I woke earlier this morning and forced myself up and out of bed, as I had to be work an hour and a half earlier due to the holiday schedule.
I am not generally a morning person, and to just to prove it to myself, while making my coffee, I tipped the filter out of my hand and in an instant, coffee grounds had scattered over my countertop, into the draws and cupboards ajar below and all over the kitchen floor.
I caught myself before the curse escaped me. I lightened my energy, relaxed my shoulders, and smiled, “Okay, Baba, get with it now!”
It took me about 15 minutes to clean everything up, as it seemed that coffee had not just been dropped, but flung by the hand of a mean little elf, for as far as he could throw it.
About half way through the job I felt that curse coming on again, and then I remembered last night’s CNN broadcast and Saddam Hussein’s quick trip to the gallows.
I had caught the beginning earlier on in the evening, during my break at work, when they were still not sure but said that the appeal for a delay in his execution had been rejected.
For some reason, I stood spellbound watching this unfold, as I had stood the day before when I heard James Brown had died. My daughter Nika had walked in on me that day as I watched the announcement with a pang of real regret, remembering those vintage scenes from the Apollo Theatre, James Brown and the Famous Flames, and “I Feel Good, I knew that I would…”
James Brown set a musical standard for a whole generation of new R&B and Soul musicians, including all the rock band/pop singers that ever were and will be. Without him, there would never have been a Michael Jackson, a Mick Jagger, or a Freddie Mercury. So what if he had his demons? We all do!
I said to Nika, “James Brown just died” and she replied, “Poor dad,” as she knew it had affected me in a sad way.
I felt no such sadness watching the face of Saddam Hussein on the evening broadcast, but I felt a different kind of sadness, when I listened to his daughter’s comments on what a fine and loving father he had been.
From what I saw over the past year, there was a regal quality to his face, something truly noble, but which had been pushed down and smothered in the fire of surviving as a dictator and grasping and killing his way into power. Saddam's demons were too powerful, and they took over. And somewhere along the way, he let them.
What if the other Saddam had taken over, the handsome man with the kind smile, splashing in the water with his child on his shoulders? The one who said “Don’t hate your enemies”! What if that man had ruled and guided Iraq?
My urge to curse was now fading. Spilled coffee grounds are not so bad!
Hell, they're nothing at all!
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Monday, December 25, 2006
Big Wheel Turning
Last night I came home from work early, as the phones closed at 8 p.m. for the holidays, and I spent about a half hour extra closing the office.
At home I reached down a bottle of rum which has been sitting in my kitchen since last Christmas and poured a shot into a Light Holiday Eggnog from Safeway. I turned on Channel 4 to watch and listen to the crackling of the Yule Log and checked email.
This doesn't measure up to lighting my wood fire with cedar bough kindling on my Vancouver Island days, and putting a pot of clove-scented water on the stove to boil, but brings back pleasant memories anyway.
I spent most of this Christmas morning designing a Christmas greeting email, which I started to work on last night and finally got finished and sent out. The fonts might not match on other computers, or maybe the angels won’t appear on hotmail, but the intention is there anyway.
I also received an email from a good friend who is in East Berlin on a Christmas break from work in London. He reminded me, “You have been remiss in updating your blog.”
I talked to all family members via phone this morning. Nika initiated this with a Merry Christmas dad call, and all the kids (now young ladies and gentlemen) chimed in one at a time, as they had all spent Christmas Eve together exchanging gifts, as our family gathering is not planned until Boxing Day. Then they had all slept over at Chaya's and were planning to go snowboarding as a group today.
I can't tell you how proud I am of my children, that they value each other enought to celebrate as a family in the absence of mom and dad.
I don't know what everyone received but I do know that Kadir will be "rockin' the blues" with a new Fender guitar and amp, courtesy of Saint Nick. Thank God, for Santa Claus...one of the many joyful creations of our common Creator.
And don't start trying to tell me that there is no Santa Claus. I ain't a-buyin' it!
