The boss...she's a funny duck

so she spends a full on weekend
with a big full blown cold
doing a contemplative retreat
with some big reuben gebben
from the USofA

today she wanders in around noon
spends an hour talking about herself
and then gets huffy when we ask her questions
related to the job

yup
the boss
she's a funny duck

Good Day

Good day doesn't have to be a Friday

Doesn't need to be your birthday

The next one then you won't survive

Sing along hold my life

A good day is any day that you're alive

Yes a good day is any day that you're alive

Asked me mmmm, you had to ask me

In the dreams you tell me

Tell them only you were tired

Sing along hold my life

A good day is any day that you're alive

Yeah, a good day is any day that you're alive

A bad day comes every once in awhile your body says

Fourteen hundred shooting stars and (every time?)

A bad day comes every once in your body life

Goodbye

Hold my life one last time

A good day is any day that you're alive

Yes a good day is any day that you're alive

Yes a good day is any day that you're alive

These are the days

~PAUL WESTERBERG~

I don't know why

people are always trying to fix me?

if I say I'm gonna do something
invariably there's 10 people
that can offer me
a different way to do it
or a better way to do it
or a more costly way to do it...

see.....I've got a wee bit of psychosis
in the money department
I am never again going to knowingly
live beyond my means

it's not like I live in fear
but that kind of guilt, or remorse
damn near killed me the last time
and I didn't do it
my ex did!

I got robbed and he got away
but I still had to pay for the truck
2 HD's and a trailer
not to mention the house I lost as a result
and my business
and my health....

so I've learned my lesson
and I won't go there...

but no matter how often I say it
people are always trying to fix me!

case in point
I need to buy a car
cos I live 25 min away
from my job

I had decided to purchase
a beater
to tide me over till I get outta debt
so last night I'm cruising used car lots on line
and I find a couple of "potentials"

this morning I went over to the VOD's
to ask if she wants to come with
while I look
cos she's the one
that has this big push on
for me to get a car
and stop driving hers

I get it but I don't
her pushing for me
to stop driving hers
if ya get my drift?

she can't drive right now
not cos she doesn't know how
and not cos she's too old
or infirm
she can't drive cos she cancelled
her 2nd cataract surgery
and that means she can't see properly
so she can't drive
and now she's decided
that I'm lying to her about what the Dr said
to get to use her car...
soooooo...I need to get a car

but my question is
is it worse for her car to sit in the lot
with no use for a year and a half
or for me to use it
and save myself the trouble
of buying a car when I can't really afford it yet?
but I digress yet again...

so this morning I go over to the VOD's
and ask
and she get's all excited cos we're goin to Kia

I say...Kia? nobody said nuttin about Kia
she says "well I keep telling you
that you can get a brand new Kia
for payments of less than
200.00 a mth over 5 years"
and I say..."but I don't want a Kia"
and then she's off to the races about what
a PITA I am

uhhhh wait?
excuse me?
I'm the pain in the ass
cos I've just come outta
a bankruptcy
and don't want to go any further
into debt than I need to at this juncture?

cos I want to buy a beater?
wasn't it just yesterday you were
harpin at me to sink 1000.00 into the
old hundred dollar car
to get it back on the road?
are you outta yer mind?

WTF?

I don't like

troublemakers.

I don't like people
who thrive on causing
chaos
for others

what would possess someone
who spots something
about someone else
on a blog
post it all over creation
just to try cause chaos?

if ya don't know
what you are seeing is about....
or you don't know
who it is written about....

why not ask?
why assume that it's about you?
got a guilty conscience?

and by the same token
what causes people
to respond to that shyte
in anger?

cos yer really only
playing into their hands
you are actually
contributing into the chaos
yerself

that makes it a win/win
for the troublemaker
and a lose/lose for us

or
I could just shut up
and let the shyte
land where it may!

