Truth out of stock.

A couple of days ago I was searching for a christmas card for my grandma at the grocery store. The stand which looked a kilometre long, was on one side red coloured. There were hundreds and hundreds of christmas cards displayed.

There were cards for children, from children, funny ones, cheesy ones with pets, ones for aunts and uncles, sons and daugthters, for loved ones, for neighbours, ones for sick people, ones with sounds, glittery ones, shiny ones, very very many cards.

As my eyes scanned the different cards I started to come to the sad realization that none of the cards had any association with the birth of Jesus. I became slightly worried, and looked around me to see if any one else was noticing this. But they didnt, people kept buying their cat food and paper towel without a care in the world.

On sunday I got to tell children from downtown Hamilton about the birth of Jesus. First they assured me they had already heard this story before. Another boy told me he had seen this story in a cartoon on tv. After the story was done we briefly talked about thinking about Jesus with Christmas. One boy told me 75 percent of his heart is for Jesus, and [only] 25 percent for the presents.

When I asked the kids if there were any prayer requests a boy put his finger up and said "Yesh can you pray for Jesus, that he may have a nice birthday?"

Yes, yes we can pray that. And we will celebrate, the thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.

Are you willing to believe that love is the strongest thing in the world - stronger than hate, stronger than evil, stronger than death - and that the blessed life which began in Bethlehem nineteen hundred years ago is the image and brightness of the Eternal Love? Then you can keep Christmas. - Henry Van Dyke

no shirt no service.

The aged couple is now the woman alone. The bench no longer carries two but one. Steve the Polish man from the last post is nowhere to be seen. Sometimes she still sits outside. I'm not certain whether he is ill inside or dead. 

She would bring him ice cream. I thought that was nice. She cared for him. He was there for her. Conversations seemed scarce, but all he needed was her with him. And all she needed was his wrinkled hand beside hers. They just sat and watched the world go by. 

This makes me feel foolish. Thinking of the times they saw me run to my vehicle, dropping my keys, late for something very important once again, awkwardly waving at them, coffee spilling in my other hand. And they loved, while I was saving the world one meeting at a time.

My greatest friend died two years ago. After his casket was put in the dirt, our feet carried us to other places while our hearts threw out the anchors persistent to never move again. A young man came to me telling me the friendship he had seen was unique and a story like in a movie or a book. I thought that was a beautiful thing to tell me. Time passed and God chucked the anchor back on board splitting the rotting wood of my heart. He heals it. His Love hang on wood dying because he wanted my heart and wants yours.

____________________________________________________________________

Words are a prison when I try to tell you the beauty of my other greatest friend.

the sun in the evening

Little busy bees we are. But for now everything is an adventure. Soon we will have picnics in the park and bring the yellow thermos. The city has smells and colours and flavours just like all its people [the people are the city]. He made his people different, if I had not met you I would have forgotten that. You are beautiful and I will love you. And you, you will love me as well.

Don't think I don't see you. Fragile women in the alley. Longing for crack and nothing else. I would like to sit with you and whisper the words of Him.

I am sorry, I am so sorry. I'm frightened for you, for me and for it being too late.

The aged couple sits on the porch all day. You make me smile, and believe in something like love. We wave, we share the street. You came to speak to me. But I could not understand your language. I must admit it sounded lovely. After twelve attempts of pronouncing my name, we settled for Miche. You are Steve and my name should've been that easy.


p.s. if you come across someone who pretends to be a mieke like me, it could possibly be because a friend knocked over a basket with my bank statements down the fire escape.

I work with a really friendly man. He is around sixty years old I think. We don't talk often. For some reasons he doesn't want to talk to people much. He'll tell you about the weather or how crappy the leafs are, but there it stops. Recently I have found something to talk to him about: his cat. Be aware that if you pick a subject to talk to someone about for a long time, you might not want to pick cats.

what are you doing still sitting there?



Gas is down 0.03 cents.

quik run. fill up your jerrycan.

We went to Frank's house for supper on sunday. I offered to bring food instead of always eating his food. I became ambitious and made pancakes late saturday night. Not just pancakes but ones with cheese and apple and bananas. The kitchen was a mess, dough splatters covered me and the walls. I tested some on my dog. He lived, and kept me company the rest of the night in the smokey kitchen. Next was my little brother, he also survived. I figured it was safe to bring these cakes made in a pan.

So we ate at the friends house. Kraft dinner as appetizer. Frank's roommate wanted to eat some really badly. Luckily we had some left. After a few bites he commented on how he had never had fish pancakes. My heart was somewhat broken.

After this ridiculous statement we soon got distracted by matches. We had a nice warm fire at the supper table. Oh and none of the sticky candle stuck to the ceiling when we threw it, and it never fell on a roommate's plate. And he absolutely never ate it.

Eighteen sixty four.

We received a package in the mail from the united states of america. Sent in an envelope marked first class with red ink. In the package I found a small brown book wrapped in wrinkley plastic. It is a little book on free gymnastic and dumb-bell exercises. It reads: "To those who have seen the wan cheeks, stooping shoulder, and sunken chest of the school-childeren of to-day, no argument, proving the necessity of physical culture, need be made." The fragile little brown book which was white once upon a time has that old familiar smell. I know this package was not meant for me. I have tried to find the sender, but have failed so far. So dear sir or madam who has lost their little book, I have found your treasure. I hope it wont upset you to know that I flipped trough the pages, rather carefully. And have smiled at the old drawings and innocent instructions for young ones to move limbs. Your little book from eighteen sixty four has made my rather boring day an extraordinary one.