I closed my eyes...

...drew back the curtain

To see for certain, what I thought I knew.

Far, far away, someone was weeping,

But the world was sleeping.

Any dream will do.

When I was a child, we did not have a television for much of the time. All of my friends had at least one in their home. I always wished that my parents would just give in to all the pressure we were putting on them, but they never did - until...

One day, when I was a little older, perhaps 11 or 12, my brother Randy was going to an auction sale. I had saved up some money and wanted to go with him to see if my $30.00 would get me anything. He willingly took me. We arrived early to have a look around before the bidding began.

I remember walking past it first off all, and not giving it a second thought, when it struck me...my $30.00 just might get me this. It was a 12 inch black and white portable T.V., brand new in the box. I couldn't think of anything else from there on. I had to have it...but what if the bidding goes higher than what I had? Let's just hope it doesn't.

After what seemed all night, my item came up. The air in that room was thick with dust from shuffling feet on the dirty concrete floor. I was sick with tension. I felt like a tightly wound wind up toy ready to release. The bidding began. I raised my number a number of times and nodded like I'd seen some of the old guys do, not smiling now...this is not a friendly game. Bloody serious. We were at 22, then 24, then 28. I shot a panic glance at Randy and he knew my thoughts. Somehow we came to the agreement that he would lend me the money if I needed to go higher. And higher it went...all the way to $50. But it was mine...all mine, new in the box with the twisty thing still holding the power cord newly coiled from the factory.

The memory of bringing it home and into the house is a little vague, but what I do remember is that we didn't plug it in that day because dad said it was cold and it would have to warm up over night. Electronics are fussy that way.

I'm also not certain how we came to this conclusion but my parents didn't think that it would be right for me to have my own T.V. when it was the only one in the house. So they bought it from me. Well actually they gave me my $30 back and gave Randy his 20. And seeing as it was sort of MY T.V., I got to have it in my room. Or rather in our room, as I shared a room with Garry and Randy.

The television soon became an instrument to draw the family together. I remember well our family all crowding into my bedroom to watch one of our favourite T.V programs...The Donny and Marie Show. I don't know if anyone in the family knew it, but I loved that show. I loved it so much that I would cry silently whenever it was over. The smiling pair would sing their closing song and I would be a blubbering mess. Most kids I knew wanted to run away and join the circus, but I wanted to join the Donny and Marie show. I always wondered if they were Christians, which was something we would ask of all television stars. Finding this out would be our justification for watching any program. They had to be...how could you look so happy and not be a believer?!

Now that I am older and much more seasoned, I found myself still crying with the Osmonds. Or at least with one of them. Every time I watch Joseph and the Amazing Technicolored Dreamcoat with Donny Osmond, I cry during the song Any Dream Will Do. I really don't know what it is, but it's a very real feeling of longing.

I feel that this is somewhat of a coming out of the closet moment for me. Most people wouldn't want to admit they liked the show. I guess I should also tell you I loved The Lawrence Welk Show, The Carol Burnett Show, Sonny and Cher, and the Irish Rovers. It must have been all that happy happy love joy stuff that drew me in.

What do you see when you close your eyes?

(the above photo was taken today at Arianna's soccer game, eyes closed, with camera pointed at random...lucky shot...and no cropping either)

How does your garden grow?

I noticed my Pembina Plum blossoms yesterday...

...and my sugar plum noticed me.

Here I sit, broken hearted...

Every time I sit in my bathroom, my eyes come to focus on a spot on the floor. It usually takes just a moment, and then the image becomes clear once again.

I got the inspiration for this post from visiting a post by Caroline, where she seems to have the same kind of vision as I do.

The lovely and shy Princess Diana in my bathroom tile?

Night Vision

Six days until my first road race. Sunday morning 8:00am I hope to finish in the top 15% of 1500 runners in the Winnipeg Cops for Cancer half marathon.

One thing I appreciate about the Spring is the early appearance of the sun. Running in the dark has never appealed to me, and so now when I get up at 6:00, it's nice to see that the sun has already kicked at the darkness and it has started to bleed daylight.

There is an almost endless kicking sound...or a pounding if you will, when runners run. It's that endless sound what drives us forward, setting us into a numbing trance. It's the trance that allows us to come to the finish without stopping. Kicking at the night, endlessly pounding the ground in an effort to shave some time. A little more of this to shave a little of that. I often wonder why I do it while I am doing it...but when I am done, then I know. I can clearly see the motivation, even if I sometimes have to run in the dark.