What is it about people?

what is it about people
that makes them
need to get
all autocratic
and snooty
with others?

what
could be missing
from their lives
to make them
need to get their
jollies
by crapping on others?

case in point
today I attended a meeting
there were about 30 people present
one of the people there
holds the food contract
where I work....

now it seems to me
that if I was contracted
on a yearly basis
to provide service
to a group of people
or an institution
I'd be working on
service with a smile
to guarandamntee
that my contract continued
beyond this year

so I sat thru
45 minutes of this woman
tearing strips offa people
cos they didn't have
their stuff done (ordered) at least
2 weeks in advance

now I get that
when providing a service
that you can't do all on your own
you have to hire staff
and schedule them
but realistically
in an institution
this size

2 weeks?

if that was the way
things always operated
she'd have no service to provide
cos shyte happens
at the last minute
all the damn time

and having come from the
food industry
(once upon a time)
I know that you can get
almost any kind of food
you need
delivered to your kitchen
the day before...

so what's up with that?

and hell
the ladies in my whole department
(except for me cos I'm the early bird)
operates on the
"never do today
what you can possibly put off
till the last minute" theory

but that's cos we operate on
a cost recovery model
and we are always waiting
till the last minute
to see if we get
more butts in seats!

and really?
what kind of nuclear physicist does it take
to arrange coffee for 25?

I just don't get people....

Pickle Power!

Boarding the Crofton Ferry

the Ladies do Salt Spring Island

this will probably only make sense to the people that were there - but here it is in a nutshell
the brief synopsis:

• brrrrrrrrrrrrrr n balaclavas
• whooooohoooooo
• new hand signal for women only
• herding cats
• shop till ya drop
• mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm chocolate
• new members/fresh meat
• limes on every finger
• ginch gonch
• gold lamme and a ball n chain
• somebody "screw me please"
• know your "provice"
• moon over salt spring
• menopause tour
• "start the car"
• prayer for Joe and absent friends
• is that a banana - or are ya just happy to see me
• happy anniversary
• limbo bruises
• decorating surprises
• jammies!
• princess n the pea
• "SANDWICH'S"
• tylenol & ibuprophen & coffee
• step ow step ow step ow
• photo ops
• more shopping
• hugs n tears
• riding in the rain

Happy Friday!

So
First off
This week has proven to be a bit of a challenge as my boss has been a hysteric all week…culminating in her sitting in her office and crying for hours yesterday.
I’ve tried to be empathetic but it’s hard
She’s all prickly and dismissive
So I’m of the “Stay Low n Keep Moving” persuasion
I’ve been here for about 45min this morning and she’s crying again
So maybe I’ll just close her office door so I don’t have to listen to her
Sound’s like I’m being a bitch – but frankly – people who spend all their time with their heads in the clouds cry a lot when they land back on earth with a resounding thump!

There are entirely too many people that feel a need to impart upon you the “right” and “wrong” of what you are doing at any given time of the day and mostly I don’t take it personally – but she sure seems to.

Moving on….
2 years ago I attended a motorcycle event here in BC called the Summer Stomp
It was a rather monumental event for me on a couple of levels…my trike broke down on the Coquilhalla Highway 30 miles from nowhere on the side of a mountain with sheer drops on both sides and no water to drink in 37 degree Celsius weather (that’s 100 Fahrenheit for those of you that are metric challenged) – the only saving grace was that my buddy Bryan was with me and kept me from getting airborne…he did so in his usual pedantic style by parking his trike behind mine and pulling his cap over his eyes and going to sleep!

I ended up being towed all the way across the connector to Kelowna BC to find someone to work on my then old and tired trike motor and then I had to climb on to Bryan’s trike and come back 2 days later to pick it up!

This was also the weekend that I introduced Bryan to my friend BeeWise and a year later stood with them when they got married – so it was an auspicious holiday in more ways than one….

But I digress yet again!

So that summer when many of my friends gathered at the rally called Summer Stomp – one of the fellows that was there is an American Merchant Marine named PFGeorge (Georgie’s nickname won’t be used in it’s entirety for this missive but keep in mind that we are bikers and our nicknames reflect personality often – not to be used in public but we do anyway…so the P in PFGeorge stands for Pig and the rest I will let your own imagination deal with!)

Anyhow –PFGeorge was just returning from a stint in the east and had a day or two in Singapore and while there purchased gifts for many of his female friends (sly fellow knows the way to our hearts) – we got lovely silk scarves, we got key chains depicting the Merlion and we got lovely little silk and velvet embroidered bags on long cords, just big enough to hold your “family jewels”.

As it was so hot I immediately took off all 8 of my sterling silver rings and placed them in the bag and wore the bag around my neck for the rest of my holiday. (heat does really “fluidy” things to post menopausal women) Now these rings are a collection of silver that I have acquired over my lifetime – a Mexican calendar coin, a Lothlorien leaf ring, a faceless fairy for protection, 2 very powerful Celtic knot rings, a RFS ring an antique onyx claddagh that was my great grandmother’s and my Wisdom ring.

