It was the day I came back, the day Tim picked me up from the Homestead, in November of 2010. The day I decided to go back to him, and broke my sister’s heart. With everything he had done, all he had lied about, why? She asked me.
Repeatedly. Although, mostly in her head, to herself.
He had put together another barrel of bullshit, and this time I knew, but I led him to believe I didn’t. So on our way back to the cottage, I made him stop in this little town, and I asked him for money, and I bought this flag. I was calling him on his crap, and figured, if your working and actually have money he will not react – I was spending money I know he had somehow BS’d his Dad for…and I knew he wasn’t really working. I just knew. It all smelled funny, but I had a mission of some sort to accomplish I guess, and so I marched on.
However, at the time, I wanted something to remember the day by…and this flag would do.
I still don’t know what compelled me those days leading up to that day 3 years ago. Still, I can’t really for sure tell you why I went back, even knowing this new lie about his boss dying, and now he’s all of asudden out of work….”yes honey, I was working for the whole last month you were away”….rrriiiiggghht. Sure Tim. Whatever.
But went back I did. I came back for Gizmo, my 19-year-old Cat. I came back to be once again at the cottage. And…I came back for Tim. I went back for a lot of reasons, and for no real reason. Like I said…I still don’t know why.
Today all the different pieces are finally being put together though. I for some reason wanted that little flag to hang again at this time of year, yet I had forgotten why. No longer. Tis a small thing, but it holds significance I suppose in those old memory banks.
Why do we do anything? What prompts certain decisions? I have always tried to follow my heart, and therefore I have been on some wild tangents, not many mind, but a couple, or three. My heart sometimes has strange ideas about things, and is soft in the middle, and right dang stupid, I do declare.
Your heart will wound you, but then it will give you the strength you need to move on. After the lake of lies, and all our cottage dreams, it all eventually just happened, and like the sheep I am (Chinese Astrology), I stubbornly followed where my heart led me.
So as I sit here, sipping my Chai Latte, I am revelling in the joy of having clean dishes, food to eat and I did my laundry with a whole stash of quarters from my last time with Tim at the laundry mat in town. Of course some tears came when I realized where all those quarters came from. Again, it was so like Tim’s gentle hand, helping me with what I need to do. I have felt that distinct touch of his so often lately pushing me along, it’s like he haunts me, but in a good way. If there is anyone who knew what my dreams contained, it was my Tim. And if there is anyone who knew what I suck at, again, Tim knew.
Oddly enough, as bad as Tim could be, and oh man could he be bbbbaaaadddd… he could be very good for me. But he was so fussy, you know. Everything had to be just so…good grief…he even raked the beach for crumbles sake. I mean, the beach? Like it was some high-end, 5-star resort or something. Picky, picky about food, and picky about where things went…and oh man could he be so annoying sometimes.
I learned from his hyper-organized state of being though, and I ramped up the neat vibe in my life. I needed some lessons. I have been known in the past to be rather lazy when it comes to housework, and downright oblivious to dust and dirty floors & dishes.
I know, I’m loony-tunes. Hence, I suppose, my affinity to that flag.
Em… some synchronicity and psychology somewhere in that too I guess. Me dragging that flag out, at this time of year, and hanging it finally out by my stoop. Like something has come full circle, but now I’m farther ahead, and spirally forward, towards who knows what.
So, how does one define loon?
Shortened version of the Canadian word ‘loonie’ which means a one Canadian dollar coin which has a loon (bird) on one side. It is equivalent to UK ‘Quid’.
Crazy mofo’s. Psychotics. Loonies.
In Aberdeen, Scotland, it’s local dialect (doric) meaning a young guy. That’s probably why there’s another definition further up, for fans of the Scottish actor Billy Boyd. Whose not from Aberdeen I think but never mind.[from the Urban Dictionary]