These days I try try try to just only look at Facebook for my own memories. Wow how selfish and self absorbed of me! Wow I used to post a lot!  I try to just stick with that little Memories button, and then not veer elsewhere. But you know how the lure is...it's strong. It's not long before I scroll down a bit, just to see what that first person there is saying. Oh but maybe it's an ad. So I have to scroll down a bit further. Oh good, there's something! Oh sh-- I've done it again!  How do I know? I start to get that empty scrolling feeling. That junk food weak brain feeling. Maybe I start to feel a little pissed off, a little trigger happy like I might just need to Say Something...but...for what? Maybe I start to feel a little inadequate. A little lonely. Log Out. Maybe if I Log Out I won't come on again tomorrow.  ... Repeat. Sometimes tomorrow. Sometimes not for a few days.  ... Probably this is a bit how an addict feels. A Person With An Addiction. ... Maybe ...

Remember that song? Petula Clark's. "Downtown" used to be the place to be! Now...well I don't know about your downtown but... I've even heard my old, dear Seattle downtown is not the way it used to be. I used to be a little more naive, and downtowns used to be a little more safe. Now, I keep my wits about me. If my music is on a little too loud on my bike ride home, I turn it down. I don't want any sneak ups or anything like that! For example: just today there was someone yelling and behaving quite erratically right near the bike path on my way home. Broad daylight, lots of people out...but.  For example: on the first day of my new job someone was stabbed to death and another person had their hand cut off. Right at a couple of intersections I pass by on my bike. About an hour before I passed by. "Don't worry, it appears to have been random attacks, perpetrated by the same person"--the news told us. "Don't worry, the person has a history ...

My eyes have changed, because I see differently now.  Apparently it's even apparent in photos--who knew?   When I was a wee one my first dance recital was to the song It's an Upside-down World Now I'm older, much older, and I have begun to ask questions such as: Why do we celebrate a day of Truth and Reconciliation by wearing orange shirts? A day where we collectively admonish our colonial heritage, and bring awareness to its violence and ongoing consequences All while colonialist wars are raging, amping up by the hour Why? Why are we guilted to shame for our part in the colonialism While the government(s) responsible still do not provide clean water for the people we are supposedly honouring? While the government(s) responsible seem to only care about bombing other indigenous people While the government(s) responsible still uphold a local system where indigenous people are in foster care and incarceration at rates far out of proportion? It's an Upside-down World Where ...

It's that time of year! Summer camp! Last week Therese went. She went to an overnight, more hardcore kind of camp, where they did things like "out trips" and backpacking. That's not really her thing, but she was game to give it a try since the version she usually goes to had a waitlist. "Is she active, can she handle the physical demands of it?" they'd asked, just to make sure it'd be the right fit. I considered how she'd just demonstrated to Hosea, in fed-up-ed-ness, that she'd definitely passed him up in jiu jitsu moves, I considered how she's definitely much more tough than people might anticipate, "Oh yeah, she'll be fine." "Yeah we're just asking cause last year some people came who weren't able to keep up, and they had to go home early...".  That's not the kind of camp I've ever been to! I always went to "church camp", as we called it. First, it was a horse camp. Why? I was never one...

I never use it, that X Twitter thing. But being on social media it's impossible to avoid it entirely. Not that I'm trying to avoid it...I just don't use it. Is it for short little bursts of writing?  Like: Someday I'll be old (and lonely?)...but I'll have a clean house! Summer: when 9pm is just the beginning. Summer: when 9pm is the most magical hour of the day. Summer: when it seems like everyone is out having their dusk walk, and sometimes I am too. But not enough! Remember when you used to bring your stuffies, kids? On road trips? Having a little one, with big ones around, offers more opportunities and gaps and spaces to reflect together. Wasn't it just our last road trip that they all brought stuffies? And we had to limit the number they brought? And they spilled out of the car as doors were opened? Got dirty, accidentally? Some kept in bags in the trunk and others designated for the car ride? Oh yeah, I remember that...they say. I'm glad they do. Oh! I...

Once upon a time... When I was in middle school, our acclaimed choir teacher Mr. Strid took a year off. I think it was a stress leave kind of thing, at least that's what the swirling rumours said. He always did seem a bit of a stressed guy. But he was a passionate choir teacher! That in between year, in between Grade 6 and Grade 8, we had a teacher named Mr. Kretz instead. The rumours that swirled about him were that he was a former used car salesman, taking on this temporary choir teacher thing as a novice.  Thanks to Mr. Kretz I know every word of The Beatles' In My Life--a small group of us sang it for a concert! (Where you at?) Every practice, instead of Mr. Strid's strict choir-style oooohs and eeeeehs and ahhhhhhs, well we sang pop songs instead, soft rocky kind of pop songs by lyrics only, printed on white papers. 80s/90s hit songs like: You're the Inspiration, like Looking Through the Eyes of Love, like oh gosh now that I'm writing this I can't remember,...