Each one had special meanings for me…the Mexican ring was given to me by an elder after a particular tough time in my life in my 20’s, the Lothlorien ring was a gift from my former religious association when I reached the position of Wisdom as was my Wisdom ring (when I say former I mean cos I don't live in that area anymore - but I'm still of that religious conviction). The Celtic knot rings are both heritage rings and serve as protection as does the faceless fairy (which I’ve been wearing since I reached womanhood in my early teens) and the RFS ring I was awarded when I stepped up to the plate and became the BC RFS chair 7 years ago (a position I have since retired from)

So fast forward a week and I return from my holidays that summer and my parents are at my home…I remember pulling the little bag with the rings in it out to show them….and after that I have no recollection of the bag or the rings… I looked high and low for a few months and then assumed that I’d somehow thrown them out.

A month ago whilst attending the hand fasting of some friends in Nanaimo I went shopping with my friend BeeWise and finally admitted defeat and purchased a rather loverly sterling sliver ring. It looks for all the world sort of “ Star Trek” ish.

Last night I was in my store room tossing boxes around trying to make room for the Dell computer boxes that I have to save just in case I ever need them. I pulled some shoe boxes off of a shelf and heard the distinct chime of jewellery. Pulled the rest of the boxes off that shelf and spot a long black cord. Moved some more stuff and there’s the embroidered silk and velvet bag fulla rings!

Karma works in mysterious ways no?
Out came the polishing cloth and today I am wearing some of my long lost rings.

I am a happy camper…and that coupled with the seeming “act of god” that allows a pay check to mysteriously appear in my account every second Friday and the fact that I am off tomorrow morning for a weekend of “women” with 35 ladies from my riding club (what more does a girl need than 35 women, a smallish island, flannel jammies and a credit card?)

....makes this a very Happy Friday indeed!

Virginia Tech

my heart weeps for all 33 people
coldly and cruelly
gunned down in their prime...

I am shocked by the abhorrent visages
and repulsed by the media coverage

again and again
I sink to my knees in horror
at the loss

and I weep

Yet I rise again
in pride and admiration
for those brave heroes
that died in an effort to aid those
in their care

I am bereft, forlorn, inconsolable
and afraid

I've been reading
and listen
with incredulity
and stunned silence....

I need to know

to understand...

what kind of bankrupt morality allows for
the fact that people knew
that the young gun wielder
had "issues"

that his writing
"scared" his professors
and that they "feared" him
or that his art was "dark"

yet they did nothing?

what has happened to humanity...

that they would not take action
when they knew something was so very wrong?

why would they wait
for someone else to do something?

why would they not get involved

to avoid just this kind of travesty?

why has humanity become reactive
and not proactive?

are we as human beings
so completely afraid of the repercussions
that we no longer will step into the fray?

are we as human beings
so terribly concerned about our possessions
that we fear to lose them
by getting involved?

I don't want to hear that Rosie O'Donnell
is having a "bad time" dealing with this

she should

I don't need to know that Kelly Ripa
is "feeling bad"

she should

I don't give a shit what "Hollywood" thinks or feels

humanity should take stock...

and I sure as hell
don't need to watch over and over the
protestations of his last year's English prof
that she tried to "talk" to him or about

Liar!
I call
Liar!
and SHAME!

Shame!

Shame!

try harder damn it!

Had they tried harder
this could have been avoided
and 33 people would still be breathing...
alive...
to go on to greatness...
to love...
to have children...
to bounce their grandchildren on their knees...
and to help others...

I can not compare this wickedness
and horror at Virginia Tech
to Columbine
nor the World Trade Center
nor the Middle East

Each and every one
of these abominations
and tragedies
are burnt forever
into my brain

for
I fear what humanity
is becoming

I fear for our humanity
I fear our lack thereof.

Actual letter sent to product supplier...

courtesy of Bee_Wise - names have been changed to protect the innocent :o)

Dear Mr. XXXXXXXX,

I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the Leak Guard Core(tm) or Dri-Weave(tm) absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favourite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. XXXXXXXX? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills."

Isn't the human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from "Aunt Flo". Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behaviour. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women.

