Time has a way of reminding us about how small we can be.

I was pondering some Deep Thoughts while scrolling through news feeds on my hand-held device.  These led to how quickly things have progressed.  When I started this blog, there was no practical way to get internet data in real-time wherever we were.  We had to rely on old-fashioned wired connections to dusty old computers stuck in a home.  Laptops maybe, if you could hook into a open Wi-Fi signal from a beneficent business or unsuspecting homeowner who’d left his or her Wi-Fi signal open for all to surf.

So in the span of a few years we’re performing instant communication and news reporting in real-time.

Zip.  Zang. Zoom.

Then a memory popped into my head, a memory of being amused and amazed when I saw a sign on a church in a new neighbourhood (new to me, not new to the area) saying something to the effect that they were celebrating 400 years.  My North American time frame was very much impressed – 400 years is an unimaginable time frame when we’re used to thinking that an 8 hour flight overseas is far too long to sit through.

Then I looked closer, and no, the church wasn’t 400 years old; they were celebrating 400 years of a major restoration.  The church itself was (roughly) 735 years old at the time I saw this.

So WOW.  I was very impressed.

Now I’m reviewing this memory and am even more impressed.

In a world where we measure quantum news slices in minutes, where we get frustrated when the fast-food queue takes longer than 10 minutes per person, where we write something down and people across the globe can read it almost instantly, we see this.  People gathering in the same spot for over 700 years to visit, worship, gossip, grieve, explode with joy, you name it.

I’m not one to give a place or structure a sense of holiness – to me, buildings are buildings, like clothing for collections of people.  But some folks hold a religious honour for a place.  I respect that.  Any group of people who can peacefully maintain existence (relatively peacefully, anyways) in a single spot for this span of time has my respect.

The world is moving quickly.  But it is also moving unimaginably slowly.  That’s an odd but comforting thought.

I haven’t thought about that church or that sign for 8 years.  Funny how time flies.

Photo credit: Some rights reserved by jovike

Hello my blog.

I’ve not forgotten you.

Things have been busy, but in a good way. Relationships with the kids have been on the mend and rather oppressive things with no end in sight now have a definitive life span. A long life span, but they will finally die, eventually.

You have been my listening ear, my silent guide, my heart’s pillow – when all i could do was curl up in a ball and wish for death sometimes.

It’s not been unnoticed.

You’ve also been witness to the glory moments when the air is clear and steps are light.

That’s been noticed too.

So thank you.

And I’ll be back soon with new thoughts, new dreams. Perhaps new anguish as well.

But we’re here for each other.

Photo credit: Some rights reserved by James Whitesmith

Day 1

Go into the kitchen.  See note taped to fridge.

The world freezes.

Go upstairs, heart racing.

See empty bed.  See empty closet.

Go into the kitchen.  Re-read note taped to fridge.

“Bye”

Clear head, retrace conversations from the previous night.  What was said, who was mentioned?

Contact employer.  Can’t go in to work today.  To hell with deadlines; there’s a kid out there with someone who doesn’t have good intentions.

Call child’s phone.  Goes to voice mail.

I notice the mobile on the bed.  The phone has been set back to factory settings and the SIM chip has been removed.  The child didn’t want to be traced via GPS or phone records and didn’t want me to see phone numbers for new incoming calls.  Clever friends.

Pray.

Log into websites, look for breadcrumbs.  Get previous days’ phone records for the child’s texts/calls.  Send out assistance texts and calls.  No one answers the calls.

Contact police for advice and to make a report.

Take a deep breath.  Call the ex-spouse to alert.  No answer.  Leave message.

Pray.

Contact family members for prayers and assistance.

Police arrive to gather details.  Officer sees the concern but is also evaluating the situation to see if I’m covering up anything.  Can’t trust anyone these days.

Drive around to known friends’ homes to see if anyone’s heard word.  Most folks don’t answer the doors.  Either no one’s home or folks aren’t answering.  Those who do answer say they don’t know anything.

Pray.

Wait.

Lie awake in bed in a sheen of adrenaline sweat.

Day 2

No rest.

Field the responses coming back from child’s friends.  Most say they don’t know anything; some are honestly trying to be helpful but yield no information.  Leave open offer to accept any info.  Please pass on message: “Please come home.”