So for this Christmas anyway, I pray along with many others for food and shelter for all humankind, for someone or something to Love for each of us, and for Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all. I plan to continue this prayer throughout the next 365 days.
If you think Santa forgot you this year, the Big Wheel isn't yet finished turning.
At home I reached down a bottle of rum which has been sitting in my kitchen since last Christmas and poured a shot into a Light Holiday Eggnog from Safeway. I turned on Channel 4 to watch and listen to the crackling of the Yule Log and checked email.
This doesn't measure up to lighting my wood fire with cedar bough kindling on my Vancouver Island days, and putting a pot of clove-scented water on the stove to boil, but brings back pleasant memories anyway.
I spent most of this Christmas morning designing a Christmas greeting email, which I started to work on last night and finally got finished and sent out. The fonts might not match on other computers, or maybe the angels won’t appear on hotmail, but the intention is there anyway.
I also received an email from a good friend who is in East Berlin on a Christmas break from work in London. He reminded me, “You have been remiss in updating your blog.”
I talked to all family members via phone this morning. Nika initiated this with a Merry Christmas dad call, and all the kids (now young ladies and gentlemen) chimed in one at a time, as they had all spent Christmas Eve together exchanging gifts, as our family gathering is not planned until Boxing Day. Then they had all slept over at Chaya's and were planning to go snowboarding as a group today.
I can't tell you how proud I am of my children, that they value each other enought to celebrate as a family in the absence of mom and dad.
I don't know what everyone received but I do know that Kadir will be "rockin' the blues" with a new Fender guitar and amp, courtesy of Saint Nick. Thank God, for Santa Claus...one of the many joyful creations of our common Creator.
And don't start trying to tell me that there is no Santa Claus. I ain't a-buyin' it!
So for this Christmas anyway, I pray along with many others for food and shelter for all humankind, for someone or something to Love for each of us, and for Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all. I plan to continue this prayer throughout the next 365 days.
If you think Santa forgot you this year, the Big Wheel isn't yet finished turning.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
"Good Vibrations"
It is Sunday morning and I am slowly getting ready for work.
The big snow and wind that was forecast hit Vancouver Island and some of the lower mainland but in the Greater Vancouver area only the wind arrived, doing some major damage to the trees in Stanley Park, which is now closed to all traffic (including pedestrians) until further notice.
In all my years here, since 1970, I can't remember this ever happening.
After having to boil water a few weeks ago, having power when others were losing it all around the city, made me even more grateful for things we take for granted.
The roller coaster of domestic problems continued into this week and had me praying more than ever that they would be solved before we entered fully into the holiday season. It seems my prayers have been temporarily answered although last night the problems re-visited me multiplied a hundred-fold in my dreams.
A friend of mine suggested the other day, "Where there is family, there is problems", and that is an important reminder that this is another area where we can easily assume things, or take things for granted. When I was single (way back in the Stone Age) I only had my own problems but now I have to bear the difficulties of all my family members with them, there is no choice in the matter!
Along with other areas of changes in my life, I've added the routine of morning prayer after my physical exercises, and during this prayer I try to include the names of all family members and any friends or acquaintances who are having difficulties, and in this way hopefully adding to the volume of "good vibrations" spreading around the planet.
It seems to me that I need to learn more about and then activate the simple human act of bestowing blessing, which of course doesn't come from us, but moves through us from the Source of everything that is!
I can feel prayer as a really "good vibration" that moves through me and heals me too before I begin to breathe it outward.
And I thank God (and of course Brian Wilson) for these good vibrations.
The big snow and wind that was forecast hit Vancouver Island and some of the lower mainland but in the Greater Vancouver area only the wind arrived, doing some major damage to the trees in Stanley Park, which is now closed to all traffic (including pedestrians) until further notice.
In all my years here, since 1970, I can't remember this ever happening.
After having to boil water a few weeks ago, having power when others were losing it all around the city, made me even more grateful for things we take for granted.
The roller coaster of domestic problems continued into this week and had me praying more than ever that they would be solved before we entered fully into the holiday season. It seems my prayers have been temporarily answered although last night the problems re-visited me multiplied a hundred-fold in my dreams.