In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words:

"Have a Happy Period." Are you fucking kidding me?

What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong", or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And although I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit.

And that's a promise I will keep...

Always.

Best, XXXXX XXXXX
Austin, TX

TGIF!

Friday the 13?

are you superstitious?

I am working an event at the university today with the world renowned artist Robert Bateman....I sure hope I can keep the drool offa my chin!

This just caught my fancy....

Dualys

seems the VOD
took a tumble
smacked her face
on the side of the bathtub
and now has a pair of black eyes
that would make any street fighter
proud

imagine!
dualys at 77

too bad she was pissed as a billy goat when it happened

Drugs effects on the brain...

What a cool way to show the effects of drugs on the brain.

Drugs effects on the brain

To Move or not to Move

since I started this new job
I have had a running discourse
with myself about whether or not to move
closer to the job
(I've gone from a 3 min drive
to a 20 min drive and with the current
price of gas...that's nothing to laugh at!)

there's the usual ramifications
to be considered
with the concept of moving....

but there's also the effect
or affect
of such a move on the VOD

is she still capable of taking care of herself?
have I in fact become a crutch?
or must she have the little "things"
I do for her on a daily basis?

is it possible for me to have a life
that wouldn't involve being
the beck and call girl
and thereby removing the need
for me to feel resentment
against the bother and blister
for their constant nattering
but no action?

S0...my father was in town
for Easter
and he and I
spent some time
talking about just that....

we discussed buying
vs
renting

he suggests buying a mobile home
not a double wide like lots of my friends
but a single
cos I'm single
what do I need
all that space for anyway?
and not new.....but used

then there's the whole discussion about
what's the chances
that someone with a financial history
like mine (bad choices bad men bad health etc)
and just having changed jobs
will even get a mortgage
let alone a personal loan?

but anyway
we spent some time today
discussing mobile homes
with my cousin the carpenter
and my cousin's father in law
the "know it all"

the end result being that we went out
to look at a couple of "parks"
to see if I could be interested

I found one park that is full of mobiles
from the 70's and 80's
but with lots of refurbishing
and not too expensive

the real draw for me
is the ambiance of this park
it's real "West Coast".....
on a hill.... well established
lots of Arbutus trees and ferns
looks like it's set in a rain forest
allows small pets...

the lots are small
but I don't want to have to deal
with a lawn
I'd like a lawn big enough
to care for with nail scissors
if ya get my drift....

in the end I came home
with a feeling that I may just
seriously think about
this as an option

I arrive home
tired and satiated
full of Easter peace
and family fun (ok - that's an oxymoron!)
to yet another
fucking flood

apparently
something happened to the
twit upstairs
and I'm under water again

if ever there was an argument
for moving out of this god damn building
it would be having to use every damn
towel in the house to get the fucking water
up offa the floor in the bathroom
and know
that because we have scheduled laundry times
I will have to live with a garbage bag
fulla wet towels
till next Sunday
when it's my turn
and the wait for the drywall
to dry
so they can assess the damage yet again
(they still haven't done anything after the last bloody flood)

I sooo want to move
I want a stand alone building
even if it's just a trailer

I want a washer and dryer in it
or the ability to install them

I want a spare room
so my computer can get the hell outta my living room

I want to be able to use my stereo
not to keep my neighbours away
but to listen to music

I want a carport - or the ability to put one up

I want to get on with my life

and I want to do so without feeling guilty
about the VOD

and I may even consider
giving up my holidays to do it.....

so......this is me
putting it out there in the cosmos
Just in case

Spring has Sprung?

Spring has sprung
the grass is rizz
and I know where all
the whacko's live....

it's a fucking holiday
are these people all insane?

