BATH TIME IN A RARE SPRING MOMENT

It snowed at the start of the week.




When it cleared up the next day, I saw these two guys at the pond.

This robin decided to hop in and take a bath.

He is giving me the side-eye; as though I've disturbed his quiet time.

I was nice to see the frogs out. There used to be alot more here,

but since many of the wetlands are disappearing, they are too.

There was actually snow mixed with rain when I got off my graveyard shift this morning. Yesterday, we'd also had a thunderstorm which was strong enough to cause what I call a

"group run." Like a herd of scared cattle, my cats will sometimes bolt as though they were one creature. . If one starts to run, it will trigger a chain reaction. So much for the 'pitter patter" of

little feet. When Sandburg wrote that "the fog comes on little cat feet," he had obviously not met

my tribe. That would have been one noisy fog, indeed.

MORE THAN WORDS

`````A couple of months ago, I was singled out for thanks by somebody in management. They had put together a memorial wall to honour staff members who had passed away, and one of them thanked me for my recall. I thought that it was a nice gesture; both the concept of the wall and the offering me recognition for helping with it What saddened me was how many had died in a short period of time.

`````Sometimes, we do not realize until too late the value of certain lessons. One of my coworkers came across as very brusque---very "old school" as one would say. It took me a while to realize that the fact he was imparting his wisdom upon me meant alot. It indicated that he believed I had potential. If he hadn't thought so, he wouldn't have botherered telling me anything at all. I learned so much from him over the years. In fact, I refer to the skills he taught me as the basic "golden rules" and I find myself imparting them to new staff.

`````Looking back, I realize that it must have been difficult for some of these men to accept the changes that were being forced upon them. They weren't used to having women enter a traditionally male field, especially very young ones with a college education. I have to acknowledge that my university, at the time, had departments that were even more radical then Berkley had been back in its hey-day. The Women's Studies Department would issue manifestos that it was now the "Womyn's Centre" and that "all men were potential rapists." I had somebody in a couple of my political science tutorials who went off and became so embroiled in the political struggle in South America that she was charged with the kidnapping of a supermarket owner. So, of course, we left with a certain chip on our shoulder. Is there anything more ignorant than a newly minted student, bent on showing others what "they" are doing wrong and intent on changing the world?

`````Many of the men with whom I'd worked were very intelligent, yet hadn't had the option of going to school. One such man became a close friend, despite several decades in age span. He confessed to me that he'd always been interested in psychology and had always wished that he could take courses in it. He loved talking about the topic with the new hires. He also had a great interest in classical music. None of these interests were shared by his wife, who laughed at it. He learned to keep quiet about it, except with us. Sometimes, we'd get together for coffee. When he went on vacations, he'd bring back little mugs or trinkets with the names of the places he'd visited as gifts for me. We kept in touch after he retired, and I was saddened greatly when an accident killed him. In truth, the line of a poem came to me: What happens to a dream deferred?

`````It was a great lesson for me; that a person may know alot about a topic even though they've never studied it. Imagine that.

`````There were people who told me of the "men who'd gone before." These were the guys who I had never met, but had worked in the job earlier. I wish that I had written the stories down, for when these tale tellers died, the history went with them. I recall one of them---the story of a huge man who would bring old dolls to work on the night shift to fix for children. Nobody dared laugh, given his size and reputation. It was described to me; this giant, bent over the dolls, as he took pained detail in fixing them, so that somebody could love them again.

`````That was another important lesson for the College Kid; don't make assumptions about what's going on a person's insides based on their surface. Men keep a lot of things hidden. I couldn't be a hypocrite. If I got angry when people judged on appearances (such as weight), it was unfair of me to assume that because somebody had been in the military, as so many of these men had been, that they must be a certain way. Many times, for them, it was simply an economic choice.

`````There's hardly a topic that didn't come up over the years. When a person opens their mind to look beyond age and appearance, it's possible to discover a vast array of mutual interests. It is possible to have friends with people of the opposite sex or with people who first seem to be completely different. They also taught me so much. To me, they are much, much more than just names on a wall.

