Well, I plugged away today, mostly while lying in bed, at finding the $5000 I still need to go to Savannah in two weeks. Some in my circle would say that this is my very problem – it is in my mind to look, not to have it come to me, and subtly I am pushing it away.
I listened to Trey Anthony’s Ted Toronto talk tonight. Her name has come up in my world a lot lately – we are both in the Second Story agenda. In the Degree of Freedom world we are separated by only two relationships – Helen to Jen to Trey. She has done a Ted talk. Do they pay people to do those talks I wondered?!?
I battle sometimes with my own reluctance to “push” myself. However, I have no reluctance to push Inclusion and apparently I am my own best example. So be it!
So I looked it up, found the Speaker’s Nomination form and applied. I got the e-mail back that says they received it. We’ll see.
The prison cube crane has been active – slowly – night and day for a few days now. The article in the Toronto Star seems to have sped things up. I wonder out loud with Helen how to stop the prison. I wonder to myself if I can return to just peacefully watching out my window, with no concern for the “value” of what I see – nonattachment. This “perfect” apartment has lost some of it’s sublimeness since I discovered the real nature of the gigantic blocks. I don’t want to have that rising feeling that I will have to move on to search again for my perfect home.
Of course the perfection or lack thereof are all inside of my own evaluation. The prison was always there – there have always been guns and drugs and crazed tenants in this building. The world is what it is! And so this is once again a great opportunity to create a gift out of this potential obstacle that has suddenly appeared before me.
I am so far behind on my e-mail it isn’t funny. Boredom and fundraising are the reasons. I want an adventure – a fun one – to legitimately be able to set up an automatic e-mail message that says: “I am out of town and will not be responding to my e-mail until… “
There has been nothing from the ROM or from ACF. Perhaps they will disappear – perhaps not. It wouldn’t be the first time that something or somebody occupied the depth of focus and energy that they have for roughly ten weeks only to vanish from centre stage. I feel like I am steeling myself for disappointment in several areas of my life.
Enthusiasm gone! Not the first time for that either. Fatigue. The doldrums. Apparently, according to a short video I saw today, it is a relatively new phenomenon to call such a state “depression” and to treat it medically. Others might call a shaman and do a ceremony for the whole “family” – me, Mike, Kimberley, Helen, Peter, Bill and Bill, Adlon, etc. Sounds like a mid-winter party to me!
I am making a promise to myself and my readers that I:
- will have something worth writing about by Monday – today is Friday;
- will catch up on e-mail by Monday.
Showing posts with label watching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label watching. Show all posts
Friday, January 28, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
January 26, 2011
Today was mainly exhaustion, pain, little accomplishment, with the exception of a marvellous clearing call with Shirl this morning and a great walk and a coffee with cake at Yalla’s – with Michel, Helen his wife and Helen (my handler according to Dad). At Helen’s suggestion I Skyped Martha. I am glad I did. Tim hasn’t been well and although he will be fine Martha is clearly tired, and lonely. We laughed, and, if Savannah falls through, I will go to Wisconsin and do a course with her in April.
I figured out that one of the struggles I have with M (BMX Model of Inclusion) is that it has no memory. One of the things I was frustrated with ACF about yesterday was that one of the reasons put forth for not yet implementing the recommendations of its Inclusive Task Force was that certain – we used to call them intersectionalities – crossovers between marginalized people, like racialization and disability, had not yet been addressed. A critical story had been forgotten and we reminded the Board of it. However, this event put into perspective for me that empowering stories cannot be remembered in the M world.
This makes alliance, forgiveness, learning and stable empowerment impossible. It’s like giving a community mass Alzheimer’s.
I notice what big words I use – not my own language.
I also realize that I am approaching this potential choice point as if it were black and white, go or no go. Likely this attitude will screw it all up, and there is no real need for me to fear this so much. What I must do is determine what it is that I really need to make this work.
Martha – God love her – reminded me of many leaders I know. She also nudged me to ask for more money. I remember now that for my very first grant, in 1977, from the Atkinson Charitable Foundation, I asked for a salary that was about $500/month smaller than the next person who took the job.
On another topic, on Monday I found out that the prison that is being assembled from the cubes piled just outside of my bedroom window is being put up not at the Don Jail site, but here in South Etobicoke, in what used to be called Mimico. This morning the penny dropped. Those buildings that are under construction that I can also see from my bed and that will be featured in the painting that Mike and I are working on now – that incipient complex of two towers and a lower connecting building – that is the prison!
I have been watching it rise since practically its Day 1 and my Day 1 in Cycle 3.
