I feel something built up; rising from somewhere ancient deep and a part of me nods and smiles:

“There you are! My old friend Rage… How ya been?”

I let him out and I spout some frothy nonsense until even I think.

‘Yeah right”

My apologies are genuine and fast! I’ve been down this road and have become resigned to the possibility that I may never find the ability to shut up when I am emotionally charged and challenged.

Sometimes you see them slip and fall. Sometimes you just find them resigned. Sitting there fretting… all hope drained. Planning the next big move?

Sometimes you wonder how they do it? Sometimes you try to help and then… Sitting waiting for some light and hope. Preparing for that onslaught of compassion.

Jason sits at Queen at Jameson, his head bowed slightly taking stock of the trinkets that sit on the sidewalk beside him. He’s been here for decades now.

You usually hear him throat scream before you see him and most that hear that pain walk around him to avoid what ever it is that Jason offers.

The trinkets and toys are from a child long gone or grown… I can’t be sure except this was Jason’s child when he was younger and living on the east coast.

Whenever I think I’m having a bad day or that the lawyer bills for my child’s custody and safety are too much… it’s Jason who provides me with perspectives.

A young 11 pound turkey made the ultimate sacrifice here this week and has just been stuffed and seasoned.

Z is still sleeping and she is healthy and seemingly happy except when she’s not and she tells me about that and I listen and do my best to make it better except for those times I can’t and I tell her and she’s good with that.

I decided when I was 50 to have a child and the blessings in this life for me begin with her and us and this and that young turkey and friends, are why I am thankful to God today.

Canada 🇨🇦 is a great place to live!

I wake up tired all the time now. However I am thankful for this.

I still wake up.

The cumulative effects of life have taken a toll where time and weight are all I can take… however maybe I am wrong like so many times before.

I am thankful for this experience for which I’ve been allowed to participate. The alternative seems eternally vast and full of abandon.

I have this memory of a time many years ago when I almost drowned.

In the moments that followed, sitting alone soaked on dry land; when my deep breathing eased to normal and my heart settled back to normal…

I was struck by the silence and the lapping of the river water against the shore in bright moonlight.

The river just kept doing what rivers do and the world kept on turning regardless of whether I lived or died and in that moment I knew that truth.

This knowledge made it easier to leave home. I left the next day.

I am calling it the kittens war however the potential for a metaphor here is not lost.

They are 12 weeks in and I have had enough… the problem is that my daughter loves them and since I love her then they will stay. Their behaviors will be forced to change from kittens to cats on this Thanksgiving Day Weekend or they collectively are going to be very wet.

I find that keeping them off the table where we eat and out of the rooms where we sleep to be a necessity for my peace of mind and their collective survival as members of this household.

The waterbottle spray is proving essential. They definitely don’t like it and I must confess what they don’t like gives me a certain joy!

They’ve destroyed my plants, boxes of kleenex, rolls of paper towels and the straw that broke my tolerance was when one of them (Timmy) went after one of my paintings.

I am tired of talking about kittens, I am tired of thinking about kittens and I am officially tired of writing about kittens.

Perhaps too frequently I’m hearing the expression, “It’s a brave new world.”

It’s perhaps a new world for our lot with our masks and obnoxious opinions, however there doesn’t seem to be upon reflection… much bravado present.

I mean it’s not like a an army of Alexander or Khan is raining steel down upon us or not like the black plague is wiping out a third of the population…

No World War!

No Depression!

Just a hoarding of toilet paper and waaaaaaaaaa/waaaaaaaaa…

This pandemic is exposing character and history will not soon forget.

The hangovers weren’t the worst however they were a close second.

The worst was the not remembering. ‘What did I say? Who did I say it to? Where do I hide this shame?’

You don’t hide shame; apparently you wear it like any suit of clothing. It usually hangs off of you loose, dirty and stained.

The mirror was a difficult look in days of old. It was always that way for me even as a child long before I knew I was an alcoholic.

Looking at my first class photo in grade 2… I didn’t recognize one of the boys. “Who’s that?” I asked pointing.

Janice stopped smiling when she realized I was serious. “It’s you!” She said.

“Really?”

I imagined that I looked so different.

Not yet 5.

I hear traffic in the distance and kittens downstairs and my clock ticks off the seconds with a mechanical sound reminiscent of madness if one dwells there too long.

I will work and my girl will go to school and things will happen or not of which I have little or no control over and I know how I feel about this is irrelevant however I do want control sometimes.

The cats want fed and I will shower and dress which is always the case until it’s not. I have somewhere to go and others depend on me to be there. I am fortunate.

I walk with God however the devil is in the details.

I will pray in the shadows…