Tag Archives: adventure

In For A Penny

33 Replies

A shiny new penny,

Mint fresh from the bank.

Crossing the palms,

Of a Clint or a Hank.

The journey it’s had,

It’s perils unknown.

To a fountain perhaps,

One day it was thrown.

Lost was the penny,

Alone in the dirt.

Tossed from the pocket,

Of a young woman’s skirt.

Perhaps kept in a jar,

For decades untold.

The journey’s not over,

There’s more to unfold.

A child’s favourite coin,

Was once in a box.

Hidden from view,

Just under the socks.

An actor once flipped,

That polished up prop.

For his role in a movie,

As a villain or cop.

Our penny has journeyed,

In distance and time.

A life in the sunshine,

And others in grime.

The dimes and the quarters,

They all have a place.

But the penny’s held dear,

In a long state of grace.

Some words are remembered,

Like our copper sublime.

In vernacular speech,

It surely does shine.

One for your thoughts,

Another to save.

Songs to be sung,

Our penny so brave.

Identity

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What is it that makes me, well, me? What is it that makes you, you? We all have a built-in identity based on how we look, how we speak, how we act. I am a Canadian. I was born in Canada X number of years ago. You really didn’t think I was gonna tell you my age? Silly you! But as such, I am perceived by others to have certain… traits. It is expected that I will be polite. Always saying “I am sorry” and “eh” are common phrases that are attributed to a Canadians. They are attributed because they are often said. (Most of us try to get away from the “eh” because it is, well, irritating.) Assuming we are polite is not a bad quality to have.

Canada is the second largest country geographically and yet our population puts us at the 40^th. Big country, few people. I think that goes a long way into determining our character. We have a great sense of humour and love to laugh at ourselves. We have more lakes than in the rest of the world combined and we make a great friend. We are loyal and tenacious. But we’re not perfect. We will be the first to admit that. I like being Canadian. I like the fact that the rest of the world likes me because I am Canadian. But I am sure there are those out there who do not. And I’m OK with that.

But there is so much more to one’s character then where you were born. We develop as we evolve as people. I was lucky to have had an idyllic childhood, a carefree youth and, so far, a useful adulthood. I have had adventures and friendships, sorrows and ecstasies. All of these have helped form my character. And it is still forming. With luck, it will be until the day I die. And I have no plans for that anytime soon! I’m just sayin . . .

Perhaps the most important component to one’s character is time. Time allows us to grow, to experience to become the person we are meant to be. It is sad when some are not given the time to become more. With time we can learn, we can touch, taste, hear, see, hypothesize. What we do with those experiences that we have gained over time is what will define our character.

And the final piece to the jigsaw puzzle that is us is, us. We choose. We can choose to let the good and the bad define us or we can make that choice ourselves. That perhaps is the strongest aspect of our identity.

Animal Crime?

23 Replies

Discriminately speaking,

Said the possum from bed.

There’s a fly on the wall,

And I think that’s he’s dead!

How can I sleep,

Surrounded by crime?

Murder and mayhem,

Time after time!

There’s much to be done,

To save all our lives!

But first clean the wall,

It’s giving me hives.

Doctor, oh Doctor,

Have you got a cure?

Things are not right,

Of this, I am sure.

There’s a wolf at my door,

And he wants to get in!

He wants me for dinner!

His cooking’s a sin.

Now the rabbits are fine,

Not a hair out of place.

Which makes me suspicious,

I think there’s a case.

Fraud and deceit,

They play all the time!

I don’t trust the cuteness,

I think it’s a crime . . .

How weary my soul,

With this evil about.

I’ll go back to sleep,

And just cover my snout.

The Building’s Listening

30 Replies

This building has a story

Of ups and downs and love gone wrong

Of broken dreams and silly pranks

A childhood fondly lived.

But broken windows and sagging doors

Don’t hide another truth,

Illicit deeds and crimes concocted

Guns and knives and bloody wounds

Death has lingered here.

