Falling in the General Direction of Up

Oh the things my mind doesn't think of. I had an...interesting day. Can't really tell you about it cuz, you know - it's confidential. But what I can tell you is that it reminded me of the demons that try to take up space in my head. And the things those little pointy-eared bastards say and want me to believe.    I've named one of those ugly little creatures, Louis DePalma. Remember him?  Taxi. A sitcom circa 1978. He was the character played by Danny DeVito. (or maybe you remember him from Matilda - he played the "I'm smart, you're dumb" dad.) That short, stout, balding, sneering character that liked to taunt, cajole, diminish, and harass . He had no redeeming value whatsoever. He wasn't even an anti-hero. He was just anti. Well - that's what the demons in my brain are all about.  They have no redeeming value yet they are in there (for a plethora of reasons I won't bore you with).   I've waged war on those gnarly little th...

I sat in church a couple weeks ago and during the worship singing I had to stop.  Not to pause and take a breath, but I had to pull a full stop. The lyrics bothered me.  The worship song was Cannons, by Phil Wickham.  " I'm so unworthy, but still You love me.  Forever my heart will sing of how great You are" My heart rebelled against those lyrics.   I'm so unworthy .  I'm so unworthy.  My heart said - no!  That's not the truth.   A week later, I stayed home on a Sunday, desperately needing some quite and wanting no other voice than that of my Fathers. At one point that morning, I hit play, streaming worship songs on Google Play. I wanted to lift my voice and sooth my soul. Everything was going swimmingly until I heard this song by Kari Jobe: "Love me, though I'm not worthy...cleanse me, though I'm not worthy...I'm not worthy to feel your love..." I turned off that song and my heart worried ...

I am in a really nice place in my life.   Apparently, for the first time, I'm in a "normal" relationship. As normal goes, anyway. And I have no idea what to do with it.   My default mode is to take a step back and eye it warily. The fears start to whisper at me. I'm rude to it and try to quell it. But it's so natural for me to be skittish. My history with most of my significant relationships have taught me to react this way. People don't stay. Particularly if you disappoint. And I always disappoint. Particularly if you're not enough. And I'm never enough. Particularly if you are too much. And I'm too much.  I met a wonderful couple this weekend at my favourite watering hole. They know my beau. Think quite highly of him. They were shocked that I had children who were as old as they were. And that I was a grandmother. They declared me not old enough for such things. They also declared me quite lovely. And told my beau I was a keeper....

So.  This dating thing.  I won't lie or mince words - it is scary for me.  I have a gaggle of ghosts that like to visit and try to spook me out of moving forward into something that could be very, very good.  The thing is - those ghosts are no longer as frightening as they once were. Those little apparitions have been losing their ectoplasmic power over the past year. Nevertheless, they made an appearance the other night. And they were joined by the rest of the debate team; my own personal version of NORAD (the early warning defence system that I have carefully crafted over the years) and (the newest member of the team) the Truth Teller.   The three of them convened their little debate on the heels of a...well...a whirlwind week. With my new beau. A whirlwind week that has culminated in us expressing, often, how we feel about each other. I am happy to report that we are equally smitten. Not only can the people around us see it but we can see it in each ...

So...it would seem that I no longer think I might be dating.   Nope.   I think I AM dating.   (Insert a small giggle here) Yes - my last dating experience was in 1979. Nearly 4 decades ago. Oh...that's...wow...old...I'm old! So given that I last dated in another century, I thought I would embark on this experience with a great deal of maturity. And by maturity, I mean, pragmatism.  Hard earned lessons leading the charge.  I  would be rife with sensible-ness.   Imagine my surprise. Instead I feel a little giddy. Cute.  Silly. And kinda high school. Wondering if he feels the same way. Then I hear that he's mentioning me to people and I feel a quiet little thrill. I confide in a mutual friend and we both laugh - eyes dancing. "How great that two special people in my life are seeing eac h other", she says.   I want to tell people.   And yet, I don't.   Partly because there are some key peopl...

God has such a sense of humour.  Not very long after my Frederick and Jeffery posts, I was asked out on a date.   Not by Frederick or Jeffery.  Well, I think it was a date.  I'm not really sure it was a date.    It was an excursion.   An outing.   A hike.   It was a hike.   Is a hike a date?  I mean, a guy asks a girl to go somewhere with him.  It's a date, right?  I mean, he didn't ask me to Home Depot to help him decide on new paint colours or light fixtures - that's marriage, for sure! No, he asked me to go hiking with him on a Saturday. And after the hike was over he deposited me at my car, got out of the truck and gave me that sideways hug thing. If he high-fived me and said "Booyah! Good day dawg!" that would mean we were bro's.  But no, I got the "don't want to scare you with a full on hug so here's the less intimidating sideways hug" hug. Then one day later he asked me t...

I witnessed something I haven't seen in a really long time. Maybe never. I witnessed a breathtaking performance of (very) young musicians playing 45 minutes of jazz at the Chemanius Jazz Fest last weekend. The Kenton Dick Quartet.  Photo Credit: © 2016 Cole Thompson You don't know what breathtaking really means until you find yourself holding your breath until the very last note then letting it out in a gush. Their performance wasn't only mind blowing to watch - I mean, the ease by which these young musicians played their music - much of it original compositions - was spectacular; but it also inspired me to write this poem-ish piece: Jazz is about tension.  The litany of disconnected, discordant notes,  Beats and grooves,  Skipping errantly and recklessly along; Like a runaway train,  Careening around the bend, Daring to launch itself off the rails. All seemingly impossible and unresolvable.  And then;  Sudde...