Get on yer Boots

We had a tenant once who we affectionately nicknamed "boots" because he wore those large, brown winter boots during the late fall, winter and into early June.  You know the ones.  They are kinda old school with the dark brown toes and sole with a lighter brown exterior and a huge tongue with white fuzzy stuff on the inside with  laces that were striped dark brown and beige.  They're huge boots.  And these huge boots on a young guy with zero grace or awareness of himself made for a very unstealthy individual.  Our office is on the second floor and you sometimes need to buzz up so that the door can be remotely unlocked.  We would here the buzz, let the person in and then hear the tell tale, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP up the stairs.  I had gotten so good that I would call it after the second THUMP; "That's Boots!"  And for those of you that know me, I'm friggin' deaf.  He wouldn't tie those things up either.  The big 'ol tongues would hang open and the laces trailing behind.  Plus he would wear either a big wool winter coat or a tweed sport jacket, depending on the day I suppose and who he had to meet.  And he would typically pair the tweed sports jacket with a grubby t-shirt and over sized sweats.  He was always a sight.

One day I was alerted that someone was in the office to see me.  As I walked out my door I saw Boots standing at the front counter.  Boots was never completely clean shaven but he didn't really have much facial hair either so he kind of looked like he got into a fight and someone threw Nair on his face.  He was standing at the counter looking out of sorts.

"What's up, Keith?", I asked.  "Shouldn't you be at work?" Boots had been working part time at McDonald's and was doing pretty well (or so I thought), cleaning off tables, emptying garbage, etc.

"I got fired!", Boots half shouted.  Boots had an extremely loud voice.  You always felt like he was yelling at you.

"Oh, that sucks.  What happened?  Did your supervisor explain why?"

"Ohhhhhh yeah!", he replied.  Now he began getting pretty animated.  "Yep, he told me alright and I just can't believe it."  He began pacing a little and started swinging his arms.  Boots was a pretty big hand talker when he was talking about menial things like TV commercials and parking meters.  Now it was clear that Boots was a man becoming undone. "I mean, it just doesn't make any sense!!"

"Ok, Keith.  Well, what reason did he give you?"

"TARDY!!  He said I was tardy!  Can you believe that?!?!  I mean, I never, ever gave anyone a problem."  With each sentence his hands got higher and higher and he began swinging his arms like he was defending himself  from a swarm of wasps.  "I never had a bad attitude.  I was always polite!  It just doesn't make any sense!"

As Boots gave me his rebuttal for being turfed from McDonald's it seemed that it wasn't matching the reason he actually was fired.  Clearly, I need to clarify something.

"Uh, Boots do you know what being tardy means?"

"Yeah!  It means having a lousy attitude and talking back and not listening to your boss.  I can't believe I got fired for that!  I never, ever..."

"Right", I cut Boots off.  "Uh, Keith.  Tardy means being late and not showing up on time.  It sounds like you were fired because you weren't arriving for work when you were supposed to."

Keith slowly put his hands down to his side.  His eyes went up towards the ceiling.  There was a very pregnant pause and then Keith said,  "Oh.  Yeah, that makes sense.  Ok, see ya Wayne."

And that was it.  With a big smile he turned around and walked down the steps; THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Keith had a severe learning disability, anxiety and a mitt full of other challenges.  One of the biggest problems he had was the inability to say no to people.  Unfortunately the users and the takers find guys like Boots to prey on.  He had about 5 or 6 guys that would use him for him money, his apartment, his cell phone, etc.  I remember taking him to pay his cable bill and he had over $350 for the month on his bill, most of the charges Pay Per View movies almost all of which his "friends" purchased.  He received a personal injury settlement from MPI for a vehicle accident and one of the installments was $2500.  We did our best to have him give us the money for safe keeping but failed.  Out of all of that cash he spent about $100 on himself and the rest was spent buying clothes, food, booze and drugs for his buddies. At the end of his time at Uturn he just couldn't keep people out of his apartment that were doing him and others in the apartment building harm.  I had to evict him.  His ability to choose was so severely limited and at that point in his development it became clear that living in Brandon just wasn't a good option.  He went back home to rural MB to live with his parents.