So many people in the world are being separated from one another - housed, cloistered or imprisoned in individual compartments – condos, apartments, cells – and served – rehabilitated, recreationalized, managed, supervised. The life of a prisoner soon to be living five blocks from my bedroom is little different from that of the nearly mad old Caribbean woman who lives in poverty and fear, by herself, two apartments from me.
Since we are in fact surrounded by and infiltrated with M it must be the perfect place to fulfill my “mission”. There is no leaving to somewhere else. The definition of freedom is not getting out of here to be somewhere else.
These thoughts and realizations are both calming and terrifying. Now is the time to be still and listen.
I figured out that one of the struggles I have with M (BMX Model of Inclusion) is that it has no memory. One of the things I was frustrated with ACF about yesterday was that one of the reasons put forth for not yet implementing the recommendations of its Inclusive Task Force was that certain – we used to call them intersectionalities – crossovers between marginalized people, like racialization and disability, had not yet been addressed. A critical story had been forgotten and we reminded the Board of it. However, this event put into perspective for me that empowering stories cannot be remembered in the M world.
This makes alliance, forgiveness, learning and stable empowerment impossible. It’s like giving a community mass Alzheimer’s.
I notice what big words I use – not my own language.
I also realize that I am approaching this potential choice point as if it were black and white, go or no go. Likely this attitude will screw it all up, and there is no real need for me to fear this so much. What I must do is determine what it is that I really need to make this work.
Martha – God love her – reminded me of many leaders I know. She also nudged me to ask for more money. I remember now that for my very first grant, in 1977, from the Atkinson Charitable Foundation, I asked for a salary that was about $500/month smaller than the next person who took the job.
On another topic, on Monday I found out that the prison that is being assembled from the cubes piled just outside of my bedroom window is being put up not at the Don Jail site, but here in South Etobicoke, in what used to be called Mimico. This morning the penny dropped. Those buildings that are under construction that I can also see from my bed and that will be featured in the painting that Mike and I are working on now – that incipient complex of two towers and a lower connecting building – that is the prison!
I have been watching it rise since practically its Day 1 and my Day 1 in Cycle 3.
So many people in the world are being separated from one another - housed, cloistered or imprisoned in individual compartments – condos, apartments, cells – and served – rehabilitated, recreationalized, managed, supervised. The life of a prisoner soon to be living five blocks from my bedroom is little different from that of the nearly mad old Caribbean woman who lives in poverty and fear, by herself, two apartments from me.
Since we are in fact surrounded by and infiltrated with M it must be the perfect place to fulfill my “mission”. There is no leaving to somewhere else. The definition of freedom is not getting out of here to be somewhere else.
These thoughts and realizations are both calming and terrifying. Now is the time to be still and listen.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
January 23, 2011
A picture of the crane and the cubes that I have been describing to you appeared in The Toronto Star today. Here it is:
They are indeed modular parts of a building. A prision. The night-time, secretive play of giants turns out to be the reconstruction of the infamous Don Jail in downtown Toronto. The cubes are manufactured in Texas, trained to Toronto, and trucked downtown. The cubes are sturdy enough to be stacked several stories high, yet each is self sufficient, down to the plumbing. The ultimate assembly will hold over 1600 prisoners.
When I was about eight my younger brother and I reveled in stuffing our kitten into a cardboard box and trapping it there for hours. It died of the stress.
Ivan Illich said the only authentic response to pure evil is silence, because any other response sets up a dynamic that lends the evil a defined presence in our culture. I am not sure I believe that, because, as Marsha used to quote: "They came for the Jews, and I wasn't a Jew, so I kept silent, ... , and when they came for me there was no one left to save me."
I am stunned that this intriquing, enormous, slow dance of the gigantic cubes that has been unfolding under my bedroom window since mid-October - this large nightly activity is the deliberately plotted internation activity with an intended outcome of increasing our local prison population and to do so in as cheaply managed, most inhumane way as possible. Rob Ford, our vigorously right-wing Mayor must be gleeful indeed!
Suddenly, the view from my bedroom window has a sinister cast. My dreams will not be so peaceful.
They are indeed modular parts of a building. A prision. The night-time, secretive play of giants turns out to be the reconstruction of the infamous Don Jail in downtown Toronto. The cubes are manufactured in Texas, trained to Toronto, and trucked downtown. The cubes are sturdy enough to be stacked several stories high, yet each is self sufficient, down to the plumbing. The ultimate assembly will hold over 1600 prisoners.
When I was about eight my younger brother and I reveled in stuffing our kitten into a cardboard box and trapping it there for hours. It died of the stress.