I'm So Vain

Cherrypie has tagged me. I must list six random things about myself, and then tag six more people. She has instructed me to first post my six things, then go to six other blogs and let them know they are tagged and to find the details on your blog.

Some people are tagged often and find it to be annoying. As it's my first, this seems like fun...so here it is:

1. This morning I sat ALONE in the 30 person hot tub, after completing my 100 lengths of the 25 metre pool, and I found myself embarrassed to find that my fingers were tapping along to a dance mix version of You're So Vain by Carly Simon. Did I mention that I was in the hottub alone?!
2. I am allergic to nothing... but everything I eat gives me gas. (perhaps that's why I was alone in the hottub)
3. I've been playing the guitar for 31 years.
4. I smoked my first cigarette when I was eight, and there was a group of us who used to roll brown dried corn hair in cigarette paper whenever we couldn't sneak smokes from Brad Friesen's dad. I also smoked for three years in high school and then again for six more years after my first undergraduate degree. I have been smoke free for seven years.
5. I love to cook, although I don't often. One of my favourite things to make is Prairie Blackbean Soup, who's recipe I lifted from the Westin Hotel in Winnipeg while working as a waiter. I will one day send the recipe to Cream so he can post it in his Food Blog.
6. My favourite time of day is the first two hours after I get home from work. The work day is finished, the family is all at home, and I have not yet begun to think about the next day's work. All of this combined with a favourite drink makes for a precious two hours.

Now it's your turn...

Darren

Christy

Carol

Shelley

Christine

And anyone else who cares to be vain.

In my neighbourhood

I’m the sort of person who thinks really highly of himself, and feels that there will be something extrememly important waiting for him in the mail.That’s why I stop here on the way home each day.

Today was no exception. I walked down the short hallway to box 1018.

I opened the box, and lo and behold...I am important after all. A package awaits. With card in hand, I head over to the service desk.

Oooooh...I wonder what it is? It comes all the way from British Columbia. The post lady plays along with an understanding smile. I immediately take it home and place it on the dinner table.

What do I do now? Should I wait until Joyce is in the house? Nah...I can’t wait.Where’s my pocket knife? Oh yeah...it’s in my pocket.

Aha...there it is. Just as promised...six business days later. WONDERFUL.

Andrea Pratt's Apple Branch .

THANKS ANDREA PRATT.You’ve made Brian one Happy Mennonite.

Easter Appendage

My camera and I, we are one in the same.

I always have it with me, to miss these would have been a shame.

My son whom I love, all cloistered in Red,

Played all the day long, "Is it really time for bed?"

Chalk Talk

Going for an Easter day walk, we passed by my favourite driveway in all the town. But who has $20,000.00 to drop on something to drive on?

Happy Green Nephew

Kathy's Fancy Foot

You're Welcome

(The Buhler's beautiful home)

There are many reasons to claim that Fridays are good. This one is especially good in that it is a remembrance of a three day event which is the basis to an ever-evolving faith which I claim to share. I say it is evolving because there seems to be many things which I once held very closely, but now my grip has loosed. I am less certain of many things and have abandoned the incongruent ones, although the essence of my faith is still intact. That's what makes Easter so good. To me it signifies the entire message of Christ. It is a bringing together of souls that were doomed to be apart. Christ's entire life was a song which sang this beautiful chorus. Easter was the finale.

We have been singing a similar song in our life. We are fortunate to have a group of friends who ache to be together... and as often as possible. These are times to forget our woes, and a time to laugh and be loved. A time for some to forget that medication is the thing that stabalizes and sustains us. It's soul time...a time to be connected, deeply known. Bearing the conclusion of these times is done only through the anticipation of the next one.

I wish for all of you that your aches will be satisfied, and that you, too, will be not far from good company when your soul calls out for companionship.

Happy Easter.

if your right hand offends you...

This morning while I was outside on the deck with a coffee in my left hand and my new camera in my right, I became a little confused as I put the camera to my lips to take a sip.

I can see where this is going. The obsession with something new is beginning. The camera has not been more than than three metres from my grasp since I bought it yesterday. As I make my way through the owner's manual, I become more excited at the prospect of more advanced photography. I was happy to capture the above photo last night at a friend's home. It's the colour, I think, that really draws me to it.

I'm a little worried about this evening as, when I go for my run, I'll be approximately ten kilometres away from my new baby. Perhaps I'll take a picture of it, and then immediately print a copy of it to take with me, seeing as now this is so convenient to do.

