Reflection
Friday, April 06, 2007
Sometimes I miss my old life...
Life on Main Street was cozy and warm. I had a 9-5 (read 7-3) job at a retirement home taking care of elders; my co workers were my elders; my friends were my elders. The people I spent time with who were not my elders were those who have known me since I was a child. They knew me like the back of their hand-- in spite of my aloofness.
Every night I slept beside the man I love.
Cedar Street is different. Although going to University is a step forward-- I am perusing my dream, I am a midwife in the making-- it sometimes feels like a regression, as if I am reliving a part of my youth that I never even had. I feel welcome and I feel cared about, yet It doesn't fit quite as comfortably as it could.
Could it ever fit quite as comfortably as it "should"?
My life is so unusual. If I have created it myself, what does it say about me?
Time to study...
Dawn
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Old Blog 9
Happy Earth Day, folks!
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Those who have known me for a long time know that I have been preaching an Earth gospel since I was a child, often being responded to with laugher and excuses. One pattern that I have noticed about life is that when people neglect to take notice of pressing issues, the issue grows bigger and bigger until it reaches a critical point. Sometimes it is the-point-of-no-return. With this in mind, I bring up, global warming-- the cool new trend in political issues.
I am happy that mass media is finally picking up on the fact that our environment is screaming, and we have been ignoring. The problem with the media portrayal of global warming is that it perpetuates one-demensional fear. I prefer a more cosmic perception.
We are reaching a point in the developement of human consciousness where ancient wisdom is being renewed and reinterpreted. Like the god of the Greeks, Romans, and many Aborigional nations, I view natural forces as if they are messengers. One can view global warming as such. For example, one may choose to see global warming as a vengefull warrior taking back what is theirs; I prefer the view it as a loving force asking PLEASE for our attention, like a kind parent, guiding their child to safety. Why do people not listen?
Humans seem like children in the the grand scheme of the universe (particularily in politically rich nations). We have been too nieve to listen; too self absorbed to care. We are like teenages, rebelling against our parents, in spite of their love and wisdom. When are we going to grow up and start to think of our earthly community? I have great compassion for those of you who don't understand. At the same time I am humbly angry.
Grow up! It is no sacrifice of the self to act with reverance toward life! It, in fact, fuels the soul and makes one greater and more powerful. Anyone who neglects the Earth, also neglects to recognize their foolishness. I'm not the freakish, tree-hugging hippy that I have been accused of. My head is not in the clouds!!! I possess great wisdom, by virtue of my understanding of simple truths. We need not feel powerless in the face of natures course.
We must have the agency to speak to global warming, who is no less than the voice of God, quietly teaching humanity how to understand. If we do, nature will support us. I know this, because I heard the voice for all of my life.
LOVE,
Dawn
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Those who have known me for a long time know that I have been preaching an Earth gospel since I was a child, often being responded to with laugher and excuses. One pattern that I have noticed about life is that when people neglect to take notice of pressing issues, the issue grows bigger and bigger until it reaches a critical point. Sometimes it is the-point-of-no-return. With this in mind, I bring up, global warming-- the cool new trend in political issues.
I am happy that mass media is finally picking up on the fact that our environment is screaming, and we have been ignoring. The problem with the media portrayal of global warming is that it perpetuates one-demensional fear. I prefer a more cosmic perception.
We are reaching a point in the developement of human consciousness where ancient wisdom is being renewed and reinterpreted. Like the god of the Greeks, Romans, and many Aborigional nations, I view natural forces as if they are messengers. One can view global warming as such. For example, one may choose to see global warming as a vengefull warrior taking back what is theirs; I prefer the view it as a loving force asking PLEASE for our attention, like a kind parent, guiding their child to safety. Why do people not listen?
Humans seem like children in the the grand scheme of the universe (particularily in politically rich nations). We have been too nieve to listen; too self absorbed to care. We are like teenages, rebelling against our parents, in spite of their love and wisdom. When are we going to grow up and start to think of our earthly community? I have great compassion for those of you who don't understand. At the same time I am humbly angry.
Grow up! It is no sacrifice of the self to act with reverance toward life! It, in fact, fuels the soul and makes one greater and more powerful. Anyone who neglects the Earth, also neglects to recognize their foolishness. I'm not the freakish, tree-hugging hippy that I have been accused of. My head is not in the clouds!!! I possess great wisdom, by virtue of my understanding of simple truths. We need not feel powerless in the face of natures course.
We must have the agency to speak to global warming, who is no less than the voice of God, quietly teaching humanity how to understand. If we do, nature will support us. I know this, because I heard the voice for all of my life.
LOVE,
Dawn
Old Blog 8
Time
Monday, May 14, 2007
I'm coming back into my body after a cold and dark winter in my mind. It was pretty intense existing on that level, considering how much time I spend there to begin with. With that said, I've been thinking today as I give my home the ol' scrub-down.
(Yes, the subject matter will change somewhat abruptly...)
When women are in labour they often become childlike, and are usually in need of some mothering as they transition through the painful, fearfilled journey of childbirth and into motherhood.
When people are very old they too often become childlike. When I have comforted my dying elders I have felt maternal, despite the fact these people were my granparents' and even my great-grandparents' age.
It is often said in these instances that people are "reverting" to childhood. Why does "reverting to childhood" imply regression? There must be some great wisdom in such a state of being, or else, why would people go to that place in their minds during such troubling experiences?
I, for one, called each of my parents during the darkest nights of my soul.
