It’s mid march, and I am back on the road again. I guess I can’t say that I am on the road with Julia (Cameron), as it is only Jack Kerouac that fills my pack on this trip. I always have one book or the other in my backpack for the daily commute back and forth to work, and today was Jack’s turn.

I am writing to you from not so sunny (well dark now as it’s 10:34pm), Windsor, just checking back into my hotel room after a few hour detour to Detroit to see a hockey game.

In all actuality, I guess you could truly say that I am on the road every day, as I would consider my 1.5 hour daily commute back and forth to work is almost like two little mini road trips a day. They can be eventful and if you love to people watch, there are so many stories to be told each and every day. If only I had the time, the stories I could tell. I do write down ideas as events inspire me so hopefully as the year plays out, I will be able to give some of my train adventures a page or two in this years blogging journal.

This is my first real ‘road trip’ though, since my crazy adventure down the I90 to Boston back on New Years. Windsor is a little closer and the event wasn’t quite as historic as that Legends Classic at Fenway Park, but the company you keep makes a road trip a ‘good’ trip more so than the reason for your travels, and both my mini-road trips today, were amongst good company and old friends.

Today’s overnight trip was actually for business purposes, but I won’t beat around the bush in saying that when I realized I needed to make this visit, I tried my best to plan it around finally seeing a NHL hockey game in Detroit.

A co-worker of mine from the Windsor area and myself, have been saying for years that we should catch a Wings game sometime but until tonight, we had never been able to make that happen. This trip seemed to be that opportunity so my friend and I finally made the arrangements, he hooked us up with some tickets, and now I have the memories of what is now a great rivalry, and seeing the historic JLA (Joe Louis Arena), up front and personal.

I won’t talk too much about the hockey game here, but it was quite an event. I never seen Gretzky play so the opportunity to see Crosby was something I wanted to make sure I jumped on in my adult years, and this turned out to be a great game to be at. The atmosphere was electric. It was like a playoff game. It was loud, and the funniest part of the game for me, was that every single time Sidney Crosby stepped on the ice, the crowd chanted ‘Cros-by sucks.’ I was quietly rooting for the Pens, but it was all in good fun. I was a good little visitor and did what the Roman’s do when they are in Rome – voted for the home team.

Mr. Hockey himself (Gordie Howe), was also present at the game, and the announcer as it turns out, was calling his 3,000th game so it was a fairly eventful night all and all.

I have a few souvenirs from the game to remember the event by, including the ticket stub and the free game-day program, but the one souvenir actually has nothing to do with hockey, except for maybe it’s ties to the game.

Who amongst us orders their Tim Horton’s coffee double cupped? Too damn hot to hold with your bare hands, I am a culprit of always ordering that extra layer when I go to Horton’s on the weekends. Well, I had to drive all the way to Detroit and order a coffee at the hockey game for this souvenir (and I’ll add I ordered a hot dog with my coffee instead of a donut which was fun all in itself), to finally see what a Tim Horton’s cup cozy would look like. Perhaps I’ll take a pic of it for those of you out there who have also never seen one. Why aren’t these in Canada? Even their lids are better engineered than ours. We may have perfected the coffee (if you can call it perfection), and the donuts (they are better than Krispy Kreemes any way), but the Americans stepped up with the lids and the cozies. Nicely done. A lid that actually snaps into place. Go figure.

‘Cozy, where have you been all my life.’

As for the actual road trip itself, there is a bit of significance to this one. Nothing earth shattering or anything, but this is the last road trip (I would imagine anyway), that the work van that I am driving will ever see. The felt on the roof is falling down, the power steering seems to be making a little noise, and the color has faded to show it’s years, not to mention that the odometer crossed the 250,o00 km’s threshold mid-trip this afternoon, but somehow the thing is still ticking.

This particular van has been in our department for quite sometime, and although I do not get out on the road much with work, I have done some traveling around Ontario within the old clunker both by myself, and with co-workers. Many of those trips, were first times traveling to those destinations. I have ventured to far off places like Cobourg, Huntsville, Peterborough, Windsor, Kingston, Ottawa, Niagara, and Toronto. I have seen some roads with the old beast, so I guess it’s kind of special in some weird way, to be sharing in if not the last trip, at least one of the last trips this van well ever see dressed in blue and yellow.

