From the mind of a mild mannered maniac

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I’m so sorry!


I am so sorry.

I try so hard to be a decent human being, so hard, in fact, that I seem to spend my life apologizing for things that I apparently needn’t be sorry for. I then promptly apologize for apologizing.

I called a friend, the other night. He was in the middle of his supper, and said he would call me back later. I couldn’t possibly have known his family were having a later than usual repast, or that he had a bad day, and yet I apologized for the interruption. Later, when he returned my call, I apologized again.

I won’t bore you with the content of that conversation, but suffice it to say, his day had not been a resounding success. My buddy recounted, at length, and in gory detail, a figurative, landslide of, mistakes, miscues and misadventures, the likes, of which, he’d never known. Hence his frazzled demeanor.

As usual, as in most situations like this, I was struggling for an appropriately savvy reaction. Did I offer a solution? Offer commiserations? Seek out the silver lining?, Lighten the mood with some witty repartee? Nope.
I reverted to my stock response,
“Sorry about that.”
“Omg,” he growled. ‘Would you please stop apologising every two minutes! None of this is your fault!”
Not the reaction I was expecting. I thought he would thank me for my thoughtfulness, or something similar. Clearly what he needed from me, was a sounding board.

For some reason, I have this, lame, habit of taking resonsibility for all the world’s woes. As I write these words, I realise just how silly this must sound, but it’s like somewhere deep down in my psyche , I feel like I must be single handedly responsible for poverty, famine, global warming, terrorism, earthquakes, hurricanes, blight, the world economy and everything else that’s wrong in the universe.
Even on a personal level, I feel badly about things i might have said or done, or things I should have said or done, that the other people in my life are unconscious of, or completely unconcerned about.

“You’re far too sensitive”, is a frequent refrain.

Does this happen to you?

I lay awake, some nights, wondering if I’ve impressed upon my friends and loved ones, sufficiently, just how much they’re loved and appreciated, or if I’ve apologised for the least significant of things.

I know I shouldn’t apologise so much, and I don’t mean to, but it is a compulsive behavior that, try as I might, I can’t seem to purge myself of.

Maybe I am too eager to please, or have some deep-seated need to be liked by everyone, or perhaps I’m just like everyone else, flawed, imperfect, human.

Hmmm….This little post got a little more introspective than I intended,

Sorry about that. ☺


The Scent of Summer

I loved the scent of summer in the August air
on our stroll along that lonely stretch of sand
So young were we, unfettered, and without a care.
The future was wide open and unplanned

We thought ourselves invincible, unerring,
Young lovers we, so vibrant and alive.
No concept yet of lessons we were learning,
Nor the basic tools we needed to survive

As life and all its woes came in to view,
we wondered where our carefree days had gone
But our love, it was the lasting kind, and so it grew
We took our licks, yet still we soldiered on

Throughout it all we toiled, and were happy
Life got sweeter still as hurdles cleared
We were building for a future, for a family,
And year by blessed year perfection neared

On looking back I wouldn’t change a single thing,
I was happy for each new dawn to arrive.
As time flew quickly by, as if, on guilded wing
We proudly watched our children grow and thrive.

I love the scent of summer in the August breeze
As we gaze upon this lovely stretch of land
Silver in our hair and Grandkids on our knees
We bless the fading sunlight, hand in hand.

Can you write a truly good story without living it?


That is a question that plagued me for many years. You see, it occurs to me that the human mind is capable of some wondrous and extraordinary bouts of creativity. Here’s the thing though, must we stir it into action, through dazzling feats of adventure, or is our mind capable of manufacturing its own supply?

We have, each and every one of us, been collecting virtual scrapbooks of sights, sounds, and or sensations in our mighty brains since we drew our first breaths, and no two of us can possibly interpret what we see, hear , touch, smell, and taste in exactly the same way.

That is what spawns creativity of infinite variety
It is through this interaction, with different types of media and with each other, that we learn to accumulate and catalogue our own vision of the world.

A good example of this? Hmmm… Okay Let’s assume that seven eyewitnesses of the same purse snatching, are individually interviewed , shortly, after the event. Each one is perfectly confident in their ability to accurately describe the perpetrator, to a sketch artist.