A friend of mine suggested the other day, "Where there is family, there is problems", and that is an important reminder that this is another area where we can easily assume things, or take things for granted. When I was single (way back in the Stone Age) I only had my own problems but now I have to bear the difficulties of all my family members with them, there is no choice in the matter!
Along with other areas of changes in my life, I've added the routine of morning prayer after my physical exercises, and during this prayer I try to include the names of all family members and any friends or acquaintances who are having difficulties, and in this way hopefully adding to the volume of "good vibrations" spreading around the planet.
It seems to me that I need to learn more about and then activate the simple human act of bestowing blessing, which of course doesn't come from us, but moves through us from the Source of everything that is!
I can feel prayer as a really "good vibration" that moves through me and heals me too before I begin to breathe it outward.
And I thank God (and of course Brian Wilson) for these good vibrations.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Kadir's Win!
It's just past 5 p.m. Wednesday night and I am back home from a brief trip downtown.
My plan today, a day off from work, was to do a little window shopping and maybe even some real shopping and then take in a movie.
I had called my son Kadir at noon to see if he wanted to join me after school and he had not called back and by the time I finished my visit to several stores, I was too early for the movie I wanted to see and so went home to check my voice mail.
There was still no call from Kadir and so I was biding my time as I still had enough time to walk back downtown to the movie when my phone rang.
It was Kadir. He was just getting home from school and was basically rushing home to show his sister Chaya his report card.
He has had a rocky ride in the past few years, as have all of our family for many reasons (only a few of which have been spelled out in this blog), and nearly failed grade 6.
Last year, after my daughter Chaya took over his care, he attended a middle school in Coquitlam and managed mostly "C" grades and this year, his first year in high school, he also managed "C" grades in earlier tests.
About a month ago, after a family discussion, Chaya decided to apply a more focused discipline in terms of homework and we all encouraged him to try harder, as he is "smart as a whip" but tends to drag his feet when he doesn't want to do something.
To make a long story short, he blurted out "Guess what dad? I got an "A" in math!"
In his last years of elementary school he never once scored an "A" in math, and the pride in his voice was evident.
It was plain to me in the past few years that he didn't feel he could possibly do well in school, that he felt he didn't have what it takes...but the love and dedication of his sister Chaya, plus his innate wisdom, is beginning to pay off.
Now he knows he can do it, and that is half the battle won!
And his dad?
Today is a wonderful day!
My plan today, a day off from work, was to do a little window shopping and maybe even some real shopping and then take in a movie.
I had called my son Kadir at noon to see if he wanted to join me after school and he had not called back and by the time I finished my visit to several stores, I was too early for the movie I wanted to see and so went home to check my voice mail.
There was still no call from Kadir and so I was biding my time as I still had enough time to walk back downtown to the movie when my phone rang.
It was Kadir. He was just getting home from school and was basically rushing home to show his sister Chaya his report card.
He has had a rocky ride in the past few years, as have all of our family for many reasons (only a few of which have been spelled out in this blog), and nearly failed grade 6.
Last year, after my daughter Chaya took over his care, he attended a middle school in Coquitlam and managed mostly "C" grades and this year, his first year in high school, he also managed "C" grades in earlier tests.
About a month ago, after a family discussion, Chaya decided to apply a more focused discipline in terms of homework and we all encouraged him to try harder, as he is "smart as a whip" but tends to drag his feet when he doesn't want to do something.
To make a long story short, he blurted out "Guess what dad? I got an "A" in math!"
In his last years of elementary school he never once scored an "A" in math, and the pride in his voice was evident.
It was plain to me in the past few years that he didn't feel he could possibly do well in school, that he felt he didn't have what it takes...but the love and dedication of his sister Chaya, plus his innate wisdom, is beginning to pay off.
Now he knows he can do it, and that is half the battle won!
And his dad?
Today is a wonderful day!
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Remembering Bruno
It is of course Remembrance Day and I woke from a particularly moving dream, which included my family and the family of a good friend.
