Sometimes Time

Sometimes I wish I could freeze time.

No. I want to pause time then replay it when needed so I can relive it and so could everyone else in the memory...but then would it just be a photograph?

Better yet, what if I could stretch time? Or hold an intermission during time? At least a breathing time?

No, I want to amend time. Why pause it? Why not capture it along with a variety of other forming memories and make wine out of it and cork it? Then I could sip it when I need it, when I'm lonely, when I'm missing the ones I love.

No, maybe what I really want to do is mend time. I don't mean fix. I want to sew moments together like a quilt and crawl underneath, grow warm there. If only this were possible.

No...what I want to do is bookmark time. Return to that page. Show it those who need to see it so they can see where I'm coming from, why I have the point of view I do. And to share it too.

If only I could punctuate time. Add a comma to slow it down, a dash to speed it onward, a period to stop, or a semi-colon to wait for a while for the inevitable.

Sometimes I don't know what I want. Sometimes time is cruel.

Luck?

source

Driving in the early morning Northern Alberta darkness last Friday, I hit a deer.

I'd say five trotted out of the ditch all at once; there was no way to avoid it. It bounced onto the hood of my car and then slipped off to the side to remain on the highway.

Despite that initial shock, I felt oddly calm.

This happens often where I live. Everyone I know who chooses to share this big beautiful Alberta wilderness with wildlife has one or even two of these stories to tell.

One person stopped immediately; I expected a stranger but it was a friend. She listened politely as I rambled on. My car seemed relatively unscathed but it was definitely not safe to be on the side of the highway even with our flashers blinking so I urged her to go on her way. I jumped back in my car to let someone past but instead someone else stopped, also a friend. She gave me a hug. We talked briefly. After a semi-trailer blew by us like a slap in the face, I urged her to travel on to work.

I still hadn't had an opportunity to actually go look at the deer. Honestly, I was avoiding it. Before I could, another driver stopped and in that morning dark I saw him grab something from the back of his truck, a shovel. He pushed the deer off the road and then came over to my car. A stranger, I shook his hand and thanked him for that. At least the road would be safe for drivers again. He said there's only one problem: the deer was still alive.

The calm drained out of me.

I thanked him again so he left and then it was just the two of us waiting for the sun to rise on that warm December morning, one alive, one dying.

Or maybe both? Not me, this time. I called Alberta Fish & Wildlife and was told someone was already traveling in the area and that he would euthanize the animal. My calm mostly returned but there was another feeling too.

The entire incident from collision to conclusion? Fifteen minutes. Although the repair bill will be costly, my car is drive-able. I'm alive and uninjured. It could have been much worse. At least for me. I even arrived to work on time. That's why something about this whole thing feels too easy.

Brandon Mull wrote "luck has a way of evaporating when you lean on it." I've think I've been leaning on luck, and luck is something I don't much believe in. Because if I did, then I'd probably learn nothing from this lesson about strangers, about mercy, about myself, and about every other ordinary extraordinary day when everything I touched, lived.

Things that are most likely the devil:

Last night I think I watched an obscure documentary about an obscure documentary about nesting dolls.

Help me.

This is my hood.

This is my neighbourhood. Word.
What's yurs like?

Wordfuse (Valentine's Day Edition)

acrimatrimonious (adjective): acrimonious + matrimony = a word used to describe the unfriendly goings-on that will likely occur if those of us who are married fail to take advantage of the opportunity to provide a token of love to our significant others this fast-approaching February 14. Ditto for birthdays, anniversaries and so on. 


*Derived from the Latin dogeus houseus; aka a quick way to incite strestrogen.

Spontaneous Combustion

     “The only thing that has to be finished by next Tuesday is next Monday.”  ~Jennifer Yane

     Apparently Jennifer Yane has never heard of spontaneous human combustion. Those wacky scientists have not yet determined exactly how or why humans spontaneously melt into piles of ash, but I think I know the reason. It’s deadlines.

     Just think about the word deadline.

     Some history on that word: according to some sources, the etymology or historical origin of “deadline” may relate back to the American Civil war. During that time, armies had no proper facilities for holding prisoners, so they would create a makeshift and inadequate prison (perhaps even draw a line on the ground around a group of prisoners) then warn them that whoever crossed the line would be shot to death. Whoa.

     Nowadays, deadline refers to “the time by which something must be finished or submitted.” Despite its much milder usage, one could argue that today’s barrage of stressful work deadlines might still feel like a sniper with a big maniacal smile on his face is hiding nearby ready and waiting to blast the next person on the wrong side of some so-called important deadline. 

     Personally, I’ve never experienced many deadline difficulties. That is, unless they are actually enforced. My point is this: people aren’t robots and stuff happens. Like really good TV programs for example. (Okay, maybe not the best excuse.) Like mangled hard-drives. Or family emergencies. Even death. Those who enforce excessively rigid and unyielding deadlines should remember that sort of shit just makes God chuckle.

     Folks need lifelines, not deadlines. Overwhelmed workers are less creative, less productive. Not exactly beneficial to the workplace, is it? And although I’m clearly no scientist, I think that when faced with merciless deadlines some people just sit down in an armchair and stare blankly at their TVs and then it happens: they spontaneously combust.

     And the saddest part of all? No one might even notice until it's too late.