Tag Archives: positive changes

17 Seconds

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That’s it, 17 seconds.  Count them, go ahead: 1-1000, 2-1000, 3-1000, 4-1000, 5-1000 ………Done? All of them? Well now guess what, phfst, snap, whoosh.  Those 17 seconds no longer exist except perhaps in your memory and even that will fade.

Now a length of time measured in seconds doesn’t seem all that noteworthy, at least not to those who have a potential life span well into 90 years.   Mayflies only live for 24 hours so 17 seconds would be important.  And it should be to you and me as well.  Minds can be changed in 17 seconds, wars can be initiated in 17 seconds, a lingering kiss can . . . Well you get the picture.  A lot can happen in 17 seconds.

It takes much less time for a life to pass on, for love to bloom (ok maybe in some cases it’s only lust but it is ‘a blooming!).  We spend so much time organizing, planning and cajoling and yet sometimes it is the unexpected hiccups that are the most memorable.

I once had several guns pointed directly at me.  It seemed to last for a lifetime as visions of my oh so young life flashed brightly across my mind’s eye.  It probably only lasted for a few seconds but OH MY WORD!!!

It was a dark and stormy night . . . Ok, ok, yes, it was dark and cold.  I was on my way to a night class in Anthropology.  Mid-eighties, winter. I was minding my own business, head down, when out of the corner of my eye I see dozens of huge men with drawn guns racing towards me, directly towards me.  Someone screamed “FREEZE” and I froze, solid.  I don’t think I dared to breathe.

Now I am told that memory is a fragile thing, often tempered by television, movies, news articles, even suggestions from other people. Well, that may be true but I am here to tell you my truth.  I wasn’t afraid.  Honestly.  I don’t think I had the time to consciously form a thought.  I was frozen, remember.  The officers (only 3 or 4) raced past me and into the building I was adjacent to.  Fortunately, one of them came back to release me from my frozen state.  I continued on to my class and only later discovered what had happened.

It seemed some unsavoury characters were hiding in plain sight on my University Campus. Pretty smart when you think about it.  The police were smarter.

Many years later I joined a Police Department.  Did that encounter unconsciously point me in that direction?  17 seconds can change your life.

And one thing can be counted on to be absolutely true:  Those 17 seconds will never come again.  So use them wisely.

He Nudged Me

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I was lost

And so unsure

I felt I was adrift.

 

What is right

And who is wrong

Choices must be made.

 

And then He nudged me.

 

I took a path

I did not know

And wondered at the time.

 

I heard words

And voices raised

In honour of a man.

 

I saw a light

Soft and clear

That beckoned in my mind.

 

It was His light

That I followed

And now the choice is clear.

 

All because He nudged me.

 

A House in the Forest

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There’s a house in the forest

That’s hidden from view.

Wait I can see it!

I can see it, can’t you?

Behind the closed door

Are secrets untold.

Do you want to go see?

Let’s dare to be bold!

The secrets for telling,

The fun we could gain!

But other’s distress,

In some cases pain.

I think we should stop,

It’s the right thing to do.

The house in the forest

Stays hidden from view.

Ah, Hell!

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This past week, in my neck of the woods, has been hot. Hot! Hot! Hot! Now I am sure there’re other parts of the world where this is simply another day. But not here. Canada is known for its cold not its hot! There are a great many people here that love this weather:  hot, hazy, humid. I’m not one of them. Last night at about 6 o’clock the temperature felt like 41°C that’s 105.8F.  That’s hot!

I made an off-the-cuff comment to a friend of mine that I didn’t like the heat and I had better behave because I wouldn’t do well in Hell.  We laughed and I said I simply wouldn’t go. And then I started to think . . .

Hell is a concept that was used to frighten children into behaving and to coerce adults into being better versions of themselves. But that concept came from religion. If there is a God there must be a Devil.  If you believe it one, you must believe in the other. Ying and Yang, light and dark, the world in balance. It also dawned on me that Hell as a concept would have different meanings to different people. An entomologist would be fascinated to be surrounded by bugs. Someone with a phobia would not. One Heaven, one Hell? Some people bask in the heat, some people wither and die.

My idea of torture is being locked in a room somewhere without something to read. It has happened and I swear I went a little mad. Which could go a long way to explaining some things. I’m just saying. But let’s be serious, the idea of Hell crosses all religious borders. It isn’t always a place of torture sometimes it’s just a place to store the dead. Somewhere else. The underworld. But it seems that no matter what you believe in, there seems to be a correlation between Heaven and Hell. So does that mean we’re more alike than different?