Ivan Illich said the only authentic response to pure evil is silence, because any other response sets up a dynamic that lends the evil a defined presence in our culture. I am not sure I believe that, because, as Marsha used to quote: "They came for the Jews, and I wasn't a Jew, so I kept silent, ... , and when they came for me there was no one left to save me."
I am stunned that this intriquing, enormous, slow dance of the gigantic cubes that has been unfolding under my bedroom window since mid-October - this large nightly activity is the deliberately plotted internation activity with an intended outcome of increasing our local prison population and to do so in as cheaply managed, most inhumane way as possible. Rob Ford, our vigorously right-wing Mayor must be gleeful indeed!
Suddenly, the view from my bedroom window has a sinister cast. My dreams will not be so peaceful.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
January 9, 2011
As I was going to bed last night, Mike assisting, after staying up a little late to blog, I thought that the day had been so fulfilling, so replete with authentic experience, that I could happily die with no regrets. Well, I didn’t die. I awoke to a day of more video taping in my winter coat under camera lights, more Farmville, more apple pie, and beautiful sunshine. The vision out of my lake facing window was just like so many of those Christmas card scenes with brilliant sun shining on neat and even tiny houses with perfectly snow covered roof tops!
I got so tired today that I actually fell asleep momentarily during a pause in the taping. Just the same, finally, Michael, Sarah and I reached an ending to the play that we all are excited about. It is in the camera. The editing can happen. I do not have to travel with the play unless I want to.
At the same time I feel the pressure of how structured I am making my life again. Each of my chosen task areas could use whole days in and of themselves to “do” them with research and thoroughness. WPIT, painting, blogging, the ACF Inclusion Circle, travel and workshops, Wisdom Graduate Liaison, the Robert Cooke Coop, attending to the gifts and needs of my staff, not to mention the Individualized Funding envelope upon which we all depend, Farmville, time with my Dad, time watching pelicans and construction cranes – I can’t keep up with myself, and to just give each of them “a lick and a promise” (there’s my Mother again!) fills my day from 6:30am to 12:30am.
Yet I don’t seriously intend to change a thing. It’s all too rich!
A clone? Would it really give me “more time” or would I just expand to nearly burst two lives – not just one?
So often I feel like I never left off being four years old. I just want to play and eat. I do NOT want to go to bed no matter if I can’t stay awake long enough to get there. I want to get into everything, leave the messes to someone else and find out how everything works. And I never really mean to do harm.
Four is compelling and passionate, creative and fantastical, and NEVER reasonable. Four doesn’t have a style, a culture, a career, a financial plan, an ethic or a long memory. Four is optimistic. Four makes and loses friends easily, forgives easily and is easily forgiven. Four is able to bend a long, long way before breaking.
Four is also right on the edge of losing that openness, of becoming fearful, judgemental and certain, of narrowing the options and playing the game. It is nearly the moment to find out there is no Santa Claus.
Then it’s a long, long stretch until maybe, just maybe the adult becomes willing and able to be responsible for creating a world within which she and everyone she touches can be four again.
I want to be, and sometimes am, that adult. It is good!
I got so tired today that I actually fell asleep momentarily during a pause in the taping. Just the same, finally, Michael, Sarah and I reached an ending to the play that we all are excited about. It is in the camera. The editing can happen. I do not have to travel with the play unless I want to.
At the same time I feel the pressure of how structured I am making my life again. Each of my chosen task areas could use whole days in and of themselves to “do” them with research and thoroughness. WPIT, painting, blogging, the ACF Inclusion Circle, travel and workshops, Wisdom Graduate Liaison, the Robert Cooke Coop, attending to the gifts and needs of my staff, not to mention the Individualized Funding envelope upon which we all depend, Farmville, time with my Dad, time watching pelicans and construction cranes – I can’t keep up with myself, and to just give each of them “a lick and a promise” (there’s my Mother again!) fills my day from 6:30am to 12:30am.
Yet I don’t seriously intend to change a thing. It’s all too rich!
A clone? Would it really give me “more time” or would I just expand to nearly burst two lives – not just one?
So often I feel like I never left off being four years old. I just want to play and eat. I do NOT want to go to bed no matter if I can’t stay awake long enough to get there. I want to get into everything, leave the messes to someone else and find out how everything works. And I never really mean to do harm.
Four is compelling and passionate, creative and fantastical, and NEVER reasonable. Four doesn’t have a style, a culture, a career, a financial plan, an ethic or a long memory. Four is optimistic. Four makes and loses friends easily, forgives easily and is easily forgiven. Four is able to bend a long, long way before breaking.
Four is also right on the edge of losing that openness, of becoming fearful, judgemental and certain, of narrowing the options and playing the game. It is nearly the moment to find out there is no Santa Claus.