What is this wisdom that can be seen so clearly in the face of a newborn? I remember when my lovely nephew Mitchell was born facing upwards looking at my face. I was moved and perplexed by the fact that he looked like an ancient man. I wondered where he had come from.
I have always thought that children are greater than we give them credit for. While we often love them for of own self fullfilling reasons, we must also respect them for unapoligetically being children, as we resist that aspect of our own selves until there is no other way for us to cope.
What happens when we embrace our child-like selves? Why do we resist it? What is age? What is time? What the Hell am I talking about?
Don't ask me.
Monday, May 14, 2007
I'm coming back into my body after a cold and dark winter in my mind. It was pretty intense existing on that level, considering how much time I spend there to begin with. With that said, I've been thinking today as I give my home the ol' scrub-down.
(Yes, the subject matter will change somewhat abruptly...)
When women are in labour they often become childlike, and are usually in need of some mothering as they transition through the painful, fearfilled journey of childbirth and into motherhood.
When people are very old they too often become childlike. When I have comforted my dying elders I have felt maternal, despite the fact these people were my granparents' and even my great-grandparents' age.
It is often said in these instances that people are "reverting" to childhood. Why does "reverting to childhood" imply regression? There must be some great wisdom in such a state of being, or else, why would people go to that place in their minds during such troubling experiences?
I, for one, called each of my parents during the darkest nights of my soul.
What is this wisdom that can be seen so clearly in the face of a newborn? I remember when my lovely nephew Mitchell was born facing upwards looking at my face. I was moved and perplexed by the fact that he looked like an ancient man. I wondered where he had come from.
I have always thought that children are greater than we give them credit for. While we often love them for of own self fullfilling reasons, we must also respect them for unapoligetically being children, as we resist that aspect of our own selves until there is no other way for us to cope.
What happens when we embrace our child-like selves? Why do we resist it? What is age? What is time? What the Hell am I talking about?
Don't ask me.
Old Blog 7
69
Friday, August 24, 2007
I have 69 MYSPACE friends.
I live at 69 Cedar Street.
Take 69 to get to Sudbury from the badlands.
6+9= 15
1+5= 6
6 upside-down is 9.
Hmmmm...
Friday, August 24, 2007
I have 69 MYSPACE friends.
I live at 69 Cedar Street.
Take 69 to get to Sudbury from the badlands.
6+9= 15
1+5= 6
6 upside-down is 9.
Hmmmm...
Old Blog 6
Twister!!!
Sunday, March 09, 2008
My friends and I jamming in my apartment on a Sunday evening.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
My friends and I jamming in my apartment on a Sunday evening.
Old Blog 5
Carrie Asked: "How does one surrender and transmute love?"
Friday, February 22, 2008
They try to be gentle with themselves as they let go of their crush. They don't think themselves silly for creating dreams of a future that were never even remotely requited. They don't regret. They have no shame for the passion they expressed to the one their heart desired and to their friends who either supported or scoffed at it. At least, this is what one begins to think of doing in order to surrender.
The transmuting of love-- although perhaps not so simple in practice-- is changing the love from romantic aspirations to unadulterated friendship. Love is no more than a vibration, it is the mind that attaches meaning to it, therefore, it is the thinking which must transmute the frequency of the love energy.
Woe is me on this day, but not for long.
Friday, February 22, 2008
They try to be gentle with themselves as they let go of their crush. They don't think themselves silly for creating dreams of a future that were never even remotely requited. They don't regret. They have no shame for the passion they expressed to the one their heart desired and to their friends who either supported or scoffed at it. At least, this is what one begins to think of doing in order to surrender.
The transmuting of love-- although perhaps not so simple in practice-- is changing the love from romantic aspirations to unadulterated friendship. Love is no more than a vibration, it is the mind that attaches meaning to it, therefore, it is the thinking which must transmute the frequency of the love energy.
Woe is me on this day, but not for long.
Old Blog 3
Walmart: The Final Nail in the Coffin of Bradford as we Knew it.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Progress is fine and dandy, I suppose. I have no intention of spewing out a rant against Walmart. If the people of my home town see it fit to have it there, they can live in blissfull ignorance as the fertile earth beneath them is wasted. The truth is that we will continue to see the demise of the businesses that were once the charming icons of the lineage of hard working settlers of that land. As it happens, we might blame it on the economy, balking at the faults of our capitalist system. If we do, we must remember that we own a part of the blame.
Would I feel such disdain tonight had I not left Bradford ten years ago? If I grew with it? In it? Would I be just as complacent as I am now? I have no intentions, beyond writing this useless blog, to do anything about it. I am not judging the community of Bradford-- I only wish that I could be proud of it; that the people could have made different choices and worked toward creating something more beautiful than a suburban institution. In what fields do the children run free? What trees do they climb? Where do they touch the Earth with their bare feet? Is there any deviation from this course? I'm not sure if it should be my concern.
I don't mean to be harsh. I'm just sad that it's too late for myself to fully appreciate Bradford as it was when I was a kid; in the days when it had a distinct culture. I remember Bradford in the late 80's and it was a different place then. I'll always remember the endearing charm of the elderly Portuguese, Italian, and Dutch in their felt hats, or hand-made aprons tending their bountiful backyard gardens, or marinating their pigs roasting on spits. Immigrant farmers-- such a beautiful image in my mind. My memory serves to remind me of the smell of the Autmn havest, the blackest soil you'll ever see, the marshland farmhouses, and the calloused hands and sun-aged faces of the local farmers.
