SORRY

Priceless Real-Estate

“Why should Punishment Weave the Veil with Iron Wheels of War
When Forgiveness might it Weave with Wings of Cherubim?”
                            William Blake
There is sometimes collateral damage when one goes through a crisis. Losing a loved one being
one of the most difficult of loses. 

I felt sorry, after the loss of Sue, for my body and my mind. It was an emotional super storm. Most people survive the pain, but they are never the same.

​The loss of a loved one pretty well firms up the belief, specially if you are older, that nothing is permanent. Not even taxes.

Dominic and Friend

Interpersonal relationships can be more difficult at this time. I’m afraid that the shock of Sue’s disappearance probably resulted in my losing at least one friend. If not, then it has certainly cut off any communication. 

​Now, you’d think that people would cut you some slack when something tragic happens, but everyone is different. Forever my friend, that’s what I was told, and then not my friend. Forever, and then not. Sue gone and my friend gone. 

Forest Creature

Dominic has done everything he could to make me feel better. He wags his tail, licks me, sits with me while I drink my beer in the woodshed, sits on my lap, chases squirrels and makes me laugh. He has been a great furry bundle of help. 

Do you know what is needed. COMMUNICATION! 

​“Come hither, be patient. Let us converse together, because
I also tremble at myself and at all my former life.”
                        William Blake
​

Forest Creature

Hell, I’ve actually apologized, a few times, and I don’t even know what I apologized for. Maybe there’s a reason. There’s only one reason that I’ve heard of and I’m innocent as charged. 
​

Give me a clue! Put the reason behind one of those three doors. Let me guess which door it’s behind. Give me a chance to win a prize. Spin the wheel between commercials. The prize being a straight-out statement. This is what you did that so pissed me off and that’s why I will never, ever be your friend again.

Dominic With Another Friend

The crowd would cheer, the station would jump to the one billionth commercial and I’d go home with my prize. An answer.

​However, I’m also aware that maybe something that has nothing to do with me is the problem. However, I don’t know because nobody is coughing up a clue. 
​

Stopping For Lunch

So, I’ll end this section of my blog by apologizing to any friend that I may have upset or hurt. Whether I need to or not.
                         

Happy Hikers

Ah, what the heck, I might as well whine some more. As I said, the loss of Sue and of a friend or two has pretty well firmed up my faith in the impermanence of things. It also screams that I am getting older. It grabs me by the collar and says, “look around you, everyone who is in your age-group is either checking out or getting involved in old-peoples’ activities.

Speaking of. I was asked to buy a lottery ticket for a place that holds events for seniors. I thought, as I filled out the form, that I hoped the young woman didn’t think that I needed to go there. I took a quick glance at my hand as I wrote my name and phone number and I thought that she definitely was thinking that I was an attendee.

Getting older is also making me less tolerant of television commercials and commercialism in general. Is there any limit? I’m fed up to my gills with all the phantoms that people are chasing which often end up as no more than a little old man behind a screen. The Great Wizard of Nothing. Oh Auntie Em, when can me and my little dog just land this bicycle and see what is real?

“It seems to me absolutely true, that our world, which appears to us the surface of all things, is really the bottom of a deep ocean: all our trees are submarine growths, and we are weird, scaly-clad submarine fauna, feeding ourselves on offal, like shrimps. Only occasionally the soul rises gasping through the fathomless fathoms under which we live, far up to the surface of the ether, where there is true air. I am convinced that the air we normally breathe is a kind of water, and men and women are a species of fish.”
            D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover
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Incoming System

See what getting older has done to me. I’m really starting to believe that watching a woman crying over a dead child, wild fires burning up miles of forest and leaving the wild-life charred or dazed or homeless, dead shooting victims and much more, and then having the screen switch over to an ecstatic family making a big deal over a cheese sandwich is, well, what’s the word, nauseating. It’s the authentic and tragic trivialized. It’s dehumanizing. No 
​

Judy Meets a Hiker

wonder there are so many kitchen tables laden with bottles and bottles of medications. “What’s wrong with me Auntie Em.”

​“Nothing child. It’s just your morality showing.”

Morning Hiking Route

Oh I know, there has always been crazy stuff to bitch about, but it’s me talking and my getting-older mind is beginning to say enough is enough. If something, in this society is sacred then leave it sacred and not a ditty for selling the latest toss-out toy.

Well, that’s my rant for this blog. 

​“It is simple truth that the Indian did not, so long as his native philosophy held sway over his mind, either envy or desire to imitate the splendid achievements of the white man. In his own thought he rose superior to them! He scorned them, even as a lofty sprit absorbed in its stern task rejects the soft beds, the luxurious food, the pleasure-worshipping dalliance of a rich neighbour, It was clear to him that virtue and happiness are independent of those thing, if not incompatible with them.”
   Charles A. Eastman, ‘The Soul of the Indian, An Interpretation’
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Our Laneway

And one more thing. I know that I don’t have a zillionth of the knowledge of what is really happening on this fine earth, but I do know what I feel.

Sunrise

 “I am perhaps the most sinful of men:
   I pretend not to holiness,
   Yet I pretend to love, to see,
   To converse with daily as man why man,
   And the more to have an interest in the Friend of Sinners.”
             William Blake
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Strange Tree by Shubenacadie Residential School Lot

Sue's Memorial Lamp

Chewing My Glove on My Truck Roof