Then it’s a long, long stretch until maybe, just maybe the adult becomes willing and able to be responsible for creating a world within which she and everyone she touches can be four again.
I want to be, and sometimes am, that adult. It is good!
Friday, January 7, 2011
January 7, 2011
Today I awoke to realize, in the barely beginning dawn, that the crane at the railway near the modular concrete boxes had disappeared out of view. I fell asleep again. Perhaps twenty minutes later I opened my eyes again and there was the crane. It had moved back into view. The sun was far from up and peering at the giant thing hurt my eyes. The many street lights, highway lamp posts and security systems on the local warehouses were mostly still on and intensely bright.
Perhaps three hours later the crane was rotating back and forth with such velocity that the hanging chain and clasps were bouncing around. Was it dancing?
Another hour and it was gliding almost imperceptively along and some twenty minutes later hovering above the larger grey boxes. Then I noticed a train of flatbeds, each with two grey cubes neatly placed. I thought for sure that the crane was unloading the flatbeds, but, no, another hour or so later when I visited my window again – this time the crane was harnessed to a cube, but looking like it was loading the train!
Which is it – loading or unloading? Who is playing this glacially slow game?
It was a beautifully sunny day and the new accountant had taken all the blank payroll cheques as well as miswriting one for this payroll. I urgently needed an alternative way to pay Mike. In my mailbox was a notice of a parcel to pick up. I was out of decaf coffee. In all this the invitation to take a walk and take frequent stops in my exceptionally accessible neighbourhood was strong. Helen and I went out.
Well –5 C (or -7 perhaps) is pretty cold, though I was doubly covered up. About a block before we reached the bank Helen was having to intermittently hold down my upper lip so I could make the speed changes necessary to get over bad curb cuts and avoid pedestrians.
I warmed up in the bank and the teller was efficiently helpful. I came away with a money order to fix the payroll problem after having ordered a new batch of cheques. The post office and decaf are only a block from the bank and we reached them without incident.
The package was not my new passport as I expected, but was from Second Story Press.
I longed for a coffee and snack at Yalla Café and to hear Michel’s stories of his New Year’s encounter with his son’s fiancée’s family at their year end party. So, thinking that I was now sufficiently warmed up, we set out to traverse the ten blocks.
Wrong! Not only did my lip get too cold but even the sip and puff pipe started to freeze up. We limped in to the café. Michel wasn’t there but his wife – Helene, warmly greeted us.
I opened my package. It contained three copies of an agenda published by Second Story Press. It features contemporary Canadian women who have made exceptional contributions. I am November!
I showed it to Helene. When she realized it was about me, she started to read it. Her English is weak and she called in another woman from the back – seemingly a cousin or friend.
The women shared one pair of reading glasses, and soon recruited the assistance of a man (the cousin’s husband it turned out) who used an I-Pod or Blackberry with a Lebanese/English translation application.
Both Helen and I, sitting quietly with our coffees, observed my story and words emerged in Lebanese. Inclusion took a leap into yet another culture. I was awe struck!
The cousins departed and Helene struggled to express her thoughts. She apologized and said she was fluent in French but not English. I still have a smattering of school French and I asked her to say it in that language. She said “fier” and I said “proud”. She clapped.
For me the connection was electric.
As we left Helene ducked into the basement and brought up a blanket to wrap me up. I rolled home a happy pink bundle.
Perhaps three hours later the crane was rotating back and forth with such velocity that the hanging chain and clasps were bouncing around. Was it dancing?
Another hour and it was gliding almost imperceptively along and some twenty minutes later hovering above the larger grey boxes. Then I noticed a train of flatbeds, each with two grey cubes neatly placed. I thought for sure that the crane was unloading the flatbeds, but, no, another hour or so later when I visited my window again – this time the crane was harnessed to a cube, but looking like it was loading the train!
Which is it – loading or unloading? Who is playing this glacially slow game?
It was a beautifully sunny day and the new accountant had taken all the blank payroll cheques as well as miswriting one for this payroll. I urgently needed an alternative way to pay Mike. In my mailbox was a notice of a parcel to pick up. I was out of decaf coffee. In all this the invitation to take a walk and take frequent stops in my exceptionally accessible neighbourhood was strong. Helen and I went out.
Well –5 C (or -7 perhaps) is pretty cold, though I was doubly covered up. About a block before we reached the bank Helen was having to intermittently hold down my upper lip so I could make the speed changes necessary to get over bad curb cuts and avoid pedestrians.