But now the future has a stake

Windows broken can be repaired

The doors and walls and ceilings too

And then the fun begins,

The floors and windows once again

Will hear the children laugh.

Pouring rains and winter storms

Are not welcome here.

Come inside and sit a spell

Our tale is still being written

This building’s taking notes.

Errant Thoughts

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An errant thought crept up on me,

I didn’t have a chance.

It made me climb a big old tree,

And pushed me off a branch!

Then I waded in a pool,

With mud and creepy crawlies!

Something wrapped around my leg,

How somethings’ get their jollies!

Please! Oh please! Just let me out!

Let my thoughts be nice.

A hunk of cheese, a glass of wine,

Perhaps leave out the mice!

But I fear, it’s not to be,

My thought is on a bender.

It thinks of things I’d never do!

Could I just surrender?

Bungee jumping from a plane?

I think that thought is crazy!

Deep sea diving and no mask?

The world is getting hazy!

I was startled from the thought,

Alarms began to squawk!

Now the world is settling down,

It’s just my bedside clock!

In the Background

33 Replies

When I was a youth my father took me driving. He used to quiz me as I was behind the wheel (terrified that I would do something wrong because of course my father was in the passenger seat)! He would ask me the colour of the car behind me and I had to answer without looking. What were the colours of the cars on either side of me, how many people were in the cars? He taught me that it is in the background, the places we don’t usually look, where there is a true value to be aware of.

I have known many police officers in my life, professionally and personally. No, I am not a criminal! And one thing I learned about them very early on is it is that they are always aware of what’s going on around them. Their eyes are almost on a swivel, constantly moving. I felt safe in their presence, gun notwithstanding. And I learned to do it too.

I may not be able to tell you what people are wearing around me within 10 feet nowadays but there was a time when I could. And I would do it unconsciously. Many, many years ago I was at a mall and was leaving with my purchases. At the time there was a serial molester about and young women were being warned to take care. I carried my keys in my fist and I put my head on a swivel. It was a bright beautiful Saturday afternoon and as I stepped off the curb, I noticed a young man do exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. He glanced at me and then turned away but he continued to move in the same direction I was. My heart was in my throat but I continued on to my car and quickly got inside. No hesitation. I glanced over and yes, he was looking at me and then turned on his heel and went back into the mall. This was in the days before cell phones so when I got home, I called the police and gave them a detailed description of the man. Was he the molester? I have no idea. But the man they arrested a few days later resembled the one I saw.

Being aware is not just a safety thing. When I watch TV, I always take the time to see what’s going on in the background and sometimes it explains the foreground. It’s almost as if we are programmed to see only what is in front of us. We have peripheral vision and it is quite acute if we would just pay attention. Perhaps that is the key: we need to pay attention…

Searching

33 Replies

We are all searching for something. From the moment we are born when we are looking for warmth and sustenance, we are searching. Sometimes we are simply searching for our keys, directions to a new hot location or sometimes a lost memory. That is what moves us forward. Could it be that the simple act of searching is the true meaning of life?

In the animal world, creatures spend their lives in the pursuit of food and shelter. That allows them to live. They procreate and their progeny starts the cycle again. In the plant world it is exactly the same. They are constantly searching for food and a way to protect themselves from becoming food. They procreate and the cycle begins again.

The cycle of the human species is a little more complicated than that. Being sentient adds a whole new layer to the concept of searching. Yes, we start out only looking for sustenance and warmth but as we become aware we start to want. We want the shiny baubles; we want toys and we want to understand. As we grow and gain knowledge we want more. We need to experience the world we inhabit. We want companionship and focus. We look for jobs to give us a sense of purpose. Or simply jobs that provide us with the means to acquire food and shelter.

We join groups of like-minded people so our search becomes communal. We try religion, book clubs and social media. Humans are creatures that crave companionship, mostly. There are those who do their searching internally and are always looking for ways to improve who they are as individuals and by extension the world around them. Perhaps we should all be doing that. But most people are simply looking for the next best thing, best book, best meal, most interesting movie. Our tastes are more simplistic than the philosophers. And that is not a bad thing.

