A Canadian Dare

Shrieks and laughter fill the air. Children run screaming past one another without a care in the world. Backpacks are scattered on the ground, forgotten until the bell's call to summon them back. It's that magical time between the weekend and the official start to the school week. The kids take full advantage of these last precious moments and run for all they are worth.

Newly fallen snow makes a perfect home for tumbling bodies to fling themselves with abandon down the waiting hill. Pencils will soon be clutched in stubborn fingers, but right now it is all about the best that winter has to offer - snow; light and fluffy snow.

"I dare you!" rings out a voice.

Why is it that boys cannot resist a dare? How is it that manhood rears it's ugly head on the grounds of the primary school yard so early? And yet it does. And every year this ritual gets repeated on school yards across the northern hemisphere.

"I double-dog dare you!" Things are getting serious.

More shrieks fill the air, but the peal of the morning bell cuts playtime short for these youngsters. It is time for school to begin.

Another cry fills the air. This one is a little more distressed; a little less happy in tone. And that is when a woman's stricken face streaks past shouting for help. Her arm points backwards towards a few lone figures still standing by the fence at the bottom of the hill.

The metal fence.

At least the boy wasn't left alone to attempt to rip his tongue off the frozen fence. Nothing that a little warm water won't solve, but terror is not the way to start the week off for any young soul. I suppose he won't do that again. The watching parents that slowly wander away shake their heads at the morning's antics. The boy has been freed. No harm has been done. But his moment of captivity, with soft, fleshy tongue stuck to a rusty metal pole in the dead of winter has been enough to shoot all these laughing adults back in time to when they too stood stuck to their own poles in a Canadian winter.

As who can resist the deadly triple-dog dare.

let them go

blue skies break

clouds swirl and skim

its time for recluse

its time for me and him

together

we explore

together

we beg & implore

together

we need to be

some more

love

life

laughter

in a weekend escape

bliss

bodies

bonding

we will be laid bare

let the snow

blow

and close our world

to tomorrow 

for today I stow

all my problems

- I let them all go 

Committed

"Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage" by Elizabeth Gilbert; ©2010, Viking Penguin

Over the holidays I made a trip to the library with my children. They each selected books and I wandered, looking for one of my own. No book club selections were available, but as I turned from the computer I noticed a rack of books nearby. The name Elizabeth Gilbert jumped out from the cover of a book. Having read "Eat, Pray, Love", I was already familiar with whom Ms Gilbert was. Yes, I was smitten with her tales of food, travel, salvation through meditation, and of course love. I suppose her name alone sold me on the book, just as the large font of her moniker was supposed to. So home I went with this book that suggested a struggle with the very ideals of marriage.

"Committed" picks up where "Eat, Pray, Love" left off. In the former book, Gilbert had fallen in love with a dashing stranger and then tentatively explored possibly finding new happiness with him. This time around though, she was leery of the precepts of eternal devotion, as presented by the tenets of the marriage contract. No, her and her partner had too many scars to ever consider formally stepping into the marital bounds again. That is, until he is arrested at the border, as they try to re-enter the US. He is told that he will not be allowed to come back into the country, until such time as he legally makes the United States his home - via marriage.

The couple is horrified.

While the idea of marriage does not usually elicit dark and gloomy faces from most people, these two still have wounds that make them skittish at the very thought of marriage. It is fine for some, but they had always sworn to never marry, even whilst making claims to be devoted to one another exclusively. Gilbert takes their time in exile from the States to explore marriage, what it meant to her, the people she met on the road and also set herself to discover what more she could unearth about the state of unions throughout history. At times, the tale is almost immature in its insistence of how horrible it all is, but when you look at the stats (just over 50% in the US and just under that mark in Canada), perhaps it is only naive of me to think that there aren't a whole host of others that are as gun-shy of marriage as she is.

As Gilbert delves into historical models of marriage and her understanding of how she thought it was supposed to work, she unearths some interesting facts; like the 50s in the US weren't always chock-a-block full of happy June Cleavers. And as she further discovers, while divorce rates seemed extraordinarily high, those statistics were skewed when comparing first and second-time marriages. In case you were wondering, secondary marriages had much lower divorce rates. I found that interesting from a clinical perspective, but also a personal level. How many of my peers are in the process of separating? Am I not also in a significant relationship that could ultimately lead to a secondary marriage (which I would rather not think of as doomed to failure).

Ultimately, she has some interesting thoughts and facts, but the text left me feeling that she still has a few more demons to banish before she can forgive her past experiences. But then again, don't we all have our skeletons in the closet that we sometimes wish would just disappear? And don't those mistakes and heartaches make us stronger, wiser individuals that are more willing to make decisions for ourselves, which hopefully includes making the decision to accept happiness and love into our lives once again? As you can probably guess, Gilbert did tie the knot once again and stepped into marriage wilfully.

May we all find that peace ourselves.

Steadfast Hands

Climb every mountain;
hide under every bed...
Strike a pose intimidating
and shriek against the mess in my head.

One moment I'm as tall,
as the highest sequoia.
The next I shrink so small,
too wee to dream of any redeeming karma.

It is this way in life
It is that way in love
see-saw, flip-flop
no even keel laid down from above

The sun shines strong
on my future,
but I fear hesitates to 
germinate this heart's pure ardour

Icy winds
don't blow away tomorrow
Steadfast hands
hold secure as I follow
A dream
that needs no more sorrow...

♥♥♥PEACE♥♥♥

Image Courtesy of lusi; RGBstock.com

The Wine Glass

words on the page
time to get them down...

f i s h
swimming downstream
in my gullet
with a magic bullet
of lemon pepper sansal,
coriander sprigs
and of course fresh lemon 
circling round 
these taste buds of mine
with a glass of wine
the only kind;
white...

now fire bright
as I read by its light
before chasing my children
and their paper minions -
groundhogs 
marked by kid's claws
I only say, because of ruined sofas
not forgotten in day's past skirmishes

Yet those groundhogs with kids in tow
tomorrow will surely show
that delightful smiles they still sow
on faces broad, mine & those
of grandparents that bestow
love through the ages; it forever goes

now back to my book
and my warm nook
with dinner forgotten
and drink transporting 
this idle lass
to Russia's morass
during Catherine's governance
perhaps with a topped up wine glass...

Image Source RGBstock.com; courtesy melodi2