Need to go into work; want to stay home to wait but also know there’s not much to do other than get worked up into an emotional mess.  Work may clear the head while the waiting takes place.

Receive angry and frightened call from the ex-spouse.  Swallow pride to work through the suggested and actual insults.  The important thing is to let the parent get caught up to speed.

Field questions at work from concerned colleagues. Yes, everything’s fine; no, the project isn’t at risk.  Just sorting through some issues at the moment.

Pray.

Reach out to police for any updates.

Reach out to child’s friends to ask if anyone has news.  Radio silence.

Cry quietly in the bathroom stall; sometimes the pressure is too much to hold in.

Receive and respond to texts from the ex-spouse.  No, not found yet.  Yes, we are doing everything possible.

Drive home in a blur; every bush and dark area becomes a hiding place for a child.

Check the house when I get home.  Bedroom is still empty.

Reach out to police for any updates.  No word yet but they’ll call when the situation changes.

Troll through online social media sites for any clue of the child’s whereabouts.  Seems like the likely accomplices aren’t in my circle of influence.  The child’s changed the password for the social media site account, so no help there.

Pray.

Wait.

Cry a little in the darkness of a sleepless room.

Day 3

Some sleep this night.  But not restful; it’s more like slipping into unconsciousness than actual rest.

Reach out to child’s friends to ask if anyone has news.  Radio silence.

Continue online searching before going in to work.

Too tired for road rage on the 35+ mile commute.  Also the scope of importance has changed completely;  having someone cut in front of me or driving too slowly is literally nothing to think about, other than to adjust speed.

Receive and respond to texts from the ex-spouse.  No, not found yet.  Yes, we are doing everything possible.

Interact with colleagues to help get their tasks done, but I’ve got that 1000-yard stare going on.  If people notice, they’re either too polite or too nervous to raise questions.  Shift workload so the items requiring intense concentration are moved to the future; can’t risk losing focus on things while all this is going on.

Receive call from detective.  Heart stops for a moment.  Move the call to a semi-private area at work.

Child was found, safe, with the person we expected was part of this.  The other’s family members were involved, so the previous days’ conversations with them were all lies.

Police and I plan, make arrangements for next steps.

Leave work early to meet with authorities.  Fill in my line manager with some details so she isn’t concerned that I’m becoming unstable or a risk.  Given lack of detail and facing unexpected behavior, people tend to fill in the blanks with odd ideas.

Pray.  Thank God for returning the child.

Get the child home and try to talk about the situation.  No much cooperation.

Notify ex-spouse.  Notify family members.

Pray.

Sleep a little.  But with the bedroom door open and with an ear always attuned to noise.

Resolve to work through this, one day at a time.

Day 1865

Look back over those three days, and a few similar to them.

Thank God for the guidance and wisdom granted to work through it.

Still working through these.

One day at a time.

Photo Credit: Some rights reserved by Oliver Kuehne

Those of my friends here who know me, even if only in passing, know I’ve a deep respect for our military. Today I think about those who have died in service to protect my family and form of government.

It’s not just because my family life line has proudly served in the military. I am a fan of family tradition, but this isn’t the reason.

It’s not because I’ve bought into the media hype that wants to turn our military soldiers into superheroes with hearts of gold. This is also the same media that sold us the stories of heartless butcher soldiers in our employ a few decades ago.

It is because those who serve in military – both the individuals and their families who support and pray for them – are part of what keeps our style of government intact.

This is so important.

Those who know me also know I’m very critical of our gov’t. I watch it closely and support and encourage those who challenge decisions made by those who are supposed to represent us.

So why, do you ask, do I support the military, who keeps the system of gov’t that I critique intact?

Why would I want to keep this system alive, if I’m always watching it and poking at it on a regular basis?

I am thankful for our soldiers because they protect a framework that recognises my RIGHT to monitor my gov’t and challenge it when I see things aren’t operating as intended. They are the shield to hold back enemies both domestic and abroad. I keep them in my prayers and support every effort to keep them armed and ready – especially after they’ve been honourably discharged.

Today, as I play games with my grandchild, eat food I’ve purchased in a free market, and listen to the sounds of my neighbourhood peacefully getting along, I am very much aware that this is not possible without the sacrifices made by those who have fought on my behalf and those who have preceded me.

