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.