There is also an argument to be made that we make our own Heaven and Hell right here. That doesn’t detract from the concept of an afterlife but it simply entices us to take control of our lives and make it better or in some cases continue wallowing in misery. That is one hell of a power!

 

 

 

 

Recipe for life

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A dash of humour

Is a spice I adore

Curiosity of course

Of that I want more.

 

Compassion and tolerance

Are vital I trust

To properly season

This stew we discussed.

 

You’re not done yet

There is still more to learn

Keep stirring I pray

And don’t let it burn!

 

Next add a pinch

No more and no less

Confidence is needed

To this I confess.

 

Kindness goes in

And generosity too

We always need manners

And not just a few!

 

Honour and honesty

Are herbs for this pot

Perhaps some wisdom

I’m not asking a lot.

 

Next sprinkle the top

With a generous amount

A smile is important

On that you can count.

 

Now let it simmer

And cook all the way

The ingredients must meld

For many a day.

 

Too many cooks

Can spoil a good broth

So just let it bubble

Away from the cloth.

 

The day will come soon

When the recipe is done

And serving the stew

Is when life has begun.

Looking Back

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As I have grown older and I am now embarking on a new decade, I find myself looking back. I am fondly reliving the things I did, wondering at the choices I made and remembering the incredible things I have seen. I have had a good life. But here’s the thing:  why am I looking back? It’s fun to reminisce but I should be looking forward and planning the next adventure. I should, but I don’t.

Now granted, due to my recent illness there are changes in my life that I’m having to get used to. And yes, that will probably take time. I’m not old! I’m older. I’m older than I was and not as old as I will be. At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

I do find that when people reach a certain age (and that age changes individually) they seem to spend far more time in the past then they do in the future. I don’t want to be one of those people. I don’t want to get so lost in the joys and successes of my past that I miss out on making any new ones. That is so sad. I know individuals in their 70s, 80s and even the 90s who are making plans, enjoying life. They are actually living their life. They are not sitting on their proverbial laurels and wallowing in the past, they are making new memories! I admire that and I can’t figure out why I’m not doing it!

At this point I have to make a confession:  I am not a patient person. Oh, I love to sit quietly and read a book from cover to cover but when I do . . . do not interrupt! I find it difficult to watch a movie, unless it is incredibly engrossing, without doing something else at the same time. I expected to be able to do exactly what I was doing before I went into hospital. I’m also little thick. (I do hate the word stupid but sometimes I do a really good imitation)

My reality has changed. I’m not as strong as I was. I require more care, more assistance. So changes have to be made.  I can do that. Trouble is coordinating everybody else. I do have plans in my head I can’t quite get everyone else to see. But it is good. I just need to be patient.

And I really do need to stop remembering that idyllic weekend in northern Ontario sitting on a rock overlooking the lake. He was 6 foot two, curly blond hair, broad-shoulders, hands that . . . Good girls don’t kiss and tell!

He Said, She Said

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I was walking down the street the other day, (yes, I say walking even though I’m in a wheelchair) and I heard something very interesting. I was not intending to listen to a conversation, but it is inevitable when large groups of people are together. The conversation went something like this:

“He’s going to kill again!”

“He doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t know any better.”

Now at this point it did cross my mind that perhaps this was a conversation for the police to hear. And yes, I slowed my forward motion just a tad so I could hear the rest of the conversation. Again, it crossed my mind that this might be a stupid thing to do as perhaps I didn’t want to be a witness to a crime? But Curiosity will always win. After all, I might get a great story out of this!

I did sneak a peek at the two individuals who were speaking. I might be called to identify against them. They seemed to be in their mid 30s, well dressed, well spoken (except for the allegedly illegal crime). They didn’t seem to be in any great hurry and it was the perfect day for loitering. I also wasn’t in any hurry and besides, Curiosity!

It was also at that point that I started to wonder about all the conversations we hear, whether intentionally or not and just how they affect us. This conversation got my creative juices on high alert. Was there a story here that I could tell (fictionally of course)? It was starting to sound like a movie of the week or maybe a series! I really needed to hear more!

The conversation continued and while I was enlightened as to the actual topic, I was also crestfallen. My creative juices had a little too much vinegar in them.

“I gave him a book on how to do it. He didn’t read the book.”

“He’s not a reader. He figures everybody should know how to grow tomatoes­, but he doesn’t.”

They were talking about tomato plants! I tried very hard not to be heard laughing as I went on my merry way. At the very least I got something to write about for my Sunday post. And I should not have been so quick to judge something I did not understand. I think that’s a little more common than we would like.