Acknowlegements First and foremost I want to thank my family: Joyce for her medical knowledge and training which so helped the rest of the family, for her daily visits to the ICU, and for dealing with my three suicide attempts with equanimity; Tafline and Matt for their visits to me in the hospital, for their…
The first stanza of my 1987 poem, CHANGES, is: Stability Never an option. Possibilities the name of the game.
The Messenger His name was David. He was a distinguished looking man in his forties, always well dressed with a regal bearing in spite of his disability. He was likely taller than me but I would never know that. For that first time I met him he was confined to an electric wheelchair. I never…
Your Towel Sir Every time I take my bath towel in my two hands and scrub my back dry, I think of Celine. Celine was the first therapist I met the day I started the C.A.R. Program. Celine was nothing like the French Canadian singer of the same name. Sure, she had a mop of…
Even though I enjoy the mysteries of James Patterson, especially the Alex Cross series, when it comes to writing I am much, much more like Lee Child. Lee has no idea where he will start his next bestseller. Well, maybe a vague notion. But he starts with a few totems by his side — freshly…
I still remember the strangeness of listening to the theme from M*A*S*H (the movie) in the darkness of the huge cinema on Calgary’s 16th Avenue. It was the Summer of 1970 and I must have watched it with my ex-wife but I don’t remember her presence. I sat, as if alone, in the dark struck…
My wonderful landlady Dragita gave me a book for Christmas 2010. It was a miniture edition of Rick Warren’s “The Purpose-Driven Life”. I didn’t read it right away, figuring it was the usual fundamentalist Christian bullshit. I don’t remember when I actually first read through it. The book has 40 ‘chapters’, 40 being a significant…
Does this happen to you? You get so fixated on working toward a goal that you don’t acknowledge or notice the progress you’ve made. Happens to me all the time. I could blame my perfectionism, which would be true to a degree. Or, I could blame being overly focused on the goal, which would be…
I just received a piece of writing advice: “You can’t think your way out of a writing problem, you need to write your way out of a thinking problem.” Herewith submitted for your approval the poem that resulted from that advice. The clock ticks. Counting away the seconds Till the end of me and…
His name was David. He was a good looking man in his forties, always well dressed with a regal bearing in spite of his disability. He was likely taller than me but I would never know that, for that first time I met him he was confined to an electric wheelchair. I never learned by…