I've met a lot of people, many I won't necessarily remember.  I don't think I'll ever forget Keith's big smile, goofy laugh, generous spirit and those gigantic boots.  THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.  Thanks for letting me get to know ya, Boots.

The rest of the story...

So here's the story left untold in my last post re.  Amber.  About two years ago I left work and started driving around the front of the Uturn building to go home.  As I passed by the building I saw Amber staggering up the sidewalk and into (literally) the front door.  My years as a youthworker and the thousands of dollars I spent getting my counselling degree helped me see that something was up.  I pulled my car over and went up to Amber's apt where I met her in the hall.  She was indeed severely under the influence.  She was very happy to see me but not so happy after I suggested that she was in no shape to go out.  I insisted that I make her some supper and I managed to find a package of wieners in the fridge and prepared them as to her request:  boiled, with a side of French's mustard, no bun.  After she ate and I wiped off the excess mustard off her face I told her to go to bed and sleep off whatever high she was on.
"Yep, absolutely...", she slurred.
I walked out of the apartment, unconvinced that she was actually capable of keeping the resolution she had just made with me.  5 seconds later my hunch was confirmed and Amber was walking out of her apartment door.
"Where do you think you're going?", I queried.
"C'mon Wayne, I was just going for a walk."
I turned her around and guided her back in her door and watched her take off her vinyl, leather look jacket.  As she wandered to her bedroom I exited again, waited for 5 seconds and re-entered the apartment finding Amber putting her jacket back on.
"Soooo, whatcha doing?", I asked.
"Going to bed."
"You're putting your jacket on."
Incredulous, Amber snapped at me, "Yeah, Wayne.  That's what I like to do. I sleep like that sometimes."
I sighed and told her that she needed to stay in her apartment or else I would have to phone the police.  As I exited her apartment once again I quickly got on my cell to see if I was just throwing a bluff up.  I found out that the Crisis Stabilization Unit was full, and the Centre for Adult Psychiatry didn't do intakes with people under the influence.  Amber wandered out again.
"Amber, you're not leaving the building!", I scolded and shuffled her back into the apartment.
"Fine!" She yelled at me and walked to her bedroom where she changed her clothes and came out.  "Happy now?!?"
It's 6:30 and I've made supper for a high, drunk lady and wiped mustard off of her face while trying to convince her to stay in her apartment for the last hour which is akin to arguing with Laurel and Hardy about "Who's on First." Yes, I am ecstatic.

I leave the apartment and stand in the hallway.  5, 10, 30 seconds rolls by and I'm still alone.  A minute or two more passes and still no Amber and no sounds from the inside to suggest she is making any plans on trying to cross the threshold of her apartment.  I sigh in relief before realizing that I forgot to grab her prescription meds that were on her stove.  Shoot, I should really take those as a precaution.
I walked into her apartment and saw no one.  Excellent.  I walked over to the kitchen area and spotted said drugs and grabbed them, stealthily moving to get out while the gettin' was good, feeling like it's been a job well done.  I stopped just before leaving and then realized that it was soooooooo very quiet in that apartment.  Could she have passed out that quickly?  I thought it would be good practice to checking on her.  I knocked quietly on the door; "Amber.  Amber?"
I turned the door knob and cautiously peeked in.  Her mattress on the floor came into view, and then some blanket, a pillow, and the end of the mattress.  There was no Amber in the bed.  I checked the closet.  No Amber in the closet.  I checked the bathroom and the maintenance room.  No Amber anywhere.  I stood in the middle of the bedroom with my hands on my hips slowly turning around trying to figure out if perhaps I was drunk or high because clearly there was no Amber where I thought there really should be an Amber.
Then I saw the open window with the screen removed.  Amber's apartment at that time was on the top floor which would have made it just over the height of two stories or about 25ft.  'Not really', I thought to myself.  I slowly walked over to the window and slowly peered out the window expecting to see a broken Amber sprawled out in the parking lot.  I looked out and saw nothing but the snowbank beneath her window.  It was March and immediately under Amber's window was a small snowbank, a motorcycle in the snow, a snow blower and the large support for the deck above.  As I looked into the snow bank I could see the imprints of two hands and two feet right smack dab in the middle of all those obstacles.  The footprints were rather close together and the distinctive hand prints were more spread out at 45 degree angles of the foot prints.  Amber had done the Frogger and made a run for it.

