Sunday, July 28, 2019

ROBBLOG #791- The Dance

The Mister and I have been going to many of the performances of the 39 Days of July
here in the Cowichan on Vancouver Island.

A Sunday afternoon ago while listening to the great music from the stage, I watched a young boy maybe seven years of age or so, dance on the green grass in Houey Park.
He was about 20 feet from where I sat in my two-toned grey lawn chair.

This boy, in a bright blue Tee shirt, wasn't dancing alone.
He was dancing with his Dad.
I wished I had a video to demonstrate to you how wonderful the moment was to me.
I hope it was for him.
It was so sweet my eyes began to water.

Every boy.
Every man.
Should dance with his Dad- more than once in his life.
It's 2019.
Why not?

I watched them together for a minute.
Then, they stopped.
Something had diverted the youngster's attention away from keeping time to the music with his Father.

A few seconds later another brother- maybe  a couple of years older was itching to Dance with Dad.
He had on a bright red shirt with the name "Cooper" in black letters sprawled across the back.

You could see he wanted to but what would people say if they saw that. A boy dancing with a boy?
He didn't know that I was watching. 
This young lad who obviously loved his Dad was too afraid of the peer pressure or what he had been carefully taught-
A boy cannot dance with his Dad.
It's not right.
Maybe he thought it would be "Queer".

Dad stood still and offered him his outstretched arms, encouraging him.
"C'mon," I was saying under my breath. "Do it!"
I was routing for him. "Take your Dad's arms!"
It seemed that I was almost yelling out loud but I wasn't.
C'mon, young man, just dance with your Dad.

The boy felt awkward.
I could tell. 
Two men don't dance together. It had probably been drilled into his head by those many years older. Maybe by school pals. Who knows.

Eventually, he pushed Dad so he was facing away from him and reaching around his Dad's sides, he grabbed the strong arms pulling them around to his Dad's back.
He tried to swing this way and that but it just didn't work- not the way it had worked for his brother a few moments before. Finally, he pushed his Dad away and moved towards another brother- a bit older again, and he ran away to play some "silly" brother game.

Too bad.
It could have been memorable.
Not just for me- I was just an onlooker- it was for "Dad" and of course for the kid.

I turned back towards the stage and the musicians in front of me. It was lost. It almost happened but now it was lost for eternity.

During some applause a few minutes later, I took one final look around turning in my chair to see where the Dad and his three boys had gone. 
I could see them behind me a few hundred feet away. They were walking- balancing really, on the rails of the old train tracks that cut through the centre of the park.

A new memory was being created.
The old memory, the special moment that could have been was gone.
Lost forever...

Friday, July 19, 2019

ROBBLOG #790- A Conundrun

I am in a conundrum...

In other words, I don't know what the Fuck to do. I know that sounds harsh but it's how I feel.
I started on my way to be "mostly" vegetarian" a few months ago.
I stopped eating pork.

Bacon, sausages, ham etc.
I don't miss it except for bacon on a Sunday morning.
I wonder if Jesus has bacon on Sunday's before he sits back and listens to all that praise and those prayers that float heavenwards on Sunday mornings?

Does he tend to listen more to the United's? Does he ignore the JW's?
Does he like the pomp and circumstance and enjoys getting a holy laugh listening to the Catholics promising everyone Hell everlasting if they don't show up every Sunday or at least Easter and Christmas?

What about the Anglicans?
He's probably given up on them and their wishy-washy ways what with the question of Gay Marriage and all.
On again. Off again.
He's in all probability sitting up there on his "gold" throne- right next to his Dad, knowing full well he never mentioned LGBTQ2 in his earthly ministry. I'd say he might be a very likable guy if Christians hadn't Fucked up all he was supposed to have said.
There's that word again which brings me back on topic.

I stopped eating pork as I said.
Now, I want to include beef. It has always been my plan. Then, this morning I saw a video on Twitter.
These dairy cows that had been confined most of their life to small spaces had been herded to a vast, green field.

In the video, they were being herded from the lush field, across a two lane blacktop to a slaughterhouse opposite. Most had not had that kind of freedom a grass patch allows. Most had never walked that far. You could see on their beautiful faces that many were in pain and were afraid.
No. Terrified.
Watching the video that someone shot from the cab of a truck, you could see many of them hobbling along. They were clearly not well and in shock.

Then, I watched one lovely cow limp towards the middle of the road. She was unable to walk on her right front foot. She stopped dead centre of the road and stood there for a second on her three legs. The fourth- that right one, dangled from the "elbow".
She looked right into the camera.
Broken. In pain. Afraid. Helpless.
The look on her face.
Help me. Why me?
She pause for those few seconds as her "friends" walked around her. Some barely able to move. One with a rear leg that didn't work any more.

She looked into the lens with those big, beautiful cow eyes of hers.
Tears streamed down my cheeks and out loud I said- "I'm sorry girl..."
She looked forward again to the other side of the road and hobbled on across onto the grassy field. I could see where the slaughterhouse stood just a few hundred yards away.

It broke my heart.
I have felt broken all day.
I don't want it to be like this for her or any animal.

This may just have done it for me.

If beef goes, then I have chicken and turkey remaining.
I don't know if I am strong enough but I will never forget the sad, beautiful eyes of that dairy cow.

Thank you for giving your life so we humans can enjoy our beef...

Friday, July 12, 2019

ROBBLOG #789- I Can Do It God Damn It!

Gotta love a Queen.
I do.

Well from one Queen to another, as it is.

Today, A Queen went tree planting.
I wonder how many young saplings she's planted over the years? I expect her Princely husband has "planted" many young ones- but a Queen? Herself?

Anyways, there she was covered in red from head to toe when she was advised of the task at hand. Listening intently, she had a good think and appraised the situation as only A Queen can.