Photo credit: Some rights reserved by henk.sijgers

Blew the grandboy’s mind today.   He’s a lover of cars, and dances with joy whenever he gets a new Hotwheels or Matchbox car.  I also have a collection of cars at a different scale of size and cost.

Up until now, he was aware of the presence of only two of my car replicas.  Today I revealed the rest.

These twenty cars have been collected over six years along the many many round-trip visits between my home town and that of my children in my ex-wife’s city.  I stop sometimes and get them from a roadside trucker’s stop called Love’s.

I’ve done that trip for six years, twice a month, and twice on almost every visitation weekend (one round trip  on Friday after work to collect the child(ren) and another on Sunday afternoon when the weekend was over).

I could get these on-line (here), but they are more than just a collection of trinkets.  They are a representation of love in action (yes, the name of the truck stop did not escape me 🙂 ) and of steadfast respect between my children and me.  They could have balked at the hours of driving back and forth, and at lost opportunities to be with friends during those weekends, but no, never a complaint.

Those drives – and discussions – in my old vehicle are cherished.  Those drives have come to an end; the youngest has entered into adulthood and now comes to my home instead.  My final round-trip there will be to see the high school graduation ceremony.  Now that the youngest child is self-reliant (travel-wise) and of legal age, there is no further reason for me to return to that city.

I knew that day – the end of our driving visits – would come.  This is why I’ve been collecting these statuettes.  These are a visual reminder to me every morning when I wake up of how blessed I am to have such a good relationship with my children.

I’ve had some time to review, revamp, and re-think some of this blogsite.

Evolution is an interesting thing.  We all evolve.  Not just in the biological sense, but also in the emotional and rational sense.

Projects involving people evolve too.  This site is a prime example of forces at play here.

This started out as a breadcrumb trail, before smartphones and social media became almost a daily utility for some (myself included).  Look around at any public event and you’ll see people interacting with folks far away, sharing their experiences using little devices in their hands.

That wasn’t available to me when I started this blog.

All I had was an “old-fashioned” setup of laptop with an external wifi connected by USB port, surfing the wifi waves of those kind or ignorant enough to keep an open connection free for the taking.  That was when I was out in public; at home in the flat I had my paid-for DSL connection to hook into.

No smartphone.   Texting, yes, but no way of really connecting to others in real-time to share my experiences – and, more importantly – no easy way to electronically record thoughts and adventures for future participants to review and re-live.  (I know such a thing as paper and pencil exist; however it’s problematic to let people across the world know you are ok by putting a hand-written note in the post 😛 )

Which, at the start of my blogging adventures, was very very important.  It was important because I was thousands of miles from home, a stranger in a strange land living in a time zone distant from those I knew and loved.

My original posts were brief and scattered due to the nature of my postings; many times I was out researching for the family and adventuring, and battery & wifi access was limited.

Then, as the family situation evolved into a beast of its own, my musings were evolving in a dark and primitive direction.  Devolving, you would say.  And you’d be right.

Then as I returned to my home land, there was a time of adjustment again and a season of movement.  Evolution in my thinking and postings.

Now, as always, things are evolving.  Relationships have become repaired and in some cases, restored.  My writing reflects that movement.

Some relationships will never be restored, and that’s a very very very good thing.

What’s in store for the future?

Hard to tell.

But blogging is in it for sure.

I’ve a number of older posts from historical times, waiting to be blended into this blogsite.

I’ve also a number of new lines of thinking, new approaches to life that I’d like to record.  If not for anyone else, then for me to review and relive.

Thank you for taking this journey with me.

One of my daughter’s friends passed away in the night.

It came upon suddenly, and her biggest regret was in not having a chance to say goodbye.

But it wasn’t a person.

And it wasn’t a pet, either.

Her friend was a frog.  Technically speaking, it was a toad.

But a toad can’t be a prince under a spell.

So let’s say he was a prince under a spell to look like a frog who was then put under a spell to look like a toad.

So he was an enchanted Frog Prince.

He was a faithful and good friend.

He would come out when my daughter went outside to sit under the stars and clouds and falling flower pedals and swarms of mosquitoes.

He wouldn’t say much.  Sometimes he’d chirp in that toad-y sort of way, but never impolitely.

But he was a good listener.

She would say “Hi” to him when he hopped over to her when he saw her sit down.  She would say other things to him too.  But I don’t know what.  That’s between the two of them.

He knew she was safe to be with.  Likewise for her.