7:30 this morning
the old doll upstairs
vacuums her bedroom

the temp is 18 degrees Celsius
outside
and I can't open my door or window
cos the Voodoo God and his lovely bride
Screechin Bitch
are sitting in their yard smoking all day
and it blows directly into my apartment

then there's the VOD
who got her panties in a major wad
cos I wouldn't drive her to her banks
one 20 min away
and one up the block

"mom" I says
"it's a holiday"
"well I need to go"
"I know....but it's a holiday"
"what's that got to do with it?"
"banks close on holidays"
"well the stores are open...
it says so in all the flyers...."
"that's nice mom...but the banks
and all the government offices are closed....
that's why I have a 4 day weekend...
cos it's a holiday"
"well that's just wrong! I need to go to the bank"

then she tells me that I ignore her....
and that I'm really not a being fair to her
I guess I lost my temper
but I've been her fucking beck and call girl
for over a year
with no help or even financial assistance from
the bother or the blister
since she first got sick
all them trips to Costco
to get her drinking water
were not my fuckin idea
nor was it my idea that every single damn time
I have gone out for a meal in the past 2 years
it's been with her
cos I'm so worried about her becoming
a god damn recluse

but I'm ignoring her
and really not being fair
fine then....
let's see how fair it gets from here!

nothing like yer mother
to bring out the child in you eh?

I went out for a brief ride
but I started coughing
besides it looks like
some mental midget
scratched the Pickle again

and now the Screechin Bitch
is out in her yard
having a screechin conversation
with someone on the 3rd floor

Yup
Spring has sprung
the grass is rizz
and I know where all
the whacko's live....

have you ever?

have you ever looked back at an occurance in your life and wondered what you'd learned from it?

this occurred in Aug of 2003
but I thought ya'll might enjoy reading it again...

So it occurred to me some time this summer that I am 48 years old and that’s 2 years away from 50 and that’s a freakin half-century!

Now I know that I have been jokingly saying that to my mother for months, which usually prompts her to look me square in the eye and turn her hearing aid off. But I don’t think that the actual fact sunk in till the last couple of days.

Here I am confronted with my longevity, or the lack there of. Which by and large only serves to make me a depressed person. It makes me examine my life in the minute, and I hate it when that happens.

I understand that I have remained youthful in many things because I don’t have children and I live next door to my mother. These facts can be supported with the argument that raising children ages you, as you have concrete evidence of your dotage staring you right in the face, and of course, no matter how old you are...yer still the kid at your mom’s house.

So I have been musing over my accomplishments, or in my eyes, the lack there of. I was doing just that, quietly, in my apartment, yesterday afternoon when it also occurs to me that part of the cacophony of sound sneaking through my closed patio doors from the park next door, is my mother’s voice raised in something akin to anger or fear.

At the time I was sitting in my living room, bare feet up on my coffee table, wearing jean shorts and a Harley Davidson t-shirt and looking for all the world (in my mind anyway) like a relaxing Buddha. In actual fact, I am pretty sure at the moment of recognition I was wallowing in self-pity (also known as taking stock).

Here I am 48 years old. I am bald, unemployed, I live in a 650 sq foot apartment, and I drive the incredible $100.00 car. My motor pickle is ill, I can’t afford a new front end, and I am likely 100 lbs overweight. (Not that I’m counting or nothing) I have no relationship with a member of the opposite sex, nor do I suppose that a woman with a temperament and a waist like mine will have in the distant future. (Can we all say bitch?)

I am broke, as they say, flatter than piss on a plate and have just recently found out that my employment insurance will run out in December. So I have to, yet again, pull my “game face” outta the closet, dust it off, and go back out into the world of insecurity and self-doubt.

Sound like fun?

Anyway, so I’m sitting on my couch on Friday afternoon, ostensibly playing with my belly button lint when I hear through my closed patio door, my wee mother’s voice raised in indignation.

I immediately assume that she’s hollering at the squirrels or rabbits that have been eating ‘the daylights’ out of her flower garden. But in almost the same thought I understand that this is not my mother fussing, but my mother, hard core upset.

My Mom, as you can guess, is older than me. She’s a tiny woman full of love and fire. She likes a good laugh, she tells a good story, (the older the better) and she even enjoys the occasional sip of Scotch. She’s a soft touch for the underdog and she will go out on a limb for those that she believes in.

She takes the trials and tribulations of the world on her shoulders just like Atlas. (Please don’t get her started on the subject of genetically engineer foodstuffs or the plight of the North American farmer.) She played a large part in teaching me good from bad, right from wrong, lessons that I struggle with to this day. She don’t get mad often my Mom, but when she does, it’s likely that all three of her kids get mad right along with her.

I get up off my couch and pull open my patio door, just to make sure that I’m mistaken. The overall decibel level of the noise from the park, combined with hearing my Mom holler “don’t do that!” makes me head out the sliding door, through my wee West Coast patio and yard and out through the gate to have a look at what is going on.

