Stream of Conscienceness

I was thinking today about my grade 9 Science teacher. I can't remember his name, but I can picture him and I can remember that he pronounced "piano" as "pie-anno". We called him "The Cat" because, to our great annoyance, he was always sneaking up on us. Now, granted, we were usually skipping class and raiding someone else's lunch-box at the time, but still, he really shouldn't have been spying on us. At least that was the Grade 9 mentality. He also taught us about writing in the Stream of Conscienceness way. Being a Science teacher I think he should have been teaching us about...well, Science? However I think he was a frustrated Literature and Composition teacher. That's what it was called back then, and said with great speed and all in one word: "Litncomp". But our "Litncomp" teacher was a young lady with a great mass of fuzzy red hair and all I remember HER teaching me was that a red haired woman could wear pink and orange if she wanted to, the fashion people were "wrong, wrong, wrong" and she would wave her arms all akimbo. She taught me that word, "akimbo" too. Grade 9 was quite an educational year for me.

Anyhow, The Cat used to hand us out paper and tell us to start writing. And we'd say" "What? What should we write? The names of the planets? What?" And he'd say: "Just start writing, write whatever streams through your conscienceness and don't stop. Don't worry about paragraphs or punctuation or spelling. Just write whatever comes down your arm and through your fingers." Then he would leave us for an hour. (In hindsight, I guess this is when he took off on his spy missions..perhaps he was a frustrated P.I. as well)

I would sit and write and write, to me it was a joy. Most of the other kids would gossip and flirt, some would sleep and some of the guys would get arm-wrestling competitions going. The cliques would become clique-y and discussions would turn to make-up and dances and who was seeing who. I would just write and write. No wonder Science was my favorite class!

I liked the way that whatever I was writing about would wander and meander off into other topics, just like when you are walking and talking with a friend and the subjects change from minute to minute. I still talk to myself in that manner. Ok, let me explain that, I don't walk through the stores talking out loud to myself, but when I am in the bush I talk out loud to the dog and "we" discuss all sorts of things. Our topics change from squirrels to the weather and I sometimes ask her advice on problems that are bothering me. She isn't much help really, but she is a very good listener. Today we got a little bit lost in the bush, I took a new path (because, you know, life is all about taking the unknown road) however one should always pay attention to the paths one takes. All roads don't really lead to Rome. Some lead to places that you haven't been before and when you get 3 miles in you realize that now you have to turn around and walk 3 miles out. ( I clip a pedometer to my waist, so I know that it WAS 3 miles in...) That made for a 6 mile walk. Maybe that road DID lead to Rome. Hey, maybe all roads DO lead to Rome. Those crazy Romans, they really knew their stuff.

It's Shane's birthday today. He is 32. I was going downtown when that song by Green Day came on. I never know the name of it, but you know the one I mean...about the best days of your life. It always makes me get teary eyed and I was getting all verklempt when I saw a deer walking down the retaining wall beside the road, just like a kid walking along and trying to balance themselves. I had to stop and look twice and it made me laugh out loud. It was just the oddest moment, as if I were supposed to cheer up a little and stop being such a sappy boob. So I did. Cheer up that is. So much so that I went to Save-on and bought strawberries, whipped cream and short-cake things and made macerated strawberry shortcake for dessert.

Sometimes I just really want to write yet I have nothing to report. Not that much happens here that is different on a day to day basis and my subconscience must have made me remember The Cat and his odd method of teaching Science. I wonder what he thought of our rambles? I wonder if he was also a frustrated psychotherapist of some sort? This is an excellent way to blather on and share odd little bits of my inner mind, and I think I will enjoy coming here and seeing what comes out of my fingers.