THE TIME MACHINE

I have found a way to travel in time, although I hardly control when it happens. Music has the power to do that to me. Every once in a while I will hear a song and instantly I find myself back in a time or place. It does not happen often, but when it does occur the link is profound. I am transported.

Each time "Love My Way" by the Psychedelic Furs is played I see my friends dancing; slow as though under water. I see the very precise angle at which my friend held her cigarette as she slid languidly on her small patch of ground with whatever rail-thin, British guy she had on her hit list that month.

"The House of the Rising Sun" was a song belonging to another generation, but to me it will always represent the train. I will forever envision a bunch of strangers, at two in the morning, in the bar car when somebody produced a guitar and knew how to play this number. That feeling of never wanting the morning to come or the ride to stop.

I cannot help but notice that most of these memories are tied with youth. People will refer to "their song"' ; the one that they remember from their first date. Why does this connection to music stop as we grow older? I still love all varieties (except country and rap) and a sad bit of music in film can move me to tears when I am alone. Yet, I cannot think of one song, past a certain age, that really has that same bonding element. I will enjoy it---but it does not pull me back. I think that's sad, somehow.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

Just a note wishing you all a Happy Valentine's Day. But remember, it's a manufactured holiday. It this is the one day of the year when people opt to go out for dinner or buy gifts, there is something wrong. People need to do that sort of thing all the time. Besides, one does not need to produce an actual item to prove that one cares. It is actions that count; the day to day being there. All the flowers in the world mean nothing if a person doesn't listen or isn't supportive. Furthermore, there is nothing wrong either with chosing to be single. There is such a double standard in how we view that status. Men are "bachelors" Note how the word sounds. Women, on the other hand, are "spinsters". Look at how society perceives Jennifer Annistan in comparison to any of the men on the prowl in Hollywood. Somehow, there is the hint of desperation in the way she is viewed.
There's also a double standard about the age issue. Older men constantly date younger women as a matter of course, yet if a woman does it she is a cougar.
I find it bizarre how people still think they can pry into the lives of single people. I get asked numerous times why I am single. Why I don't date. I would never take it upon myself to go up to somebody who is married and ask them why they opted to marry or have children. It's rude and insensitive. And please, don't get me started on those who feel it their business to try and set me up with somebody.
When I was involved with somebody I always told them not to get me anything on Valentines. I saw it as phony and it just made me feel awkward. I'd much rather go out for dinner on a night when it wasn't busy.
I was talking about this the other night with a male friend of mine who called from back east. We're both in a bit of a depressed funk as of late and neither one of us has chosen to be involved with anybody for our own reasons. Yet he doesn't get the questions as much as I do.
Tonight, I shall embrace my Cat Ladyness with pride.

THE MIRROR

`````There is something mystical about the bathroom mirror at four in the morning. Nothing "Magical Mystery Tour" or Alice in Wonderland. Rather, it is all harsh lights and sharp focus; it is reality magnified ten fold. Every fault is highlighted-with little arrows pointing-just in case you missed it. If it were merely one's physical defects it would perhaps be tolerable, but here comes every "should have", "could have" and guilt feeling dredged up to be newly raked over.

`````There is a dump in New York City called Fresh Kills. I have a vision of all the bad stuff in my psyche just lying there in the open air and festering, waiting for me to pick over and analyze it...at four in the morning.

`````The mirror at that time is main lined sodium pentathol. There is no hiding from that light. No detective in a dime store novel ever had such an effective interrogation device.

`````That mirror is like The Magic Eight Ball; turn on the light and POW! You're confronted with some truth that you didn't want to know. It's the thing you didn't realize was bothering you, yet here it is. It's the reason you're in that room, awake, at four A.M. in the first place.

IGNORE IF POLITICS BORE YOU: CAN IT BE CALLED A HOLY WAR?

+++++Now that Obama has taken the reins he has to review policy on foreign affairs. This includes the question as what to do in Iran and Afghanistan. It has always been clear to me that we had no business in Iran, yet there were parties in Afghanistan that attacked the United States; not the country itself as it was not an elected group or a declared war. Yet, that was their home base.

