Rachelle, Jones and I were in the backyard– the adults sipping coffee while Jones patrolled the U-shaped garden that frames the patio where we were sitting. Above us was an incredible canopy of leaves and branches. Somehow, it seemed a deeper and more vivid green than it should have been, and then, cutting through this foliage was the kind of sunlight that makes you think of Bible illustrations, and beyond that, nothing but the rich, blue infinity of a sky that knew everything.
Jones, propelling himself Fred Flinstone-style in a toy car he likes to play in, came over to us. He was the ice cream truck. Cheerfully, almost professionally, he offered us make-believe ice cream cones with make-believe sprinkles. His spontaneous joy in this theatre was a living, radiant thing, and the feeling it gave was not unlike if a deer had wandered into the yard and nuzzled us.
It felt that soft, that pure.
And then after a minute or two had passed, Jones stood up on the one step that leads from our apartment to the patio. The sun shone upon him like a spotlight, and an angelic babble issued forth as he waved his arms about like a preacher in full sermon. The language he was speaking was unknown to us, but it seemed like the right language, the one the voiceless world around him already seemed to understand, and the only one that corresponded to what was shining within.
I was sure Jones was performing a blessing, and it was humbling to feel just how lucky we were to be alive in this flimsy and glittering world, and to be lifted up beyond it by such small soft hands, even if just for a moment.
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I often pass Hand Job Park as I take our dog Heidi for a walk, and as fate would have it, I’ve become friendly with Billy, one of the men who spends time there.
Because I have really lousy teeth and travel with an oxygen tank, Billy believes that I am a reformed crackhead, and am thus something of an inspiration to him, evidence that you can turn your life around and one day inhabit a beautiful family. As such, he’s always asking me for advice, and I have taken on the unofficial role as Billy’s Life Coach.
Every Sunday, I walk down to the park, talk to him about his week, and give him a written list of daily goals for the next week. This was my last list:
Monday:
Find public fountain and wash clothes.
Scavenge with your head, not your heart. Look for healthy, nutritional garbage opportunities such as a discarded smoothie, for instance!
Say it out loud to yourself, again and again, “My name is Billy and I will Scavenge Smart!”
Walk for at least six hours.
Learn how to tune guitar.
Affirmation of the day: THERE IS A GIFT FOR ME IN EVERYTHING THAT I EXPERIENCE.
Tuesday:
When busking, perhaps do it in front of Shopper’s instead of the liquor store? Why tempt yourself? Remember Billy, GOOD CHOICES.
Stay away from Hyena’s Old Lady. Remember what happened last time she gave you a hand job?
Walk for at least six hours.
Practice guitar for an hour.
Affirmation of the day: THE VOICES IN MY HEAD ARE NOT REAL. I AM IN CONTROL.
Wednesday:
Today I would like you to go some place quiet (perhaps the Green P Carpark) and center yourself with some light stretching and meditation. Be mindful, Billy. Feel the sun upon your skin and hear the birds singing. You are not separate from nature, but are a perfect and integral component of nature.
Surrender to oneness. Think of everything in your life (guitar, Bo Jackson football jersey, etcetera) that you are grateful for and carry that with you throughout the day like it was a weapon in your backpack.
Remember to walk at least six hours.
Practice guitar for an hour.
Affirmation of the day: THE PAST IS OVER AND MY FUTURE IS NOW!
Thursday:
While busking, take an interest in the lives of those passing by. Remember, they’re people, too. However, remember not to take too intense an interest in the lives of the nearby Sorority girls.
Although you may mean “spicy” as a compliment, they may not take it that way.
Just because you’re homeless doesn’t mean you can’t be a part of society. Make inquiries into joining Choir! Choir! Choir!
Walk for six and a half hours.
Practice guitar for one.
Love yourself for twenty-four. : )
Affirmation of the day: EVERY MOMENT I STEP INTO THE WONDERFUL UNKNOWN
Friday:
Treat yourself to a nice wash in a public fountain.
Feel rejuvenated, in love with yourself and the world around you!
As today marks the opening of the Olympic Games in Rio,
why not jazz up business with a Brazilian theme? When strumming your guitar, add some latin flair! Try to scavenge for food that is unique to Brazil, and if one of the voices in your head speaks Portuguese, have a conversation with it!
Today is a reward day, so score some dope or booze if you can and celebrate the beautiful life that is Billy!
Affirmation of the day: REMEMBER TO GIVE HAND JOBS AND NOT JUST RECEIVE THEM!
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Heidi been really fucking cold all winter.
Really, really bad.
Heidi not have big, messy coat of fur, all ragged and knotted and ugly, but very neat, sheer coat that perfectly outline Heidi’s athletic body. Think tights, but only for all of Heidi. Very sexy.
Bad part about having crazy sexy coat of fur is it not very warm! Heidi cold all the time. Not superficial cold, like cat, but real, to the bone dog cold. Heidi shiver. Want to live in sun! Can’t stop shaking, and then squirrels think Heidi scared, but Heidi not scared, Heidi never scared! Heidi just really, horrible ice cold!! Heidi really hate stupid squirrels. All so fat right now. No pride in appearance. Heidi never let herself go like squirrels. Squirrels just tree garbage.