I warmed up in the bank and the teller was efficiently helpful. I came away with a money order to fix the payroll problem after having ordered a new batch of cheques. The post office and decaf are only a block from the bank and we reached them without incident.
The package was not my new passport as I expected, but was from Second Story Press.
I longed for a coffee and snack at Yalla Café and to hear Michel’s stories of his New Year’s encounter with his son’s fiancée’s family at their year end party. So, thinking that I was now sufficiently warmed up, we set out to traverse the ten blocks.
Wrong! Not only did my lip get too cold but even the sip and puff pipe started to freeze up. We limped in to the café. Michel wasn’t there but his wife – Helene, warmly greeted us.
I opened my package. It contained three copies of an agenda published by Second Story Press. It features contemporary Canadian women who have made exceptional contributions. I am November!
I showed it to Helene. When she realized it was about me, she started to read it. Her English is weak and she called in another woman from the back – seemingly a cousin or friend.
The women shared one pair of reading glasses, and soon recruited the assistance of a man (the cousin’s husband it turned out) who used an I-Pod or Blackberry with a Lebanese/English translation application.
Both Helen and I, sitting quietly with our coffees, observed my story and words emerged in Lebanese. Inclusion took a leap into yet another culture. I was awe struck!
The cousins departed and Helene struggled to express her thoughts. She apologized and said she was fluent in French but not English. I still have a smattering of school French and I asked her to say it in that language. She said “fier” and I said “proud”. She clapped.
For me the connection was electric.
As we left Helene ducked into the basement and brought up a blanket to wrap me up. I rolled home a happy pink bundle.
Friday, December 17, 2010
December 17, 2010
I made $375 today. Tomorrow I will make $500.
I hope I have made enough to offset the cost of fixing the flat tire I discovered as I set out tonight to shop for Christmas!
As I lay awake this morning before Helen came to get me up I watched in the early dawn light while the crane by the “boxes” inside the railway yard fence drew up its cable. I watched for a few more minutes but it did not move again. The boxes had been rearranged a little overnight and there are new gaps between them. Beyond these alterations, and that the crane is facing the opposite way from yesterday, there is no change in the goings on of the marshalling yard.
I wondered – again – what is going on that must mainly happen at night.
Soon after I got up I counted the construction cranes visible to me from my bedroom window. There are six. Each one is distinct from the others in size, shape and colour.
Nearly always they stand motionless. One in particular has a motion of bobbing like a long-necked bird dropping its beak into a stream for fish. It has stood “beak down” for a few days now, looking very weird indeed. Together, when they stand still all day, they remind me of the dinosaur exhibit at the ROM.
Since I was in a counting mood I counted the different types of rail car visible in the yard. Again six. The large double decker orange/white/yellow passenger car belongs to a train called “Rocky Mountaineer”. (I drove closer mid-morning to read the indistinct words.) The remainder of its cars are black and white. This giant train has been here, motionless, for about a week.
Eighty percent of the cars on or moving through the yard are “Go Train” vehicles. These double decker conveyances are big, but not nearly as tall as the three or four cars of “Rocky”. The seven “Go Train” engine cars that are lined up in a flying wedge formation have not moved for about a week either!
The single story passenger cars of the “Via Rail” seem miniscule in comparison. However, they don’t hang around!
The rest of the train cars are flat beds – part of a freight train. Occasionally one will see the other sorts of freight car, but not today.
It is something of a mystery to me that so much valuable stuff – gigantic construction cranes, passenger cars, each with the capacity of a movie theatre, huge prefab buildings, sleek and fast engines – can sit idle for such long time periods. Certainly we are given to believe that the economy is run as efficiently as possible and that there’s an elaborate plan behind it all. But from the vantage point of my bedroom window I have a very different impression.
Have I stumbled across a train set that has been abandoned while some bored child of a giant takes an afternoon’s nap? Why does this huge child play only at night, or is it his father who secretly moves the blocks, cars and cranes around while his son sleeps?
I can only exercise my imagination – likely I will never know what is behind this great idleness. However, I am very pleased that I am a spectator to it all.
I hope I have made enough to offset the cost of fixing the flat tire I discovered as I set out tonight to shop for Christmas!
As I lay awake this morning before Helen came to get me up I watched in the early dawn light while the crane by the “boxes” inside the railway yard fence drew up its cable. I watched for a few more minutes but it did not move again. The boxes had been rearranged a little overnight and there are new gaps between them. Beyond these alterations, and that the crane is facing the opposite way from yesterday, there is no change in the goings on of the marshalling yard.
I wondered – again – what is going on that must mainly happen at night.
Soon after I got up I counted the construction cranes visible to me from my bedroom window. There are six. Each one is distinct from the others in size, shape and colour.
