Leaky bucket in a dry well.

Lately, it feels like I don’t have much to say. I actually wrote a post the other day about my hot tub and my kid and how much I like spending time talking to him in it, but square space glitched out, the post disappeared and I racked it up as an unpublished piece of writing (what else could I do, get mad?).

And on top of not having much to say, I have had lots to distract me. The Bluejays are back at it (Guerrero Jr.), NHL playoffs (go Columbus??), the Raptors, Tiger won his 15th Major, Billions, GOT, Avengers End Game, I turned 50, my wife has had 30 days of migraines, oh yah work!, a little golf, a provincial election, climbing training, walking the dog, listening to books, cooking, drinking wine, hosting gatherings, even legit reading a few books. Is that enough? I am not sure, actually. All of the writing gurus out there say that I am supposed to write every day, no matter what, oh yah and, carry around a moleskin notebook in which to document every thought and inspiration. Like I said before, I haven’t had much to say lately.

My kid and his grandpa built a climbing wall in our basement last week. I drilled over 250 holes and pounded fixed nuts into them to hold hand holds. It’s not that I am obsessed with mountain climbing, not at all, its that I am obsessed with supporting my kids dreams, as harebrained as they might be. Truth be told, I think climbing will make me a better human along the way.

Turning fifty has proven to be a bellwether birthday. I am not lamenting the event, or resenting it, but I have had opportunity to mark the occasion with more reflection than any other time in my life (and that is almost certainly an exaggeration). Regardless, I am very aware of the tumult in my life. I am keenly attuned to the fact that the horizon has shifted, perhaps not in a bad way, but shifted nonetheless.

Turning fifty for me has been very much akin to the act of driving in the last spike in the infamous Canadian railway line of old. A momentous occasion which hardly anyone, other than those present, payed any attention to when it happened. What is clear is that there was a lot of ground work which occurred prior to that last spike being hammered into the ground. So too, has it been with me this past year or so. I feel as though the ground has shifted (in a tectonic kind of way) under my feet, and that I am now on some other plain altogether. I will write more of this later (Upturned Applecart and all).

What I know to be true, is that nothing will ever be the same again. Turning fifty has marked a forever shift in my life, where I know that I can’t go back. I can’t go back spiritually, mentally, physically, emotionally (although in this regard there is nothing I would want to go back to). I feel like (others have validated this) one of the pair of the Muppet’s Statler or Waldorf, either one will do. I relish the notion that I have graduated to the box of life where I can sit and hurl commentary down at the madness that I am watching take place in the arena of life in front of me. Now to write like that, unencumbered, free from the care of criticism, judgment, ridicule and scorn. Oh right, what you write on the internet stays on the internet forever.

For now, I will tend to my leaky bucket, and perhaps, even go in search of a watered well to commandere, I am too damn old to dig a new one for my self.