Sometimes the dog would come out and start to investigate with his big black sniffy nose.

My daughter would shoo him away (although the loves the dog, too).

The Frog Prince would relax once the muscle-bound mass of claw and huffiness went exploring elsewhere.

She took care of him like that.

Once he came round with another froggy friend to introduce the two.

When I heard that, I said, “See?  He trusts you so much he introduced his little froggy wife.”

“Great.” said my daughter, grinning, “even my Frog Prince has a wife.  Story of my life!”

Ha 😀

Last night, my daughter went outside like she usually does.

The Frog Prince did not hop up to her like he usually did.

Something wasn’t right.

Then she saw.  His spirit had left him.

But before he left the Earth, he went to the spot where the two of them spent many an evening under the stars.

My daughter cried.

But this story may not yet be over.

Next to the Frog Prince sat a little replica of himself.

A baby Frog Prince.

Technically not a baby (as that would be a tadpole) but small enough to qualify as a ‘baby’.

He looked lonely, and lost.

My daughter’s son and I said our goodbyes today, with a proper burial in the back yard.

Next to a turtle from years past, and I think also a little bird, as well.

The grandson is learning that things who live will get old and then die.  He says, “they get olk, then die, gwumpa?  You get olk too?”

Sometimes they don’t get a chance to get olk before they die.  But that’s a different lesson, and not for today.

I hear the chirping of frogs (toads) outside tonight as they relish the rainy season that’s hit our area.

I hear the buzzing of the insects who will nourish these little Princes.

Will a new friend come round tonight for my daughter to protect and keep company?

We’ll see.

Looks like rain tonight. A good night for Princes.

Photo credit: massdistraction

God puts us all in this big crayon box for a reason.

Some make art with the broken pieces.

Some find a way to fuse the bits together.

…and some have a knack for not breaking them in the first place.

I’m glad I listened to my mom when I was ready to pack it all in back in 2008.

She said there would be a time when my relationships with my kids would be restored.

I’m observing art in action, and the result is blindingly beautiful.

Photo credit:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/44456430@N04/

I’ve found that the principles which govern defensive driving also apply to life in general…

1. Keep a good distance between you and the fella in front of you
2. Always be aware, but be more aware when coming upon a crossroads
3. A friendly wave to let someone in works much better than jumping forward to block the gap
4. Don’t assume everyone is going to follow the rules of the road
5. To the previous point – learn the rules of the road where you live
6. Always keep an escape route handy; don’t let yourself get blocked in
7. Don’t let technology distract you from the goal of making it there safely
8. And, as always, look under your vehicles for penguins.

Looking at a child’s scribbles is sometimes like looking at a 2-dimensional snapshot of a 4th-dimensional scene recorded over a span of time.  In many cases, you aren’t seeing a static image but an entire story, from start to finish, in one frame.  Gives you a different perspective on a child’s drawings if you think of it this way.

I was witness to the birth of these as the artist narrated what was going on…

The upper left-corner image is his family members going for a walk and then going into the family race car for a drive (every family has a family race car, right?)

The upper right corner image is a motorcycle going around a race track with increasing speed.

The bottom image is a man who is being chased by lava and isn’t very happy about it because it eventually catches up to him and gets him.

Haha. Funny how Life imitates Art.  My grandson reminded me of one of the best bits of cinematic timing and story telling I’ve experienced in my youth – The Count of Monte Cristo, specifically.

Before I explain why, I’ll describe the scene that played out yesterday…

We were outside, in front and were tending to the garden – weeding, pruning, the usual.  Well,  I was weeding and the grandson was just grabbing everything that looked interesting, so my weeding wasn’t as efficient as hoped.  But it was great learning material and most of the stuff will grow back.

While we I was focused on a particularly tricky patch, I heard the boy exclaim, “HEY HEY HEY HI HEY” which means someone’s nearby.  He’s not shy at all, the lad.

And sure enough, here walks within speaking distance a young lady, perhaps in her mid-30s.  She’s got earbuds in and is out for exercising so she’s focused on her walking.  But the boy is not deterred.

“HEY HI HI LADY HI HEY”

And I cringe but smile, since she notices the boy and slows down to talk to him.  She even takes out the earbuds, so he’s got her full attention.

