not moving forward
tomorrow is a day
which i need to get through
with the queen's calm
and my newfound poise.
stretch my brain
stretch my body
jan 4 2020
project management used to be technical.
make a plan. people have skills.
track the plan and the skills.
it's not like that anymore.
it's mostly a gap-filler for bad work. bad management. bad planning.
on the part of other people.
jan 2 2020
it's still twenty twenty. and my ears are still ringing.
with sleep, with silence, with peace of mine, i sit and stare at the cover of the newspaper
which still arrives at my door every morning, unread, until today.
the cover page shows an arial photo of my neighbourhood
well if one could call it that. it's a freeway now.
which is essentially why i'm here...
outside, jet engines echo under the low cloud cover, rumbling as they drag people back towards home
and no one was late for their flight, because the roads are as empty as the photo from 1962.
i was honest last night. partially poised.
somewhat annoyed. with myself mostly.
i refuse to have negativity in my life: negativity for the sake of negativity:
especially from people who have no reason for it:
i've got some years left, and i'm gonna "stan" my ground
in 1996, i made a cool artist friend.
then i lost a cool artist friend by not showing up at her show.
artist friends need you.
so don't be like louise in 1996.
jan 1 2020
so it's twenty-twenty.
making me feel old, darn straight.
resting my back between washing floors and cutting rutabagas
peering at the snow-laden trees moving in the wind above my fancy reading glasses
because i refuse to get bifocals ;)
the tree was twenty-four ninety-nine - i'm a bit obsessed with that
and the space bar on this fantastically expensive hand me down macbook pro is luckily fixed,
thanks to modern technology air compressed in a can (lol)
there's a sewing machine that i still cannot make work after many years;
funny little ovary cramps which harken back to my ovulating days
and too many large coffee machines in a house that we never use.
i'm going to try to be honest.
instead of being angry.
i will try to do it with integrity
i know you would rather not come to my urban cave.
and the feeling is mutual about your suburban prison.
i learned much of my silence from you, papa.
and i do love you for being the goodest man i have ever known.
but my silence is killing me now.
so my truths must come out.