I know what you did last summer

Last year's garden wasn't that successful, so when I started my seeds indoors this year, I wanted to keep a close eye on them as they grew...just in case something went wrong.

So that's where I've been since my last post...carefully babying my pepper and tomato seeds as they grew and became full of promise.

I could possibly have torn myself away long enough to write something, but I've also been busy renovating several rooms in the house, being begged to and accepting a teaching position teaching German to grades 4 through 8, planning and implementing birthday parties for two of my children, purchasing a new digital camera, and buying some amazing art.

Actually, sitting around and watching seeds grow is much like seizing the moment in every aspect of life. As the seeds sprout, all sorts of beautiful changes occur, resulting in a beautiful product. There is nothing quite as rewarding as seizing each moment of every day and pouring yourself into everything you do...seeing every moment as a gift. Much like my gifts using tools to renovate, my heritage and education to be able to effectively teach, my four amazing children to humble me and bring me great joy, my excitement for electronics, and eyes to clearly see and appreciate Andrea's passion.

I know what I'll do this summer...I'll do the same as what I did last year, except now I'll be able to seize each moment in a 4 megapixeled actuation, as well as in my soul.

for The Byrds

With the coming of Spring comes the urge to rush into planting season. Actually there are many other things calling to me, or pulling me in wide directions.

Today was the first day of Spring Break for this school division, and I had every intention of conquering the day. I had planned to silently leap out of bed well before anyone else stirred and begin the day purposefully moving through the kitchen making a double batch of my famous gooey cinnamon buns. The only noise to be heard would be the temporary violent gringing of coffee beans. Well...that didn't happen. I think I was the last one out of bed.

I had also planned on getting the back porch completely prepared to receive paint. I did manage to get to the hardware store and buy the paint from the mis-tint section. We weren't picky about the colour, as long as it was somewhere near where we were pointing on the colour wheel...and the prices couldn't be beat.

While at the local male gathering shed (hardware), I remembered that there was a number of electrical changes that needed to be made, seeing as the male owner of the house before us bought all of his parts used or dented. I thought I could probably fit the changes in today as well. I noticed that the 10kg bag of bird seed was on sale, so I got one...thinking that it would be nice to finally fill those three cedar bird feeders I bought an an auction last fall. I paid the friendly lady at the desk, and returned home with a smile.

By this time, Joyce had made lunch for the family. We sat down together. There's nothing like soup and sandwiches on a rainy day. With my resolve renewed, I sat on the couch to take a break. There's no need to rush into these things.

After talking with Joyce on the couch for a while, I started to think about taking the pressure off of my darling wife to plan dinner. I asked her to join me in the basement to look for some meat in the freezer. She thought that it was code for something else and said she couldn't...she had daycare kids to look after. I found some baby back pork ribs and decided that this was going to be dinner. I boiled them for an hour and set them in the fridge to wait for the outdoor grill when everything else was prepared.

During the afternoon I managed to head over to a friend's house who was beginning the installation of a hardwood floor. I had to go and see his technique and feel his new tool...I mean his nail gun. Whenever someone gets a new tool, it's the community's right to get together and grunt and nod our collective approval.

Dinner was grand. The family is fed and the house is quiet. Joyce and the girls are out at the local thrift store gathering together all of the treasures of long ago. Re-purposing is a word heard a lot around here. Those treasures were good in their time, but are even better now in ours.

So, upon evaluation of the day, the closest I got to accomplishing any of my goals was to begin them. The electrical items are still in the bag and the paint hasn't left the tin. I did, however, managed to yell at a couple of my kids, and then apologize for being impatient yet again...just to round out the feeling of accomplishment.

Tomorrow is another chance. The weather is supposed to be even more Spring-like than today. The call to plant will be heard all the more, but I've already taken care of that today as I purchased pepper seeds, and have started the plants indoors just as suggested, six weeks before last frost.

There is a time for everything, and everything will get done in it's time (turn, turn, turn).

so they say

"...so when you're all done, you may spend the rest of the time reading, or drawing in your sketch books."

(Insert classroom noises such as rustling papers, binders opening, pencils sharpening, and general quiet sounds of progress being made on assignment.)

25 minutes later, heard from the back of the room at the table designated for group work.
"I'm gonna draw a horney owl...I love using that word, horney. It's my favourite word. I'll draw a picture of The Great Horney Owl."

pit boss

I've built up quite a reputation for myself in a few schools in this division. "You're the guy with the dice, right?" As luck would have it, "Yes I am."