Cars to me have always been about memories. When you part with them, yes they have been causing you grief and money and in the end you know it’s time to say goodbye, but in those last days of ownership, the memories do come back that were shared amongst the mobile cabin. Even though this is just a work van, it too holds some fond memories.

Friendships and new bonds are created amongst co-workers on trips such as these. There is always work conversation to be had, but when you are sharing a vehicle for 3 or more hours, that conversation always leads into the family life and you are truly able to get to know your co-workers a lot better. Understand them more, and to add a stronger friendship, outside that ‘co-worker’ title that your relationship may have only previously known. After all, you see these people more than your family, and certainly more than your friends. If you can build strong friendships amongst the work environment, work can be that much more rewarding.

I will have been at my present company for twelves years in just over a months time, and when I look back at some of the fond memories of these past years, the road trips both with co-workers and even just by myself to visit co-workers, have been some of the most memorable moments. Quite possibly because I have always loved hitting the open road which was my biggest attraction to Jack’s book (On the Road), but I know it also has a great deal to do with some of the friendships that I have built both with internal co-workers, and the ones I have made with my colleagues from around the province.

Even during the hardest of times at work where I didn’t know if I wanted to remain or start looking elsewhere, it was these friendships that made the difference in wanting to stay, and not passing GO and just taking my money and running for new opportunities. I still don’t know some days if this will be where I hang my hat forever, but I do know that I will never forgot the friendships I have made here, and I can only hope that if I do one day make the move, that some of these friendships will be everlasting.

Well I guess I can finally say that a quarter of my way through this 2010 project,  I have finally truly sent a post out into cyberspace that I didn’t check and re-write a dozen times. Isn’t that what blogging is supposed to be anyway? I think I look too much into it like I do everything else. It is nice to just blurt what’s on your mind out once in awhile. I think I’ll try this a little more often.

Well, time to get some sleep. An early start to the day tomorrow.

Until the next road trip.

Photo by Lawrence Thomas

It was a picturesque, blue sky, no clouds, sunny Monday morning. 

The skies had been bright for the better part of a week. It was the kind of day that if I was dying, I imagine I would think about how I’d miss beautiful days like this. The freshness in the air, the sounds of spring songbirds, the happiness that this time of year brings to the faces on our streets, the curious little noses coming out of winters hibernation; creatures and humans alike. The kind of days when the once sleeping winter world, seemed so alive and free again. 

I had noticed the night prior, that a friend had sent me a Facebook request, suggesting that I join a group dedicated to helping find someone who had gone missing. These kinds of group invitations happen all too frequently. Not to take away from their importance, but up until that moment, those missing persons requests had not been anyone I had known personally. 

It wasn’t until the next morning, that I had a chance to login to read the message. All I had seen on my mobile device the night prior, was ‘MISSING PERSON: PLEASE HELP…’. This time, I knew who the missing person was. 

She was more of a friend of a friend sort of acquaintance. I had known her in this manner since high school. I always thought that she was as an attractive, fun, and charming girl. A bit of a rebel, but loved by all who knew her.  

I had talked to her briefly in recent months, as we re-connected through Facebook. It was more of a Hi, good to see you on here, how has it been, kind of catch up. Typical of many Facebook re-acquaintances’ between those we never really knew all that well. You browse through some photographs, and laugh in remembrance at the old photos from back in the days when they weaved more frequently in and out of your life. 

Fast forward to just a few weeks ago, when this friend added me to  Facebook again. I hadn’t noticed she had left and I didn’t get a chance to say hello again, before I realized I would never get another opportunity. 

Drawing by Lawrence Thomas

I started chatting with the creator of the Facebook group that morning; a close friend of the missing woman. I shared a few back and forth messages with her, explained how I knew her friend, and that I was thinking of her family and friends during this difficult time. She was understandably upset, yet optimistic of finding her friend and for her safe return home. 

I received a call later that morning however, informing me that the search was over. This acquaintance had ended her life. Her child, her family, and her friends, were all left with an empty space and a grief I can only begin to imagine. She had not known the happiness and hope that this spring-like Monday morning would offer us. 

A co-worker had also known this friend. He is the same age and a former classmate of hers. I couldn’t stop thinking of that phone call all day, and when I caught up with my work friend much later that evening, he talked about how deeply he had been bothered by this horrible truth as well. 

