What We Want to Know

Now when I see an interesting person, because I do have a file of photographs which fall into this category, I like to question. What brought this person to this place in time, what choices did they make or not make, who were they before this moment, and looking down the road who are they likely to be? As if we ever truly know.

Because the tall, pretty high school Queen of the Carnival, didn’t get her dream life. She settled in front of the TV and spends her day watching reality shows. She knows that her best has already happened. And that young man, the one that was written off because he couldn’t understand basic math, picked up a book about Space and decided that he needed to learn more.

Someone got a tattoo and hangs out at bars and someone else decided to put their lessons to use and become a police officer.

Sometimes the changes we make are not as obvious, usually they are just inside. Subtle, for years, each day one little change. And then the day arrives when someone is humble and confident. Another is obnoxious and brassy.

What has happened that someone is sleeping on a park bench, with all their earthly possessions, and their dog? Does this dog have a secret life like the ones in the 2015 Giller Prize winner, Fifteen Dogs? Why do they feed this dog when they haven’t had a sandwich since Friday?

Why do some people have beautiful houses and yards, but sad lives within the walls? Why are large pieces of art important but they don’t know where their son is sleeping tonight?

People, all of us flawed. 

There are times when I wish I didn’t see so much, didn’t have access to magazines on mindfulness and books on psychology. Didn’t have subscriptions that arrived steadily in my Outlook, and dinner appointments booked weeks in advance. Because who would I be?

But then, what would it be like to be sleeping on a park bench and to wake up to the smell of coffee and a fresh donut that someone had left for you. Quietly. Out of reach of your dog. 

How do we feel an other's feelings, without sleeping on their park bench too? (Tweet This)

Who were these characters before I met them? (Tweet This)

Mischief

No great..er Mischief: and so lineage carries on. The misspelled words, quaint recipes and the tendencies to drink (too much). The succeeding generations cannot foretell when the unexpected red-haired child will appear, the crooked little finger (in my family often incorrectly diagnosed as arthritis), I see it in my one child’s approach to sleeping sprawled like a conqueror and in the other’s fascination in all things chocolate. Have you ever wondered at your musical ability, or a sibling's fashion sense, why is it that your parent still has the energy of a 20 year old?

I admire the lines that brought courageous people across turbulent waters, surviving unspeakable experiences involving food and toilet facilities and their stoic faces burying their loved ones. I see them turning their stiffened shoulders on windy cliffs and passing on that grace to the coming generations. The smiling triumph of mountains scaled, crops grown to harvest, and raging rivers forded. I wonder at their tenacity to not quit, not stop until the job was done. Give thanks for your great grandfathers and great grandmothers for they truly were “great”.

Read: No Great Mischief – Alistair MacLeod. Thanks to Christine for leaving this book behind in the staff room.

Crackers - Crack-pot, Crack, Crack up

We are all somewhat cracked. Whether due to casual mishandling or by brutal force. Some cracks barely noticeable, some spackled over with heavy duty band-aids. We suture with work, working-out, drown our sorrows, use crack, and add initials after our names on our business cards.

We race, we weave, we meet in staff rooms, we like each other, we can't tolerate each other, we try to be polite. We pretend, we deny, we shop only at Sunterra, we avoid big green boxes with massive parking lots.

Who the heck are we?

If we are fortunate, we have friends, and we recognize each other's cracks. Friends overlook, they share remedies, they hand you a safe band-aid when you need it. Because our cracks makes us real. As we grow, our fragility makes us gentle and aware of others.

And by the time Friday arrives, many crack-pots have crossed our path. Finally, you can eat pizza, watch a movie and crack up...together. I am grateful for TAG Meetings. Thank you T. & A. for your time, your consistency and for knowing my flaws and loving me anyway.