Nearly always they stand motionless. One in particular has a motion of bobbing like a long-necked bird dropping its beak into a stream for fish. It has stood “beak down” for a few days now, looking very weird indeed. Together, when they stand still all day, they remind me of the dinosaur exhibit at the ROM.
Since I was in a counting mood I counted the different types of rail car visible in the yard. Again six. The large double decker orange/white/yellow passenger car belongs to a train called “Rocky Mountaineer”. (I drove closer mid-morning to read the indistinct words.) The remainder of its cars are black and white. This giant train has been here, motionless, for about a week.
Eighty percent of the cars on or moving through the yard are “Go Train” vehicles. These double decker conveyances are big, but not nearly as tall as the three or four cars of “Rocky”. The seven “Go Train” engine cars that are lined up in a flying wedge formation have not moved for about a week either!
The single story passenger cars of the “Via Rail” seem miniscule in comparison. However, they don’t hang around!
The rest of the train cars are flat beds – part of a freight train. Occasionally one will see the other sorts of freight car, but not today.
It is something of a mystery to me that so much valuable stuff – gigantic construction cranes, passenger cars, each with the capacity of a movie theatre, huge prefab buildings, sleek and fast engines – can sit idle for such long time periods. Certainly we are given to believe that the economy is run as efficiently as possible and that there’s an elaborate plan behind it all. But from the vantage point of my bedroom window I have a very different impression.
Have I stumbled across a train set that has been abandoned while some bored child of a giant takes an afternoon’s nap? Why does this huge child play only at night, or is it his father who secretly moves the blocks, cars and cranes around while his son sleeps?
I can only exercise my imagination – likely I will never know what is behind this great idleness. However, I am very pleased that I am a spectator to it all.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
December 15, 2010
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this.
Childish, isn’t it?!?
It’s been one of those days. The good part was that I went to the pain clinic again and got to try a TENS machine. I was quite doubtful, but the 20 minutes I did spend on it were quite comfortable. I can see that it can be made easily portable. Perhaps it is a useful way to make travelling in airplanes doable again.
Other than that, Helen was sick, and because we only have cell phones around here, nobody knew until 15 minutes into her shift. It was a big disruption to Mike and then Peter jumped in. It’s been a long time since Peter did a day shift. Basically I was pretty tired by the time his 6 hours were up. He was going to go out but he was tired too and fell asleep. Then Mike got stuck in a traffic jam and I was alone, in pain again, for 2 hours.
I didn’t do the stuff I should have done. It reminds me of January when all I could do was sit and play Freecell because my brain was too bloody tired to imagine doing anything else. Probably I should just go to bed!
I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but I keep trying to make things work – to fix the broken systems. For years we’ve used a manual that we wrote ourselves, and that I update regularly, performance reviews at least once a year, sometimes more often, mentors for the staff, circle meetings, circle teleconferences, etc. In the end, things get fucked up just about as much as when I don’t bother. It probably would be a lot more helpful to me personally if I just accepted that things get fucked up. I haven’t been left stranded since about 1975, I haven’t died, I still have a home and don’t have to declare bankruptcy yet, lots of people admire my work and are inspired by me – and so far so good – I can still pay my staff. I can imagine that I could be satisfied. But I’m not! I’m grumpy!
I think it’s the money thing. I have written about it before a couple of times. Money used to come quite easily to me even though I took no particular pains to hang on to it. Now, it’s always a one month to the next thing. Largely I am very successful. 15 months in this apartment and the rent has been paid on time each and every month. Just the same, I get anxious when I can’t see beyond two weeks from now. I feel like I’ve lost my luck or my nerve or something. I get brought down by that funny feeling that somehow I’m not carrying my weight. I am, but I don’t feel like it.
It’s ridiculous and I know it and I’m almost ashamed to admit it. However, the weight is there in my head, in my words, in my language, in my thinking and in other people’s way of thinking and it has somehow crept into me.
It is my intention to not pay any more attention to it, and in fact to create something much more empowering. It is my intention to be at peace, and not brought down by this invented sense of scarcity.
At the same time, there is work to be done to find and/or raise the money that I need, and I’m not doing the work. That is what must change. That is what I am committed to.
Change is kind of a sneaky beast. I was looking out my bedroom window at about 11:15 this morning, waiting for Caleb to pick up his glasses that he left here two weeks ago. The crane that is between New Toronto St. and the GO Train tracks began to move west at a stately but ponderous rate – probably about 5 km/hour. It became apparent that it is also on one of the train tracks. Very slowly I was able to see that people were harnessing one of those very large grey cubes that look like a modular section of a prefab building. The “stevedores” raised the cube – maybe 3 feet – and then nothing happened for a good half hour. Was it lunch break? I had to leave and when I returned at about 3:30 the cube was gone, the crane was still sitting there, and there is no way that I can tell what happened. I will just have to keep on watching.