+++++In the time since the September 11 attack there have been many phrases used and comparisons made in order to try to comprehend the event. Most of them invoke the idea of opposites; contradictory forces unable to coexist. President Bush himself said that "If you're not with us, you're against us." This is a simplistic catch phrase to account for an extremely complex and perhaps incomprehensible situation. It is akin to the Cole's Notes version of current affairs that has been presented to the public during the last decade. Whether due to the shrinking attention span of the mases or a decreasing intelligence we seem able to speak of local and world events only if condensed into bumper-sticker sized slogans. For example, repeat criminal offenders are not analyzed on a sociological or psychological perspective but are presented to the public in a "Three Strikes and you're out" political ad campaign. Capital punishment is not undertaken as an ethical or economic debate. Rather, it is dismissed with an out of context Biblical quote: "An eye for an eye." Likewise, homosexuality is not a discussion of nurturing versus genetics but if often left to debate on talkshows by callin pundits offering such wisdom as "It's Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve." Such limited thinking takes us periously close to the cognition, or lack thereof, displayed by our enemy.

+++++Yet, for arguement's sake, let us proceed with this thinking and see where it takes us; if it were as simple as us versus them---offence and defence. There has been much discussion of this battle in terms of good against evil. The Taliban has referred to this as a Jihad. President Bush initially used the term "crusade" before his handlers pointed out to him that the very group we're fighting found the term offensive.

+++++It's interesting that this war is couched in terms of the forces of light against dark. During the Administration of the first George Bush there was much reference made to the "thousand points of light" in relation to the "New World Order". While a free market economy is desirable andn serves us well, some amongst us crossed into the cult of greed. Financial gain was the raison d'etre or mantra of these people. No thought was given to the human suffering or environmental dmage that resulted. The ticket to heaven came via a higher corner office in our steel towers. Everything was made available for sale in this market without means; anthrax by mail order and assault rifles at Walmart. After all, as the film said, greed is good. This thinking has resulted in what can surely be called a depression.

+++++The actions and thinking of the Taliban epitomize the historical period referred to as the Dark Ages. Kknowledge is limited to clerics. Enlightenment, open dialogue and artistic creativity are negative attributes met with harsh punishment. Hundreds of years ago Western church leaders put Gallilleo to death for his scientific beliefs. The Taliban do this today. The infrastructure is so poor that people literally live in the dark in stone hovels. At the start of the war, I read that one out of five citizens was dependant on aid from the evil infidels they purport to hate. The women are encased in dark shrouds that restrict their movement while their minds and spirit are similiarily deadened by starvation and forced ignorance.

+++++The truly spiritual have a conviction which allows for exposure to the opinions of others. Debate of idealogical principles is welcomed as an exercise to further formulate one's beliefs. Enlightenment is attained via a broad base of knowledge.

+++++These men, the Taliban are ignorant and fearful. Like schoolyard bullies they strike out at those they do not understand those they fear. Through their own short fallings they are unable to attain and achieve that which they covet. Thus, the targets of their rage are the very symbols of our civilization's achievements. They used our planes to destroy the very best of our commerce, just as they ransacked the ancient artwork of Buddhist dynasties. They could earn none of this on their own and like the sandbox bully they broke our toys. It is this mentality that prohibits our reasoning with them and forces us to finally strike back militarily. Their tantrum is not a Holy War but more a symbiosis of Marx's class antagonism and sociopathy. It is a case of want by a group of people unable to do for themselves. They resent our competency and put the blame everywhere but on themselves. Their lustful misdeeds are the fault of women; therefore females must be covered and hidden. Their nation's economic and cultural dismalness is the responsibility of the west and therefore we must be wiped out. These are not Holy Men wish a Holy Grail, but hoodlums and thieves bent on destruction and vandalism. It is in this way that they might be perceived as the dark force. But, it is not in the way described by George Bush. Rather, the darkness derives from the lack of insight they have into themselves or that which actually propels them. Without this introspection upon ones own consciousness (our soul, if you will), one cannot reach or define the goal we seek.