Some say that it is the journey that is important not the destination. And that is true to some extent. But if only the journey was important then you lose the incentive of the destination. Once your objective has been reached, it is at that point you start searching for a new one, a new target, a new goal. And the search begins anew. That is the excitement, the wonder of living.

What are you searching for?

“He’s Dead!”

25 Replies

The picture used for this post is from Dan Antion’s Thursday Doors over at nofacilities.com. When I saw it, I felt a shiver go up my spine. This was the house in my head when I wrote this story several years ago.

Two young men stared at each other, mouths open. The erudite individuals in question were loitering outside the home of an elderly man who had recently died. Perhaps they were remembering the life so recently passed. Or perhaps . . .

“Cool! What the fu. ., .sh . Aw man, I promised my girlfriend I’d stop swearing!”

“Wait, Boondog, you got a girlfriend? When? You didn’t have none yesterday!”

“Yeah, man. We’re in looove. She just ain’t met me yet.”

The two erupted in gales of laughter.

Boondog was actually Alfonse. He was a high school drop out who fervently believed that he would one day be a multi millionaire. He just needed the rest of the world to recognize his genius.

His companion was Edgeley. No one knew his real name, probably not even Edgeley himself. He didn’t seem to live anywhere in particular. He just kept showing up.

The two young men gravitated to this spot most days. Each day they would spend time smoking a particular illegal substance. This was the perfect spot. They were hidden from the road but were still quite close to the house. Ah, yes, the house. It had been built in the early 1900’s. It was three stories tall and had a veranda that encircled the main floor. It was an imposing abode that had seen better days. More than a hundred years had wandered through the rooms of that house. What had been said and done on those solid wood floors?

Our intrepid adventurers were deep in a metaphysical discussion.

“This Burrito is the bomb!’

“Hey, you got burritos? I like Mexican food!”

“No, man, the Ganga is good!”

“Huh?”

“Dope, weed, pot, grass! Boondog, don’t you know noth’n?

“Aw.”

For the next few moments they said nothing. The smoke whirled above their heads as they inhaled the noxious weed. Oblivious to the medical consequences of the drug on their brains, they breathed in even deeper.

Time seemed to stop.

Edgeley was the first to speak.

“Do you think his cats ate him?”

“Did he have cats?” asked Boondog with something akin to excitement on his face.

“I dunno.”

Silence. Time barely seemed to pass.

“They said he was rich. I bet he’s got cash stashed all over.”

“Cool.”

Our two geniuses continued to stare at the once opulent house. After some time they both managed to stand (after a few mishaps). Then came the giggles. Two grown men trying to keep each other from falling and fumbling up the decrepit steps might have been funny to watch but no one saw them enter the house. Almost no one.

As Boondog reached for the front door knob, the door opened. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Hello . . “ He shouted, as if he had just returned from a long day at work.

Edgeley slapped the back of his head. “Shhh! You wanna wake the dead?”

“Is he here?” Boondog’s panic was very apparent.

“Nah, man. I’m just messing with ya.”

The front door opened into a huge foyer with an even larger room off to one side. They headed there. The two men started to wander around the room. Edgeley immediately started to open drawers in the cabinets, methodically working his way from one side of the room to the other. Boondog couldn’t take his eyes off a painting of an old woman. There was a name at the bottom, his lips moved as he read what was there: Daniela Winslow, died 1893.

As he stepped back, he looked directly into the eyes of Daniela Winslow . . . . . only to see Daniela looking back. Boondog gasped!

The front door closed, violently, the bolts thrown. The shutters on the windows slammed shut. Within seconds the air became cold, too cold. Edgeley stopped what he was doing and looked up. A mist started to rise from the floorboards. It seemed to caress Boondog, who was frozen in place. It then moved on. Gently, oh so gently it touched the furniture, stroking the wood of the cabinets.