I begin each new day with the clear, determined, and sincere explanation of the source of the rattle in my pocket. I remove the five dice and begin to explain the reason why each and every wide-eyed student will desperately want one of these five dice in their possession by the day's end. They Oooo and Aaaaw at the prospect of winning the mysterious grand prize.

When the explanation of the rules has been clearly given, and every student nods in agreement, including the ones who didn't hear it the first time because they were still in the hall getting their ski pants off, or returning from crossing guard duty, I raise my arm and say, as I lower my arm in one smooth motion, "The contest begins...NOW."

********************SILENCE********************

Not a creature was stirring...not even a runny-nosed eight-year-old.

One di given just before every recess; and a bonus one given at the end of the day...just for good measure.

"I sure hope I get one of those dice, Mr. Hildebrand. Do you like my printing? I'm doing my very best."

"You sure have a nice smile, Mr. Hildebrand. Could you sing us another song later? You have a really good singing voice."

Anticipation grows with each di given. They can hardly bear the thought of not being chosen.

The end of the day has arrived and nary a wimper from the little pups. Pavlov would be proud.

The dice are rolled, the prize is won, and everyone wants me to come back tomorrow.

I win.

the go-to parent

I'm still waiting for someone to nominate me for World's Greatest Dad. However I might have to decline the award, depending on what time of the year the title is awarded.

I'm often good at what I do, and sometimes I'm not. Depending, again, on the time of year, brian the mennonite can often be found simply sitting on his arse, attempting to hatch the couch...giving it warmth, and protection from predators. Actually, what I do most of the time, is sit where I am right now and crawl around the web while my family misses out on my parenting, and my wife misses out on my help. Maybe that's why my four children usually go to her when things are needed, like a glass of milk, bandaids, sign this form, or "do you know where the remote control is?" "Yeah I do...dad's sitting on it...he's trying to hatch it, the lazy arse."

Sometimes all it takes to get me to pay attention, is for me to be put in a position where I could potentially be embarrassed. I think criticism is perhaps my greatest fear. That certainly lines up with my "C" personality of the DISC personality system. I may not be an exact match with all the other traits, but I'm certainly right in there with the fear thing.

This past weekend, Joyce left for her annual sister getaway. She and her four sisters take off to some rented cabin and eat fruit and hummous for three straight days...laughing their silly heads off. They enjoy the freedom of no schedule, no children, and plenty of uninterrupted conversation. While they are away, I am given an excellent opportunity to shine, or be completely embarrassed. I have to be on my toes meeting everyone's needs, like pouring the milk, applying the bandaids, signing the forms, and searching through the crevices of the couch for the remote...all the things that mom usually does 'cause dad is currenly obsessed with the computer.

I must say that I am fairly happy with my performance. And so yes, now would be a good time to give me that award. Because if it was based on this weekend alone, I would perhaps deserve it. And I have also become the parent who gets asked more frequenly for things around the house. At least it has lingered past the time when Joyce entered our tidy home once again.

I hope it lasts...

THE MAN'S PRAYER

I'm a man,

but I can change.

If I have to.

I guess.

the new brain

Science and the Anabaptist tradition have been at loggerheads for a very long time. There is a basic mistrust of many popular scientific premises and a deep felt pain at the lack of limits when the observed is reduced far past the point of familiarity or recognition. Science logically says, "Let's look at the evidence. We can trust our five senses."

In the past couple of years I have been giving science much more credit than I have all my life. The scientist was lumped with the group of heathens that I was trained to convert. We would refer to that group as "they" or "them" and it would be said with a bitter film coating the pallet. I now know many scientists and, strangely enough, their blood runs warmly just like mine. Perhaps I have subjected myself to a little too much sheltering...or have I?

Today I was the substitute teacher in a grade four class...a lovely group of nine and ten-year-olds. I took the teachers chair about 45 minutes before classes started so that I could have a good look at the day plan. Simple enough, I thought, as I fully understood each line and their intended outcome. I know the curriculum pretty well. Everything was clear until I came to the last page, where there was a description of one of the students in the class...a student with a problem. "You might want a heads up about 'Johnny' as he has Compliance Disorder. If you tell him to do anything, he won't do it. If you ask him nicely, he might. Just don't push him too hard as it will just cause him too much trauma."

