The sun went down. The world was dark. To find the crown, The ship was parked He left the shore On a wooden ship; Athena shows him more He sets upon on a trip They shake his hand, But have no trust. They fear his plans, So nice they must.
Don’t give in to your fears. If you do,
~Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
you won’t be able to talk to your heart.
It was Sunday night, I was tossing and turning, throwing my pillow at the wall. I was not excited for this trip. Going to Winslow Maine for two nights with my classmates that I have never been with outside of school. This trip did not seem like it was going to be fun, it seemed awful. I learned that it was quite the opposite. It was great! The trip to Camp Caribou gave me a chance to bond with my classmates before we start an amazing school year. I learned how to find joy in the little things, reflect on events and how to overcome fear.
I find joy in doing things I have never done before. It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon. The cold Maine wind was blowing in my face as I looked down from up atop the ledge. The Pine trees blowing in the wind. I was scared and excited at the same time. I looked down at the pond, the water still as a statue. I walked to the front of the ledge and jumped. The cold wind was blowing in my face and I was zipping down the wire. I hear shouts of my classmates yelling “yeah,” and “go Aiden.” Then I hit the cold water with a splash as I felt the rush of adrenaline. Now I had the long swim back ahead of me. The joy I felt when I hit the water was amazing. I never knew that I would find joy in such a short moment. As I was floating in the water I realized. Joy doesn’t always have to be found in the big things, it can be found in the little things. It’s the small things in life that matter. No matter how you slice it, joy matters.
Reflection is under-used but can be the most powerful tool for success. The cold night wind is blowing into my face; the sound of the water splashes on the rocks while me and my classmates are all standing around the fire in silence. It was a time of reflection before we ended this great trip. I was staring at the flame looking at the blue and yellow. I looked over at my classmates. It was so calm and peaceful. After a few minutes of looking back on this amazing trip and thinking about what was to come in the future. We all were invited to share some goals for the year and who or what we are thankful for. I listened to everybody and then it was my turn. I shared about how I was thankful for my teachers and my classmates for making these past 5 years at Fenn so special. Then I said that I wanted this year to be the best possible because it is our last and we want to have no regrets. I wanted this year to be the best possible because it is our last and we want to have no regrets. This bonfire helped me understand the importance of caring about others and picking other people up with you. No matter how you put it, reflection can be the most helpful item in your life.
The only way to face your fear is to fight it. It was a chilly Wednesday morning. The Maine wind blowing in the trees. The grass is coated with a layer of water. I was climbing up the skinny telephone pole scared out of my mind, the pole swaying left and right.
More and more fear is building up in my mind. I looked up and saw this skinny telephone pole. I had never seen anything like it. I took a step onto the ladder and started to make my way up to the top. I heard the shouts of my classmates cheering me on. The pole was swaying left and right. I was terrified as I got to the top. I had no idea how I was supposed to stand up on top of it. I grabbed the rope and stood up. My legs were shaking and my mind was racing. I looked over to the bar and jumped. I was close but I missed it completely.
Although I was terrified of the telephone pole. I learned that the only way to face your fear is to do it. I realized this as I was sitting with my back against a tree. Looking up at the terrifying telephone pole. I learned that I wouldn’t have been able to face my fear without the support of my classmates.
The trip is, sadly, over, but the lessons have been learned.
In their last moments, people show you who they really are
~Heath Ledger, The Joker
People appreciate their lives much more when they’re minutes away from death. In July, 2021 I took a trip to Martha’s Vineyard with my friend, Noah, for a hockey camp and to hang out on the beautiful, warm, magnificent beaches. On our second and last day there we went to a beach on the east coast of the island that had towering waves. We body checked the waves trying not to fall over battling an unstoppable force hoping to win. Noah told me, drenched in water: “whoever gets knocked over first loses.”
(more…)Mangia
Eat!
I ain’t hungry.
That’s ok, I’ll make some pasta.
Mangia.
Eat!
Midnight specialties of
Veal Marsala
Pork Modena
Ravioli, tortolini,
Prepared with the finest homemade sauce and meatballs.
Mangia!
The remedy for any ailment,
As prescribed in the
Italian Mother’s Handbook.
A universal cure for heartbreak…
Tensions with siblings…
Tragic sports defeats…
Confusion and stress of daily living…
Simply, whatever is buggin’ ya.
Mangia.
Ah, feel better.
Mangia,
No, not a conspiracy to fatten’ you up.
It’s meaning is more delic’(ious) than mere food or culinary delights.