DEJEUNER SUR L'HERBE

There is a garden around here that I like to go, and it opened on March 27. I was

working when it opened, of course, which was one of the rare nice days.

As you can see, there is still fresh snow around. In fact, right before I went to work the other night, there were actually snow flakes coming down. I had to scrape my windshield this morning. However, even though it was still fairly chilly this morning, it felt nice in the sun. It was due to start raining again, so I had to set off. I had a new book that I'd just picked up in the mail (from Amazon.com), called "Lady Injury" by Melissa C Water. So, I saw outside, bought a cinnamon scone and some Diet Coke and began to read for a while. I then walked around for a while. Everything is well behind last season. One of the trees which was in full bloom last year, is only now beginning to bud. However, I did catch a robin stealing moss off the "church" roof.

NO EXIT AND THE BLEAK HOUSE

`````On graveyards, I sat and stared at the exit sign in the otherwise dark building. It was lunch break at the Bleak House, and it was dead quiet. I pulled out my attempt at morose poetry from the previous night, and changed a few lines. It was too dark to notice the cellulite of the stars, which somebody had left on the counter. Since my lunch was nothing but Diet Pepsi, I had time to kill. `````It was the exit sign that gave me the idea. I was reminded of one of my favourite plays; Sartre's "No Exit." For those who haven't seen it, or haven't read it, the play features three characters who meet in hell. Hell isn't a place with pitchforks and fire; rather, it's one room with slightly out of date furniture. What makes it worthy of eternal suffering is that the three people are perfectly suited to drive each other insane---and they can never leave. They cannot sleep, or die or leave that dreaded room. `````I asked myself, what three authors or intellectuals, would drive each other insane if placed in "hell" together? `````My perfect combination was as follows: Norman Mailer, Sylvia Plath and Catherine Mackinnon. I won't go into the details, and most people know who they are. Norman Mailer could easily be defined as a "man's man." Those who weren't so fond of him called him a misogynist. He could be fairly blunt in his opinions and was made no secret of his love of beautiful women. Catherine Mackinnon was fiercely bright and outspoken against pornography. Sylvia Plath, of course, needs no introduction. In her journals, she made her dislike of unmarried women such as Catherine Mackinnon well known. Ahh yes, I believe this would prove to be the perfect "No Exit" axis of egos. `````My choice having been made, and the Diet Pepsi drained, lunch was over. It was back to business.
(Photo from Manual selling office equipment).

PATIO LANTERNS AND AN ATV QUAD

Perhaps when the cat gets braver, I will snap a photo. You'll have to trust me when I state that he's taken to sleeping under the Quad that's parked directly outisde my back door. When it's nice, he sits atop it like a hood ornament. The owner of this quad, should he ever show up, is going to find paw prints on his vehicle.
`
So, how did this Quad come to sit there? That's the $64,000 question, or the Dear Abby dilemna of the day. My friend had been storing it in his garage for a third party for ages. Once upon a time, he'd had a large house with all of the things that go along with being a "guy." That was prior to an ugly divorce, when he had to readjust his life to a small apartment, with thieving tenants and limited storage space. My friend stepped up to the plate, and his garage became available. Then, my friend moved and the Quad had to find a new home. My back patio was going to be a temporary rest stop.
`
I've had things turn up in my yard before. Actually, the quad was being protected by a very expensive car tarp that just blew into town. Not wanting to claim something that I didn't own, I sat it on the fence for months, hoping that the owner would take it away. I began to feel like a gypsy encapment, so I took it down at last. When the ATV Quad arrived, a new use for the tarp was found.
`
A huge competition sized trampoline once blew into my backyard; right over the neighbour's fence, at that. It somehow managed to land on its feet. There it sat, and sat, and sat...until the next windy night picked it up and crumpled it like kleenix into my compost box. I feel as though I live in some odd vortex of gathering storms. The westcoast is not known to be like this, but my little town is an anomoly. While Vancouver can be fairly mild, we can have -35 wind chill at the same time.
`
So, what to do? I suspect it will suffer the same fate as my exercise equipment. It will store drying clothing. I will somehow have to incorporate it into my summer theme. I will have to afix it with pink flamingos. Perhaps I will rest them on the seat and put Harley logos on them. I will festoon the vehicle with little coloured Chinese lanterns. I am fairly certain that it won't be moving anywhere. I suspect that he forgot where it was moved to.
`
On the bright side, at least the stray is a male cat. Otherwise, he could be dealing with a litter of kittens.

A BRIEF BOOK, BUT TAKE A LOOK