My kids were young and I was walking with them and their mother Karen and we passed a little nondescript gray unpainted house. In the window I noticed Brigitte, Bruno’s wife, wearing a brilliant orange colored dress and bustling about her chores. We had come to visit them.
Her flower garden was filled with multicolored roses, and there was one display set up to look like a Remembrance Day wreath, a pink cross with black flowers at the periphery of the arms.
When we came in Bruno was just coming home from work, all smiles and we had an impromptu lunch, adults and children all toasting our reunion with fruit juices and non-alcoholic beverages. At one point, Bruno appeared to offer Brigitte a glass of home made wine, a light milky rose in color, and she motioned for him to offer me one. In the old days, it would have been let the wine flow, but in the dream I declined. It seemed fitting not to drink, as the offering of wine was made especially to his wife.
Their house was situated in a grassy field in the midst of a city, but from a certain vantage point, all one could see were what looked like farm buildings and it seemed we were out in the country. It was a one-story house, more like a long shed but immaculately clean and roomy inside with large windows and shining with the spirit of those who lived inside, sort of like a Quaker home. The place seemed to be rented from a landlord who lived above in a more luxurious mansion, and as I explored I saw a huge garage filled with expensive older foreign cars, like Bentleys, Mercedes and Jaguars. It seemed to be a business that had rented out the smaller house to Bruno’s family.
As we all sat around the table, I tried to explain how I wished I could have provided such a beautiful surrounding for my own family. And then, I began explaining to them how much I regretted the loss of my good friend Bruno Castellan, who although there in the dream, actually died from cancer at the age of 40, leaving behind his wife and 4 children. Tears began to well up with huge emotions, and I could not find the words to describe the loss of such an important person in my life.
When I woke from this dream, I lay there for a long while still savoring the emotions that the dream awoke in me. How much we take for granted, and how quickly the beautiful things in our lives vanish like mist!
My kids were young and I was walking with them and their mother Karen and we passed a little nondescript gray unpainted house. In the window I noticed Brigitte, Bruno’s wife, wearing a brilliant orange colored dress and bustling about her chores. We had come to visit them.
Her flower garden was filled with multicolored roses, and there was one display set up to look like a Remembrance Day wreath, a pink cross with black flowers at the periphery of the arms.
When we came in Bruno was just coming home from work, all smiles and we had an impromptu lunch, adults and children all toasting our reunion with fruit juices and non-alcoholic beverages. At one point, Bruno appeared to offer Brigitte a glass of home made wine, a light milky rose in color, and she motioned for him to offer me one. In the old days, it would have been let the wine flow, but in the dream I declined. It seemed fitting not to drink, as the offering of wine was made especially to his wife.
Their house was situated in a grassy field in the midst of a city, but from a certain vantage point, all one could see were what looked like farm buildings and it seemed we were out in the country. It was a one-story house, more like a long shed but immaculately clean and roomy inside with large windows and shining with the spirit of those who lived inside, sort of like a Quaker home. The place seemed to be rented from a landlord who lived above in a more luxurious mansion, and as I explored I saw a huge garage filled with expensive older foreign cars, like Bentleys, Mercedes and Jaguars. It seemed to be a business that had rented out the smaller house to Bruno’s family.
As we all sat around the table, I tried to explain how I wished I could have provided such a beautiful surrounding for my own family. And then, I began explaining to them how much I regretted the loss of my good friend Bruno Castellan, who although there in the dream, actually died from cancer at the age of 40, leaving behind his wife and 4 children. Tears began to well up with huge emotions, and I could not find the words to describe the loss of such an important person in my life.
When I woke from this dream, I lay there for a long while still savoring the emotions that the dream awoke in me. How much we take for granted, and how quickly the beautiful things in our lives vanish like mist!