As history expands further into the past, we must find a way to honour it, or it will become lost under vinyl walls and neon signs.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Progress is fine and dandy, I suppose. I have no intention of spewing out a rant against Walmart. If the people of my home town see it fit to have it there, they can live in blissfull ignorance as the fertile earth beneath them is wasted. The truth is that we will continue to see the demise of the businesses that were once the charming icons of the lineage of hard working settlers of that land. As it happens, we might blame it on the economy, balking at the faults of our capitalist system. If we do, we must remember that we own a part of the blame.
Would I feel such disdain tonight had I not left Bradford ten years ago? If I grew with it? In it? Would I be just as complacent as I am now? I have no intentions, beyond writing this useless blog, to do anything about it. I am not judging the community of Bradford-- I only wish that I could be proud of it; that the people could have made different choices and worked toward creating something more beautiful than a suburban institution. In what fields do the children run free? What trees do they climb? Where do they touch the Earth with their bare feet? Is there any deviation from this course? I'm not sure if it should be my concern.
I don't mean to be harsh. I'm just sad that it's too late for myself to fully appreciate Bradford as it was when I was a kid; in the days when it had a distinct culture. I remember Bradford in the late 80's and it was a different place then. I'll always remember the endearing charm of the elderly Portuguese, Italian, and Dutch in their felt hats, or hand-made aprons tending their bountiful backyard gardens, or marinating their pigs roasting on spits. Immigrant farmers-- such a beautiful image in my mind. My memory serves to remind me of the smell of the Autmn havest, the blackest soil you'll ever see, the marshland farmhouses, and the calloused hands and sun-aged faces of the local farmers.
As history expands further into the past, we must find a way to honour it, or it will become lost under vinyl walls and neon signs.
Old Blog 2
Gifts from the Universe
Saturday, March 7, 2009
I had my midterm today. I am officially three-quarters of the way through my second year of midwifery school.
Yesterday I had a midterm review with my preceptor (mentor) and my tutor (counsellor). One of the things that we all agreed on was the fact that I am having trouble with emotionally supporting women in labour. This has been a challenge for me because I have been afraid of two things: invading women's personal space and experience, and acting as an imposter. My conscious avoidence of acting as such has, in my personal life, granted me the trust and respect of others. I am now in a place where I need to be directive and assertive. I have adapted to maneuver my way gently though social encounters. Now I am required to grow further. Growth is rarely easy, but this time I feel the added weight of the discriminating eye of academic athorities. It makes me so uneasy.
I have been contemplating my capacity for labour support with due intensity-- I want to be good; I want to be supportive; I want to nurture and comfort and help these women through the incredible process of giving birth. I felt so inadequate and powerless until something happened while I was walking down Davis Drive in Newmarket today.
A few years back, I lived in this town. When I lived here I worked at a retirement home. I was thinking about those years with my elders and how I would counsel them into their death. These wise people, with more experience with death than myself, would seek and find comfort in my words, embraces, and love. I was thinking over and over again, "I have counselled my elders into their last years and days." Then "The Universe" gave me a sign. Suddenly, before my eyes was my former boss from the retirement home! We chatted for about five minutes and then parted ways. This chance encounter validated what I was thinking.
I feel changed. I imagine those elders helping me help women. I am quite sure that at the next birth I attend I will know what to do.
I just hope the babies can wait until tomorrow so that I can get some sleep tonight :)
Saturday, March 7, 2009
I had my midterm today. I am officially three-quarters of the way through my second year of midwifery school.
Yesterday I had a midterm review with my preceptor (mentor) and my tutor (counsellor). One of the things that we all agreed on was the fact that I am having trouble with emotionally supporting women in labour. This has been a challenge for me because I have been afraid of two things: invading women's personal space and experience, and acting as an imposter. My conscious avoidence of acting as such has, in my personal life, granted me the trust and respect of others. I am now in a place where I need to be directive and assertive. I have adapted to maneuver my way gently though social encounters. Now I am required to grow further. Growth is rarely easy, but this time I feel the added weight of the discriminating eye of academic athorities. It makes me so uneasy.
I have been contemplating my capacity for labour support with due intensity-- I want to be good; I want to be supportive; I want to nurture and comfort and help these women through the incredible process of giving birth. I felt so inadequate and powerless until something happened while I was walking down Davis Drive in Newmarket today.
A few years back, I lived in this town. When I lived here I worked at a retirement home. I was thinking about those years with my elders and how I would counsel them into their death. These wise people, with more experience with death than myself, would seek and find comfort in my words, embraces, and love. I was thinking over and over again, "I have counselled my elders into their last years and days." Then "The Universe" gave me a sign. Suddenly, before my eyes was my former boss from the retirement home! We chatted for about five minutes and then parted ways. This chance encounter validated what I was thinking.
I feel changed. I imagine those elders helping me help women. I am quite sure that at the next birth I attend I will know what to do.
I just hope the babies can wait until tomorrow so that I can get some sleep tonight :)
Old Blogs.
I suppose I'm not the most prolific of bloggers.
One thing I would like to do is put some of my old blogs here and create a central location for the things I share on the internet.
I'll begin with the most recent ones and make my way back.
Old Blog 1: Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Lia Created a Monster
My midwifery placement and exam were completed a little more than 2 weeks ago. At first I endlessly slept and ate. I was burnt out and felt as though the past 20 weeks were a test of the resolve of my spirit. I learned a lot and on many levels. I could go on and on about this aspect of my experience, but this is not why I sit here today. I am prepared to tell another story, one about the monster Lia created. Don’t worry mom, I only bring 33.333... % of the hitchhikers I pick up home with me.
