WhoKnows

Just because you are human doesn’t mean you will be that way for ever. For those who believe in multiple lives there is always the chance to step in a different direction after death and assume the form of another. I liked the life-shifting emphasis that made this point at the end of Robin William’s film, What Dreams May Come. There are many ways we can perceive death in order to reduce the fear factor of our eventual demise.

When my eldest son was growing up he wondered a lot about what his parents did on Saturday nights. He would wake up on Sunday morning and see signs that he had missed out on some fun. He might spy an empty chip bag, maybe a drained wine bottle, or a half finished container of dip. If there were scattered husks of peel ‘n eat shrimp that would really drive him wild with envy. When he was really small he had the power to make us disappear by placing his hands over his face.

The poet in me recognizes the beauty of a farm scene. I was sipping coffee one morning as the sun was clearing the horizon of field and fence. Swallows were searching for the flies that pestered the cattle. Feral farm-cats paced the property looking for distracted prey or easy handouts from cookie-munching humans. Beautifully tended gardens, an apple orchard, grape vines, and mature trees blended with farm machinery.

What is an itch and why do we have it? I could google my lead question but it isn’t really a question and I rarely do any research other than a quick Siri type throw-away inquiry because I have to satisfy an itch of the curiosity sort. Suffice to say that I’ve been itching to write about itches because they are among the few basic things that humans have in common with other animals. Let’s agree that the origins of itching are elusive.

This is the anniversary of a dog taking up residence in our house. For five years now we have had a pet. The empty nest syndrome was pounding hard at my wife’s door and she caught me at a very vulnerable moment (I was clinically depressed). You must understand I had not envisioned having a pet, since three sons were enough responsibility for me. My mother had gone through a “but it will be so cute” experience when I was barely of school age.

I went to a funeral gathering to honour a champion of our community. It was my first outing involving a collective in a long time due to Covid19 restrictions. The crowd spilled out from the community hall into the adjacent garden where extra chairs and a PA system had been set up so the speakers could be easily heard. It was an event of a lifetime. The deceased was a lady who had become one of my first friends since retirement. My wife and I would often see her taking an active role in our city.

With the luck of my second marriage, I acquired a ‘Special Mom’. She has a quiet, accepting presence that I appreciate whenever I get the chance to be with her. I watch her and discover nuggets of wisdom. She has lived long enough to share many treasures, among them, common sense. Many might agree with the notion regarding ‘common sense’ as being anything but common. It’s a sense that seems to grow as the biological senses diminish. Caution is part of this common sense as well as Patience.

It’s fun being in a neighbourhood where people pay attention to comings and goings. Around my neck of the woods, we look out for one another; when a neighbour is away or in need, we collect mail, water lawns, cut grass, or check in on a cat. Long before the Neighbourhood Watch Program, we were all keeping an eye out for strangers. Some might call it nosiness, but I call it caregiving.

from the catchmydrift.blog archives Where I spent my formative years there was a small river that wound its way to Lake Ontario. Its banks were muddy, with tangled roots grasping for water. I hid plastic toy soldiers amongst these fibrous tendrils, lit small red firecrackers to imitate war. It felt safe here, with my back against the wall of cool earth, watching the creek water smoothly trickle past my feet.

from the Ever Wonder collection (1996-2001) There was a bit of confusion the other day at the library. I had left my library card in the car. All I wanted was to pick up a book that was being held for my wife. As I ran out to my car to retrieve the card, I started to wonder. On my return, the librarian, most kindly waiting, took my card and scanned it for identification. My wondering was now in full flight. Wouldn’t it have been easier if l had a barcode tattooed into my wrist?