Edgeley looked at Boondog. All the effects at the previously smoked marijuana were gone. Neither man was at all unaware of their predicament. Any thoughts of looking for stray cash had gone. All they wanted now was to leave, quickly.

Almost as if it was choreographed, both moved as one towards the front door. Grasping the handle Boondog tried desperately to open it. The door wouldn’t budge.

“Hello boys. . . “

The voice was low, soft and ominous. They couldn’t tell if it was a man’s voice or a woman’s. Or even where it had come from. The two boys turned back from the door, fear emanating from every pore. Boondog started towards the steps to the second floor. He just wanted to get away from the voice. Before he could reach them, the mist descended and formed a barrier. There was no going upstairs. He returned to stand beside his friend. This couldn’t be happening!

Edgeley hadn’t moved. Sweat started to soak through his clothes. The sweat of fear has an acrid, pungent smell, it smelled of death.

A fireplace they hadn’t noticed before, burst into flame. The cackling sound of the flames seemed to break the spell and they moved.

They huddled next to the fireplace as if for comfort. There was no warmth from the flames. They seem to mock them, rising and dancing as if to music. There was no music, then, no sounds. It became oppressive, the silence. The men, so brave and bold mere minutes ago, reverted to their childhood fears. They were terrified. And then . . . she screamed.

“I am hungry!”

Edgeley started to whimper. “I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry . . .

Alfonse started to mutter unintelligibly. He raised his head. His eyes had changed. He grew larger. Then he smiled. “No one will miss you Edgeley. And we will all feed!”

The end

A Walk

28 Replies

I’m taking my butterfly for a walk

He likes to drink each day.

Nectar is his beverage

A sip and he’s on his way!

I’m taking my bumblebee for a walk

He likes to drink you see,

Floral syrup is his brew

He gets it all for free!

I’m taking my Robin for a walk

He flies from tree to tree.

It’s hard for me to keep abreast

When Robin’s on a spree!

I love to walk with all my friends

They have so much to say.

If only I could understand

Then maybe they would stay!

A Memory

25 Replies

One of the most precious things about human beings, in my opinion, is the ability to recall our past. Those events from a time long gone that may have had a hand in forming our character.

I’m going to recall one such memory but I’m going to have to give you a little context. Please bear with me. The photograph I’m using for this post was taken at the end of an experience that, in theory, was pretty incredible. In practice . . . well, you decide.

It was the late 70s, in the fall. High school years. I was part of a tight group of youths who believed they were immortal. Not really, we just didn’t think that far ahead. As you can tell from the picture, I’m the only girl/woman who participated in this adventure. So typical of me. I didn’t want to miss out on any fun, even if it meant I got dirty. Oh, and we got dirty!

This was the day of one of our big football games. And we had a plan. We were going to raise money for the United Way by climbing Bloor Street. Note to those of you who climb rocks and mountains, I apologize. We did not take your endeavours lightly. In fact, we wanted to emulate them. We were going to climb the sidewalk beside a very busy road as if it was the side of a mountain. We were all roped together and I’m pretty sure there was a pickaxe involved. Our starting point was about a half mile or a mile away from school. We were so sure of ourselves, cocky even. Our plan was to climb the street and literally climb into the half-time show at the game. We expected applause and adulation and lots and lots of money raised for United Way. We were so young.

We started out just great. Enthusiasm was high. We got down on our stomachs and hugged the sidewalk as if it was the side of a mountain. We pulled ourselves along using the cracks in the pavement, fire hydrants, telephone poles and bus shelters. We did stand to walk across the street at an intersection. We were not quite that stupid. A news truck followed us and took copious pictures. I doubt many survived.

We did pretty well for the first several blocks and then eventually we realize just how difficult it was. Plan B. We stood and walked but pulled ourselves around fire hydrants, telephone poles et cetera, et cetera. The problem was, we had spent so much time on our stomachs that we missed halftime at the game. But we were determined to finish this. I don’t actually remember if anyone was on the field when we finally got there. But we did raise money for United Way. And that picture of us? We were so damn tired, smiling hurt!