I’ve never watched Oprah, or the Tonight Show, or Saturday Night Live. Somehow, I’m still breathing.
I grew up in a messy household and always had a sense of unease about it. As an adult, I keep things neat. I put things away after using them, I close the cupboard doors, and although my possessions are few, everything has its place. I like to dust. I like to do the dishes too because I can watch the progress from a mess to a non-mess. When it’s time to clean the bathroom, I feel angst. There’s a battle going on inside me between the Dave who hates the task and the Dave who demands cleanliness. My mother’s apartment is congested. Sometimes when I’m there, I close my eyes and breathe.
From inside the bus at a gas station in Guatemala, I see a number of vultures circled around a collapsed dog. They are just waiting. Waiting for the dog to die.
The night before she was killed by an errant elderly driver, she told me we had a responsibility to serve our community at the highest level of our leadership ability. She said we must serve our vulnerable populations. A month later, I was hired to manage a long-term-care home, serving frail seniors. This, despite that I didn’t agree with her.
The woman in overalls sitting in the emergency waiting room had accidentally cut off two of her fingers. She tells the person next to her that she doesn’t know where the pieces went. When she answers her cell phone, she tells the caller that she didn’t think she’d be back to work today, but probably tomorrow.
My favourite word in the English language is squirrel. It’s like a burst of champagne in my mouth every time I say it.