I couldn't believe it.  After calling the police, driving around for 30 minutes and calling my supervisor it was suggested that I go home and let the police find her.  I thought before I would head home I would drive up 18th st, arguably the busiest street in Brandon and a lousy choice for anyone trying to keep away from prying eyes.  Well, anyone straight that is.
So there she was, staggering down 18th st on the sidewalk with her jacket hanging half off her shoulder.  I drove past her and pulled into a business half a block ahead of her in order to cut her off.  As I started walking towards her a Manitoba Hydro truck pulled over on the street and slowed down beside Amber.  Amber took a hard left, walked through the snowbank, opened the passenger door and sat down in the truck.  It look choreographed it was so perfect.  I jogged up to the truck, waving my arms at the driver and walked over to the driver side window.
"Do you know her?", I asked.
The driver was wide eyed.  "No, no,no.  She just looked like she was in bad shape and I wanted to make sure she was ok."
"I see.  Well, I know her and I'll take care of her.  Amber, C'mon, let's go."
"Ahhhhh, Wayne.  You're no fun!", she whined slumping her head down like a 4 year old being told to stop eating chalk.
I managed to get Amber into my car and we drove to the Emergency Room as a precaution where she was checked out and deemed healthy enough to leave.  That didn't go as smoothly as it sounds, but really, you get the picture of my evening already.  There's no need to make this any longer than it already is.
As we drove back to the apartment I asked her if she remembered jumping out the window.
"I jumped out the window? Really?"
"Yes", I said.  "Really."
"Woah!!  I did that!  I f***ing did that.  I own that s***!  I own that!"
Sigh.  Yep, I couldn't argue with that I suppose.  No one in their right mind would have made that jump and I don't think anyone could have jumped a second time without seriously hurting themselves.
We headed back to the apartment where we bumped into another tenant who was Amber's friend, ordered some pizza and sat in Amber's apartment.  By this time Amber was coming off the high quickly and was becoming coherent again.  We chatted about choices, good and bad and how concerned I was for her.  Manitoba Hydro buddy seemed like a nice enough guy.  But don't fool yourself, there are too many opportunistic individuals in the nice city of Brandon who would play the role of vulture in seeing someone like Amber that night.  This evening I was around and quite frankly it was just a matter of good timing that I saw her kiss the front door with her drunken face when I did.

Now that Amber is back in Uturn we don't talk about that evening often but when it comes up, Amber laughs a hearty laugh.  And I laugh with her because it truly was a special night.  You either laugh or you're going to cry.

Do you see what I see?

I'm supposed to be at a lunch meeting with a tenant but since he didn't show I'll take care of this instead...

This morning I met with one of our tenants in Uturn (transitional housing for homeless young adults) for coffee.  I walked over to her apartment, knocked on the door and waited.  I could hear music on the other side of the door and knocked louder which prompted the shuffling of feet.  The door opened and "Amber" stood in front of me awash in tears.  She immediately spun on one heel and walked toward her soft, pink rocking chair.  As we sat down she began describing a morning dominated by an endless barrage of voices with invisible sources.  Amber suffers from psychosis and despite all the different anti-hallucinogenic drugs her doctors have tried over the years the auditory, visual and olfactory (smell) hallucinations continue.  This morning was particularly bad.  We sat and chatted and I tried to be empathetic, encouraging and soothing.  She talked about "them", the characters that she hears and sees and occasionally can smell, what they say to her and the conspiracy they have against her.  I listen as best I can and try to be as present as possible with her.  My mind wanders at times to try to understand what my role is, how can I be a catalyst to something different right now but I find myself grabbing at unseen straws.  There is no miracle here this morning, no "AH HAH" moment that re-wires Amber's traumatized brain and allows the apparitions to fall silent and "reality" to become something much more clear.  Unfortunately the one (or handful) of things that stops the voices for a while is alcohol and prescription drugs which has led to a significant dependence on these substances.  This isn't unusual for sufferers of mental illness and Amber slips often and self-medicates in order to press "pause" on the nightmare that is the majority of her days.