Mangia…
Snugly tucked sheets.
Shuttles to music lessons or sports practice.
Premium seating to witness your performances, games, and ceremonies.
A well timed hug supplementing words of wisdom.
Just the right amount of mayo on a tuna sandwich.
Taking care of all possible details so your charmed life has no worries.
Mangia is simple and pure.
“I love you”.
Leiomeiosarcoma
It rolls of the tongue like some exotic dish
Served up in posh trendy eateries.
A euphemism.
The same way an ugly toothy, foreheaded fish is transformed into Chilean Sea Bass,
Or how cow nuts become Rocky Mountain Oysters.
Cookin’ something unappetizing into something palatable.
Leiomeiosarcoma
Not a dish to be consumed, but a thing that consumes
First the womb, then the lungs, finally the liver.
A passionless scientific description teases and blunts the gut wrenching emotions.
A high grade sarcoma of the soft tissue.
Metastisis of the lungs via the bloodstream.
Highly resistant to chemotherapy protocols.
7 out of one million women afflicted.
Low 5 year survivorship.
That most matter-of-fact description does not mask the cruelty and unfairness.
Incurable terminal cancer.
So ma,
It’s my turn
To shuttle you…
To doctor appointments,
All important golf rounds,
Painting lessons,
Walks along the beach,
Play with your beautiful grandchildren.
Hey ma,
Now it’s my turn.
I’ll whip up the Midnight buffet of
Veal Marsala,
Pork Modena,
Ravioli or tortolini.
A piping hot pot of any pasta.
How about some lobstah’?
Hey ma,
Mangia!
~David Duane, Science
I.
I have landed,
A bit unfurled,
Ready,
To change the world.
Idealism, emotions,
Dynamic eyes with dilated hole
Fuel the adventure,
And nourish the soul.
Gonna dive right in,
And swim some strokes.
Ah… ooooh… ouch… uhf
Skinned knees & elbows.
Not deep enough.
II.
The wait, the watch, the wonder
The sights and sounds and smells.
Everything new, bizarre things dwells
At every moment and every day
Making a good story,
Someday.
Rhythms of time,
Ignored by clocks.
Dining on
Coconuts,
And fish heads that stare back.
Riding in
Dug out canoes,
And on top of trucks.
Chloroquine dreams,
While sleeping with anopheles,
And passing regular dumps,
Down at the toilet beach.
Walkabout,
With blistered feet.
Tok tok long Pijin? 1
My skills are feeble.
Throw out that rice…
That damn weeble!
Time to swim,
But still too shallow.
Can’t dive yet so I wade.
Feet, sore and callowed.
III.
Custom is strong,
Custom is different,
And elusive.
The universal response –
Eyebrows raised.
He’s holding my hand.
What’s it all mean?
Confusion and awkward.
Fighting boredom,
As the adventure ebbs,
While routine conquers.
Laundry by hand…
Harvest veggies and fruit…
Slaughter chickens and pigs…
Read and write by kerosene…
Daily monsoons and stifling heat.
Weary, of bush knife carrying relatives.
Wantoked2 by locals,
Or is it a shakedown?
Betelnut? – yuck, too bitter.
Weebles on the rice?
Just pick ‘em,
Then flick ‘em.
The distant shore fades below the horizon,
The ocean laps my ankles still,
Wading when I want to swim,
Oi mae3, gotta wait until…
IV.
But the sands are shifting,
There’s something moving,
Around and around and around,
In an endless spiral through a linear world,
Where anal minds explode,
Unless angles curve and edges round,
And where you are,
Matters more,
Than where you’ll go.
Embracing…
Rhythms of time, ignored by clocks,
While sitting by, the market docks.
Pijin Storying,
And grooving…
And strumming
And singing…
And hanging
Around like
Masta Liu Nomoa4.
Encountering devols…
And evading curses…
Doing the creep thing,
Til’ cousins invade our discretions.
Betelnut? – not bad,
With bro’s of lime and leaf,
It spins the head,
Turns teeth the color of beef.
Weebles still, devour rice,
But why bother remove the weebles now?
Protein, for a sufficient world.
Ah… finally,
Taking the plunge,
With confidence and fate,
To swim, in deep water now,
A transformation late.
Now so Solomon-ized
A wantok to the end,
The wait, the watch, the wonder
They pay that dividend.
I owe, and am owed
Kastom that taught,
As a Malaita-man is made
Cause’ even a fish
Out of Water,
Can learn to swim and wade.