Friday, November 10, 2006
The Day Before Remembrance Day
It is the day before Remembrance Day and this morning on CBC radio host Shelly Soames played a BBC radio recording of a nightingale singing in the English countryside during the 2nd World War. It was a crystal clear recording of the intricate patterns the birdsong makes done for a nature program but in the background, the steady drone of bombers taking off from a nearby RAF base could be heard, “A stark reminder of the contrast between peace and war”, as the host remarked!
I had just got up to get ready for work but stood transfixed as I listened to the complete piece, which probably lasted no more than 3 minutes. I remembered driving my sons and my brother Ken back to Winnipeg in 2003 to attend mom’s funeral, and taking the boys to visit the military graves where my father’s headstone stands. The inscription says he was a gunner in the army but when I was a boy, he told me he was in the signals corps.
He said that he and friend got drunk one night in Toronto, and when they woke up the next morning, they were in the army.
He refused to talk about the war, other than to say his nickname was “Flash”, because when the bombing started, he was the first one to flash behind a rock. Occasionally and after a few drinks he would gross us out by turning up sharp fragments of what he told us were bullets under the skin of his arm. I am not sure to this day what they were, but most likely bone or cartilage.
Like many veterans, my father seemed to be haunted by the past, and as we children grew older, he turned to drinking and was drunk more often than not. Along with drinking came the anger, and he was not a pleasant person to be around when he was angry. As children, all we could see was that he was getting angry for no reason, but we knew little of the circumstances of his struggle to survive and support a family of 8 children.
He was a gifted violinist and when we were younger he would often play at home, but when I was about 12 he pawned his violin and we never heard him play again, except once when he was admitted to Deer Lodge Hospital and astounded the whole family by playing the piano in the lounge. None of us knew he could play as we never had a piano at home and he didn’t bother to tell us.
What happened in those few years on the European front, that slowly took the peace and happiness from my father’s heart and replaced it with bitterness and deep regret? I will never know for sure, but I feel it is directly connected with what my father experienced during those war years.
I had just got up to get ready for work but stood transfixed as I listened to the complete piece, which probably lasted no more than 3 minutes. I remembered driving my sons and my brother Ken back to Winnipeg in 2003 to attend mom’s funeral, and taking the boys to visit the military graves where my father’s headstone stands. The inscription says he was a gunner in the army but when I was a boy, he told me he was in the signals corps.
He said that he and friend got drunk one night in Toronto, and when they woke up the next morning, they were in the army.
He refused to talk about the war, other than to say his nickname was “Flash”, because when the bombing started, he was the first one to flash behind a rock. Occasionally and after a few drinks he would gross us out by turning up sharp fragments of what he told us were bullets under the skin of his arm. I am not sure to this day what they were, but most likely bone or cartilage.
Like many veterans, my father seemed to be haunted by the past, and as we children grew older, he turned to drinking and was drunk more often than not. Along with drinking came the anger, and he was not a pleasant person to be around when he was angry. As children, all we could see was that he was getting angry for no reason, but we knew little of the circumstances of his struggle to survive and support a family of 8 children.
He was a gifted violinist and when we were younger he would often play at home, but when I was about 12 he pawned his violin and we never heard him play again, except once when he was admitted to Deer Lodge Hospital and astounded the whole family by playing the piano in the lounge. None of us knew he could play as we never had a piano at home and he didn’t bother to tell us.
What happened in those few years on the European front, that slowly took the peace and happiness from my father’s heart and replaced it with bitterness and deep regret? I will never know for sure, but I feel it is directly connected with what my father experienced during those war years.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
A Short Autumn Adventure
As I had planned, I went to an early matinee of Marie Antoinette yesterday at Tinseltown.
They are supposed to be the only film crew ever allowed to film on the grounds of Versailles. And what a sumptuous feast for the eyes the movie is! I guess the movie put me in the mood for an afternoon adventure.
By the time I got home, the mid morning rain had stopped, the sun had reappeared and there was an amazing wind that had turned the rain soaked leaves into a glittering light show with accompanying sound track, and so I had to head out and down to the waterfront to view the full spectrum.
