To My Mother Whom I Love

Mothers are the first movers of our universes. Without our Mother’s we are nature without nurture, reality without comfort, life without substance. We need our mother’s to teach us just about everything that is important to know, and so let us all raise our glasses to our mom’s.

My mother is one of the best there is. In fact, she is so wonderful she didn’t even come with a warranty. I suppose God had such confidence in his creation he simply felt a warranty was unnecessary. I have to agree because to date I have not yet tried to return her. And why would I? She has provided me with everything from life to clean underwear. When I was young she was omnipotent and omnipresent. When I was a teen she was my source of undying, unconditional love. Even as an adult she is still my mother. She worries about how I am doing and what my future holds. She prays for me, dreams of me, and cares for me because that’s what good mother’s do. I call her to let her know how things are and she keeps me on the phone because she still loves me. I keep her talking because I will always have that little warm feeling inside that says she cares for me.

One Christmas I was in a bookstore and saw a copy of “I’ll Love You Forever” by Robert Munsch. I thought of my mother and how much I missed her living 800 km away. I felt sort of cheesy buying a copy of that book for her but that’s the kind of thing that melts a mother’s heart (and Mom’s heart always deserves a good melting). At Christmas time I gave it to her. She looked longingly at the cover, her eyes filled with love (because that’s what tears are when they are in a mother’s eyes), and she said “I have something else for you. I was afraid you might think it was cheesy but now I think I can give it to you.” She exited silently and soon returned with a second copy of “I’ll Love You Forever”. I admit, I cried a little (okay, and maybe a little more whilst writing this). It was one of those moments when we realized how important we were to each other. I look forward to someday reading that same book to my own children so that they know I will always love them just as my mother will always love me.

Our mothers are fuel for the soul and they are classically under-appreciated. I hope my mother is reading this and knows that I love her enough to declare it to the entire digital world. Happy Mother’s Day Mom, I will always love you.
From your number two son,
Jay Ewert

The Flood, The Duck

The flood is spreading, receding, teasing, flowing, and consuming. It is hungry, heavy, and constant. It is behaving badly, possibly due to emotional scarring obtained in Fargo. Since it’s humble beginnings somewhere in the deep South it has grown to mammoth proportions. At times it slumbers, and lumbers slowly on. Then, with little to no warning, it gets a kink in its plans, the ice jams, and like a sock in a drain it obstructs all traffic wreaking havoc among all around it. Then, in the night, a crack splits the air, and just to be fair, the river moves on to new horizons filled with farmers, families, and prairie towns.
I grew up in the vast flatness of Saskatchewan. Our sky was endless, waves were seen as wind in the grain, and water stayed where it was told to. I learned that somewhere in the world floods could happen. I imagined those places were in some untouched region where unknown people lived mysterious lives unattached to myself. Then I went to Manitoba in ’97. I saw an ocean where there should be none. I saw the extent of the Canadian armed forces being utilized for purpose of sandbags. I realized that floods were real events happening to real people in my very own country. And, I realized that water does what it wants, when it wants, and the heck with the rest.
Each morning I drive between the town where I live and the neighbouring town where I work. In the winter I would greet the sunrise whilst driving with my coffee, music, and a smile. These days I drive under an overcast sky and observe the birds floating amongst the ample waves drifting across the farmer’s fields. I see water that flows, water that sits, water that waves, water that drifts, water that saturates and water that swirls. It is water that threatens and unfurls its gentle fury in an agonizing Mecca journey to the vast watery plain of Lake Winnipeg. And like the early settlers of Canadian history the water cuts its way through the lives of those already there and demands that anything it may touch becomes part of it destructive path. The drive to and from work has changed from a soulful sunrise to a pallor of persistent force.
The community binds together in a counter effort. We gather on the bridges and ask the same questions over and over. We continually reply to each other with universal phrases about Mother Nature, the will of the water, and many variations of “so it goes”. But no deal is ever struck with the water. I don’t know if the water simply forgot to send a delegate to the meeting or if us humans have slighted water at some point and are just now being taught a lesson. In the meantime, the prairie folk are doing what they can and that will have to be enough.
As it stands the water has begun to recede. That is not to say that it will not rear it’s head again, however, for now we are all breathing a little easier and counting our eggs even though they have yet to hatch. Perhaps the water is finding peace at its Mecca and the message is being received by the water still in transit. But there is always an aftermath.
This morning I observed for the third time a baby duck floating listlessly in a flooded ditch. Each morning it appears as a lone figure on the scene pining away for a mother that is yet to be seen. It is alone amidst a larger aquatic happening similar to how many of us feel when faced with the adversity of something we cannot change. But, like the duck, we must all do what we can, and although we may never find the comfort of the mother we can at least float with what we have. To those negatively affected by this flood, my heart goes out to you as it does the lone duck. You have suffered a loss but so long as your head is high you will live to see the next sunrise