Unless you have someone in your life with this same "disorder", your reaction is probably much like mine. "Compliance Disorder...what the hell is that? It sounds like spoiled brat who acts like a little shit until he's gotten his own way syndrom to me. After a good synical laugh I became curious enough to Google the brain institute...just to see what "they" know. Evidently this behaviour has been reduced to "brain malfunctions, themselves a consequence of faulty genes. The authoritative US-based Diagnostic and Statistical Manual now includes as disease categories "oppositional defiance disorder", "disruptive behaviour disorder" and "compliance disorder".

Well there you have it...the evidence...and my Anabaptist roots scream to be heard, "Has science reduced human behaviour beyond conscience and personal responsibility?" Now wait a minute...my scientist friends are still good people here. What has happened to our warm blood connection? Are they correct in their assumtions? Could they be wrong? Am I over reacting?
Perhaps this will be much like when Prozac and it's many forms came on the scene as the wonder drug for depression and the like. Many people that I dearly love today live better lives because of Prozac. Constant assurance and a barrage of warm hugs wasn't enough to settle the brain.

Perhaps this is just another one of those things that we will all just have to get used to. Out with the old...in with the new. But this old teacher doesn't always want to learn new tricks.

the cool web

Winter's web was woven while we watched with wonder. Spring's song summons sultrily still, sounds so soft saying stuff silkily. Summer satisfies sad seekers...sometimes singing soothing sentences. Autumn asks and answers any anthoms...always aiming away...anywhere, anyone.

Have you ever gotten something stupid into you head and just felt like putting it down? Well, the above was it for me...something silly, and not intentionally so, but something in the mind that was asking for attention. So be it. (amen)

achtung baby!

Six years ago I was near the end of four and a half years of substitute teaching, and all the while being a part-time steakhouse manager. There was a certain air about the way that I thought of who I was and where I was going.

I'm now back in the substitute teaching saddle and the callouses from six years ago haven't disappeared completely. It's funny that you don't notice you have callouses until you need them. It's like taking a break from playing guitar. If you return after a short while, there is still a remnant of hardened skin. Return after a few months, and you become quite sore after a few minutes of sliding back and forth along the fingerboard.

There have been no sores for me these past couple of days, however, as the callouses still seem to be there, along with my bag full of well practised substitute teacher classroom management skills...otherwise known as a big fat bag of assorted candy and chocolate. Bribery is the only thing that works on kids between the ages of 11 and 14.

On Wednesday, I taught German and Social Studies...yesterday, juniour high band and elementary school music. This is my first day free from a supply teaching appointment. It's actually a self appointed day off, as this afternoon I leave for Minneapolis with my brother-in-law to pick up the latest addition to his collectable automobiles. It was his first ebay purchase. I helped him set up an account the other day so that he could bid. So, naturally, seeing as I had "nothing" to do, I offered to join him on the road trip.

I'll spend the morning at home with my Joyce, and Sammy, the only remaining preschool child. I'll have some more coffee from the freshly ground Starbucks beans given to me as a parting gift. I still need to pack an overnight bag as Mel and I will spend the night in Minneapolis...somewhere. I'll pack the CDs I'm listening to right now and my latest Chapter's purchase.

As we travel today, I'll probably search my coat pockets for something distracting, and I know that I'll find a few remnants of those bribery chocolates. A small sachel of Hershy's kisses and hugs given as a parting gift to me from one of my students.

Today I know where I am going and I know who I am...and I am happy.

My loyalties, too, can be manipulated with something sweet.

Inspiration by Google and Jack Johnson

Pacing the Cage

This is the weekend to sit around the house in my long underwear and catch up on some grading which has been begging to be considered for the last long while. The dining room table is piled sky high and the coffee machine is chugging away as I push aside some of the papers so that I can create some space for me to do hours and hours worth of Su Doku puzzles...thanks a lot Alice.

This week Tuesday is my last day of work at my current position. I must admit that I am beginning to worry a little. Today I found myself tearing up as I was listening to a promotional CD for an upcoming CD release and concert by Steve Bell. The concert is titled Steve Bell - my dinner with Bruce. All of the tunes will be Steve's interpretations of Bruce Cockburn's songs. The song that caused my eyes to well up was Pacing the Cage and Steve's words that accompanied it. He said that when he heard that song for the first time, it was during a period in his life, and we all have these, where confusion, uncertainty, fatigue, and the reality of human suffering were pressing in. He found himself on the floor, weeping beside the stereo holding his stomach in grief. I wasn't in great turmoil this afternoon as I sat in my long underwear at the dining room table, but I felt someone else's pain, and I closed my eyes and cried. I felt one with Steve, and Bruce, and my situation, all mixed up and uncertain.

