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The Galloping Geezer

The Galloping Geezer
~ Jack Downey Comments on Canadian Issues

Jack Downey ~ The Galloping Geezer
Photo by Julie Ann Biggs

Sasquatch, Giants and Pixies

Sasquatch (a.k.a. Bigfoot, Omah, Le Homme Sauvage, Yeti) was first reported by the Canadian explorer David Thompson in 1811 near what is now Jasper Alberta. The Native guides called this massive primate Sasquatch. The folks south of the 49th parallel call him Bigfoot. In the Himalayan Mountains of Nepal this harmless creature is known as Yeti. A poll taken in the USA indicates that 13% of the Americans believe Bigfoot exists. In Nepal 85% believe Yeti roams the high mountain peaks. (See Canadian Culture Poll for current figures.) Sir Edmond Hillary, conquer of Mt. Everest, spent over one million dollars on an unsuccessful expedition to find and capture a Yeti. In Beijing China, there is a Yeti museum. I am ambivalent on Sasquatch, Yeti and Bigfoot's existence, but I know for sure that Giants and Pixies do exist because I have seen them and maybe you have too! Here's what I saw.

A small giant sat at a corner table in a dim upscale bar; a cognac snifter nestled in one huge scarred hand. He definitely was not handsome, but he had a presence (and definitely a past). The music swirled. Laughter ricocheted off the walls. Every thing in the bar was designed to cover the decadence of youth. The 'beautiful people' flashed their teeth at each other. The hunters stalked, the prey quivered in anticipation of the capture. All they wanted was to be needed and loved by some one else. Nobody but the giant knew that the Great Weaver sat at his loom looking down, watching and assessing the design for his next tapestry. The weaver smiled and reached for his shuttle, he had decided to change the pattern of his work of art. Swiftly he made ready this new labor of highly skilled craftsmanship. He knew that this perfect tapestry would hang in the great hall close by the judgment throne. Every waiting supplicant that was to be blended in to the pattern would be able to see the answer before they met their maker. They would now have time to prepare a defense for their earthly actions. Each person would be part of the warp or weft. It was a totally new design concept. It would not be changeable, but would provide a second chance to those who wanted to really see. There would be no expert to analyze and write an empty sermon or eulogy about his or her past failures or victories. There would be no gender, cultural or religious bias. They could not use buzzwords, Sunday newspaper or magazine supplements, or the empty arguments put forward by friends, family or coworkers to justify their actions. Looking on the tapestry they would have to decide what they would pay. Now they had to think original thoughts and judge the quality of their lives. There would be no reference point, no way to make a comparison. They alone would make the irrevocable decision about their eternal future. This would be their baptismal font in a tapestry of life's fire. They would have to love beauty, integrity and truth uninfluenced by the pressures of culture, peers, families or other pressures to ease the pain of those caught up in the same corporate web. Then their personal thread in the pattern would be there to follow and its contribution to the overall life's design evaluated.


As the weaver wove he saw a 'skip'. He was annoyed, but knew no cloth can be perfect. He thought no one would notice, but the giant did, and smiled to himself. He saw the tiny shaft of light filtering through the flaw; it fell on the seat opposite him. It was a small flicker of pure light in the gloom of the bar. It stood out from the dim bar lights that were kept low to soften the wrinkles of age, to conceal the lack of intellect and to heighten the blood lust of the hunt and soften the brutality of the capture.

The pure light went out as a shadow was cast on the chair. Annoyance creasing his brow, the giant looked up. The little shaft of light still twinkled down, but was now highlighting the hair of a Pixie. Looking over the table at her, the giant saw that her eyes flashed, her smile was real, and she had a slight Victorian glow on her brow. Her genteel beauty had a suggestion of wildness and two dimples accentuated her charm. She was just resting before rejoining the dancers out on the crowded floor. As she sat to catch her breath, her bosom rose and fell as the raucous music hammered at the very depths of one's mind. Their eyes met. She hesitantly took his glass of cognac in her little hand, took a dainty sip and began to study this anachronism. She saw the furrows in his brow, the scars and the absolute weariness clouding his eyes. The shaft of light moved through her hair. It sparkled in her eyes and intensified the glow of her soft skin. As she swirled the cognac in the glass, she became serious and, as she studied the giant, time stood still, the dancers froze, the music stopped in mid-note and a strange silence descended on the bar. Even the Great Weaver stopped! As the Pixie studied the Giant's weatherbeaten face, a mask devolved slowly, then another and another. Nothing seemed to change, but images changed and melted. She saw The Beginning, the death of Able, the rising of the Pyramids, the flood of Euphrates, the sacking of Rome, the Dark ages, the Mongol horde, the Siege of Dien Bien Phu, the masks of men, the brutality and hollow hopelessness. She saw that he was an observer, not a participant in this hopelessness.

The weaver came out of his trance and shifted his cloth on the loom and the soft light went on to the giant. As the giant observed the Pixie, he too saw masks melt, blend, fade and be replaced by others. He saw the Madonna, Catherine of Aragon, Madame Currie, the Mona Lisa, Venus, and many more that exposed the laughter and joie de vivre that Pixies have brought to our life over the centuries.

The weaver became furious that the Giant and Pixie had made changes to the pattern. The harder he tried to blend the threads, the more obvious his flaw became. He reached for his knife and slashed the tapestry to shreds. He raged and slashed till nothing but small threads lay on the floor. A soft night wind blew them away and, as they fell earthwards, they formed a veil over the twinkling stars. The rising sun's rays shone through the veil of threads and magnificent colors roiled in the eastern sky. The colors changed, they blended, glowed and slowly dissipated. There was no name for a Canadian sunrise like this, it had never been seen before or since. A small thread touched the earth just as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon. A little sparrow pounced on it and carried it to his mate who was building a nest in an old pear tree. His mate took the thread in her ivory beak and wove it into her nest, now it was finished and she settle in to the nest and winked at her mate.

The weaver stomped from his croft. The musicians snapped off their amplifiers and the dancers made their long weary way home. No one except I noticed the Sparrows or the Giant and Pixie walking hand in hand down by the river.

A skip is a weaving flaw. In the rug weaving countries of the Middle East and Asia, to make a perfect, skip free rug or tapestry is very bad luck. If there is no skip by accident the weaver must put one in. As nothing in life can be perfect. Weaving lore thanks to Calgary Public Library "Ask the Librarian Program."

Signed; the Galloping Geezer

Jack C. Downey CD
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BIG FOOT!
Do you believe Sasquatch a.k.a., Bigfoot or Yeti exists? If so what would you do?
Yes, protect it.
Yes, kill one for proof.
No - it's all in your imagination.
Capture one and put in Zoo.
Have statue built, place in Gastown next to the steam clock (Vancouver.BC)
Capture pair, breed for exotic food restaurants
Elect one to improve Parliament
It should have Aboriginal Lands Claim Status.
It should pay Income Tax if it exist.


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