Last Sunday Lia and I decided to go for a late-afternoon hangover-breakfast. After breakfast we embarked on a cruise in my 2005 Malibou. After a few hours of chatting and dreaming up a trip to New Orleans we ended up in North Bay. Pulling into town, we saw a hitchhiker with a sign indicating his destination was Vancouver. Lia thought that we should pick him up. She figured that his hat, a vintage Italian fedora, indicated his coolness.
As it turns out, Vago is wonderful. He hails for Hawaii and was returning from 5 months in Europe and northern Africa. He was hitchhiking back to California from Quebec where his plane landed. He had 4 Canadian dollars to his name, no tent, no sleeping bag, and a small container of tropical trail mix. Although he had little, this man’s spirit is rich. His spirit is so rich, in fact, that I will not even begin to describe it in this account of my experience of him. He was considering sleeping at the Sudbury Mission that night, but after about 45 minutes of being with him, Lia and I knew that we could trust him and offered him a good rest at our place.
We hung out and had a few beers, and then, tired fellow that he was, he fell asleep on our couch. I put a blanket on him and wrote a note on our chalk board telling him to stay as long as he would like. To my pleasure, he was still there when I woke up. I was particularly interested in talking to him because I had dreamt of him having a wife the night before. My first words to him were, “Good morning. Are you married?” As it turns out, he is engaged to a Moroccan woman. Funny how these things come to one in dreams. I believe that she was missing him, and I felt it in my sleep. But that’s just crazy ol’ Dawny and her dreamy ways... right?
I offered to drive Vago back to the TransCanada highway, which turned into a drive to the giant nickel and my eventual decision to drive him further west. I had to do some thinking before I could fully commit to this plan, so Vago cooked me a variation of a traditional Hawaiian meal and washed the dishes. He also helped me return $120 worth of empty beer bottles. I respect the fact that in all our time together, he continually tried to pay me back with his work. I loved it because I am lazy.
I came to the conclusion that I needed some time to tie up a few loose ends and I would be willing to drive him as far as Winnipeg the next day. I accomplished little of what I intended to do before we left, but I had made peace (kinda) with the fact that my return journey would be the longest drive that I had ever done by myself. I felt like I needed this trip. I felt like I needed a “spirit-quest”. I felt like Winnipeg would be happy to see me, and that this was meant-to-be.
I also looked forward to hearing more of Vago’s stories-- I can’t believe how much he and I talked. He knows as much about what goes on in the depth of my mind as my best friends, if not more, on some level. I don’t even like spending too much time with others without time alone. If I had more money and less fear, I would have taken him all the way home to his loved ones, but I didn’t and I couldn’t.
I don’t really know what to say about the drive to Winnipeg with Vago. It was a gift. I have so much gratitude and love for him. Anybody who knows him is blessed, in my opinion. Unbelievable as they are, his stories are not mine to tell. He keeps a blog, which I suggest you explore on your own (www.existensis.com). My only regret was that I didn’t have a Stompin’ Tom CD in my car.
Vago drove most of the way (don’t tell the authorities). It was great! I have never been a passenger in my own car. Concerned about my safety on the drive home (and for his own life, I’m sure), he was teaching me driving skills. Mainly, he taught me to keep close to the shoulder of the road. He told me that most accidents on roads such as the TransCanada occur because people cross the centre line and collide with on-coming traffic. He put me in the driver’s seat, gently urging me to use my side mirrors and find landmarks on the front of my car to refer to, to ensure that I am safely to the right. It was quite scary for me at first, because I learned to drive in the wintery north where cars get sucked into the snow-banks at the side of the highway. I now suspect it may have saved my life in the end, if not on the drive home from Winnipeg, in the future.
A few points of interest about the drive to Winnipeg with Mr. Vago Bond (Yes, this is the name he goes by, although is real name is Chris):
1-- I took him to the Pizza Pizza in Thunder Bay.
2-- In Thunder Bay we decided that we would take a different route to Winnipeg than the TransCanada. We got lost and ended up at the American boarder. When I realized this fact I shouted out, “He’s yours!!!” This was the only moment of tension I felt in the four days we spent together. He told me to shut up. HAHAHAHAHAHA! Hilarious!
3—We slept in my car at a rest stop on the TransCanada. Where? Couldn’t tell ya. What I can tell you though, is this—At about 7am Mr. V got up and started driving with me still sleeping in the back seat. It felt so good for me to be resting comfortably in my sleeping bag as the car moved. Vago woke me up once to show me a magnificent moose that was at the side of the road. About an hour after that a funny idea came to my mind (Not that my parents would really laugh at this). I sat up and said, “Vago? Imagine you got pulled over by the cops right now and they said, ‘do you know why I’ve pulled you over, son?” And your response was, ‘uh... is it the dead chick in the back seat?’ as I lay lifeless in the back.” He laughed and said, “and then they would say, ‘please step out of the vehicle.’ And you would jump up exclaiming, ‘just kidding.’ " I laughed, “Imagine that-- 'You got punked, officer!!! You should have seen your face!!!'” Hahahaha! I love it. Grotesque as it may seem to those who fear for my life.
4—That morning we saw 4 moose, 2 foxes and 1 black bear. It was beautiful.
5—We ate breakfast at a greasy spoon, where we both had tomato juice. At that point I knew that we are soul-mates to some capacity.
