Return to Mpumalanga

In six days, Sandra and I board an airplane to Nelspruit for two weeks of teaching to youth workers and other people helpers. We didn't think we would ever go back after last year but the friendships we made and maintained called us to return. We will then go to Cape Town and visiting friends and relax by the ocean for a few days before returning. Stay tuned for reports of the story over there! *** Spoken w/ Vlingo - http://www.vlingo.com
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Good times with old times!

Last night we had the first part of our thirtieth medical class reunion. It was graciously hosted in the home of Doug and Shawn Hobson. It was good to see the lovely faces of my classmates, Most of whom are still slogging it out in full time practices all over the continent!

Bonuses of the evening were having my daughter Caitlin Join our former band members Randy and Ann to sing some old songs and a couple of new tunes. She was superb!

Double bonus was having our classmate Orla Come out of vocal retirement and join us for "operator"!

It is probably the sign of the brittleness of my aging That I found a great deal of the evening overwhelming. We somehow gathered around the indoor swimming pool Which was an acoustic and physical nightmare. Most of my memories of the evening are visual as I could hear very little of what everyone was saying. We had fun with singing together but really have no idea of how we sounded. I found myself having little waves of panic all night long and wanted to leave even before we sang. It was at the admonition of my wife and the stronger admonition of my daughter that I bit the bullet and stayed. And I did still have fun!

Looking forward to the quieter venue at the Fort Gary hotel tonight.
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ode from my preverbal self

Cold facecloth slap.

I was screaming.
(you said I was)
And then I held my breath.

Vagal dive
Dive! Dive!

You said with glee.
I fixed you fast.
Ice cold cloth
Across my face.

You did not know
You sent me to the abyss.

Vagal dive

Of ether addled birth
Stuck in death.

Dive! Dive!

A life full of waiting.
for forceps to deliver me.

Que c'est triste
Interminablement
Triste.

S. Wakeman 14 september 11 (I)

recycled souls

Elmhurst blue box reverie

Early autumn street
Dust of golden death
Emerging in the verdure.

In wobbly rows
Emptied blue boxes
Some aright catching the dew
Of morning
Some aside
Looking for the wind.
Some overturned
Void but closed to filling.

Just like us-
Cleansed of the detritus
Of our life.

What posture
Do we keep
Attending
The Great Recycler?

S. Wakeman 2 Sept. 11 (I)

Court Is not therapeutic!

This past week I had the opportunity to attend a court proceeding to support my friend as he gave a victim statement and watched his uncle sentenced to four years for sexually abusing his sister and him. I learned a few things.

1. My friend is a courageous young man to speak up in the midst of sobbing and say the truth.

2. He also has a lot of strength in him to show his love toward his family who seemed to be in worse shape than he was.

3. The adversarial system of the court can be quite damaging to the abused person and their family. The two "learned friends" (as the opposing lawyers referred to each other) sliced diced and julienned the very personal and painful facts of the abuse in front of my friend and his family. There was much shaking and sobbing. The defense listed about twenty other abuse cases as precedents to lessen the sentence of the accused. In great detail. It was brutal.

4. Psychology can be misinformed and manipulated in court. The things brought up were mitigating factors for one lawyer and aggravating factors for the other lawyer. The lame excuse of the accused being sexually abused as a boy was introduced by defense as a mitigating factor. Rubbish. Most sexually abused men grow up to be healthy in their boundaries and sexual behaviour. And so on.

5. It was disturbing to hear arguments that suggested that my friend's abuse was not as bad as other cases or that the accused should be credited for not being coercive. Its not hard to coerce a lonely fatherless child.

6. The adversarial process risks ignoring the deeply mixed emotions everyone feels in this situation. But in the end, justice was served.

I just wish no one had to go through abuse and therefore not need this extra ordeal.
S

poem for my nephew

jack, pine

our timelapse life
watching you grow
young conifer
woody enough
to not be trampled
by undiscerning bucks
or nibbled to death
by anxious rabbits

green enough
to bend with storms
and when the sun comes out
redolent with
clean sweet
pungent
presence.

s. wakeman
8 august 11 (ii)

crossing the callosum

After starting this thing a year ago, I'm finally getting back to writing something. I hope this will be an opportunity t o go back and forth between my creative side and my scientific side. I.e. Crossing my callosum.
S.