Little stuffies are beautiful gifts. Oh yes - and those cards, well chosen, designed and inscribed... Thank you!
"Don't bother walking a mile in my shoes. That would be boring. Spend 30 seconds in my head. That'll freak you right out!
The story gets dark....
***********************
After resigning from Camp Arnes, I took a menial position as a clerk in an "quick print" shop. I think I just wanted to be in the culture of copying, publishing, printing and creativity, helping others to promote their programs. I used to enjoy serving others - but this time it was different - I was overqualified and annoying to everyone.
I knew that there was something fundamentally wrong with me. I didn’t know what it was but my experience with Camp Arnes deconstructed something inside of me.
Things had changed!
First of all, I lost my trust in authority. I could not and would not submit myself to another board. Every employer was suspect!
I also think that in my chosen field of camping, because I had moved into the directorship position. I had moved to the top – and every position I would now take felt like a demotion.
But there were also other midlife changes.....
I had lost my dominant position in my family. My children no longer needed me as much as a parent. Odia was now an adult and Syras was a teenager – both with minds of their own. These were wonderful developments, but left me with a sense of being displaced.
Not only that, I was now sharing my artistic limelight with them. Since they had both inherited my gift in art – I had lost some of my status as the genius artist in my family. Odia was now taking Fine Arts at U of M – and Syras was showing pottery skills.
I was no longer the sole bread winner. Wilma was now employed making a good salary. She had written a book… “Have you seen Candace?” - now a published author. She was growing in stature and prestige, being asked to speak all over. She had less time for me. I was happy for her – but I did feel isolated.
My relationship with the church was stressed. Sill not sure what happened but suddenly another church board dismissed me as a Sunday School director – fired me. No explanation. I suddenly found myself without a ministry - and without a stage.
Public perception had changed. The fact that the murder case remained unsolved was becoming an issue again. More and more the public was looking for someone to blame and these questions were being directed towards us. They might have been innocent curiosity, but to us it felt accusatory.
Instead of making meaningful connections I found ourselves increasingly isolated and stigmatized. This lack of encouragement -- lack of meaningful connections zapped my creative energy. I did not do any art during this time. I just didn't want to.
It all came to a head in 1995, I was 50 years old and disillusioned. This time I didn’t have the optimism of youth but I had gained the cynicism of experience - accumulated a list of failures that exceeded the list of successes.
Ten years after the murder of our daughter, I had a complete breakdown.
I resigned from my menial job. I just couldn't even carry out the mundane routine of a 9 to 5 job.
This coincided with my wife who was also going through a kind identity crisis.
We actually delivered news papers just to give us a routine and walk out our grief. We felt we belonged to the dark mornings, freezing temperatures of a Winnipeg winter as we trudged through our neighborhood unseen, doing our penance for what we did not know.
Our children were on a different journey. They were excited about life exploring their potentials. Odia through her Fine Arts program gained interest in ceramics. Like me, she started to want her own studio and bought a potter's wheel which we set up in the basement.
As artists, we all played with it. Even though we enjoyed the wheel, both Odia and I realized that we weren't utilitarian artist -- wanting to produce something that people could use - but more sculptural. She went on to other things.
The feel of clay intrigued me. As an artist, I am always working with perspective, drawing it, giving the illusion of it and entertaining with it. Sculpting gave me an entirely different relationship with three dimensional objects. I shaped a man laying in the grass aiming at something with a rifle... and loved it.
But it was actually Syras that excelled at the wheel – and was about to pursue it when he was sidelined and became a psychologist instead. But the wheel had served a purpose -- I had fallen in love with ceramics... that would eventually show itself again.
This was a bit of healing in the middle of my breakdown.
After our breakdown - a year of selling newspapers and walking out our failure. We decided to find new directions.
My wife finally embraced her new identity and applied to Mennonite Central Committee where she found her peace and fulfilling work as Director of Victims' Voice.
At fifty years of age, I too needed to reinvent myself. This time I bought my own business - a delivery truck, a gray and black Chevrolet with a "real bumper" and a tough gas line pipe rack that could carry 3,000 pounds. It came with lucrative Pony Express accounts. I was an independent - "sub contractor.
Finally it was just me - in a truck. I was my own boss.
I started to enjoy the freedom of that truck.
I got good at it. I carried around more cargo than anyone… I got to know the city.
I was now reconstructing my life. It was a far cry from what I had hoped for my life - but I was on the move again.
"Don't bother walking a mile in my shoes. That would be boring. Spend 30 seconds in my head. That'll freak you right out!
The story gets dark....
