Month: August 2013

Track 6

The other day Tayen was trying to describe an activity involving a Frisbee and Dreams. I  could decipher it occurred at her pre-school, but with a three year old it can be tough to pin down “exactly” what’s “real” “imagined” or “consumed.”  I  did gather at least in this description the Frisbee was playing the part of stick.

Tayen:   “We passed around the Frisbee and said what we all wanted to be.”
Me:        “Oh, you mean like a talking circle?”
Tayen:    “Sure.”
Me:         “What did Victoria say?”
Tayen:    “She wanted to be a princess, they all wanted to be princesses.”
Me:         “What did you say?”
Tayen:    “I want to be a train driver.”

I was delighted. Talking circles, real or imagined can be healthy.  Fact, I’m facilitating one in my head right now.  Certain personalities crave the space and authority the stick can bring to the circle.  I also had to smile because deep down inside I think I want to be a train driver too.  Not the Amtrak variety or the kind at the mall during Christmas, but a steam locomotive engineer barreling up the foggy pass, trying to get em’ home, with quick wit and seasoned eyes that can see around the corner before anyone else.

Track 5

What is it about Creedence?  Everyone loves them.  Coast people, inland people, kiddos, temple monks in Nepal and cabin monks in Glacier.  Stoners, priests & school teachers dig CCR.  Four seperate musicians who can clearly be heard.  Sound layered even in the absence of stereo.  The Revival. I feel they could be sampled in heaven or hell.  Style.  Swamp.  Fogerty.  Still not sure what makes them so universal.   I want to be Creedence, minus the breakup, lawsuits & familial fallout.  I want to be born on a bayou.  I want to sound amazing from your shop radio.

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–Wesley Withrow

Track 4

It’s amazing/shocking how fast you think/thunk you got smart.  Last week’s excursion to Vancouver Island = spectacular.  So much fun(s).

Thing is though, I noticed this weird phenomenon happening inside my brain around day four or five   –>

I started thinking I knew the place, I fancied myself a seasoned islander.  I could blindfold navigate the condo property + I knew what color bill a twenty-spot was + I was an Oceanside expert who could convert litres to gallons. Yes we had the beach gear and cooler scene dialed to perfection, we understood how to get takeout and work the DVD player.  We had poutine and liked it. After awhile, I found myself judging the new arrivers, chuckling to my inner self at the lost look in newbie’s eyes as they searched for the 200 unit, or wandered aimlessly looking for ice. I got mad when someone parked in “my” spot.  I gave three people directions in town. I told myself I was a canyon river aficionado.  I looked down on those without proper footwear.
I was local.           Course, I realized soon enough even the locals weren’t local. I caught myself misinterpreting the legend of Englishmen River Falls, getting lost in Nanaimo, and misjudging the tide at least twice.  I found out I never knew how to properly say “Tsawwassen”, and after some digging, I began to understand just how little I did know about the island and its landscapes, its peoples and stories.
I’m smart, but not that smart.
My family is cool, and we are growing.
Vancouver Island 2013 037

Track 3

JC