Amber is one of my favourite people.  She is funny, smart and extremely creative.  She paints, writes poems and songs and she is the source of one of my favourite Uturn stories.  I'll save that for another time but there's a part of it where Amber jumps out of a second story window and lives to tell the tale.  Part of what peeked my interest in meeting with Amber this morning is that I am singing the song inspired by her and the second story leap in my church on Sunday (spoiler alert) so her story and life have been more on the front of my mind this week than usual.  

I get overwhelmed at times when I think about Amber's future and others like her.  Truth be told I've been overwhelmed by a whole bunch of things lately but something that has brought some brief relief is being aware that a lot of me feeling overwhelmed isn't about the right now, it's ruminating about unknown future events. So as I consider my sense of frustration at God ("don't you think this would be a dandy time to step in?"), medical solutions, upset neuropaths and neurochemistry gone awry, I recognize that my role is to be present in the moments that seem overwhelming and terrifying for Amber.  To offer suggestions and tools when she feels more stable and consistently let her know she is loved, cared for and cherished.  I can't take away the alternate reality that Amber experiences but I can work hard at bringing those elements into her reality.  Looking beyond that and it becomes difficult to hold the course...

Meandering

I could comment on the fact that my last post was Feb 2010, but I won't.  I do have the scene in my mind from Monty Python's "In Search of the Holy Grail" where the "dead collector" has a fellow over his shoulder who keeps saying, "I'm not quite dead yet..."

A couple of months ago my family was driving in Brandon, heading home from watching "Despicable Me 2" when Julie suggested we take a detour and drive down a random street just to take a look at the neighborhood and any possible homes for sale (we contemplate moving every so often).  I immediately slowly shook my head and kept driving muttering something about "let's just head home." My keen wife sighed slightly and said something to the effect of, "you don't have much meandering in you, do you?" I recall I stiffened becoming slightly defensive and muttered some type of awkward retort.  

I contemplated her observation later and realized how accurate it truly was.  I suck at meandering.  I enjoy getting things done in the most efficient, fastest way possible and if there are any possible detours in my plan I get rather annoyed.  I likely have an big A with a straight line to a corresponding big B tattoo somewhere on my body.  Like almost all traits this can come in very handy and it can really bite a guy in the ass. When I start a task I typically put my nose to the grindstone so I can get it done, often wanting to get jobs or chores completed before anything else happens.  The ass biting part comes in when  I seemingly don't (or can't) allow myself to take that detour when it presents itself and/ or just recognize that getting to "the end" is not always the point.  As I thought about Julie's comment I recognized how I have a difficult time just reading a book for the enjoyment of it as opposed to just soaking in the info.  When I start a book I just want to get to the end.  There is a felt sensation of slight anxiety because I just want to "get it done."  This explains why fiction has never been a draw to me, there is little "information" to be gleaned.  I'm much more inclined to read books that directly impact my vocation.  Songwriting is something I thought I enjoyed but I have come to realize I enjoy the final "product" and not the process so much.  I have tremendous difficulty with leisure time with no specific aim or final "product."  

Enter swimming lessons at Treherne.  Our girls had two lessons a day, morning and late afternoon with a gap of about 5 hours in between.  Three of the five days we were there we spent the down time in the pool and the other two days were "leisurely."  My wife is much better at this than I am so she suggested to basically play rural tourist and take in the sites and sounds of the area.  We took in the Treherne museum, toured the Bottle Buildings (there's no explanation required here.  They are buildings made of... bottles), drove down the road and had a snack at the Holland windmill, bought fresh donuts at the Treherne bakery and I think slowly drove down every street in Treherne.  Pretty sure people thought we were creepy creepsters but that's alright.  I had a great week.  It took time for me not to feel anxious and allow my sense of urgency to rest, but as the week wore on I felt an increasingly greater ability to allow myself to be leisurely.  As far as meandering goes, you can't get much more meandering that driving up and down the streets of Treherne just because you want to check out the town.  And a couple of times it was my own initiative...