A Round Tile in a Square World

The tiles felt uneasy this morning as it had been discovered by the mistress that one of them had decided to sit congruent to the rest of them. One of the other tiles had awoken during the night to the sound of vinyl scratching and the sucking noise of glue becoming unfastened. A popping sound erupted and soon there lay one solitary tile, out of place, congruent, erratically strewn amidst the other, systematically laid, tiles.
The tile who had awoken to the building noise was troubled by the scene. None of the tiles had ever before been possessed to move out of sync with the others. They had been designed by a draftsman, pressed in an automated factory, stacked in meticulous grid fashion, boxed in symmetrical containers, laid by careful hands, and had remained content on the kitchen floor in a perfectly composed checkerboard pattern for nigh of twenty years, and then suddenly, one of them had moved!
As the morning sun entered the window the dust in the air once again rose and fell in a lilting fashion as it always had. The dew rose from the grass, the house creaked and shifted, and the people in the house began to rummage about as people tend to do. However, the tiles felt completely in disarray. One of their brothers had fallen out of line, thus catastrophically altering the perfect symmetry of the pattern that kitchen tiles generally prefer to lay in.
The tiles were tentative to act. They were self-conscious of the fact that sooner or later the mistress would find them in general disarray unless they were to act quickly, but acting quickly, much less acting at all, is not something that kitchen tiles like to do. So the other tiles simply sat there, each of them feeling distress at the disarray and chaos of the one who chose to change. They felt numb to act but were in terror at the fact that one of them had.
The tile that had moved was in a world of discovery. His bottom side was exposed to an air flow previously unfamiliar to him. It gave him a sense of weightlessness that exillerated and inspired him. He gazed up at a ceiling that looked exactly the same as it always had except that now he was viewing it from a 37 degree angle. Suddenly his entire world had changed. Without anything different occurring in his environment his world had changed, and it was all due to his one moment of motivation called motion. The tile soon realized that the world was a subjective place and that his perception of it was it his command.
The other tiles did not share the renegade tile’s point of view. In fact, they were quickly moving from uneasiness to outrage! How dare that tile move autonomously, without any regard for how they might feel. The other tiles knew it was only a matter of time before the mistress discovered the whole fiasco. But what could the other tiles do, especially when ‘doing’ was the root of the very problem itself. By doing anything at all the other tiles would only make things worse! And so they all sat, trembling, unsettled, and weary of what things may come.
The mistress did indeed discover the loose tile, and to the bemusement of the other tiles, seemed to think the situation was quite trivial. She simply retrieved the glue from the drawer, smeared a generous goop upon the underside of the offset tile and proceeded to replace it upon the floor.
As the days stretched on the other tiles found themselves wondering thoughts they had never before thought. An event had occurred; an event of deliverance, liberation, and freedom. One of their own had made a choice and turned it into an individual action with consequences and new experiences. Fate was now just a word to the tiles. The next night there was noise of vinyl scratching and glue squelching. In the morning there lay two tiles upon the floor.