Experience with toddler brains and mouths and general disposition causes me some concern and I mentally review everything we’ve done this morning.  Had I done any grandpa jokes or general goofiness that could be taken out of context when he blurts them out (specifically, any of the “pull-mah-finger-boy” kind)?

What will take place in the next few seconds?

Queue the scene from the movie.

In the scene, we have Gérard de Villefort, the story’s main bad guy, who calls in Edmond Dantès for questioning.  We, the audience, know de Villefort is up to no good when he calls the boy in.  And we know the boy has an innocent heart and will say just about anything, since he’s young and innocent and giddy with happiness due to his recent engagement with his loved one, Mercedes.

The questioning goes well, even though we know something’s afoot.  We the audience are holding our breath as the lad answers honestly and truthfully (why wouldn’t he?) in this very dangerous situation.  Trouble is, he doesn’t know just how dangerous a situation he is in.

However, he breezes through the interrogation, and proves his innocence with no problem at all.  Mr. de Villefort even explains why he knows the boy is innocent of all wrong doing.  He is free to go back to his family and future bride…!

But, as he is walking out the door, there’s a Final Question.  And this (amongst one of the many parts of the story I love) is the pivotal point – this is the moment where everything falls down for the boy.

I paraphrase de Villefort here from the movie : “O, and one more thing – I see no address on the envelope.  It’s to be handed to whom? [pause and intensity happens] … Say that name once more…?”  And we the audience start to get that feeling of uuuuugggghhhh.

So here we are in the front yard, enjoying a nice fall~ish morning.

Some nice lady walks by, a boy gets her attention, and although she’s certainly not a baddie like Mr. de Villefort, the situation starts to seem frighteningly familiar.

The usual questions are asked and answered, as well as the usual general pleasantries (“how old are you”, “I like your shoes, it’s pretty outside today”, “yes you are a big boy helping grandpa”, “yes, i see you have 5 pine cones”, etc.).

She tries to escape twice before she’s successful on the third attempt with a “Ok, i got to go now, we’ll see you later, ok, bye bye”.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I wave a silent “bye” to her and we both grin at his lack of fear.

The grins freeze as he turns around.

“HEY GWAMPA I TALKED TO THE OLD LADY.

THE OLD LADY IS NICE TO ME!!!

BYE OLD LADY”

O, that familiar feeling of uuuuugggghhhh…

If the link doesn’t take you straight to the scene I saw in my mind, go to the 11:27 mark to get the idea 🙂

Photo courtesy of Michael Gil (Flickr)

I was driving to work this morning and saw an uplifting message while driving past a firehouse.

Not surprisingly, as I approached, a fire truck was leaving the station, lights ablaze, alarms sounding, cars nearby stopping and pulling over to the side of the road, etc. The works.

Then I noticed, in the midst of this, an image that turned the scene into one of those Norman Rockwell paintings.

One of the firemen wasn’t on the truck.

He was calmly tending to the grass out in front of the station with one of those old-timey reel grass cutters (the kind back in vogue due to energy savings measures). No anxiety, not even noticing the clamour a few yards away.

And then I heard the message.

Even in our crazy, calamitous, sometimes out-of-control situations, we can find the Regular Things. Those wonderfully dull, delightfully dreary, static things that keep us anchored and sometimes sane.

There’s a saying I think is attributed to the military as it relates to combat situations: “When you don’t know what to do, do what you know. ”

It’s a battle out there. Live long and keep your head down.

But most importantly, keep your eyes open for the regular things.

Photo credit:

https: //www.flickr.com/photos/califrayray/485654715

We can’t change the past of the person we’ve become today. We can, however, sculpt and mold the past of the person we plan to become tomorrow.

What are your plans for today?

Will you be hopeful enough to dream the plans, and bold enough to execute them? Most importantly, will you be steadfast enough to see them through to completion?

How will the person you create tomorrow thank you for the work you’ve done today?

“Wake me up when we get there”

That’s at once a comforting and terrifying phrase.

This is because this assumes a level of trust that is right up there with leaving one’s life in someone’s hands.

Depending one’s experience with trust, it may be a long time before never when one sleeps during another’s time at the helm.

Seems I am using this word in an archaic manner.

I thought it was just my daughter teasing me.

But no, the dictionary says so too

O the power of trade treaties.

I find it hard to believe that it costs less money to make and ship manhole covers in and from a foreign country than it is to employ local labor…