I felt like doing something other than writing percentages and comments on student's work, so I picked up my guitar and fiddled with the song that had just moved me. It wasn't long before it could have been me playing for the recording.

Later on, after Joyce had returned from her trip to the mall to pick up my ordered book from Chapters, I told her of my wet eyes. My daughters overheard and remarked that they had never seen me cry. I told them if they came with me to the concert on Thursday, they would see their dad crying like a little baby. They plan to join me.

I'm thankful that I have something to look forward to this week, as after Tuesday, I have no classroom to call my own and pace back and forth in. Getting out of the house will be crucial as pacing at home will certainly lead to a hasty emergency relocation for this wild animal.

Anyone need a sick day this week? I know a good substitute teacher.

jurisprudence of public speaking

The volume in the classroom varies drasticly during the day, depending on the activity. There are number zero activities where no talking is allowed. During a number one activity there is a minimal amount of communication allowed, but only when necessary. And then there are numbers two and three, where three would be at free centres time and all sorts of fun and exciting sounds are welcome and expected.

There are several students in my class, boys mostly ( its always the boys isn't it ) that love to talk loudly, and especially to someone on the opposite end of the classroom. They will be in mid shout when they will receive the evil teacher eye from me or hear the first syllable of their name from my lips, and they will know that the sound laws have been broken. Quickly, and ever so humbly, they will give me the look which shows they realize their transgression and peace is once again restored...until the next exciting communication opportunity, and the cycle repeats. "But it's not because he is deliberately being disobedient", I tell the parents at interview time. "He's just a kid and he's excited".

Every Thursday before lunch time we have free writing in our journals. This is a time where the students can write about any topic whatsoever...and there will be no editing by me, none at all. I won't even care if they write about Bionicles or Barbies, Nintendo or My Little Pony. The only rules are that they can't use potty language and can't use repeated words...such as "I love my teacher very, very, very, very, very,very much." The kids like to do that so they get their quota of words in without working too hard. Plus I give them secret bonus marks for saying something really nice about me...it's my love language.

When the writing is done, they are each given an opportunity to come to the "stage" which I have set up ( a music stand and a microphone hooked up to my boom box). When the reading is going on, it is considered, for the students listening, to be a number zero activity, no exceptions. If this law is broken during public speaking, the teacher's death stare becomes thrice multiplied.

It was excited boy's turn to read. He walked to his position and began, quite confidently, to read his tale of St. Valentines love. Near the end of his 90 second oration, his speech began to increase in speed and intensity...almost in a panic. When he finally finished, he was breathing heavy and looked really upset. I asked him if he was O.K. and he very quickly said "No...I peed my pants." As he made his way out from behind the music stand I could see the facts. "You shouldn't have called me up there..." he shouted. "I had to go to the bathroom." Without trying to defend my position and realizing his utter embarrassment, I quickly whisked him out to the bathroom, but not before giving the death stare to three students who were laughing.

We returned from the changeroom and all was remedied..all except his pride. Excited kid number two, from the other end of the classroom, calls out through the silence of the number zero activity, "That's O.K....It happens to me all the time." And suddenly a mini discussion begins about wetting ones pants, who still wears pull-ups, and, "I wet my bed lots of times."

Sometimes it's O.K. to break your own laws of silence, and allow good, spontaneous, and honest speech take place.

Marcel Dubreuil

High school has always been a time of excellent memories for me. Even though I chose to spend much of my time hanging around with people that couldn't give a rat's ass about life, I cherish the remnants of hope and beauty which regularly rose to the surface during our times at the pool hall and smoker's corner.

As one of my electives, I chose art with the very interesting teacher Marcel Dubreuil. Many of my friends also chose art, as they thought that all we would doing was filling in the spaces between the lines in a well-chosen colouring book. They were, I hope, pleasantly surprised.

I think I remember every lesson taught by Mr. Debreuil, and I use many of the same lessons, scaled down a bit, to teach art to my grade two students. The lessons are simple and yet very intelligent; easy and yet very challenging. Of all the classes I've ever taken, I remember and cherish these the most.

This is a drawing that I was inspired to do during my grade twelve year. I had it matted and had it on display for a while, but it somehow got into the hands of a toddler and received a bit of extra love. I've fixed it as best I could manage using Photoshop...

...and then destroyed it again...
Isn't this fun?

Photoshopped Joyce

The photograph of Joyce that I posted yesterday must have frightened everyone away, as only Rod the Brave was courageous enough to comment.

