Apologies From Your. Humble Servant

My apologies to any (and all) for being unable to post to my blog, CPU & wireless router issues made it nigh unto impossible to do much more than open/answer emails.  But, I'm back on-line now (I don't want to say anything lest I jinx something and live to regret it.

To laugh is to risk appearing a fool,
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental,

To reach out to another is to risk involvement,
To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self,

To place your ideas and dreams before a crowd is to risk their loss,

To love is to risk not being loved in return,
To live is to risk dying,

To hope is to risk despair,
To try is to risk failure,

But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing,
The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing,
He may avoid suffering and sorrow,
But he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or live,

Chained by his servitude he is a slave who has forfeited all freedom,
Only a person who risks is free,
The pessimist complains about the wind,

The optimist expects it to change,
And the realist adjusts the sails.

With thanks & gratitude to the blog-master of "Wandering Caravan"

Volunteering At Fudger House! Yes!

I saw Stephanie, Fudger Volunteer Coordinator (http://www.toronto.ca/ltc/fudger.htm), last Tuesday.  I was brave and asked for an opportunity to volunteer.  I start next Wednesday (May 19th) substituting for the guy running the bar while he's away for six weeks (doing another of his roles, six weeks as a cruise director, to the Mediterranean, fortunate guy).  It felt good to do something concrete to relieve my anxiety. I needed to have the police expedite my clearance. No need!  It arrived in the mail today.  So, it's all clear and I can now figure a way to get my placement done as well.

Playing Catch-Up!

I'm writing before I lose the thought..... It's strange to say I have something to say but I can't tell you all of it... You'll just have to believe that I've learned this evening that even the smallest victory is significant.  I did something very mundane (to other people) for the first time and I DID it!  Something I'd been so wary of.... Just another step to a New! Improved! Sa'ad! Talia!

Dentist Days # 3

The third, and final extraction. There's greater discomfort and, for whatever reason, it involves my inner ear.  Rhetorical question: What is it about dentists and root-canal work?  This man talked about root-canal work before every filling.
The entire day has been overcast and soggy.  I must have looked a sight with my large, rainbow-colored parasol to protect me from the gentle elements.  Bloor West Village was as pretty as it was sodden, in an evocative mix of light fog & drizzle. I've popped a pain-killer and decided to stay home and dry.

Humor: # 1 - "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court"

        'The vessel with the pestle has the pellet with poison; the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true'
        'They've broken the vessel with the pestle and replaced it with a flagon with the figure of a dragon on it.  Now the pellet with the poison's in the chalice from the palace and the flagon with the dragon has the brew that is true'

"A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court"

Across A Crowded Room

I started in narrative fashion and was unhappy with the result.  I'm trying to write the truth and an absolute minimum.  I am describing an experience.  I fear that whatever I say will not be adequate, I feel so much emotion and am trying to write objectively about what was (and is) totally subjective.

     I went to an office downtown, doing by-election work for the municipality.  I rode the elevator to the seventh floor - I was anticipating something, like I was coming home.  Inside the office, instead of talking to the receptionist, I moved left, toward a side room.
     There were two men at a desk.  One of them was tall, perhaps middle to late 40s, looking at me.  I had never seen this man before, yet I stood there, waiting for him to come and talk to me.  I knew he'd been waiting patiently for me, missing me.  Just like I had ached to see him.  I felt like I was coming home, returning to this man.  I felt great joy, I was relieved to be back, relieved I was looking at this man with whom I had a loving, strong stable relationship.
     His expression was wonderful.  He looked so happy to see me. He really had been waiting for me. Somehow, he'd known I'd be coming.  I could see he felt the connection as much as I did. Then I looked down and saw his wedding ring.  It made me turn away, disappointed, just in time to answer the receptionist's questions.
     I saw him a total of three times.  Each time, there was no opportunity to speak to him, though I tried to make myself available, sitting in the foyer, staying by the water-cooler, .  Every time I saw him, my heart would pound, I'd get cotton-mouth, my hands and knees would tremble.  I'd be happy, sad, angry, disappointed, lost & resentful.  I knew he'd had the same emotions about me.  He couldn't keep the knowledge from me, just as he knew how I was feeling.
     When we looked at each other, there was some deep, deep soul-conncection - as if we had been lovers, partners, something serious and permanent.  My hands would itch to touch him, my arms felt empty, my eyes would  start to tear up.  He was always there - He'd look at me.  I knew him then, somewhere deep inside me, just as I know him now.  He's out there.  He belongs to me. I wish I could see him, talk to him, hold him, listen to his voice, come home to him.
     I know I hadn't met this man before the experience and I've never seen him again.  I wonder where he is, if he's okay, if he misses me, if he think of me at all.   I haven't mentioned this to anyone before and keeping silent has been very difficult.  I can't believe I'd have this connection with somebody and not know who he is or what he is to me.

I'm driven to write about him.  Perhaps this will find him and bring him to me.