6—I went swimming in a small lake just east of Kenora. Vago basked, like a snake on the rocks while I swam in breathless bliss until the water no longer felt so cold. Then I swam and swam, adjusted to the cold. It was quite orgasmic! Because of the fact that I never stop talking about birth-related topics, Vago knew all about oxytocin and we came to the conclusion that the water must have been made of it. For those who don’t know, here is some info about this spectacular hormone, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxytocin).
A few hours before reaching Winnipeg, with Vago driving my car, we picked up another hitchhiker, Terry, and his dog, Tessa. Terry was travelling from Nova Scotia to Edmonton.
After getting lost in Winnipeg, I parted ways with my passengers at a truck-stop just west of the city. I was afraid of being alone on the way home. I cried and hugged Vago. It was like leaving a best friend in the middle of nowhere. My heart was broken because I wanted to keep him safely under my wing and protect him from the harshness of what lay ahead of him, but there was no way I could go any further.
Vago reminded me that I know who I am. He didn’t do this literally. He just was, and I was. We were friends and it was beautiful and grounding. He is a good, good, human being. There are no words that I can write that would do justice to the explanation of his being. I can only say that I love him like family and I can’t wait to go to Hawaii!!!
After parting ways with Vago, I called a woman named Jennifer who is friends with a gal (Gina) from the midwifery program. She had some errands to run before I could spend the night with her and her family so I drove to the small town of Steinbeck, Manitoba. My pal David grow up there, so I wanted to see what it is all about. Steinbeck is about prairie farming.
Do you know that my mother is from Kansas? Yup. The prairies are like home to me. I can feel my roots on that land. With this said, I have to add that my father is from Newfoundland. I have never been there. Can you believe that? I can’t help but wonder why... and when will I go there?
This time by myself made me wonder—If before I was born I could have chosen my parents, why did I choose mine?
In order to truly express my perception of my parents (among others), I would have to write a blog equal in length to this one. Perhaps I will write about my loved ones another time, but I will give you a brief opinion of why, before birth, I would have chosen them if given the opportunity.
My mother’s name is Donna. She looks like doll. Her ivory skin is like silk. As I watch her age, I see her mother, Dorothy Lawn, from Kansas. Donna is a creative, innovative, sensitive, shy, frugal, smart woman. When my parents divorced when I was 16 years old, we became as close as girlfriends. She taught me to make things in inexpensive ways. She taught me bring food to the homes of others when I visit (although I don’t always do so, I feel guilty that I do not). She taught me to not overstay my welcome. She loves me so much that it breaks her heart and I can feel it in the depths of me. When I am cold, I miss her and I miss her when it rains. She is a prairie girl. She is responsible for the fact that your anti-American sentiment offends me.
I recently had a panic attack in the middle of the night and my mother read me the same story over and over again over the phone until I fell asleep and then she told me that I would be okay.
My father, Eugene, is the favourite uncle of many of my cousins. He’s sweet. He is a dark-skinned truck-driver with black hair that I hope my children inherit. He was tough in his youth and he got into trouble. When I was a child, he spoke to me like I was an adult. He is fascinated by the minds of children. He is funny... like really, really funny-- I hear his jokes come out of my mouth on a daily basis. My father always made me feel special. These days he tells me that I am beautiful.
I recently drove from Sudbury to the GTA for the first time. It was snowing and I was terrified. The exit to his home, where he lives with my step-mother and step-siblings, came far before the one I was supposed to go to, so exited earlier. When I saw him I cried like a little girl. All I could think on the way to his house was, “I want my daddy.” He laughed at me, and it was perfect.
When I travel, my father has nightmares until my return.
Jennifer, the Winnipeg woman, was a gracious host. She told me her amazing birth story. Her family lives off the Earth, as if sprouts and wheat were the riches of royalty. She served me her homemade yogurt and inspired me to keep on caring about the environment. I hope I see her again.
I left Winnipeg 18 hours after I got there.
About 2 hours down the road, I picked up two hitchhikers, (I’m horrible with names). They were a couple of young Christian fellas from Steinbeck headed to Toronto to work with street youth with their church. I knew the moment I saw them on the road that they were innocent. I dropped them off in Thunder Bay and camped at a national park about an hour down the road.
Camping was lovely. I felt safe. My instincts told me that I was safe. I have good instincts. This is why my journey was so perfect. This is not to say that I am perfect, but I must assure you that I am not naive. You may think that I got lucky on the road, so I must unabashedly tell you that I have a wisdom that even I, myself, do not understand.
I came across a fox walking in the woods at night. It’s green eye-shine (http://www.tpwd.state.tx.us/publications/nonpwdpubs/young_naturalist/animals/eyeshine/) told me what it was. All I could say in my intimidation was, “whatchu lookin’ at fool?” as it curiously crossed my path.
I cooked red lentils with rice and curry spices and seasonal Ontario asparagus for dinner. I threw is what was left of Vago’s Tropical trail mix, and it tasted like a gourmet meal.
The next afternoon got back on the road. I drove for a few hours listening to a CBC radio program that seemed appropriate for my travels: it was an interview with good ol’, Gordon Lightfoot! As I entered into the Lake Superior landscape, I listened to “The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald.” I felt so Canadian. Shortly afterward, I stopped to see the monument where Terry Fox (http://www.terryfoxrun.org/) finished his the last leg of his race with cancer awareness (no pun intended) in the year I was born. I left there with Joni Mitchell playing full blast.
Not far down the road, I passed a hitchhiker who met me with a smile as I drove by. It was a woman! A woman!!! Oh how love women.