I've been practising using Photoshop to get myself ready for when my house will be flooded with 10 megapixel digital images from my new camera. I haven't purchased it yet, but the money is steadily filling my milk jug savings account.

My daughter Jane and I counted the contents, and I am now up to $418.89. At this rate it should only take me another 6 months to gather the rest of the necessary loot. I can't wait.

All the better to eat you with...

since feeling is first
e.e. cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

Protocol

Sitting alone in the 30 person hottub this morning, I was thinking about rites of passage. I was twenty eight minutes into my forty two minute swim this morning, when I received a rap on the head. This large fleshy laughing man in a blue shirt decided to introduce himself as I approached the home end of the swimming lane. He said that I should pick a side so that he could share my lane. He said that he tried to get the guys attention in the lane next to me, but when he approached, he was off like a rocket. I managed to gasp, "O.K." and launched myself off in the opposite direction.

Later, sitting alone, cooling off in the hottub, I was wondering what goes through a person's mind just before they rap someone they don't know, on the head. What "rite" have they passed?

Soon there were three of us cooling off. One of the others asked me how it felt to have my head rapped so early in the morning. "Oh, you saw that, did you?" I said that it took me by surprise...and I didn't know what to think. "I thought that there was some sort of protocol to enter a shared lane", I queried. "Something like sitting on the edge of the pool and hanging ones legs in full view of the oncomer, so that they would know that someone was joining." They both agreed...including the man with the smooth voice.

If the man in the blue shirt would have passed the required passage, it may have been different...but as it was , he clearly didn't know me at all. If gaining entrance into a shared lane required rapping the slowest swimmer on the head, then he was knocking on the wrong door. During his moments of waiting, he clearly didn't observe the wake left behind my sleek form and failed to notice the "off like a rocket" man envying my graceful strokes.

BACK OFF, BLUE SHIRT MAN...NO TOUCHY!

Can you feel the love tonight...

As I drove in to work this morning, the pair of male voices which made up the morning crew on 99.9 BOB FM, asked the question; one of several to be answered correctly to win the chance at a winter meltdown in Mazatlan; who received the most cards on Valentine's Day. Was it a) Mothers, b) Grandmothers, or c) Teachers. I immediately shouted towards the direction from where the voices came, "Teachers". I was correct.

I was looking forward to coming home today with my large bag filled with cards and chocolate and then dumping the whole works onto my scanner and posting the results...but I only remembered the plan when I was halfway home. I entered the classroom this morning to see that my Valentine's mailbox had had a bingeing episode and was nearing a necessary purge.

My 25 students and I spent the afternoon giggling about cards, love, kissing, and "will you be mine". Of course this was only after they had gym to prepare their metabolisms for the heavy consumtion of candy and pink-frosted, heart-shaped, last-night's baking. One of my students was wearing his favourite sweatshirt today which has a logo quite fitting for the afternoon's activities. It read, "Danger: Kid on Sugar". I sent them all home today with a non-apologetic smile. I'm sure they'll send me their love tonight.

Instead of yelling out my answer to the question this morning, I wish I had been the caller...the fifth caller. I would love to spend six days and seven nights in Mazatlan. I would love to spend any amount of time in Mazatlan. Heck, I'd take a couple of hours in a hotel with a hot tub that has a painting of any place warmer than it is in Manitoba tonight. Oh well...if I can't feel the warmth, at least I can feel the love.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.

Consumerism

There are two recipe books which Joyce and I are proud to have in our possession. Not only do we possess them, but we make it a practise to make something from them regularly. I know that they are Canadian best sellers and wouldn't doubt if they were very popular in the States as well. The books are The Mennonite Treeasury of Recipes and More-with-Less Cookbook. Both are dedicated to promoting healthy eating and, at the same time, consuming fewer of the worlds resources.

I called Joyce from school today during my prep and she told me she was cooking. When I got home, I immediately smelled the delicious aroma of one of my favourite Mennonite soups: Cabbage Borscht.

Joyce bought her copy of "The Treasury" from the local MCC thrift shop for 25 cents. It came complete with some elderly Mennonite woman's handwritten notes telling what's good and what works best. It's almost enough just to read the cookbook and not use it.

No soup for me, however, as I decided last night that my body needed another cleansing and started another five day fast.

Meaningful gifts

When it has anything to do with composing a picture, I cannot recall a time when my daughter Jane has ever taken the easy route to getting a project done.