+++++The irony is that in this fight between the forces of the dark and the light we both end up suffering the same malady. We both end up blind; unable to see the path before us. The Taliban cannot see because they have shut their own eyes to the world around them. Those who suffer under their regime cannot see because they have been wilfully blinded by those in power. Education and knowledge of the most basic sort is illegal for all women. For many boys, only religious education is made available.

+++++We are blilnd from staring at those thousand points of light in our frenzied and materialistic pursuit. Like the moth that destroys itself in reaching the light, we have harmed our very planet and health to achieve our ends. Now our economy itself may be beyond repair. We have handed over the tools of our own destruction to the Taliban and other terrorist groups in allowing destructive weapons to be sold for profit.

+++++To end this blind, curcuitous flailing we must both find another way of seeing or risk losing our way forever. Perhaps the new regime in the United States will seek a new means of dialogue with other nations which will at last end their harbouring of the Taliban. More than ever it should be evident that our global economy depends on this, whether or not all nation states care about the well being of their citizens.

REMEMBERING "W"

One of my part-time jobs when I was younger was with the school board. That's where I met "W", who was a guidance counseller at one of the high-schools. I'll call her Jane for the duration of the blog.

There was no hiding my problem at the time. I was 83 pounds; I know that as I weighed myself everytime I used the washroom. I had been told that I'd risk death when I hit 90 pounds. Yet, here I was---doing maintenance and working hard for eight hours a day. What did the doctors know, I thought. People with eating disorders can often spot each other and I knew that there was something up with Jane. She wasn't all that thin, but there is still that vibe. She was always on her bike and had a very driven, manic quality about her.

Jane and I started to talk and we soon realized that we had a lot in common. She'd been very ill years earlier, but had gained weight. While she looked healthier, she was still slim and certainly not recovered. Like many people with eating disorders, she passed. Jane was what some people might call an exercise bulimic. If she ate too much she would spend hours on her bike. Eating too much was anything beyond her diet of Metamuicil and Cup-of-Soup.

She told me briefly of some abuse and neglect in her childhood. I didn't push it as I could tell she didn't want to say more. Her face was cherubic and always smiling. It hid so well all of the turmoil within. Jane had a fantastic rapport with the students.

At the time there was no treatment in that small town for eating disorders. The doctors had no clue. A person could spiral out of control for a very long time.

When I left the job and returned to school I would talk to Jane every once in a while. After I graduated university and started working I got a call from her. She was desperate. One of the students had a bad eating disorder and her parents were refusing to see it. The girl could not talk to her family doctor as he'd probably disclose all to her family. There wasn't a crisis centre available in the town at the time and even if there had been, no sixteen year old would call in there. Her family was very religious and psychiatry did not correspond to their beliefs. Jane was stymied; she couldn't cross boundaries and share too much with the girl nor could she see her outside of school hours too often.

Jane had a proposition. According to the experts, I was headed down the road to recovery. After all, I had gained weight. I had a new job in a nontraditional one for women and I had to meet a standard of physical fitness to do so. Would I be willing to take calls from this girl and listen to her? Without realizing it, Jane was setting up a peer support network.

It was a hard choice as, had her parents found out and made a fuss, I would have been fired. My job had a strong code of conduct and it could have looked bad. After all, who was I to help their daughter? But, nobody else was doing it either. So, I agreed and for a while she would phone me up and I would mostly listen. She did not know who I was, nor did I know her. I was a number that she could call.

After a while my commute became too hard and I had to move. The shift work made it impossible for me to continue to take the calls, but when I ran into Jane years later I heard that the girl was doing okay.

I've not heard from Jane in about ten years. I think of her when people start on rants about school teachers and counsellors not doing enough. Sometimes, they are the only people willing to step up to the plate; even at great risk to themselves. I hope that Jane is doing well, but my last sighting of her indicated that she had seemed to have slipped back into starvation.

HOW VALENTINE'S DAY ALMOST LED TO AN HARASSEMENT CASE

Many years ago, the stars aligned in such a way that three women ended up working together who must have had secret aspirations at Martha Stewart's job. Certainly, their minds were not on the ones they currently held. So, whatever holiday happened to hit, they would decorate the office.