Unfortunately as the week ended so too did my ability to be a little leisurely.  On the Saturday after our swim week Julie was working and all the kids were with their grandparents for a few hours in the afternoon.  I had worked my butt off in the morning trying to take care some of the things neglected after a week of essentially being away from the house and I told myself that I would sit down with my guitar in the afternoon and play or maybe even post something on this blog that was on life support.  I actually opened the computer and then I thought, "hmmmmm, I should really weed whack" which led to a full lawn care session, etc., etc.  In the end my detour that invited me was left standing alone in at the Soc Hop with no dance partner.  So I'm not a pro at this yet.  

The reason for a new post?  This blog is part of my self-care I think.  Who knows, it might be three more years before there's another post.  But in the end it's not life or death and perhaps that's one of my issues, that I over-think my choices and decisions too much.  Scratch out the "perhaps".  It's hard to meander when almost every choice feels like it has much weight which on a purely cognitive level doesn't make sense but we're all so much more than our cognitions.  But that's a different post...

Levity

So I've been told that my posts are, at times, rather depressing. It's so incredibly strange, but it's the melancholy that inspires me to write which explains blog posts, many sermons, and most songs that I write and that I am drawn to. I'm not a down person, and I think I'm quite optimistic, but I do love gray sky days and driving in the rain.

But I'm trying to tell myself to force something happy today. So I'll relay a story that makes me laugh.

So Olivia (grade 1) comes home from school and she had sat through a anti-smoking session at some point during the day. She was informed about the ills of the tobacco industry and was coached on how to say no if someone offers her a cigarette. She didn't mention anything about saying no to cigars or chew so I'm on the lookout for the telltale lump in her cheek and making sure she doesn't get that princess spittoon she's been asking for.

Two days later, we're all sitting outside a Shopper's Drug Mart waiting for Julie when Olivia starts talking about how bad smoking is for you. So being a good counselor I initiated a little role play. "Hey Olivia", I said. "Would you like a cigarette?"

"No thanks."

"C'mon. It's cool to smoke."

"No, thank you. I don't want to smoke."

Everything had gone as she had been coached until her sister piped up.

"Dad. I'll take a cigarette."

Olivia freaks out at this point. "No, Grace! You don't want to smoke! Dad, she wants to smoke!"

I attempted to reassure my little zealous lobbyist that Grace was just joking around.

"Ok, Dad. Now I'll try to get you to smoke. Hey Dad, would you like a cigarette."

"No thank you", I promptly responded.

"C'mon! Everybody smokes. Just one?"

"No, Olivia. I do not want to smoke."

Then in the way that only Grace can make a statement: "Um, Dad. I would like a cigarette."

I couldn't contain myself. I'm laughing, Grace is not so sure what is so funny but she is smiling none the less and my eldest is fearing that her 4 year old sister should switch to Nicorette during Sunday mornings. It was a wonderful moment.

Now don't get used to this. But perhaps once in a while it would do me good just to lighten up.

Or maybe I should go light up...

Urgency is a beast (a general ramble)

Ok, I'm terrible at maintaining things. Look no further than the last time I posted a blog. Christmas eve I guess. Interesting that I'm feeling anticipation once again.

I don't really want to die. A shocking statement, I know. It's something that I know you've never heard before. My apologies for blowing your mind. But it's very true for me these days and it has been a growing issue for me. It has felt like a mouse gnawing on a piece of bait on the rotten end of a mousetrap. How many bites can it take before the light at the end of the mouse tunnel beckons?

It's not that I have an impending sense of death and doom. It's just that I have a sense that my life is but a fart in the wind; lingering in my nostrils and those unfortunate to occupy the space around me one moment and floating away the next. That's not to say my life stinks, but it's about as creative as I can get right now. My kids are growing up so fast and I'm growing older at (shockingly) an equal pace. I don't want them to grow up and start junior high, get their drivers license, meet some dashing young man, have kids of their own, experience their first kiss. And I'm ok with the order of life happening something like that, although squeeze a wedding in there please. And yet I really, really DO want them to experience life. I can't wait for them to give life a big kiss and to have it whisper a few secrets. It's just that life is so bloody temporal.

So urgency is a significant term for me these days. I feel a deep need to get important plans with Julie and the girls set in stone. I want to experience something significant with my kids every day that I spend some time with them. And yet, life goes on and with it is the mundane, the ordinary, the necessary. Renovations, house cleaning, paying the bills, etc., all need attention. So how does one balance all this stuff with things that feel much more important?