Cold really ruining quality of Heidi’s life, so said, “screw it,” and went out and bought a Canada Goose parka. It red.
Make Heidi look a little fat, but Heidi as cozy as if wrapped in duvet! Best thing ever! Make Heidi happy!
Heidi out for walk the other day in new parka and see all sorts of two-leggers in line. Angry two-leggers. Holding tree bits and yelling as if everything they see was a Bad Dog!!
And then they look at Heidi and they yell at Heidi!! Why?! Why yell at Heidi!? Heidi Good Dog!! Turn out two-leggers mad because Heidi have parka that keep her warm! Say Heidi cruel and kill coyote for jacket fur!
Heidi hate coyotes! Very happy to kill coyote!! Heidi see coyote once when walking in woods and OMG it was so scary Heidi almost peed!! Heidi just froze! Only tim Heidi EVER scared! Didn’t know what to do! Real nightmare.
Coyote love to kill Dachshund! It is coyote favourite thing! And coyote gang-up, hunt in numbers so not fair! Heidi fight like a dog, one on one, but not coyote!! Coyote have no mercy, no honour, just kill, kill, kill, so Heidi not feel bad for one second for killing coyote to stay warm! So Heidi bark at two-leggers and snarl, and two-leggers flinch and suddenly smell like fear! Ha! Heidi not even have good mobility because of parka, but still they terrified! It good to be Heidi.
I’ve never been able to tell who lives in this sprawl of a place, but sometimes I’ll see a girl sitting on the fence or a maybe couple of them standing about smoking furtively. Somehow, they all seem a little sideways, possessing wild, impulsive eyes suggesting that at any moment they might throw a rock through a window or give somebody a hand job behind a tree. There’s just something that feels very delinquent about it all.
The other day there were two girls, both dressed for a humid summer night rather than a cool, windy day in March, standing in front of the place, One of them became intrigued by the idea of our dog, Heidi, a Miniature Dachshund. From the other side of the street she began cooing and flirting, more stripper than schoolgirl, trying to get Heidi to cross over to her, but the dog sensed something wrong in her and grew rigid, barking. And such is this girl’s life, desperate for warmth but always being rebuked by confusion and hostility.
In the line-up in front of me at the LCBO stood an elderly woman– once elegant and the belle of the ball– and her withered husband, now being pushed about in a wheelchair by a Filipino domestic. They were buying a bottle of wine and bickering, getting lost in the small details. The world around them, the people waiting in line, the cashier, the nanny, everything fell away, and there was nothing left but the furious minutia of the moment, this moment to which both of them had travelled together for so long and so far.
A little further along I sat down on a bench and a nearly homeless man, thin as a rail and with the sort of tattoos that looked self-administered, stopped to chat with Heidi. He put his nose right up to hers, his lips pursed, and then he kissed her on the snout. He kept his face there, waiting, and Heidi licked him back, and it was evident that this small, beautiful moment illuminated his day.
Silently, as if an idea rather than an actual person, a young woman in a U of T track jacket ran by us. I could feel her whoosh, like being startled by a deer, and looking up I saw her blonde ponytail bouncing and then vanishing forever around the corner. And then on our way home a guy bounded out of his apartment and smiled at us. Exuberant, he was quickly 20 yards ahead, stretching as he walked, his arms as wide open as possible, as if to gather in the entirety of the day that awaited.
It was covered with black hair all over her body. She ran across the county road, squatted down and when I got close to it, she made eye contact with me, jumped up and began to run beside the truck!
I know what I saw and I never believed the reports until it happened to my daughter and me that rainy night.
I was tree planting in British Columbia back around 2000. My partner and I were dropped off at a site that hadn’t been seeded for 10 years, and as such there were no evidence of human activity there at all. I remember remarking to Andrew that the truck tires leading in to the sight, now 10 years old, looked like artifacts on the moon. It was a little bit spooky, I guess, but it was nothing we really thought about.
Anyway, after a couple of hours of planting we came across some giant footprints in the middle of this nowhere. Bigfoot, right? I never believed in this sort of thing, but here was this massive, inconceivable footprint, and we followed it from step to step, each stride being about four feet. The footprints were fresh, too, I mean, it hadn’t been there more than a day or two, and as we followed the trail we came to a part where there were dozens of these prints all over the place, and then they all vanished into the forest. I never for a second believed in something like Bigfoot, and I can’t really say that I do now, but I honestly don’t know what it was we saw. I mean, if it was a hoax, why would they do it out there, in the middle of the interior of BC where nobody would see it, and if it wasn’t a hoax, what was it?
When I was 35 years old I was visiting my twin brother who at the time was living in Mad River. We were deer hunting high in the Trinity/Shasta Park in a thick-forested area. We split up and after 20 minutes all my hair stood on end because I began to feel there was something behind me in the ferns and forest. And then after 5 minutes a huge rock (30 pounds) was thrown into the creek bed near to me, and frightened I decided to head back to the truck. I waited in the truck for 40 minutes before my brother showed up. He had no idea what I was talking about, so I know he didn’t throw that rock. I’ve been hunting deer for 35 years all over America and this was the creepiest thing that has ever happened to me. Personally, I think it was the Bigfoot who threw the rock at my head, and just so you know I’m not nuts, I have an MS and PHD in Organic Chemistry from Arizona State University.
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