`````"When a thing degenerates slowly, people tend not to notice. Each little decline is only compared to the previous decline and not to the relative whole." Thus wrote Kaylie Jones of her father's health in her memoir, "A Soldier's Daughter Never Cries." However, I would argue that she was making a statement of society as a whole during that time (the l970's).

`````I have blogged earlier about this film. Usually, I have had the experience of enjoying the book first, and then watching the movie second. I had ordered the book on a whim from Amazon, as I am a fan of biographies. Kaylie is the daughter of James Jones, who wrote "From Here to Eternity." Even if you've not read it, most people have seen the film and can recall the famed scene on the beach. Every music video of lovers rolling in the sand has borrowed from it.

`````Ms. Jones writes of her childhood in Paris, growing up along the Seine. Her parents "adopted" a French boy, and she lovingly recounts the normal traumas that went along with siblings getting to know each other. Hers was an obviously unconventional childhood, with a father driven to write.

`````Although she is an American by birth, she was unfamiliar with her homeland. When she returns to it in the l970's, she and her brother are not welcomed in her new highschool. Compounded with the new dating rituals that she must tread, is the illness her father now faces. Ms Jones writes of how her father eases her into accepting womanhood and into dealing with his passing.

`````When I reviewed the film I stated that it resonated with me, as I too felt like an alien in my childhood, as I had moved here from Europe as a child. I had been younger, but I had faced heavy teasing for my accent and for being different. I enjoyed the book as well. It's touching, in that she obviously loved her father dearly, and misses him still.

THEIR WORLD MUST BE SCARY

`````On my days off, I decided to watch a couple of movies on Youtube. One of them was a French feature called "Les Amants du Flore." I had watched it previously, but I thought that my French, always dismal, could use some improving. The movie is based on the relationship of Simone de Beauvoir and Jean Paul Sartre, although the names of some of the other parties had been changed. Much to my amazement, somebody had decided to flag one of the segments. If anybody is unfamiliar with Youtube, it has a policy of not allowing nudity in the first place, but people may "flag" items which they find troublesome.

`````This feature had been shown years ago on mainstream French television without a problem during prime viewing hours. There had not been all that many viewers of the movie since it had been posted, and it could probably be considered a "high brow" taste. My guess would be that it was flagged by somebody in North America. I suspect it was probably an individual assigned a term paper on either Ms. de Beauvoir or Sartre who was too lazy to do the research. Quite frankly, it's no wonder that the Europeans laugh at us. There was nothing in this movie that could offend anybody; especially in how it had already been cut to fit the viewing regulations of Youtube.

`````On another night I opted to watch "The Devil's Arithmetic" and was astounded and shocked to find that some deluded individual had actually flagged that film as well. This is a movie based on a book about the Holocaust. It is written in such a way that it is enjoyed and understood by kids. It has been incorporated into many a reading program, along with "The Diary of Anne Frank." The fact that it gets children talking about such a significant event is admirable.