Although all seven had an unobstructed, view, and possesses a very clear image of the crime and criminal in their mind’s eye chances are pretty good, that no two sketches will be exactly alike.

Why is that? Well experts say that most of us create and store a sort of stylized , or artists concept of reality in our mind. As opposed to a photographic rendering. Of course, with the kind of sample size, in the above example, there would probably be enough similarities, to enable the police, to stitch together a fairly accurate depiction, but there have been cases where testimony has been stricken from court records because witness accounts have varied too greatly. Of course, in this tech-crazy era, someone was bound to have captured the whole thing on their smartphone and broadcasted to the Internet, right? … But I digress. My. point is this

Our minds-eye view of the world, is out of necessity, a subjective one as opposed to an objective one. We are, by and large, a race of inventors and creators.

If we were imprisoned from birth inside some sort of pod or cocoon, a place devoid of sensual stimuli of any kind, Would our amazing minds have the ability to conjure up imagination? I guess its possible.
Did Ray Bradbury explore the dark reaches of outer space before he wrote his novels?
Did Tolkien venture into inner earth and interview Hobbits? No, they simply possess vivid imaginations.

Great Masters of the craft have confined themselves to dingy little offices, while plumbing the depths of their very souls to bring us far flung adventures and outlandish faux realities , and yet, I can sit staring at a blank word processor screen, some days and marvel at my inability to write, a single phrase, but that’s a story for another day. Has anyone got some spare creativity they’re not using? 😉


Hello yesterday, what’s on your mind

what do you mean, “The years aint been  kind”?

You’re history pal, you’re just the past,

A reminder that time is passing so fast

yes, i cling to you, far, far more than I should,

but my memories of you are not always good.

you’ve caused me much hardship, anguish and pain,

and made me relive you again and again!

Sure, there’s nostalgia,  your greatest bouquet

Were things really better, back in the day,

or photoshopped images, with your own special spin

Whose varnished veneer is beginning to thin.

Why you intrigue me, so much, i don’t know

its time to move on, still i don’t want to go

I can’t just disgard you, after all,  you’re my past,

but tomorrow is beckoning me, at long last.


Lonely Road

imageDriving late, on a lonely road

Just roaming, lost and weary

I think about us, well, the used-to-be us.

and our new past, so damned dreary!

Landmarks along this grainy lane

Pass by my gaze unbidden

I can’t change the channel, can’t look away

The images won’t stay hidden.

Sign posts scream out silently

Hazzards ahead, don’t go there

I can’t turn back though, I never can.

There’s a new path out of here, somewhere.

But there never is, just our tainted past

and the hurt that won’t ever heal.

So, I’m driving late, on this lonely road,

a ghost behind the wheel.

Winter in Vancouver

Happy New Year, everyone!

I hope 2015 finds you all happy and healthy.


2015 has swept in with a crisp newness that matches the brisk, coldness of this Arctic inspired chill.

Southern BC is typically mild and wet, at the onset of winter, our best friends, a sturdy umbrella, and a dependable pair of waterproof boots. This sudden cold-snap comes, therefore, as somewhat of a surprise.

Change is good, though, It’s really, not half bad, walking out on an icy winter’s day, when the skies are blue and the sun is beaming down on the sparkly, ground.

It’s fresh, it’s new, and a far-cry from the incessant downpours, dowdy, grey, rain clouds, and the ominous threat of nearby rivers, over flowing their banks.

I love the crunch, underfoot, the smattering of snow that adorns the rooftops and hearty, old, evergreens like glistening tinsel, garlands. It’s so refreshing and invigorating.

When it snows a little, many Vancouverites, fly into a panic, flocking, in droves, to their local winter tire retailers. Other’s make do, many careening their traction-less rides, off of trees, traffic poles etc., enroute to ditches and snowdrifts.
Our hardy, better-aclimatized, Cousins, in Northern BC, and Central U.S and Canada, who deal handily and routinely with far harsher conditions, laugh heartily at our ineptness. Still, I’m glad we give them something to smile about.

Well, I just saw a weather update. Apparently this cold-snap is coming to an end soon. I honestly think I am going to miss it.

Happy New Year!


– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

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