Zoi was great in many senses of the word. She is from Belgium and had been hitchhiking in North America for the past 5 months. She bought me food along the road after hearing of my experience with Vago. We camped together and she cooked me a great meal over the campfire and played some Spanish songs on her instrument, the mighty charango (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charango).
What to say of sweet Zoi? The best way that I can sum it up is to say that I was tired and so was she. We talked about boys and girls, and travelling, and education and feminism, and midwifery, and magic and it was (really, really) easy to be with her. She reminds me of nature itself.
We camped with a couple of guys from Toronto who were heading to Calgary. We proposed sharing their campsite to save us all money and they thought it was a good idea. They were gone when we woke up. We made toast and tea on the campfire and then got on the road again, headed for Sudbury—my beLOVEd home!!!
Just before we got to Sault Ste. Marie (the Soo) she asked if she could stay the night at my place. I obliged. This is not to say that I felt like I had to, but more so that she needed to rest and so did I, so there was no need to say no. I trust Zoi. She kept thanking me for my trust and it made me grateful to give.
Zoi and I picked up a hitchhiker shortly after the Soo, travelling from somewhere in Alberta for Toronto. He had supposedly been robbed by his travelling companions the night before. I never would have picked this guy up if I was alone. I could tell the moment I saw him that he was somebody who perpetuated fear, but I had Zoi with me, and we figured we could handle him together. We talked for a little bit in the car and he fell fast asleep. I love to give peace.
We dropped Michael off on Highway 69, with hopes that he could make it to Toronto soon.
After we got back to Sudbury, Zoi was pretty much abandoned in my apartment... in a good way (I think). I had nothing to give as far as entertainment goes, and I suspected she just wanted to be comfortable and warm. I spent my time with my pal, Will Gillespie (http://www.myspace.com/willgillespie) at his place, and she stayed at mine. Zoi was at my place for two days and I was not there. My roommates, particularly Lia, were happy to have her there. I called Zoi a few times and stopped by to give her some “Laughing Buddha” (http://www.thetownehouse.com/buddha%20index.htm) pizza and salad. She was content, and trying to figure out the last 5 weeks of her travels.
I called Zoi this the morning (Tuesday) and she was gone. She had left a note, thanking me.
There is a lot that I have left out of this story. Writing it in one sitting has been almost as exhausting as the journey itself. Were it not for Lia’s conviction that we should pick up Vago, I would not have this story to tell. I am now drunk and I’ve smoked too many cigarettes for one day.
One thing I would like to do is put some of my old blogs here and create a central location for the things I share on the internet.
I'll begin with the most recent ones and make my way back.
Old Blog 1: Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Lia Created a Monster
My midwifery placement and exam were completed a little more than 2 weeks ago. At first I endlessly slept and ate. I was burnt out and felt as though the past 20 weeks were a test of the resolve of my spirit. I learned a lot and on many levels. I could go on and on about this aspect of my experience, but this is not why I sit here today. I am prepared to tell another story, one about the monster Lia created. Don’t worry mom, I only bring 33.333... % of the hitchhikers I pick up home with me.
Last Sunday Lia and I decided to go for a late-afternoon hangover-breakfast. After breakfast we embarked on a cruise in my 2005 Malibou. After a few hours of chatting and dreaming up a trip to New Orleans we ended up in North Bay. Pulling into town, we saw a hitchhiker with a sign indicating his destination was Vancouver. Lia thought that we should pick him up. She figured that his hat, a vintage Italian fedora, indicated his coolness.
As it turns out, Vago is wonderful. He hails for Hawaii and was returning from 5 months in Europe and northern Africa. He was hitchhiking back to California from Quebec where his plane landed. He had 4 Canadian dollars to his name, no tent, no sleeping bag, and a small container of tropical trail mix. Although he had little, this man’s spirit is rich. His spirit is so rich, in fact, that I will not even begin to describe it in this account of my experience of him. He was considering sleeping at the Sudbury Mission that night, but after about 45 minutes of being with him, Lia and I knew that we could trust him and offered him a good rest at our place.
We hung out and had a few beers, and then, tired fellow that he was, he fell asleep on our couch. I put a blanket on him and wrote a note on our chalk board telling him to stay as long as he would like. To my pleasure, he was still there when I woke up. I was particularly interested in talking to him because I had dreamt of him having a wife the night before. My first words to him were, “Good morning. Are you married?” As it turns out, he is engaged to a Moroccan woman. Funny how these things come to one in dreams. I believe that she was missing him, and I felt it in my sleep. But that’s just crazy ol’ Dawny and her dreamy ways... right?
I offered to drive Vago back to the TransCanada highway, which turned into a drive to the giant nickel and my eventual decision to drive him further west. I had to do some thinking before I could fully commit to this plan, so Vago cooked me a variation of a traditional Hawaiian meal and washed the dishes. He also helped me return $120 worth of empty beer bottles. I respect the fact that in all our time together, he continually tried to pay me back with his work. I loved it because I am lazy.
I came to the conclusion that I needed some time to tie up a few loose ends and I would be willing to drive him as far as Winnipeg the next day. I accomplished little of what I intended to do before we left, but I had made peace (kinda) with the fact that my return journey would be the longest drive that I had ever done by myself. I felt like I needed this trip. I felt like I needed a “spirit-quest”. I felt like Winnipeg would be happy to see me, and that this was meant-to-be.