***********************
After resigning from Camp Arnes, I took a menial position as a clerk in an "quick print" shop. I think I just wanted to be in the culture of copying, publishing, printing and creativity, helping others to promote their programs. I used to enjoy serving others - but this time it was different - I was overqualified and annoying to everyone.
I knew that there was something fundamentally wrong with me. I didn’t know what it was but my experience with Camp Arnes deconstructed something inside of me.
Things had changed!
First of all, I lost my trust in authority. I could not and would not submit myself to another board. Every employer was suspect!
I also think that in my chosen field of camping, because I had moved into the directorship position. I had moved to the top – and every position I would now take felt like a demotion.
But there were also other midlife changes.....
I had lost my dominant position in my family. My children no longer needed me as much as a parent. Odia was now an adult and Syras was a teenager – both with minds of their own. These were wonderful developments, but left me with a sense of being displaced.
Not only that, I was now sharing my artistic limelight with them. Since they had both inherited my gift in art – I had lost some of my status as the genius artist in my family. Odia was now taking Fine Arts at U of M – and Syras was showing pottery skills.
I was no longer the sole bread winner. Wilma was now employed making a good salary. She had written a book… “Have you seen Candace?” - now a published author. She was growing in stature and prestige, being asked to speak all over. She had less time for me. I was happy for her – but I did feel isolated.
My relationship with the church was stressed. Sill not sure what happened but suddenly another church board dismissed me as a Sunday School director – fired me. No explanation. I suddenly found myself without a ministry - and without a stage.
Public perception had changed. The fact that the murder case remained unsolved was becoming an issue again. More and more the public was looking for someone to blame and these questions were being directed towards us. They might have been innocent curiosity, but to us it felt accusatory.
Instead of making meaningful connections I found ourselves increasingly isolated and stigmatized. This lack of encouragement -- lack of meaningful connections zapped my creative energy. I did not do any art during this time. I just didn't want to.
It all came to a head in 1995, I was 50 years old and disillusioned. This time I didn’t have the optimism of youth but I had gained the cynicism of experience - accumulated a list of failures that exceeded the list of successes.
Ten years after the murder of our daughter, I had a complete breakdown.
I resigned from my menial job. I just couldn't even carry out the mundane routine of a 9 to 5 job.
This coincided with my wife who was also going through a kind identity crisis.
We actually delivered news papers just to give us a routine and walk out our grief. We felt we belonged to the dark mornings, freezing temperatures of a Winnipeg winter as we trudged through our neighborhood unseen, doing our penance for what we did not know.
Our children were on a different journey. They were excited about life exploring their potentials. Odia through her Fine Arts program gained interest in ceramics. Like me, she started to want her own studio and bought a potter's wheel which we set up in the basement.
As artists, we all played with it. Even though we enjoyed the wheel, both Odia and I realized that we weren't utilitarian artist -- wanting to produce something that people could use - but more sculptural. She went on to other things.
The feel of clay intrigued me. As an artist, I am always working with perspective, drawing it, giving the illusion of it and entertaining with it. Sculpting gave me an entirely different relationship with three dimensional objects. I shaped a man laying in the grass aiming at something with a rifle... and loved it.
But it was actually Syras that excelled at the wheel – and was about to pursue it when he was sidelined and became a psychologist instead. But the wheel had served a purpose -- I had fallen in love with ceramics... that would eventually show itself again.
This was a bit of healing in the middle of my breakdown.
After our breakdown - a year of selling newspapers and walking out our failure. We decided to find new directions.
My wife finally embraced her new identity and applied to Mennonite Central Committee where she found her peace and fulfilling work as Director of Victims' Voice.
At fifty years of age, I too needed to reinvent myself. This time I bought my own business - a delivery truck, a gray and black Chevrolet with a "real bumper" and a tough gas line pipe rack that could carry 3,000 pounds. It came with lucrative Pony Express accounts. I was an independent - "sub contractor.
Finally it was just me - in a truck. I was my own boss.
I started to enjoy the freedom of that truck.
I got good at it. I carried around more cargo than anyone… I got to know the city.
I was now reconstructing my life. It was a far cry from what I had hoped for my life - but I was on the move again.
"There is more credit and satisfaction
in being a first-rate truck driver
than a tenth-rate executive."
- B.C. Forbes
in being a first-rate truck driver
than a tenth-rate executive."
- B.C. Forbes
Just a little announcement. This Sunday May 15, Maplecrest is holding a inspirational service for me. I hope to attend at around 10 to receive prayer and encouragement. My goal is to finish writing my story and to encourage everyone to live their story or write it -- Life is worth paying attention to.... Park Theatre 698 Osborne Street, or watch and pray for me watch Maplecrest Church - Youtube. Blessings!
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