An Ode To The Muse Amidst The Rest Of The World

I have missed you over the past months as I have found myself unable to act. My life has become full of many small things that keep me busy and you, the Muse, has been left on the wayside.
We are all moving about our lives in an attempt to survive and somehow find fulfillment. We move in various ways and observe our movements, subjectively hoping to find greater purpose and a sense of wellbeing. I am similar. I am hungry in the soul. Throughout my days I find many forms of beauty that inspire me to action, but then the weight of reality and the pending nature of my “to do” list impress their power upon me and render me inactive.
Where is the balance? How does one find the time to complete all tasks they set before themselves and yet still find time to ponder, be inspired, and create? My Muse is fettered by responsibility just as many of you reading this are now saying, “Hey, so is mine!”
Is has been said that we are products of our environment, and yet, we choose where we go, what we do, and most importantly, how we perceive it. I urge your focus to be on the last of these for it is this aspect that becomes the most important. How we perceive our existence determines our outlook and future actions. A positive outlook can make any half-empty glass become half-full.
“Oh great!” you say “Now this is just another twit preaching how to get up on the right side of the bed.” Absolutely not! That is the kind of ‘quick-fix’ crap that misleads people into assuming they are happy when, in fact, they are miserable. What I am trying to say is that if you are not capable of seeing your environment positively then you need to change that environment immediately. The world does not owe you anything, nor will it ever. You are the only person that owes you a thing, so pay up or get out.
We now come to why I am calling my Muse back to me. Each day I find small inspirations from the music on the radio to the savantic mutterings of my students. Inspiration is all around us, however, it is only available to those who are listening for it. I have recently realized that my Muse did not leave me, it is simply that at some point I chose to stop listening for it. Then, one day, I heard something in a song, then I saw a pattern in the rays of the sunrise, and then I paused a moment when thinking of a fond memory. My Muse is here; always has been and always will be. So, am I calling my muse back to me? No, I am calling myself to listen and asking that if you feel similar you will do the same.

I Got a Job!!!

The day has come. I have waited a long time but it is finally here. After many years of training I am finally about to embark on the next leg of my professional journey; I have been hired as a full time teacher!

Some of you may have noticed that I have not been posting on this blog much lately. Despite this fact I have actually been writing quite a bit, but not things that are easily publishable online. I have had many interesting and soul-searching experiences during my substitute teaching this fall, however, it would be ill-professional to publish in-school experiences. But this is different, this is a blog of me saying "Yes, I got a job!".

When I went to my interview I felt trepidation coursing through me. I entered my first professional interview just hoping I wouldn’t swallow my own foot much less get the job. But then there I was in the interview acting calm and collected and saying what, apparently, were good answers to dynamic questions. Like most people I walked away with an exhale of breath and a silent prayer on my lips..."Please God, help me accept the things I cannot change."

My hopes were neither up nor down. As I considered the interview my hindsight was neither clear nor 20/20. How did I do? Did I say what they wanted to hear? Have I helped or hindered my future as an educator?

Two days later the phone rings and the hair on my neck stands erect. I twitch twice on the way to the phone. My body feels involuntary as I answer the call. The voice on the other end is kind. Perhaps this voice is merely playing out niceties in order to let me down nicely. What do you mean how did I feel the interview went? I am certain this is the pleasant let-down where they tell you it went well and not to be discouraged in applying for future positions. I listen with frenetic impatience trying not to let my anticipation show and then...the voice offers me the job. I shake my head. Did I hear that right? The voice repeats the offer. Oh my God! I did hear it right! I am close to hysterical with excitement; "I’m going to be a teacher! A real, honest to God teacher, with a cheesy coffee mug on my desk and all!" Finally I will be able to pursue what I have trained so long to do!

Needless to say, I am already preparing and am excited at the upcoming opportunities. Come January I will be a full-time teacher and I am pleased to tell you, my family and readers, that it makes me happy.

*Note: If you wish to know more please drop a line. I would love to share not only our recent events but yours as well.