I also looked forward to hearing more of Vago’s stories-- I can’t believe how much he and I talked. He knows as much about what goes on in the depth of my mind as my best friends, if not more, on some level. I don’t even like spending too much time with others without time alone. If I had more money and less fear, I would have taken him all the way home to his loved ones, but I didn’t and I couldn’t.
I don’t really know what to say about the drive to Winnipeg with Vago. It was a gift. I have so much gratitude and love for him. Anybody who knows him is blessed, in my opinion. Unbelievable as they are, his stories are not mine to tell. He keeps a blog, which I suggest you explore on your own (www.existensis.com). My only regret was that I didn’t have a Stompin’ Tom CD in my car.
Vago drove most of the way (don’t tell the authorities). It was great! I have never been a passenger in my own car. Concerned about my safety on the drive home (and for his own life, I’m sure), he was teaching me driving skills. Mainly, he taught me to keep close to the shoulder of the road. He told me that most accidents on roads such as the TransCanada occur because people cross the centre line and collide with on-coming traffic. He put me in the driver’s seat, gently urging me to use my side mirrors and find landmarks on the front of my car to refer to, to ensure that I am safely to the right. It was quite scary for me at first, because I learned to drive in the wintery north where cars get sucked into the snow-banks at the side of the highway. I now suspect it may have saved my life in the end, if not on the drive home from Winnipeg, in the future.
A few points of interest about the drive to Winnipeg with Mr. Vago Bond (Yes, this is the name he goes by, although is real name is Chris):
1-- I took him to the Pizza Pizza in Thunder Bay.
2-- In Thunder Bay we decided that we would take a different route to Winnipeg than the TransCanada. We got lost and ended up at the American boarder. When I realized this fact I shouted out, “He’s yours!!!” This was the only moment of tension I felt in the four days we spent together. He told me to shut up. HAHAHAHAHAHA! Hilarious!
3—We slept in my car at a rest stop on the TransCanada. Where? Couldn’t tell ya. What I can tell you though, is this—At about 7am Mr. V got up and started driving with me still sleeping in the back seat. It felt so good for me to be resting comfortably in my sleeping bag as the car moved. Vago woke me up once to show me a magnificent moose that was at the side of the road. About an hour after that a funny idea came to my mind (Not that my parents would really laugh at this). I sat up and said, “Vago? Imagine you got pulled over by the cops right now and they said, ‘do you know why I’ve pulled you over, son?” And your response was, ‘uh... is it the dead chick in the back seat?’ as I lay lifeless in the back.” He laughed and said, “and then they would say, ‘please step out of the vehicle.’ And you would jump up exclaiming, ‘just kidding.’ " I laughed, “Imagine that-- 'You got punked, officer!!! You should have seen your face!!!'” Hahahaha! I love it. Grotesque as it may seem to those who fear for my life.
4—That morning we saw 4 moose, 2 foxes and 1 black bear. It was beautiful.
5—We ate breakfast at a greasy spoon, where we both had tomato juice. At that point I knew that we are soul-mates to some capacity.
6—I went swimming in a small lake just east of Kenora. Vago basked, like a snake on the rocks while I swam in breathless bliss until the water no longer felt so cold. Then I swam and swam, adjusted to the cold. It was quite orgasmic! Because of the fact that I never stop talking about birth-related topics, Vago knew all about oxytocin and we came to the conclusion that the water must have been made of it. For those who don’t know, here is some info about this spectacular hormone, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxytocin).
A few hours before reaching Winnipeg, with Vago driving my car, we picked up another hitchhiker, Terry, and his dog, Tessa. Terry was travelling from Nova Scotia to Edmonton.
After getting lost in Winnipeg, I parted ways with my passengers at a truck-stop just west of the city. I was afraid of being alone on the way home. I cried and hugged Vago. It was like leaving a best friend in the middle of nowhere. My heart was broken because I wanted to keep him safely under my wing and protect him from the harshness of what lay ahead of him, but there was no way I could go any further.
Vago reminded me that I know who I am. He didn’t do this literally. He just was, and I was. We were friends and it was beautiful and grounding. He is a good, good, human being. There are no words that I can write that would do justice to the explanation of his being. I can only say that I love him like family and I can’t wait to go to Hawaii!!!
After parting ways with Vago, I called a woman named Jennifer who is friends with a gal (Gina) from the midwifery program. She had some errands to run before I could spend the night with her and her family so I drove to the small town of Steinbeck, Manitoba. My pal David grow up there, so I wanted to see what it is all about. Steinbeck is about prairie farming.
Do you know that my mother is from Kansas? Yup. The prairies are like home to me. I can feel my roots on that land. With this said, I have to add that my father is from Newfoundland. I have never been there. Can you believe that? I can’t help but wonder why... and when will I go there?
This time by myself made me wonder—If before I was born I could have chosen my parents, why did I choose mine?
In order to truly express my perception of my parents (among others), I would have to write a blog equal in length to this one. Perhaps I will write about my loved ones another time, but I will give you a brief opinion of why, before birth, I would have chosen them if given the opportunity.
My mother’s name is Donna. She looks like doll. Her ivory skin is like silk. As I watch her age, I see her mother, Dorothy Lawn, from Kansas. Donna is a creative, innovative, sensitive, shy, frugal, smart woman. When my parents divorced when I was 16 years old, we became as close as girlfriends. She taught me to make things in inexpensive ways. She taught me bring food to the homes of others when I visit (although I don’t always do so, I feel guilty that I do not). She taught me to not overstay my welcome. She loves me so much that it breaks her heart and I can feel it in the depths of me. When I am cold, I miss her and I miss her when it rains. She is a prairie girl. She is responsible for the fact that your anti-American sentiment offends me.
