See D-S

The sun is hot, bright, and silencing.  People meander along paths through green grass, dotted with yellow dandelions and with the waiting wishes of flowers gone to seed, ready to sail into the wind at any moment.  The breeze is warm too, but the moving air makes the heat bearable. The community looks like one that you would see in an artists rendering.  A young woman in a t-shirt and sweats walks her dog, a guy, hair gelled and leather coat walks with a coolness about him, in step with the music playing on his ipod.  A mother sits on a park bench beside her stroller, her two toddlers in the grass around her.  A father pushes a little girl in a flowing dress and bouncing pony tail on a swing.  It squeeks.  There are some older women sitting on a retaining wall, shaded by a planted maple.  But the park is mostly empty.  The kids are still at school, parents still at work, people fearing the blazing rays of the sun,

I sit here thinking about life and plans and dreams – in both interpretations of the word.  Sometimes I dread going to sleep, not because I fear the dreams per say, but because I just don’t want to be dreaming them.  Sometimes I’m pleasantly surpised by them though.  Saturday night I was dreaming about being at church, and seeing my pastor from home…I thought I was hallucinating when I saw him and his wife at Grace on Sunday morning!  But I wasn’t. Hugs and words and jokes later, I think about being content where I am.  Which doesn’t mean that I don’t desperately want to hop on the first plane back to the Island, but it does mean that I see God working in this city.  I see him working at Grace, I see him working on D-Street, and I am so excited to be a part of what he is doing here.  

Yesterday I spent the afternoon and evening with three different families from church, just chatting and enjoying good (free!) food together.  Of course the inevitable discussion about what I’m doing and where I’m going comes up.  I wonder what else 20 year olds have to talk about? I’m studying French and History.  No, not French History.  French, the language, and history…in general.  I want to be a teacher.  Maybe I’ll go “out west” maybe I’ll stay in Ottawa, it depends on where I get in. 

Maybe you’ll meet someone here, and then that will be a factor too.

Maybe. Yes. It would be.  

My life depends on a lot of variables. 

I’m thankful for a constant, unconditional love.

They talk about their children growing up and their friendship with Pastor Gordon, who I know from home.  I think about watching my dad at Christmas time, looking at Gordon’s family and young grandchildren, turning to me and worndering “what next year’s return will be.” I think about how much I love reading stories and playing with kids and cooking for people and having someone to look after…and try to be a patient waiter.

Then the older couples begin reminiscing about their college days, and meeting each other, and family histories, which leads to war stories, which leads to current politics.  What would we talk about if it weren’t for current politics?

Coffee and tea get cold.  One person’s daughter told her that caffeine makes it so you don’t dream at night.  I consider the possibility of this and compare the benefits of sleeping without dreaming with the other effect of caffeine, just not sleeping period.  How much truth is there in either?

I sip my coffee slowly, finishing the cup.  It’s only my second cup of coffee ever. And it’s about 10 times stronger than the last cup I had.  I laugh at myself.  I think about how it sits in my stomach, and how my legs are tingling, and wonder if its’ from sitting so long, or from coffee, or from wanting to run away from swirling, aggravating, heart wrenching thoughts, and I wish things were simply like daisy petals, which are each plucked and when it’s over the yellow centre is tossed over the shoulder, and forgotten about.

My black keyboard is  soaking up the sun and burning my fingers.  I can tell I’ve been playing the guitar today, my left hand stings as my fingers touch the keys. The mom in the park beside me wipes tears from her young son’s eyes,  her knees in the sand as she tries to console him.  It’s time for them to go home for lunch now.

I feel the sun hot on my arms, and think about going inside to make lunch and get on with the day.  Writing some more cover letters, calling some places, sending out some more resumes, paying rent, tidying my papers,  going to the bank. 

I feel conflicting urges to lounge in the sun, and to do something really meaningful.  I want to be writing newsletters and planning events. 

I pray I get a job which will either incorporate those things, or allow me to have time to still do them.

I pick a perfect globe of soft, wispy dandelion seeds.  I rub the white milk from the stem over my fingertip, it’s soft and even still intrigues me.  Why is it white?  Clasping the stem between my fingers, I blow softly and watch the seeds fly through the air around me. 

A dream is a wish your heart makes.

Here’s wishing for good wishes.

Bountiful smiles, iced tea and lemonade.