I was working at the other end of the hall with two males. St. Valentines Day was fast approaching. They were at their office decorating. The Red-Light District in Amsterdam had not seen the likes of it. The heart dingle balls dangling from the ceiling made me think that perhaps a drag queen heart surgeon's convention had orchestrated this. They were spritzing cinnamon scented air freshner to such a degree that we had to shut the emergency door to keep it at their end of the building. Cut-out angels adorned the doors.

"What fresh hell is this?" I said to my male coworker as we walked by, quoting Dorothy Parker. He laughed.

"Sartre"s No Exit, is more like it." He said.

When the angel soaps were found in the washroom he could take it no more and war was declared. We added our one contribution to the decoration at our end of the building. We'd found a photo of a dead cupid---shot through the heart and prone on the ground. Surprisingly, the photocopy machine actually worked and held paper. We enlarged it.

HAPPY V.D. DAY. wrote my coworker.

One would think that given the six or seven marriage break-ups between the three women that they wouldn't be so devoted to the dreaded day, but I guess they were. We later heard that they'd ripped the offending dead cupid off our wall, and with lower lip pouting and near tears had gone to their manager about it. It took a while to placate the one.

So, it's best to leave valentine's out of the office(especially if there's a lot of males around). And incidentally, a year later, the husband of one of the women left her for another man. Best to leave dead cupid's alone too.

CHANCE ENCOUNTER ON A TRAIN

A number of years ago, I took a trip across the country alone on the train. I had only recently graduated from university so I could only afford the Day Nighter seats, which reclined for sleeping. This precipitated one of those events which, although it seemed minor at the time, has become something which has taught me a lesson.

I had brought my headset with me and some books. In the day I loved to watch the country reveal itself to me, but at night I read. I've always been an insomniac. I'd gotten some odd looks when I'd told people that I was going to take the train across the country alone. But, I wanted to think and I enjoyed my privacy. It was April and the seat beside me had remained unoccupied thus far.

When the train stopped, a woman and a boy got on. Throughout the evening I noticed her fussing with him a lot and I could not help but reflect that this kid had to be very spoiled. The woman continuued to flutter over him. Finally, when it came time for the boy to sleep, she covered him with a blanket and then she laid down in the aisle.

I took off my headset and walked up to the woman who was full out on the floor of the train. Although the company did the best they could, it was still a well trod upon floor and cold, as the door compartments at either end were constantly being opened. When I bent to speak to her and she responded, I realized that she spoke French.

As much as I'd loved my privacy all across the country, I invited her to come sit in the empty seat beside me. As it was across the aisle from her son and only one down, she had an excellant view of him. My French faltered but she understood and gladly accepted. I could tell she did not want to sleep on the floor and she was embarassed about blocking the path.

Thus began my lesson. It turned out that we had somebody in common. Years earlier I'd taken part in a French immersion program in a small town in Quebec and stayed with a host family. This woman was from that small town and friends with this lady. What were the odds?

As the country blurred by in the dark, with the forced intimacy of the seats and the knowledge that we weren't total strangers, we began to talk. Or, she did. The language barrier fell. Her other son had died of leukemia only weeks earlier. Now I understood why she'd seemed to be an overly indulgent and fussy parent. I was beginning to learn something about myself and how things were not always what they seemed.

My bad accent did not matter as she did most of the talking. Her weeks of pain were permitted to come out in the rocking of the train and in the intimacy of the dark. She didn't have to be strong in front of me like she did in front of her child. Then, finally, she slept.

There's a saying that "God is in the details". I'm an atheist but I shall appropriate it for the time being as it works. It really is the little things that count. One never knows how that quick smile or kind word can make a difference. Merely listening to somebody or allowing them to vent may allow a person to get through another day. Some people are grasping for anything that works, much as the drowning person flailing away. Conversely, that which we do can also be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel's back. The one final thing at the end of a very bad week that pushes somebody over.

As the economy sinks deeper into an abysmal quagmire, the stress on people will only worsen. I think it's important that I remember the lesson learned on the train.