I recently had a panic attack in the middle of the night and my mother read me the same story over and over again over the phone until I fell asleep and then she told me that I would be okay.
My father, Eugene, is the favourite uncle of many of my cousins. He’s sweet. He is a dark-skinned truck-driver with black hair that I hope my children inherit. He was tough in his youth and he got into trouble. When I was a child, he spoke to me like I was an adult. He is fascinated by the minds of children. He is funny... like really, really funny-- I hear his jokes come out of my mouth on a daily basis. My father always made me feel special. These days he tells me that I am beautiful.
I recently drove from Sudbury to the GTA for the first time. It was snowing and I was terrified. The exit to his home, where he lives with my step-mother and step-siblings, came far before the one I was supposed to go to, so exited earlier. When I saw him I cried like a little girl. All I could think on the way to his house was, “I want my daddy.” He laughed at me, and it was perfect.
When I travel, my father has nightmares until my return.
Jennifer, the Winnipeg woman, was a gracious host. She told me her amazing birth story. Her family lives off the Earth, as if sprouts and wheat were the riches of royalty. She served me her homemade yogurt and inspired me to keep on caring about the environment. I hope I see her again.
I left Winnipeg 18 hours after I got there.
About 2 hours down the road, I picked up two hitchhikers, (I’m horrible with names). They were a couple of young Christian fellas from Steinbeck headed to Toronto to work with street youth with their church. I knew the moment I saw them on the road that they were innocent. I dropped them off in Thunder Bay and camped at a national park about an hour down the road.
Camping was lovely. I felt safe. My instincts told me that I was safe. I have good instincts. This is why my journey was so perfect. This is not to say that I am perfect, but I must assure you that I am not naive. You may think that I got lucky on the road, so I must unabashedly tell you that I have a wisdom that even I, myself, do not understand.
I came across a fox walking in the woods at night. It’s green eye-shine (http://www.tpwd.state.tx.us/publications/nonpwdpubs/young_naturalist/animals/eyeshine/) told me what it was. All I could say in my intimidation was, “whatchu lookin’ at fool?” as it curiously crossed my path.
I cooked red lentils with rice and curry spices and seasonal Ontario asparagus for dinner. I threw is what was left of Vago’s Tropical trail mix, and it tasted like a gourmet meal.
The next afternoon got back on the road. I drove for a few hours listening to a CBC radio program that seemed appropriate for my travels: it was an interview with good ol’, Gordon Lightfoot! As I entered into the Lake Superior landscape, I listened to “The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald.” I felt so Canadian. Shortly afterward, I stopped to see the monument where Terry Fox (http://www.terryfoxrun.org/) finished his the last leg of his race with cancer awareness (no pun intended) in the year I was born. I left there with Joni Mitchell playing full blast.
Not far down the road, I passed a hitchhiker who met me with a smile as I drove by. It was a woman! A woman!!! Oh how love women.
Zoi was great in many senses of the word. She is from Belgium and had been hitchhiking in North America for the past 5 months. She bought me food along the road after hearing of my experience with Vago. We camped together and she cooked me a great meal over the campfire and played some Spanish songs on her instrument, the mighty charango (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charango).
What to say of sweet Zoi? The best way that I can sum it up is to say that I was tired and so was she. We talked about boys and girls, and travelling, and education and feminism, and midwifery, and magic and it was (really, really) easy to be with her. She reminds me of nature itself.
We camped with a couple of guys from Toronto who were heading to Calgary. We proposed sharing their campsite to save us all money and they thought it was a good idea. They were gone when we woke up. We made toast and tea on the campfire and then got on the road again, headed for Sudbury—my beLOVEd home!!!
Just before we got to Sault Ste. Marie (the Soo) she asked if she could stay the night at my place. I obliged. This is not to say that I felt like I had to, but more so that she needed to rest and so did I, so there was no need to say no. I trust Zoi. She kept thanking me for my trust and it made me grateful to give.
Zoi and I picked up a hitchhiker shortly after the Soo, travelling from somewhere in Alberta for Toronto. He had supposedly been robbed by his travelling companions the night before. I never would have picked this guy up if I was alone. I could tell the moment I saw him that he was somebody who perpetuated fear, but I had Zoi with me, and we figured we could handle him together. We talked for a little bit in the car and he fell fast asleep. I love to give peace.
We dropped Michael off on Highway 69, with hopes that he could make it to Toronto soon.
After we got back to Sudbury, Zoi was pretty much abandoned in my apartment... in a good way (I think). I had nothing to give as far as entertainment goes, and I suspected she just wanted to be comfortable and warm. I spent my time with my pal, Will Gillespie (http://www.myspace.com/willgillespie) at his place, and she stayed at mine. Zoi was at my place for two days and I was not there. My roommates, particularly Lia, were happy to have her there. I called Zoi a few times and stopped by to give her some “Laughing Buddha” (http://www.thetownehouse.com/buddha%20index.htm) pizza and salad. She was content, and trying to figure out the last 5 weeks of her travels.
I called Zoi this the morning (Tuesday) and she was gone. She had left a note, thanking me.
There is a lot that I have left out of this story. Writing it in one sitting has been almost as exhausting as the journey itself. Were it not for Lia’s conviction that we should pick up Vago, I would not have this story to tell. I am now drunk and I’ve smoked too many cigarettes for one day.
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