On Becoming A Sleuth

I have been chasing a trail through cyber space these days. Realizing that in order to write a certain article, I also needed to become a private investigator has been a rather invigorating experience. Bring on the Sherlock Holmes hat and the magnifying glass!

Well, OK, we live in the 21st century, so bring on the Google search. Much less cumbersome … or is it?

I can’t tell you how many hours I have spent trying to track down a certain surgeon, who performed a certain surgery back in 1958! Bit by bit I have added to my information about him, and come to understand to a certain degree what the surgery entailed. But, the question remained. Was he still alive and where was he?

Obituaries Canada didn’t show him as being dead. In fact he had spoken at other well-known doctors’ funerals within the last couple of years. Encouraged, I continued my quest.

Two days ago, I found him! Entering a site I had been to before, but from a different angle, I found all the contact information I needed.
I could hardly believe it. Would he still be there?

A letter explaining my mission was carefully drafted and sent winging its way across … whatever it wings across. (I definitely do not understand how this network of the world works, but I sure appreciate it. It beats pounding the pavement with a magnifying glass.)

Yesterday, a response; I have made contact! I am an investigative journalist!

Disconnected

He sits with grizzled look
Talking to himself
And sipping coffee.

The weathered tawny hat
His signature piece
Adds a somewhat jaunty look
Above the sparkling eyes
Adorned with low-slung spectacles

I see him often
Wandering through town
Or resting on a city bench
Pondering the world around him
And I wonder
What does he think as we pass by?
What memories flit through his mind
Of time elapsed?
What secret pains
Have etched those creases
On his swarthy face?

He could have been a pirate
Swabbing the deck
Scrambling as look-out
To the crow’s nest
“Ship ahoy!”

Or then again
Perhaps a drudge
Harvesting tobacco
Beneath the blazing sun
Feeding the habit that haunts him still

A gentle nod of head
A fleeting smile
Acknowledgement of some faint whisper of contact
As I walk by
Too shy to sit awhile
And hear his tales
Of former days

What have I missed?
I’ll never know
‘Til gathering my courage
And my desire to delve
One day I care enough to pause
Connect
And enter in

Peaches

My breakfast bowl sits empty on the counter
Canadian summer
Fresh fruit in abundance
Peaches

Ah the memories
Driving to Shakespeare
To the peach place
‘Fox’s’ I think
With Dad
Speeding along in our ’53 Studebaker
His dream of a sports car
Overwhelming scent as we enter the store
And then in the car as we travel home
Laughing around the kitchen table
Juice dripping off my chin
And more peaches lining the kitchen counter
Ripening just so
For the canning process
Steam filling the room
And that scent
The aroma of preparation
For the coming months of cold

But for now
Again this morning
Peaches
Peaches served with memories

Liam's Sound

Liam’s Sound

Today a couple of friends and I were out for coffee, and talking about the qualities of life we want to be developing, things like faith and goodness, self-control (especially when it comes to chocolate!), perseverance (sticking to our goals), kindness and of course love. God actually wants us to be working to develop these qualities, but it sometimes seems so hard!

I thought of my special little two-year old friend, Liam. On Sunday, I went up to him at church, as his dad was holding him and said "Hi." He didn't answer, but I could see that he was thinking and his mouth was moving.

"Are you practising your special sound?" asked his Dad.

I leaned in close to listen and sure enough he was clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, creating a tiny little "pop!" He was obviously dedicated to working on it until he had it down pat. A few weeks ago when I talked to him, he was practising his wink.

As I thought about my quest for the development of spiritual qualities in my life, I realized that Liam had a lot to teach me. "Unless we become as little children..." Little children rehearse new skills until they become a part of them. We may know the qualities that we want to cultivate, but until we focus and really practise, they will probably continue to elude us.

Invasion of the Ants

It is a very humid day in Stratford, Ontario with the temperature hovering around 30 C. Arriving home from a very warm walk, I knew I needed to close up all the blinds, in a perhaps futile attempt to keep my 135 year-old un-air-conditioned home slightly cooler than the outside air.

Walking into my living room, I noticed the window had a lot of black things on the sill. "Ah, leaves falling off the plants?" I wondered. "Oh no! They're moving!"

Indeed it seems that a swarm of flying ants (what do you call a flock of ants, anyway?) had decided that my front window would make an ideal new home. They had sent a few forerunners out last week, and I had zapped them with vinegar, and stunned them to the point where I could successfully scoop them up and flush them away. But this? This was a major invasion!

Vinegar would not do the trick this time. I had visions of Lenningen, with the ants rushing in for the kill.

It is amazing how the adrenalin kicks in at such a moment. No Raid to be found in the house, I ran with heart pounding to the folk next door. After what seemed like forever (maybe five minutes) and all the while envisioning the gradual takeover of my domicile, I raced back home with two cans in hand.

Now, I am not a wimp, and I don’t mind creepy-crawlies, but it was with no small amount of fear that I approached the task. Timorously entering the living room I was met by a giant-sized invader crossing the floor.

“Oh, no! They’ve already advanced from the windowsill.”

One stomp knocked him out for the eight-count, and I was off to face the army. Raid came first. The stricken soldiers floundered and circled round. I could just imagine their battle cries!

All the cracks, the ants themselves, over and over I attacked. They were a determined bunch, though, hanging on bravely to the thread of life.

And then I saw them outside!

Off I raced, stomping on a few floor-advancers as I went. Through the bushes, then spraying the screen, and all the cracks. The mind plays tricks and every tickle of a branch became a munching mandible. Ants were trying to escape, climbing the screen, only to be driven down in rain of Raid.

Back on the inside, the wounded were regrouping.

“Aha! I’ve got you!” My battle cry rang out.

But where were all these live ones coming from? They kept plopping onto the drenched windowsill. Looking up, another seething mass! Through the blinds I could see their forces gathered there. Up with the blinds. Attack again. On the window, on the walls, holding my breath, again and again I struck. The second can came into play as I felt perhaps it might kill off the survivors.

Barely able to breathe with all the mixed fumes, I have retreated to my computer.

Here I sit, weary from the fight, my heart beating once again at a more normal pace.

But what will I find when I arise from this chair?