It’s one thing to forgive another’s transgressions –
It’s another to FORGiVE oneself
for bad life choices,
preoccupation with past mistakes,
those self doubts,
or regrets.
It has taken me years to forgive myself for not acting soon enough,
to lead the exodus of the innocents,
to expose a dark burden,
to shed an uncomfortable skin.
When we travel the rough roads of this earthly existence, I think we experience and appreciate more moments of being alive. I believe that it’s during the financial and emotional hardships that a spark of creativity ignites to nurture hope and an innate desire to connect with other souls.
It is very rare that I will take more than two weeks’ vacation at a time.
It is not easy to relax one’s psyche with all the shaky and unbelievably violent shit going down south of us and the atrocities being lobbed back and forth in the Middle East.
While acknowledging what’s going on and is beyond my control, I risk to say that I feel relaxed to the point that I am now a bit bored. I need a distraction that will make good use of a creative mind and idle hands.
Cats know how to relax
The first week involved volunteer work, travel preparations and a tearful reunion with my four sisters and French Canadian relatives.
The second week brought visiting relatives to le petit apartment on two separate occasions, saying farewell to one of the fledglings, and my completion of an awkward yet important medical test. Call it preventative maintenance for someone who has reached a certain age…
FOBT mailing envelope warning
In this third week I have plans for social engagements, outdoorsy wanderings and appointments.
During a lazy Sunday afternoon while wandering on the Internets, I found what could be a new cause, a campaign to propose that the great but humble Canada reconsider its national mascot.
Snuggles the cat is wary of my busy mind
I reintroduce to you the Ookpik, an Inuit creation that satisfied the need for a mascot in 1964.
I had a hoot today, distracted by what if's, nostalgia, whimsy, ookpiks and the Internets. How many owls do you see? pic.twitter.com/kgB9uXIkpn
At times I wish my Mother had a happier life with less poverty and mental health strain. Would I be willing to forfeit my own existence if she and her humble carpenter husband had the courage to defy church rules? I remember her stories about attending mass with a batch of clean but raggedly dressed offspring and observing other couples with their one or two well-attired children in their pews.
During sentimental moments, I wish I could travel back in time to help her.
Of course, we know time travel doesn’t exist else some crazy genius would have done this by now to prevent world wars, horrific abuses on humanity, environmental disasters and the ongoing conflict in the Middle East. What a fucked-up world. Thousands of years of evolution, diplomatic exchanges, technological improvements and we still have this mess to hand over to our children. No wonder we have disillusioned youth.
I digress.
When reading about or discussing time travel, my pretty blonde head spins and nearly implodes.
Back to the Future was one of my favourite movies with Michael J. Fox. The Huey Lewis and the News soundtrack rocked my world during my own time of young love. I got confused in attempts to follow the sequels.
I am intrigued by the statements of the creepy yet insightful Über-Morlock in the 2002 movie version of H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine:“And what is time travel, but your pathetic attempt to try to control the world around you? Your futile effort to have a question answered? You think I don’t know you, Alexander? I can look inside your memories, your nightmares, your dreams. You’re a man haunted by those two most terrible words: What if?“
At dinner with writing friends recently, I described plans for a summer vacation trip to my Mother’s home town and my ideas for a creative non-fiction story. Some of the questions and thoughts are outlined in blog posts and Tweets from May and June.
I don’t know how far the story will go. I don’t know if I’ll end up doing some speculative fiction, time travel version to convince the single, younger version of my Mother to reconsider her decision and continue her life as an artist – or perhaps a nun. If so, would that spin off an alternate reality or that my siblings and I would not exist?
If I didn’t exist then how could I finish writing that story?
Thanks for dropping by. Post a comment about writing or time travel reading suggestions if you wish. Any that are off-topic will sent into oblivion.
Deep Blonde Thoughts 