It makes you think of your own life. How far down we have been or currently are. How close we may have come, to something in our own lives pushing us over that sanity edge. 

You look at groups such as this, browse the old photos posted by friends and family, read the heartfelt messages on the wall, the poetry, the song dedications, and you think to yourself How does someone surrounded by so much love, end up in a mental place that makes them feel like there is no way out, but up? That life is not worth living. That the only ending, is an out of body beginning? 

The sun is shining brightly. It’s warm. My jacket is unbuttoned. No gloves. No toque. No more long, dark, cold, winter days. A new season. A new beginning. New inspiration. 

For one beautiful yet troubled soul however, even all of natures hope was not enough to continue in this life. 

Human’s desire to hide much of their lives, to keep so much of themselves, their thoughts, their fears, dreams, hopes, heartaches, financial and relationship woes to themselves – I just don’t understand it. Not that I am always the most open person, but why do we allow ourselves to feel like we are alone in these thoughts? 

Photo by Lawrence Thomas

What is wrong with admitting that my wife and I had a really bad fight last night. I wanted to say it was over. I was so mad, but then I went for a long walk with the dog. When I returned home, the anger was gone, I said I was sorry (even though I wasn’t totally convinced that I had done anything wrong), we hugged, and all was good in the world for another day.  

Or, I broke up with my girlfriend last night. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I am lost and lonely. I hate this feeling, although a large part of me knows it was the right thing to do. Why does this hurt so much? 

How would those words be received by your friends or your readers? How would it feel to someone who was lost in a loneliness similar to yours, to know that there was at least one other person in the world, feeling as poignant as they were at that moment? 

If you are a fan of the weekly night time drama House, last week’s patient of focus, played by Laura (Jackie) Prepon of That 70’s Show fame, was a blogger. Much to her husbands disapproval, there were few aspects of her life (their lives), that weren’t open for all the world to read. She felt no reason to hide her life. To her, there was much more to be gained and learned from others and in turn, so much she could offer her readers from her own life’s experiences. 

As it turned out, it was actually those blog posts that helped House’s team of doctors, determine what was wrong with her. Yet, it was the one thing she hid about her health that meant the difference of a cancer diagnosis with a few days to live, to some medication and a valve transplant, and the rest of her life ahead of her. 

You can understand why bowel movements wouldn’t be a topic many of us would jump to share, but it was obviously one thing above everything else, that she should have at least communicated with her husband or doctor. 

In recent years, I too have found that life is much more rewarding and more fulfilling, when you aren’t afraid to share who you truly are deep inside with the world. Good or bad. Communication has never been my strong suit. I won’t beat around the bush, but as I learn to open up and surround myself with souls willing to share all of themselves with me, I have learned so much about myself. Most importantly, that I am not alone. 

Recently, our family hit a low point when we started seeing payments for various things bounce. My wife had quit her job six months ago to stay home with our two children, and to run a home daycare. I supported her decision 100%, but as is the case with most new businesses, it took awhile to build a steady client base. Ensuring first and foremost, that our new daily guests fit in perfectly with our family; including our crazy dog who likes to join in on daily play. 

We were struggling to make ends meet in recent months, with fewer options left to balance the mortgage, car payments, credit card debt, and utility and grocery bills. We were both stressed and stretched to the limit.

Then one day I walked by a Money Mart, and just when it seemed that all options were used up, there was at least one more.  

I was embarrassed to go in there that first time and up until recently, at my wife’s request, nobody knew that we had to result to payday loans to keep the bottom from falling out. The way my wife and I ultimately looked at it though, was that it was a few dollars cheaper than NSF charges, and certainly easier on the old credit score. 

We had to count on this quick cash option a few times over a two or three month span before my wife’s daycare was fully on its feet. I can’t help but wonder now, what might have happened if things hadn’t turned around when they did? Money in advance was surely going to catch up to us. We were safe for another day. 

I know we are not alone in the day-to-day troubles we face as a young family, but how many people that  seem to, from the smiles they paint on each day, have everything going for them on the outside, are actually in a similar or possibly even worse situation than you or I?  