As I step through the gate and past the big ole pine tree to my left I hear my mother from in front of her gate holler again. This time it is “Stop! Stop! Stop!” and as I turn my head to look through the 7-foot chain link fence that separates the park from our apartment building’s property I spy a crowd of approximately ten to twelve “kids.”

Teenagers, in the park next door, have become the bane of my existence. They are noisy, disrespectful thieves. Over the years that I have lived here I have had my car broken into in the parking lot. The little heathens stole some precious mementos, some music and defecated in the back seat. Cost me the price of a window and my mother’s sense of security about her home.
I, continually, in the middle of the night, have to go out and pull the patronizing little punks off of my motor pickle. (You all remember the story of the young man that told me “don’t get excited Grandma”?) It’s obvious to me by now that I just don’t get the next generation. That in essence I have become my parents, and this of course only further complicates the musings and meanderings I have been doing about my age…but I digress.

As my head turns and I glance through the chain link fence several things occur to me at once. The crowd is mostly boys. They range in age from twelve to seventeen or eighteen, young men whose bodies have grown faster than their brains. They are all dressed in something akin to gang colours, in that they are all wearing matching basketball team jerseys, shorts and many of them are wearing the same style sneakers. More than half of them are wearing their heads wrapped in pseudo gang do-rags.

One of the older looking boys has a young girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen on the ground, sort of, while the rest of the boys’ crowd around egging him on.

She is lying with one leg curled under her and the other splayed out awkwardly to the left, her tiny skirt is bunched up around her waist and I can see her thong from here. The top half of her body is pulled up off of the ground by the front of her shirt. At first I think that this young man is helping her up. That she has fallen and this nice boy is helping her.

As if in slow motion, it registers to me, that the boy holding her top half up from the ground is not helping her. He leans over her holding her up with his left fist bunched in the front of her lavender shirt and his right arm is cocked and fist clenched as if to punch her in the face. She has one arm wrapped over her head to try to protect her face, the other sort of draped back to the ground. She is crying, and from where I am standing I can see the welts raised on her face and the blood tracking from her nose over her lips and down her chin. This is not the first time she has been hit.

I turn my head again to look at my mother and it seems as if she and a couple of other seniors that live in our building are pressed up against the fence from our side hollering or screaming. As my mother’s face and voice fully register I understand that she is mad and sad, that she is yelling and there are tears coursing down her face.

That is my last cognizant thought for a while.

According to my mother and the other onlookers, I scaled the fence in no time flat. (Fancy that from a tired old fat broad?) I jumped off the top of the fence landing one foot on the ground and the other foot running. (That would account for the big bruise in my instep and the long scratch on my calf)

I reach the little thug in a matter of seconds, and body check him from behind. He literally bowls over the girl he is assaulting landing on his back kind of spread eagle and still holding her shirt but now his arms are over his head.

His face is stunned; he has no idea what has happened or how he got there.
He starts to get up but now I am standing with one leg on each side of his chest with my fists bunched, raging at him like a big bald madwoman. I tell him that “boys shouldn’t hit girls” and as a result of what he has done “I’m gonna fuck him up bad”.

Somewhere in the farthest recesses of my mind I think rather matter of factly that I am spitting on him, that I am shrieking like a fishmonger and I am cussing a blue streak in public and that’s gonna make my Mom cranky again. (Do you remember the story of the words we should never ever use together in the same sentence?)

The kid scrambles back a bit and begins to get up again, his head swiveling back and forth on his neck searching for an opening. He’s got a welt on his forehead, so maybe I did hit him. He and I do a dance where he gets up and I shove him and he gets up and I shove him half way around the park. He is now screaming at me that he’s gonna get his father and I tell him, “No problem, I’ll fuck him up too!”

I am brave and crazy.

One of his friends punches me in the shoulder and I smack him off without even looking at him. The rest back away I don’t know if they are smarter than their friend or just plain scared.
The assaulter gets up and starts for me swinging. In some feat of magic I am able to slap away his hands and give his ears a boxing that would have made my Granny proud.

He drops to his knees, holding his head as the police arrive.

The rest, once again, as they say, is history…the police and the kids begin to sort out what has happened and I walk away home, this time down to the end of the park, around the community hall and into our parking lot, ouch, ouching at my bare feet and the gravel.