Today, she had her best friend Eve over after dinner.They had a lovely time playing, as usual, and when it came time to leave two hours later, Jane wanted to give her a parting gift. Jane composed, using her large collection of smelly markers, this lovely field of flowers. I only got to see it as Eve was leaving and asked if I could quickly scan it before she left.

If I was a nine year old, I would want to be best friends with Jane.

I have written before that I think Jane has an artist's eye, and a purposeful touch with a brush. As early as preschool she has caused me to look more than once.
Jane called this one "sisters" because she loves her big sister "Eeyanna".

She didn't have a name for this one but described it as having gold colours and pretty designs.

I had the privilege of being Jane's classroom teacher for one year. She was in my grade one class at Christian Heritage School in Brandon. Just 10 kids to mentor that year. Private school...how dreamy.
I read Psalm 100 to the class and asked the students to draw a picture of what those words made them see in their imaginations. Jane drew the above picture..."These are the people, and they're praising the Lord".

If there's anything I have to praise the Lord for, it's the three women in my life.

My desk drawer

I've been on a mission lately to save enough money for a good digital SLR camera. I've narrowed the search down to three excellent choices. In order to speed the purchase process, I have resorted to drastic measures which, as it turns out, my be not so painful in the end.

I made a decision a few weeks ago that if I was to justify buying a GOOD digital camera, I would have to make a compromise in the spending priorities. I could never justify going out today and spending $1600.00 on a camera, so I had to decide, if this is in fact what I want to do, I need to plan for it. As it is, if I put away an amount of money away per month that I felt may be considered as extra cash, it would only be perhaps $10.00 per month. 1600 divided by 10 equals a hell of a long time. So I decided to take a look at what I spend per week on wine, beer, and the like. I found approximately $160.00 per month, which doesn't seem like a whole lot when I think back and compare it to what some of my university acquaintances spent on one night at the bar, which usually exceeded $200.00. I did further calculations: 1600 divided by 160 equals less than a one year sacrifice of no purchased alcohol to have a good digital SLR which would last a very long time. So now, on Fridays, instead of walking down the liquor isle in the local grocery store, I take $40.00 from the bank machine and put it in my camera fund; along with whatever I find laying around the house...a quarter here, a loonie there...just not the dollar coin from the change tray in the van. If I ever touch the sacred shopping cart loonie, I'm a freekin' dead Mennonite.

I've now saved somewhere around $250.00, and am not feeling the least bit deprived. You see, when I say that the money saved will be from alcohol not purchased, it doesn't stop people from bringing the drink, which they have purchased, to our house. (Sounds like a freekin' Mennonite thing to do...doesn't it? ) Walter still comes over for dinner every Wednesday and brings a bottle of some fine selection. Our Superbowl guests came with their arms full yesterday and had many varieties of fermentation. And to top it all off, Alice, dear sweet, thoughtful and generous Alice from the land of milk and honey, was in the liquor mart on the weekend and was feeling guilty about her purchase because she knew poor Brian was at home with his $40.00 in the jar and nothing to drink, when she decided to buy him a little taste of heaven. She came into my classroom this morning and presented me with these little pallet pleasers. I told her that I had always wanted a bottle of liquor in my desk. You never know when the appropriate emergency, or combination of emergencies will arrise. I told her that she was a good friend. As she walked out of the room, with a big smile and a laugh, she said, "No...I'm a 'du' friend."

Where does this feeling come from?

You would think that after three trips to the lap pool and nearly 20 miles run this week that I would feel good about my performance. Well think again.

This morning I got up at 7:10 and got ready to go for my weekend run with my running buddy Merle. As I was getting dressed I noticed that Joyce was not sounding too good as she had quite a bad cough and sniffles. I medicated her twice before walking out the door. As I was on the road running, Merle and I were talking as usual when I suddenly had this feeling that I needed to cut the run short as I was worried about Joyce. I think I ran only about three miles in the end.

Joyce still had a bad headache but she was essentially fine. I needn't have worried but I was glad to know that the feeling of compassion was something still alive and well within me.

A feeling that I am concerned with is the feeling of self-condemnation. I am already thinking to myself that I this morning's run was a failure...and the feeling that this whole week has been a loss. My question is where does this feeling come from? Just because I didn't set out to accomplish what I had intended to do this morning shouldn't negate all the good I have done. This feeling frustrates me and I don't know what to do about it other than go for another run to make up for it...but that, to me, doesn't solve the problem of where the feeling comes from.

Any reductionistic theories out there?