What does hiding the truth about our relationship and financial issues truly gain us? What is so embarrassing about hitting rock bottom? Why do we need to feel like we have failed the ones we love, that there is no way out, that we are alone in the loneliness of our secret lives. Is failure actually losing your house, a broken marriage, or getting fired from your job, or is failure going through these difficult times alone?  

Standing outside the viewing room door, lined up down the hall. Family, friends, and acquaintances, waiting to pay their respects. On her coffin, flowers and a few photos. Pictures ranging from youth, to more recent photos, including one of her young child. All of them memories of a life no more.

Crying, stories, laughter of past times together. Old friends. The old gang. Not the reunion any of them had envisioned.  

She was the third person I had personally known, to take their own life. One, a family member, the second one, was also a friend of a friend. Both of them had ended their lives in their own homes for their children to discover their lifeless bodies. If there was ever any consolation to suicide, it could be that at least this last friend, went away to end their life. That still doesn’t take away from the fact however, that all of them left children behind. In all their innocence, left with the haunting, lifetime memories, that their mother or father had killed themselves.  

That parent would not be there to watch them graduate, see them off to college, walk them down the aisle or cry in the front row when they get married. They will never hold their grandchildren, or be there to enjoy sleepovers with kids you get to give back, or so many of the other firsts that watching a child through a grandparents eyes offers. These children will never know what it feels like, to share in the moments a child longs to one day enjoy with their parents – especially watching them interact with their own children.  

BANG! SNAP! SLICE! Three lives gone. 

You are not alone, is the message we need to share with one another; desperately. Money, material things, broken romance; there is nothing  you cannot get over with the help of a friend, family member, and the admission as a society, that it’s not only okay to share your dreams and fears with the world around you, but it’s the key to a healthier, happier, life more fulfilled.   

~

I dated a woman once who I had only known for a short while, who shared some of her deepest, darkest moments of her then recent past with me. This particular piece isn’t directly related to this post, but I though it relevant to share her story at this time.   

Jessica made me realise what could be gained from being honest about the fears and pain we hold inside. I learned so much from her in the short time I knew her, but she would inspire me forever, for the truths she so openly shared with me during that brief friendship.   

Now she is happily married. Her son, who was just two when I met her, has grown into a handsome and pleasant young man. She had seen the darkest of days from a broken marriage, post partum depression, raising her little boy all by herself, losing both her mother and father, and yet by sharing her fears with the world, she learned from her wounds, grew from them, and eventually found happiness and a soul to share her life with. Because of her, I know that there is hope beyond all the pain and suffering this world can sometimes throw at us.   

For one friend however, there is no happy ending.   

Nothing can bring her back, and there should be no feelings of guilt. If there is blame to be felt, it should be by society as a whole; the realization that, with all that we know about life and the world and with all of the technology we have at our disposal to share that knowledge, there are still broken souls out there. Lost. Alone.   

I am afraid. You are not alone.   

It is the message we need to send.

Here is a link to an early draft of the short Love and Honesty.

Chalkboard Art - Just Yesterday

 In Julia Cameron’s book, The Artists Way, she asks the reader as part of one of her weekly assignments, to create a list of Creative Monster’s from our past. Three memories that may have played a part in our lack of self-confidence in our art and our creative worth as a whole.  

From there, she asks us to choose one of those moments, and write a Letter to the Editor (perhaps the editor of our soul), talking about how that moment affected us.  

This is the result of that assignment:  

____________________________  

Dear Editor,  

Kids can be cruel. Sometimes knowingly, and sometimes it’s just a slip of the tongue. Although I guess one could argue, that the truth is always at the trip of the tongue. Perhaps there is no such thing as a slip of something you didn’t mean. Only a slip of the truth you intended to hide.  

While recently reading Joe Tasker’s article in your paper about his historical creative monsters (the enemies of his creative self-worth), it made me think back to the moments that might have discouraged the artist in me.  

I am sure they exist or I would have, at 37, been living the life of a successful artist long ago. Instead, I am writing to you about the people and moments that may have discouraged my sensitive inner-artist.  

I thought long and hard after reading Mr. Tasker’s piece, looking deep into my past, yet only one crushed artist flashback came to mind.  

I won’t name names or go into so much detail as to lead you closer to figuring out who that someone could have been. All I will say was that the only moment I can recall, involved a story I was writing at the time. A story I never finished.  