I make it to my mother and she is shaking her head and puts her arm around me as we head through her gate and yard and into her living room. She tells me that I am gonna be some sore tomorrow and tells me to go home and have a hot bath and a stiff drink and to not to forget to take some bromelain as that will help with the soreness. I figure that I am likely to need it all. When I look into her face I see pride mixed with fear and anger.

As I step through my front door I start to shake as it becomes apparent to me that which I have just done. I tell myself that I am tough, just like the old days and that coupled with my being full of self-righteous indignation allows me to believe that I have only done what any other sane person would have done in my place. Which makes me cry and then I am busy convincing myself that once the police figure everything out I am going to end up in jail.

So I sit on the floor just inside my front door and have a good sob as the anger seeps away and feeling returns. I spend a fair time just crying and berating myself for getting into trouble yet again. Now all I can think of is that my Dad, the retired policeman, is gonna finally burst a vein in his forehead when he hears this one, but at least I won’t have to break it to my Mom.

Eventually the police come to our building, to my mother’s via the yard and she comes to get me via the hallway. I wipe my face, blow my nose and get up and follow her to her apartment convinced that I am going to jail.

The police officers are both seeming twelve, but likely in their thirties. Young men in uniform, one kinda grumpy and small and the other with big blue eyes and very muscular arms. They ask me to tell them what happened as they have already heard it from everyone else. They have not only talked to my Mom and my neighbours, but the kids in the park, and an elderly couple that happened to be walking their dog and the parents of the young girl who is now in the hospital. As is the delinquent, apparently he is having a problem with his ears.

I tell my story as literally as I can remember it, liberally sprinkled with comments both pro and con from my Mom. She and I are sitting on the love seat while the officers are standing over us in Mom’s Wedgwood blue and white living room. Mom is occasionally dabbing at the scrape on my leg with one of her never-ending supplies of wadded tissues.

When I am about half way through the story I look up and directly into the twinkling eyes of the blue-eyed cop and it takes me aback to realize that he is struggling to keep from laughing out loud. Eventually the gruff cop tells me that “next time I should call the cops and then wait and let then knock the snot outta the little beggar”, and that the young girls parents are charging him with assault and that they would love to meet me and best of all, I will not be charged with anything. The police leave.

In retrospect, several things occur to me. Maybe this getting old shit ain’t so bad after all?…and it’s a poor day when you can’t surprise yourself.

I know that if I had set out to get into a fistfight I’d surely have got my ass whupped, and whupped badly. I even feel like I did today, but I hear stories of adrenaline doing amazing things to people all the time and now I can only look at that fence and shake my head in wonderment.

I better understand that the lessons that I have learned, both good and bad, last a long time. I understand that wearing your “game face” is just part of everyday life. I understand that I am not going to jail and I thank my lucky stars for that.

But above and beyond all else…I understand that I’m getting too old for this shit….and I gotta stop watchin them freakin “hero” videos.

I'm about to turn 52 now and as I re-read this I'm reminded of how instinct always takes over when I am beyond fear or anger, I am reminded that children are the product of their environment and I am reminded that now - 4 years later the little brat is in jail as he went to court charged with assault as a minor and was remanded to his mother's care because she avowed as he "wasn't a bad child" a year later he beat her (his mother) so badly that her jaw was broken and now he's serving time for assault with a weapon on someone in the city.

I am also reminded of how lucky I am to have not truly lost my temper and hurt the little brat while I was bouncing him around the park...cos I too could be in jail.

In 4 years my life has changed in that I am no longer "upset" with myself for being bald, single or plus sized...I've quit beating myself up about it...and I am lucky enough to have found a group of world class friends that fill the void in my life (for the most part)...I have a good job with benefits (even if the boss is nuts) I have no car but my trike is like brand new - so life ticks on....

...and life is good

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

~Philip Larkin~

Sometimes my foolishness

surpises even myself...

so I get all geared up and jump on the Pickle this morning to head for coffee...I'm riding along West Saanich listening to the sound of my trike motor thinking she's running a little rich and I need to find someone to adjust my carb

and then it occurs to me that I hear paper flappin in the wind
"what the hell is that?" I says to myself

I catch sight of myself in my rear view mirror
it's the invoice Kiffy pinned to my vest for all the sewing she did for me....I forgot all about it

betcha people drove by me thinking
what a strange person that is!!!