14:13 - 07/07/2009
Tripping
Happy 74th Birthday to the Dalai Lama!
I woke up feeling so peaceful this morning, not even any physical pain. I wondered, briefly, if I was dead, but it was A+ calling on the phone that had pulled me out of my dreams. His voice might have been part of the reason for the peacefulness, I suppose. We had planned going to the Stampede on Sunday, but I had become quite sick and couldn't face a whole day in such a crowded venue. He was calling to see if I was feeling well enough to try to go today. Unfortunately not, but the feeling of benison and calm didn't leave me after we hung up either. Hmmmm.
I went back to the dream but that wasn't the source either. It was set in an academic institution of some description. The classroom was filled with a large group of specialists/trainers who, including me, were planning some sort of large out-reach project. We were discussing whether we could work together well enough and in total collaboration, to ensure that it could be sustained for a long period of time. You see, with academics thinking for ones' self and questioning both one's own ideas as well as those of everyone else - debate - is an expected part of the process. A lot of people in the real world can't abide debate, so the question was critical to the success or otherwise of the project. The odd thing was that we were comparing the type of pants we were wearing to determine compatibility with each other. Everyone had chosen a chair to sit in by that time. The back row was filled with people wearing jeans/denim. No problem there. The rest of the rows were occupied by people wearing corduroy. They were busy sorting themselves into finer categories by the thickness of the wale of their cords and then by colour.
I looked down at my pants and realized that I was wearing poorly fitting, velvet cords with a very wide wale, in a really yucky beige tone. I "recalled" waking up late and having to rush to make the meeting. I had apparently just grabbed the first thing I found on the floor of the bedroom I was in, that being those cords. I started to point out to the group how deceptive it was to categorize someone by what they wore, my own attire being a case in point. It wasn't a conscious choice, nor were the pants I was wearing even ones that actually belonged to me. They seemed to be an extra pair of the person with whom I was staying. That echoes my choices of clothing in real life too, which might have been what the lesson of the dream was about. You see, since childhood almost all my clothing has been hand-me-downs, and I am very grateful to the people who have been kind enough to pass on what they no longer wanted. I sometimes forget that most people base their social judgements of others on their choice of clothing. I wear whatever fits and doesn't have holes. Add in 12 years of in and out of maternity clothing to that mix. The cloth doesn't carry any traces of my personality other than a survival instinct - not wanting to get arrested for indecent exposure, you see. Hmmm too. Maybe the dream was reminding me to choose more carefully. Don't know. I am continuing to cull through more of the clothes in my closets, you see. More to get rid of what no longer fits. It took a while yesterday to talk myself into giving away some of the pieces because they had happy memories attached to them and there is also the fear that I might gain the weight back and need them again. Same hoarding habits as depression era folks. Finally managed it though. One incentive to keeping in shape, I guess. A+ likes my "new wardrobe" though since it includes some of my old mini skirts. I don't remember them being that short though. Have to learn again how to walk and sit properly, so as not to disgrace myself.
Walking with A+ should guarantee that though. On Canada Day we headed off to Fort Calgary for the free celebrations. Four hours of wandering about where the first European structures built in the area are located. The original fort is long gone. It was lovingly rebuilt with the original skills and tools by members of our local and national police forces over a period of several years, then some idiot burned that reproduction to the ground one summer's day a few years ago. Still there is a presence and a sense of history there that fire can't touch.
I had woken up late that morning. I wasn't aware of that until A+ called me to find out why I wasn't at the train station. That was the day after one of the neighbours' 3 in the am parties. I thought I had gotten out of bed at the right time, but I had read the alarm clock wrong - it was an hour later than I thought. Raced out of the house and managed to catch the next possible bus. Oi. I was feeling a bit disoriented as we made our way out of downtown toward the east. It didn't help that considerable construction work by the city meant that detours riddled the path to our destination. A+ had given me his camera while he carried his camcorder, but picture taking was limited since we had to pay close attention to finding a route through all those fenced off roads and walkways.
The skirl of the bagpipes playing a marching song was what finally settled me down. Canada Day and bagpipes are inseparable elements in my mind. I finally felt as though I was in the right place at the right time. The performance program had been assembled by the Folk Arts council, so the celtic performers were quickly followed by Latin, Ukrainian, Moldavian, Chinese, Bhangra, South Pacific and Mexican dancers. I found capturing those on camera quite challenging. I'm used to the subjects of my pictures not moving at all or only slowly at best. A+ bought hot dogs and we munched our way through them as we read the many plaques detailing the earliest history of the city. It is often forgotten by our current politicians that the city was founded as a trading post. It grew with the arrival of the railroad. It had that primary civic persona as an inland port for decades. The ranching came next, with the oil and gas industry only making a big splash from the early 1970's on - that development OPEC fuelled, y'all.
Headed across the Inglewood bridge to the Deane House - home of the first commander of the fort - preserved now as a restaurant/theatre, as well as a major school field trip destination. I know it well. It is also the home to several ghosts, documented by both residents and staff over the years. Satisfyingly mysterious stories, too. A+ and I took a lot of photos here as well. I found taking good pictures of flowers equally as challenging as those of the whirling dancers earlier on in the day. The blends of colour not quite turning out as I thought I saw it through the lens. Guess more practice is necessary.
We took the river path back to downtown thinking we could avoid the construction detours. That worked well until that last stretch past Saint George's Island - the home of the zoo - where fencing forced us back into the East Village streets again. Oh well. By the time we got back home the whole side of my neck was one big sun blister. Owwww. We spent the next couple of days out of the sun watching movies - The Wrath of Khan, The American President, Stranger Than Fiction - while editing and uploading those photos. All good.
I need to get back to work applying for jobs though. Silence from head office likely means that there is no place for me in the inventory company anymore. I'll really miss a lot of the people I worked with, but the new management has made the work environment so poisonous, that I don't really think I want to go back anyway. I have done a few more quality assurance assignments and will continue on with that. My youngest said he would set up a website for me when he returns from his honeymoon - oh yes, he married his American sweetheart about a month ago. Neither of them have the paperwork to live in the other's country, so the rest of our family and friends are a bit stymied by their decision to tie the knot. However, my youngest grew up in our multi-national, home community with friends whose families were spread across the entire globe. Mom in one country, Dad in another; sometimes grandparents or aunties/uncles filling in for a "missing" parent, so I don't think he sees it as unusual. She was in the US army, so the 100 year-old, industrial revolution pattern of an "intact" nuclear family life isn't as strongly ingrained either - and it is their lives and their choice, after all. My biggest complaint so far is that he took the last two volumes of the Harry Potter series with him - the cats want their bedtime story, you know. Sharing of communal property has to be negotiated..... I emptied out my work backpack yesterday, in the process of moving on. Maybe that is where that sense of peace is coming from. Who knows.
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