Perhaps that moment, those words, caused me to put that rather substantial stack of pages away in a box? I do remember the moment enough to recall being very upset, although perhaps it was more so because of the person who said those words.  

The only other point of relevance to this story as it relates to this particular person, is that they were one of my peers.  

Those words? I don’t honestly remember, but ‘that’s gay’, ‘it’s a stupid idea’, ‘it’s a dumb story’, or something to that affect is probably close in context to the words that were spoken.  

To be honest though, with how vague that memory is and the fact that no other moments come to mind, maybe my lack of confidence in art is not so much about my inner-artist, but about my inner-self as a whole. Perhaps it is more about a collection of many individual moments that slowly ate away at my self-belief as both a person, and as an artist.  

What would I tell my inner, younger self, if I could go back to talk to him now?  

Who cares.  

Perhaps not as blunt and cold as that, but honestly, who cares what they think. Even if I wasn’t a good writer or artist (and I know I was a good artist because so many of my child peers encouraged that part of the creative side of me), but even if I couldn’t write, creative expression is such a healthy venue to express yourself. I could have only gotten better with practice.  

Who cares.   

It’s what I now say to my adult artist and as direct as that. No sugar coating it. The past is the past. You can’t change or dwell on it. Be confident in who you are now. Don’t point historic fingers. Embrace what the past has taught you. Get over it. Practice, fall in love with your art and yourself, and the world will follow. Not everyone will like what you create so get over yourself. Negativity exists in the world. Some of those cruel kids that smashed your self-worth and broke your little heart with their sticks and stones and words you tried to pretend didn’t hurt you, never grew up. They became adult versions of those same playground bullies.  

Get over it. Learn to accept it. Allow the voices of those that love, encourage, and appreciate what you have to offer this world, make you stronger, more confident, help you grow your talents and become a more creative self.  

The Duke of St. Clair

As it relates to this past instance, sometimes those that have hurt us along our journey, carry an even deeper remorse for the pain and suffering they have caused others in their youth.  

I don’t know that I have met anyone like the peer who cast those hurtful words all those years ago, that has carried such a profound reverse burden on their shoulders their entire life, as this particular individual. Someone who is as sorry or as deeply pained by the realization, as they connected more with their spiritual selves, of how their actions may have negatively affected some of those that have crossed their path.  

I have sat across a bar room table with this person, both drunk and emotional, and listened as powerful words of past regrets emptied out of their aching heart. Looked deep into their eyes at a pain I have not known in any others eyes. Their regrets weren’t directed at a certain instance, rather just as regrets, but the eyes of their soul lead me to believe without a shadow of a doubt, that those apologies sent into the airwaves for the earth to absorb, without words spoken, were more heartfelt than any apology I have ever experienced.  

I have met friends of this person who have talked of similar instances they shared with them, as my friend spilled their remorse. Many of these people had long since forgotten or even couldn’t recall, the moments from their past that my friend was sorry for.  

I may not have completely forgotten this one particular moment from my past, but I had long since forgave them for it, because they meant too much to me to let childhood words carry so heavy in my heart.  

Which brings me to this.  

The only forgiveness that we should seek in this life, is our own. If it makes you feel better, express those apologies should you run into people from your past that you have hurt, but forgive yourself even before you are given that opportunity to seek their forgiveness face to face. There may be a few that won’t give you that release of guilt that you had been seeking for so long, but all that matters is that you are truly sorry, and that you are able to forgive yourself.  

The only opinion that matters in this life, is the one your heart holds of you.  

Let go of the past because chances are, the past has let go of you.  

Sincerely,  

Little Larry

Three Words: Funeral, Culpable, and Carnal
150 Words

It was her husband’s funeral.

I had always found her to be an attractive woman, but I had never looked at Diedre as anything more than a friend before.

Seeing her standing there by her dead husband’s side, I suddenly found myself trying to push aside these unexpected carnal thoughts.

She is Jake’s wife. Get a grip. He was your best friend.

Jake had somehow felt culpable for my divorce. The truth was, being around him and Diedre, helped me see what was missing from my marriage. What love could be.

Now here I was. Envisioning how wonderful it would be to hold his beautiful wife in my arms and comfort her.

She looked at me as I approached; teary eyed. Smiling, she took my hand in hers, enfolded her arms around me, and squeezed me with all the strength she had inside.

 I had loved her all this time.