`````I cannot say that the movie was all that good, but it was okay, and there were touching scenes in it. One could tell that it did not have a huge budget. However, the point that I want to make is that somebody took offence with the scene involving the gas chamber. It did not involve any nudity, bad language, drugs, etc. Yet, because the actions of some idiot, nobody can watch this entire segment unless they are over the age of eighteen. How idiotic.

`````How can these morons manage to deal with life? What do they do when bad things happen? How can they watch the news or documentaries? Don't they know that this really and truly happened? It's no wonder that we have to have grief counsellors for every insignificant event now. I certainly hope that these sorts of people never leave the house, and that if they do, they choose their occupations very carefully. Please stay clear of anything where their interference will only do more harm then good. I'd recommend watching Disney movies, but "Old Yeller" was pretty traumatic, as I recall. There could be some PTSD after viewing the end of the film.

`````I guess this is where the nanny state has led us. My father, as a boy, had a Jewish family staying with them until they found safe passage to Sweden. I have blogged about this. This was reality and it wasn't a movie that somebody could "flag" because they didn't like the scary bits. In the scope of things, it didn't happen that long ago.

`````Why aren't these people complaining about the violent and ridiculous music videos that add nothing at all to our society? That's the real question that I want to ask. Or, if they don't like it, why don't they just turn it off? I suspect that some people actually feel so insignificant that they only garner any sense of importance when they hit that little button.

IF SOMEBODY FINDS IT....MEH....

`````I've realized what has kept me from blogging in the past little bit. I had told only two people that I was keeping this blog, and I trust them implicitly. I've also been very secretive about the topic matter I sometimes cover; specifically, the fact that I write about victim's rights and childhood abuse at times. For you see, I had only told those same two people about it.

`````When my friend's book came out, and he too started his blog to promote its sale, I posted a comment. That's when my little hobby came to light. That's also when he found out about some of the issues in my past. I'd been very hesitant in making any comment on my friend's site, for fear of any common acquaintances or people at work figuring out who I was. Why? There's still a stigma to being a victim. As though a little kid deserved what happened to them. Despite my degree, and all the courses, I should certainly know better. Intellectually, I do. Coming to that acceptance is something else. I still feel that people can hold it against me. I haven't wanted to log on for fear of finding a comment from somebody who knows me.

`````I began my blog because of my migraines and the medication. I don't know if anybody saw the video from a month ago of the newscaster "losing it" on air, but sometimes, words elude me. This makes me hesitant to speak, for I fear that I sound either stoned or "slow." Neither option is good. I take Topamax to deal with my chronic headaches, and a side-effect for me is that the word is sometimes "there," but just won't come.

`````Writing has also always been a way for me to work things out; a way to come to terms with what's really bothering me. As a child, I've written that books helped me cope with my depression. After my encounter with my friend's father, I fell into a deep and profound despair. I read everything that I could find in the library even remotely related to the topic. I was probably the only ten year old who knew complex psychiatric terms.

`````So, why should I still feel this shame? I went on to study to Criminology. When I look at old school photos of myself, I know that I was no match for an adult male. I can have no way of knowing who I might have been had this not taken place. I understand that it changed me. I know that our system of justice would never let me take this person and lock him up, starve him to half his weight, force him to take laxatives and other unknown substances, exercise himself to the limit, injure himself physically....No; all of this would be classified as torture. Yet, I did it to myself.

`````If somebody finds my blog and wants to complain about it, so be it. I've decided that I am not going to stop writing (unless my computer finally dies). I could not help my friend, all those many years ago. Given the stigma I feel, I can only imagine what she must have felt like, as a child. I understand now what she must have gone through, and I grieve for her. But it's time that all victims stop incorporating the pain and guilt as their fault. I wish that I could find comfort in religion, as I could then believe that these evil people got theirs in the end. Alas, I see people opting to do bad deeds and not suffering in the least. Enough has been taken from me. In some parallel universe, there is the girl and the woman that I might have been. Every so often, I catch a glimpse of her. She is not me; she doesn't keep people at arm's length. She is the person who took on all challenges, who could out run every other kid in school and won a top athletic award. That woman, the one that I am not, scored high academically. I refuse to be denied the ability to write because somebody might see it. I still dream that one day I might write something that saves another kid the grief.