Will I master money in such a slow and invisible way? Will I wake up one morning and realize that I’m fully funded for my personal assistants forever, that I have an equally beautiful condo that has a similar view in the same neighbourhood that is fully paid for, that I am able to be generous with friend and stranger alike? So be it!
Childish, isn’t it?!?
It’s been one of those days. The good part was that I went to the pain clinic again and got to try a TENS machine. I was quite doubtful, but the 20 minutes I did spend on it were quite comfortable. I can see that it can be made easily portable. Perhaps it is a useful way to make travelling in airplanes doable again.
Other than that, Helen was sick, and because we only have cell phones around here, nobody knew until 15 minutes into her shift. It was a big disruption to Mike and then Peter jumped in. It’s been a long time since Peter did a day shift. Basically I was pretty tired by the time his 6 hours were up. He was going to go out but he was tired too and fell asleep. Then Mike got stuck in a traffic jam and I was alone, in pain again, for 2 hours.
I didn’t do the stuff I should have done. It reminds me of January when all I could do was sit and play Freecell because my brain was too bloody tired to imagine doing anything else. Probably I should just go to bed!
I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but I keep trying to make things work – to fix the broken systems. For years we’ve used a manual that we wrote ourselves, and that I update regularly, performance reviews at least once a year, sometimes more often, mentors for the staff, circle meetings, circle teleconferences, etc. In the end, things get fucked up just about as much as when I don’t bother. It probably would be a lot more helpful to me personally if I just accepted that things get fucked up. I haven’t been left stranded since about 1975, I haven’t died, I still have a home and don’t have to declare bankruptcy yet, lots of people admire my work and are inspired by me – and so far so good – I can still pay my staff. I can imagine that I could be satisfied. But I’m not! I’m grumpy!
I think it’s the money thing. I have written about it before a couple of times. Money used to come quite easily to me even though I took no particular pains to hang on to it. Now, it’s always a one month to the next thing. Largely I am very successful. 15 months in this apartment and the rent has been paid on time each and every month. Just the same, I get anxious when I can’t see beyond two weeks from now. I feel like I’ve lost my luck or my nerve or something. I get brought down by that funny feeling that somehow I’m not carrying my weight. I am, but I don’t feel like it.
It’s ridiculous and I know it and I’m almost ashamed to admit it. However, the weight is there in my head, in my words, in my language, in my thinking and in other people’s way of thinking and it has somehow crept into me.
It is my intention to not pay any more attention to it, and in fact to create something much more empowering. It is my intention to be at peace, and not brought down by this invented sense of scarcity.
At the same time, there is work to be done to find and/or raise the money that I need, and I’m not doing the work. That is what must change. That is what I am committed to.
Change is kind of a sneaky beast. I was looking out my bedroom window at about 11:15 this morning, waiting for Caleb to pick up his glasses that he left here two weeks ago. The crane that is between New Toronto St. and the GO Train tracks began to move west at a stately but ponderous rate – probably about 5 km/hour. It became apparent that it is also on one of the train tracks. Very slowly I was able to see that people were harnessing one of those very large grey cubes that look like a modular section of a prefab building. The “stevedores” raised the cube – maybe 3 feet – and then nothing happened for a good half hour. Was it lunch break? I had to leave and when I returned at about 3:30 the cube was gone, the crane was still sitting there, and there is no way that I can tell what happened. I will just have to keep on watching.
Will I master money in such a slow and invisible way? Will I wake up one morning and realize that I’m fully funded for my personal assistants forever, that I have an equally beautiful condo that has a similar view in the same neighbourhood that is fully paid for, that I am able to be generous with friend and stranger alike? So be it!
Monday, December 13, 2010
December 13, 2010
Those who know me well will recall that my apartment is exceptional in that it is designed to wrap around a stairwell. This gives me two south facing windows from which I can see several parks and Lake Ontario. I also get a north facing window from which I can see two highways, abandoned industrial land, a dozen or more train tracks, parts of three housing coops, several streets and two buildings under construction.
Now you may well imagine that I and my various visitors spend as much time as possible looking at the gorgeous waterfront vista. Not! Almost to a person folks admire the south view for about thirty seconds, walk through to my bedroom, lean on my bed (it’s set to its highest position) and start pointing out the curious things they see – from joggers proceeding along the lonely stretch of road beside the abandoned fields to planes landing at the Lester B. Pearson Airport more than fifteen miles away to massive construction cranes in motion putting up high rise condos.