My co-worker, after I expressed some of my aches and pains to her, suggested that maybe I'm going through an early mid-life crisis. I'm only 35 though, so that doesn't really add up. But let's reconsider. My Dad passed away almost 7 years ago at the tender age of 73. I recall a couple of years ago doing some basic division and coming to the understand that half of 73 is...um...carry the 2...oh yeah 36.5. Hmmmmm. So I'll be 36 in less than a month. Ahah!! So according to my math and my Dad's life expectancy I am basically half-way. I'm thinking this is playing a role in my current dysphoria.

So many guys hitting the mid-lfe crisis it seems want to buy a sports car, get a rug to replace the hair they used to have and live life like they were twenty. I want to quit my job, take my kids out of school and buy an RV to travel the continent. I'm desparate to go to Disney, West Edmonton Mall, and any place else that promises that my dreams will come true. But how incredibly selfish is that? "Hey family, suspend what ever hopes and dreams you have an indulge me in experiencing life as I'm going to dictate it to you!" Who do I think I am?

So how do I live with a sense of urgency while not being a complete nutcase? No answers here yet, but I do know that I need to finish the house renos and clean the toilet. These things don't stop. I think I need to take care of myself from time to time which is something I know is a challenge for me. It's all a very precarious and difficult and almost impossible some days.

By the way, The Time Traveler's Wife is a terrible movie for someone struggling with the brevity of time.

More to come I'm sure...

Christmas Rant

Every year I make a gingerbread house with my kids. It's one of the highlights of the Christmas season... I think. It also drives me crazy since I'm a perfectionist and if you've every made a gingerbread house that's a bad mix. Throw in a 7 year old and a 4 year old and it's enough to make baby Jesus blush.

So typically I do it from scratch; mix the dough, cut the shapes, bake it, make own icing, etc. This year we bought a different house and have been neck deep in renovation purgatory which has drained the time and energy away from everything else (note it's been over a month since my last post). So I bought a gingerbread house kit, although with regret and a little guilt. The kit includes everything you need with all the pieces pre-cut and it just needs to be assembled and decorated with the included candy and icing. Quite frankly part of me feels like it's a stainless steel bed pan. Yes, it will do the job, but where is the love? Where is the love?

So this afternoon the kids and I tackled the commercial house and assembled it and decorated it. It looks like hell. The icing doesn't hold anything together. The candy is falling off. The roof opened up and swallowed the gumdrops lining the roof. The kids are thrilled and I am depressed. The pre-cut, sterile, gingerbread snowman and gingerbread man on the front lawn are looking at me with a smug glare. It matters not as I'm going to bite his incredulous head off in a couple of hours. I'm just hoping that this isn't some strange premonition and that all my renos are destined to end as the molasses laden house before me. I'm sure I'm going to go to the house on Monday and find that all the drywall has slid off the walls.

Here's the deal. I love Christmas and most of all I love the anticipation of Christmas. Part of the anticipation is doing all the rituals that herald the coming of Christmas day. The gingerbread house is a ritual and one that I will redeem next year with a love soaked, personable, homemade house.

I love Christmas. I love watching my kids more than anything get excited about Christmas. We propagate the myth of Santa with zeal and I love watching the kids put out the reindeer food on the lawn. It has sparkles so the reindeer can spot our house you see. I love putting out cookies and milk for the big guy. At the same time I also love hearing my kids talk about baby Jesus and in our house these two things are compatible. Santa brings presents, not salvation; gifts, not redemption. That's the baby Jesus' work and our kids are seeing that more and more. I think I am too.

My three favorite words are Grace, Mercy and Redemption. I can hardly speak them together without getting a chill and feel a little mist in the eyes. And this is the time of the year that those three ought to be on display more than any other time, and I think they are in many ways. I know I've experienced them in tangible ways this month more than the rest of the year from complete strangers. I hope that others have experienced that from me.

Merry Christmas to you and yours. May you enjoy friends and family over a good meal, good drink and good laughs. May you experience baby Jesus through those that you love and who love you.