"Hmmm, a pile of dirt, a shiny shovel and the tree- WAIT! the tree's already in the God Damned Royal Hole? They're looking to me to be a tottering old thing- are they not?"- she looked 'round at them as stone-faced as One could have."

The attending crowd was hushed wondering what A Queen would do.

"One will show the multitudes." she thought pursing her rosy-red lips.
Looking straight at the young tree- sizing it up as it were, she turns to her lady-in-waiting and says something to the effect of-
"You'll have to hold this Dear- one's handbag, I can't do both.
One knows one's limits."

Then, a rather rotund, poorly dressed commoner steps forward onto the black carpet where A Queen is standing and proceeds to take it upon herself to explain what is about to happen and A Queen's options-
"Now then you can have someone actually plant the bugger for you- in this case a Horny Beamed Tree or you can wield this shiny, silver shovel that we purchased expressly for the Royal Hand."

She thought for a quick second- never looking up once while processing the situation.

"I'm not too old to plant a Fucking Tree!"- says the Queen, seeming a bit miffed and you just don't want to play around with a "miffed" Queen. I mean ask RuPaul...

She grabbed the Royal Spade and dug in with gusto exclaiming- "Oh Royal Fuckey Do Dah Day, One forgot to remove one's white gloves. Pausing for a moment between shovel fulls, she concluded that she was not to give it another thought for poor people in India or someplace like that were making more for One every day!" She clicked her heels with glee and continued shoveling the massive pile of black-brown earth into the hole surrounding the tree.

"I do hope someone threw in a handful of bonemeal before one started. It keeps the sapling stiff and strong!"- she said with a determined air and a lilt in her voice.

Someone in the crowd tittered!

After numerous clicks and flashes from press cameras, she threw the shovel onto the Royal ground in front of her, grabbed her bag from her lady-in-waiting and trudged off to have a Royal Pee in the privy nearby.

"Working in One's garden always makes one need to tinkle!" she called over her shoulder to the attending crowd and tinkle she did to the applause of all who were assembled in this Queenly spot!

Later that evening as her first dressing maid removed One's Royal stockings, she turned to her Royal Husband who was sprawled quite naked across the Royal Bed scratching his elongated, purple-hued balls and said-
"My Dear, they actually asked me if I could handle a fucking Royal shovel to throw a bit of dirt on the roots of a Horny Beamed tree and by the way who has ever heard of a Horny Beamed tree? Really, One would have preferred to plant a Prickly Pear!"
The Queen's Mister stopped scratching and nodded in his not-quite-Queen-like way for One should always but always agree with "A Queen".

"Why, that goes without saying My Dear!" as the Royal Male gazed down upon his own "prickly pear"!

Any Queen should be heeded for that matter or there could be H E Double Hockey sticks to pay.
Thus ended a Royal lesson of sorts...

Friday, July 5, 2019

ROBBLOG #788- A Cousin Gone Before Me

I had a short conversation with my Cousin Judy tonight.

Well, she did most of the talking. Judy passed from this earth last September but occasionally when the lines of communication are wide open, she comes through loud and clear and just starts talking.
I was eating pizza and enjoying a hot cuppa when the most recent conversation occurred.
I guess she felt she had my undivided attention as I dined on hot pizza pie straight from the oven.

"It's nice here- but different"- she began.
She laughed as only my cousin could laugh.
I could see she was sitting down and I was looking at her from her left side.
Her hair was a light brown and not the grey/white I had become familiar with in the past years of her earthly existence. It seemed to be thicker, healthier too.
I guess death can do that to a person or at the least the next phase of this life. The phase not on this earthly go-round you and I inhabit.

Judy had something in her lap and her hands were busy as she talked.
I think it looked like knitting. It was colourful.
I don't even remember if she knitted in this life actually.
Maybe she was separating bits and pieces of cloth. It came and went so fast it was hard to tell.

She continued:- "Things mean different here. You'll like it but don't rush to get here!"
She laughs her Judy laugh once again.

"Things mean different here" were her exact words. I don't know what that's about but I guess one day I'll find out first hand.

I miss Judy's earthly presence and at times I still find it hard to believe she left us after Labour Day a short year ago. At least she appears healthy and she's not suffering from all the medical conditions that plagued her final years.

She never got to see our new Island home but only the week before we were planning her coming to the Island for a month of two.
Of course, that was never to happen.
Tom and I were on the Queen of Cowichan, the ferry to Horseshoe Bay from Departure Bay when we started planning what we'd do when she came out west. Her niece- my cousin Karen, would come too.We couldn't wait to show her our new Island Home. It had been so hard to leave Judy behind in Orillia. I had feared we wouldn't see her again and that fear materialized.

It's funny how I hear departed voices from time to time. It's never at my choosing. It's always at their choosing. I am usually busy doing something- like brushing my teeth, when it happens. I hear a familiar voice speaking to me and not always in full, complete sentences.
Sometimes just snippets.
Sometimes, a few words with a picture thrown in.
Sometimes I am being told or shown something that I just don't understand.
Sometimes- a few days later, it makes sense.

You have to realize they don't communicate the way we do.
They used to do of course but on the new plane of existence it's a step back when they try to talk to us. As time and space go along, it becomes harder and almost impossible to communicate.
I believe that's where the pictures come in.
It's just easier for them to try and show me something.
The hard part is when I have to guess and I can't.

I do my best.
I feel comforted and at the very least happy that I am open to receive such messages from right here about six inches from where where are now.

Don't ask.
Someone on the next plane told me that years ago and I don't really understand it any more that I expect you too but six inches appears to be of some importance to them.

So Jude, it was nice.
It was brief.
I could feel the love and I could hear you laugh.

That was enough.