Skip to main content

Slow Down Busy Backson

I am driving back to work after spending my lunch hour in a hurry picking up supplies. I am picking up the last minute supplies for summer camp, vegetarian options for a BBQ at the neighbors’ tonight, and the gift ideas as the BBQ includes a birthday. My mind is busy; I am ‘Busy Backson’, as my daughter has pointed out from The Tao of Pooh. My window is down, it is lovely out and I am listening to Rufus Wainwright; okay, I admit I am singing along with him as if I know him personally.

He will fall from the stars, Studio 54

Stop.

I see the familiar lights of a police cruiser up ahead, followed by what looks like traffic mayhem. The police escort a long line of cars in a funeral procession as it slowly makes its way through the busy lunch hour traffic on this main street. Traffic slows to a standstill. Lights are blinking, mourners dressed respectably in appropriate funeral attire with matching stoic expressions have their eyes straight ahead, driving, following.

Life seems to slow along with this convoy, time slows too. I am in this moment.

Better pray for your sins, better pray for your sins

The line of cars appears endless at this point. The funeral home is located just over the crest of the hill off of this main street, so I am well aware of the fact that traffic will remain still for the duration of this procession. I find myself sitting up straight, feeling calm and open. There is this unwritten respectful human law whereby we are to remain so, allowing the mourners to stay together en route to the cemetery.

I watch the cars pass by, I look into some of the cars at the people inside and then my eyes are drawn up. I find myself looking around at the scene. The sky is a bright blue contrasted by the white of the clouds, some parts are dark with pending rain and there is a breeze, a more than welcome breeze.

Better pray for your sins, better pray for your sins

A friendly looking gentleman decides he needs to cross these lanes of traffic right now on foot. He cuts through in front of my car, stops and gives me a quick wave and a smile. I nod, bemused and smile back. He continues on, managing to stop and go his way through the cars safely to the other side. He does go right through the funeral procession, although it is evident that he is unaware of this fact. I watch him the entire time. He is interesting, and I am interested. I am interested in the fact that he is oblivious to the funeral procession, I am interested in his friendly face, I am very interested in the fact that from the waste up, he appears to be a sheriff of some sort. He is wearing a dress shirt, vest complete with shining Silver Star and a black cowboy hat. In opposition, and to complete his look, his attire from the waist down consists of jean shorts, pink tube socks and what appear to be women’s shoes. And Rufus is singing…

Wearing tube socks with style, and such an innocent smile.”

Thus my smile, my bemused smile.

I am grateful for these life moments that remind me, force me to stop, breath, and look at life.

Comments

  1. :)))) Amazing! Rufus the prophet and the future of a smile awaits you somewhere, somehow. HOw do you feel about fate?

    Take care and keep that shiny smile! All my love!

    ReplyDelete
  2. I just love coming to this page and reading you .. a sweet post .. managed to touch so many aspects of life .. god bless you :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. Yeah, cool story, nicely told!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Hola amiguita. Me gustan tus comentarios! muchas gracias.
    Abrazo fuerte,
    Mabel.

    ReplyDelete
  5. It's amazing what we see when we open our eyes.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Thank you all for visiting and commenting on an ordinary post - the song referred to is The Gay Messiah - which could roll itself into a whole other post topic.

    Oh, Kenia - my feelings on fate will have to find there way to you via e-mail - I am listening to Rufus again right now and the song 11:11 which I have come to associate with fate.

    Cheers all.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Good post Janet - I too am trying to take a conscious moment out of every crazy day to enjoy everything that life offers - There are no coincidences and you meet the people and have the experiences that you have already planned for - but that conversation is best had in an email

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

One Day I Saw Ty Conn

(This is being recalled from a very young mind...) When my father would begin telling a story from his childhood, he would begin with “When I was a little girl…” which would cause an uproar of high pitched objections from my sisters and myself. He would simply smile and continue on, as he now had our complete attention. I started this post at the beginning of November of this year when thoughts of my father return annually on the anniversary of his birthday. This story, however, is not about my father… When I was a little girl, I lived in a small house on Pine Street with my father, mother and three sisters. Ours was a busy, full house. Lisa was the oldest, very beautiful and very bossy. Pam was next, also very beautiful and we envied her fashion sense. I was the third in the line of my sisters, a middle child that cried a lot, made funny faces and was very comfortable at the centre of attention. My little sister, Joanne, enjoyed the status of being the baby in the family. She wa

John Milton on Freedom of Expression

'Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties.' In 1644 at the height of the English Civil War, John Milton penned Areopagitica , which is now known as one of history’s first impassioned defences to freedom of expression. Ironically, Milton never delivered this argument verbally, however there was no need, the message was clear; to allow freedom of speech in written form. John Milton may have been more concerned about religion and less with the politics of war; unfortunately, history has seen these two go hand in hand. Thanks to John Milton, and all who followed and fought for the right to freedom of expression. Thank you to all who exercise this right and provide the poetry, novels and the daily news which combined help to map out our history. On Time By John Milton Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; And glut thyself wi

AJ Vandrie “Bringing the Outside In”

His work has been described as a ‘balance between two worlds’.   AJ Vandrie grew up in Northumberland Hills with his adoptive family. His background is composed of Ojiway/Chippewa and Irish heritage. He pursued his art studies at the White Mountain Academy of the Arts in Elliot Lake, a school, located in an isolated area in Northern Ontario, sought to combine First Nations and European approaches to art, which was a great fit for AJ. After his first year of studies, he suffered a personal loss, with the death of his birth father and mother who died within a sort period of time from one another. It was at this time that AJ began exploring the art style that he is known for today.   Widely considered Woodland School of Art, this style is synonymous with the artist Norval Morriseau , whose influence is evident in the works seen here. One can find definite similarities between these two artists; style aside, they are both deeply spiritual, sharing, through their art, pers