I am reminded again and again that humans love to watch. My north bedroom is replete with watchable entertainment, and – better than TV – it’s all real.
When I moved in 15 months ago I somewhat reluctantly chose the north facing bedroom because it is much closer to the bathroom and gives my assistants more privacy with the activities around my personal care. With some awkwardness we placed my bed right under the window so I could look out during those frequent hours when I am not sleeping. I knew the first night here that I had made one of the best decisions of my life in coming to the Robert Cooke Housing Coop and in taking the north bedroom.
Night or day there is always something going on. For three days this weekend there were seven GO trains, stationary side-by-side, positioned one car ahead of the next. GO trains are green and white, and the engine car has a flying wing design. The seven side by side but spread out so all were visible at once was quite a sight. I imagine it was done to take advertising photographs!
About three weeks ago I began to notice that the area between the train tracks and North Toronto Street had about half a dozen curious boxy structures, two windows each, seemingly dropped down helter skelter. Of course for a few days I wasn’t sure if they really were newly arrived, or if I simply hadn’t noticed them before. By the third or fourth day it was clear each morning that there were a few more than had been there the night before.
Then began to arrive different boxes, similar but with clear differences. About a dozen are slightly larger and a somewhat darker, more greyish hue. Another dozen have doors as well as two windows.
For a few nights last week something projected an intense light - bright enough to make me squint - and I had to cover part of my window and give up some of my view so I could sleep! The light would come on around 11:00pm and was gone by 6:00am. Now it’s gone. Also the forty or so boxes are neatly stacked in two layers and in straight rows instead of scattered about.
What are they building so close to the train tracks? Do they intend to lift each box over the road into the abandoned field? Will this be an industrial condo or rental prefab? Is this merely a way station, and someday soon I will awaken at 4:00am to dimly view a train made up of flatbed cars being loaded to take this nascent building away?
Of course I could do some research, probably quite easily, and get answers. I could have stepped back into the advocate role and complained to my City Councillor about the night light disturbance. But I didn’t and I don’t.
I am simply loving to watch.
Now you may well imagine that I and my various visitors spend as much time as possible looking at the gorgeous waterfront vista. Not! Almost to a person folks admire the south view for about thirty seconds, walk through to my bedroom, lean on my bed (it’s set to its highest position) and start pointing out the curious things they see – from joggers proceeding along the lonely stretch of road beside the abandoned fields to planes landing at the Lester B. Pearson Airport more than fifteen miles away to massive construction cranes in motion putting up high rise condos.
I am reminded again and again that humans love to watch. My north bedroom is replete with watchable entertainment, and – better than TV – it’s all real.
When I moved in 15 months ago I somewhat reluctantly chose the north facing bedroom because it is much closer to the bathroom and gives my assistants more privacy with the activities around my personal care. With some awkwardness we placed my bed right under the window so I could look out during those frequent hours when I am not sleeping. I knew the first night here that I had made one of the best decisions of my life in coming to the Robert Cooke Housing Coop and in taking the north bedroom.
Night or day there is always something going on. For three days this weekend there were seven GO trains, stationary side-by-side, positioned one car ahead of the next. GO trains are green and white, and the engine car has a flying wing design. The seven side by side but spread out so all were visible at once was quite a sight. I imagine it was done to take advertising photographs!
About three weeks ago I began to notice that the area between the train tracks and North Toronto Street had about half a dozen curious boxy structures, two windows each, seemingly dropped down helter skelter. Of course for a few days I wasn’t sure if they really were newly arrived, or if I simply hadn’t noticed them before. By the third or fourth day it was clear each morning that there were a few more than had been there the night before.
Then began to arrive different boxes, similar but with clear differences. About a dozen are slightly larger and a somewhat darker, more greyish hue. Another dozen have doors as well as two windows.
For a few nights last week something projected an intense light - bright enough to make me squint - and I had to cover part of my window and give up some of my view so I could sleep! The light would come on around 11:00pm and was gone by 6:00am. Now it’s gone. Also the forty or so boxes are neatly stacked in two layers and in straight rows instead of scattered about.
What are they building so close to the train tracks? Do they intend to lift each box over the road into the abandoned field? Will this be an industrial condo or rental prefab? Is this merely a way station, and someday soon I will awaken at 4:00am to dimly view a train made up of flatbed cars being loaded to take this nascent building away?
Of course I could do some research, probably quite easily, and get answers. I could have stepped back into the advocate role and complained to my City Councillor about the night light disturbance. But I didn’t and I don’t.
I am simply loving to watch.
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