The ocean was a steely blue flecked with big whitecaps and crashing up over the rocks, and the wind was roaring through the tall Lombardy poplars at Sunset Beach. A slim, dark haired girl in a turquoise jumpsuit was climbing the rocks with her young son or brother, as he brandished a long stick and tested the force of the waves and the depths of the water.
They were the only two brave ones out on the beach, though there were a few hardy souls walking the seawall like myself. As they passed me, the boy looked at me and quickly sizing me up with one cute but penetrating look, turned his back on me and drove his wooden spear into the waves.
I felt I had tuned momentarily into their adventure story and as they walked away down the beach I felt washed in the wake of the mystery of it. And a longing that reminded me of my own childhood.
They are supposed to be the only film crew ever allowed to film on the grounds of Versailles. And what a sumptuous feast for the eyes the movie is! I guess the movie put me in the mood for an afternoon adventure.
By the time I got home, the mid morning rain had stopped, the sun had reappeared and there was an amazing wind that had turned the rain soaked leaves into a glittering light show with accompanying sound track, and so I had to head out and down to the waterfront to view the full spectrum.
The ocean was a steely blue flecked with big whitecaps and crashing up over the rocks, and the wind was roaring through the tall Lombardy poplars at Sunset Beach. A slim, dark haired girl in a turquoise jumpsuit was climbing the rocks with her young son or brother, as he brandished a long stick and tested the force of the waves and the depths of the water.
They were the only two brave ones out on the beach, though there were a few hardy souls walking the seawall like myself. As they passed me, the boy looked at me and quickly sizing me up with one cute but penetrating look, turned his back on me and drove his wooden spear into the waves.
I felt I had tuned momentarily into their adventure story and as they walked away down the beach I felt washed in the wake of the mystery of it. And a longing that reminded me of my own childhood.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Water Wings
My daughter Chaya has always loved the water.
When we lived on Vancouver Island from about 1984 she was out all summer sun tanning on a big beach towel at the ages of 3 and 4, and before I knew what had happened was swimming. As far as I know she never needed water wings, she had invisible ones.
When we moved back to Vancouver in 1992, she was 11 years old. She came over with me on the ferry first to find a place to live and we found a basement suite in Kits and the family followed.
That summer, her mother took her daughters to the Aquatic Centre to swim, and I watched from the gallery in amazement as my daughter, who had never dived from a high board before, followed her mom off the 7.5 meter board without an ounce of hesitation or fear. They went up and off, just like that. I was reminded of a mother duck with her duckling following behind.
She, her sister Nika and brother Ky had all been home-schooled on the island, but when we came to Vancouver, she made the decision to go to school and the others followed suit. She started off in grade 5, always excelled and never looked back. She was the honor roll all the years at Kits High School. She crafted braided and beaded friendship bracelets, and made me a new one every few months.
In her last year of high school, our family friend and the kids’ godfather Herb loaned her money for enrollment in a lifeguard course, and in very short order, she was suited up in red and on the job at Kits Beach.
It seems that red was Chaya’s lucky color as I have an equally vivid memory of her walking down 4th Avenue in her new Safeway cashier’s uniform, and me the proud papa going to meet her.
It didn’t take long for the manager at Safeway to recognize her potential and he began counseling her and mentoring her for management training. At the age of 22, she was Safeway’s youngest assistant manager.
She soon found her own apartment, had a spiffy red sports car, and was on top of the world. Then early this year she developed a bad cough that would not go away. It went on for a month or more until one day it got so bad she left work to go to a walk-in clinic. They took an x-ray. She was diagnosed with cancer.
When she started her chemo, one of the first things she said to me was, “I was so looking forward to swimming this summer, and now I won’t be able to.” During the course of the chemo, I went through a period of depression and wondered if she would make it. Maybe she would never be able to swim again, and we would lose her?
Today, she went for her first swim this year since finishing chemo last week, and I went to the Aquatic Centre to watch, and sat in almost the same place where I first watched her jump off the high board. The memories flooded back.
She is a strong swimmer and when she took a break, she came over to talk to me and I said, “You look like a natural in there!” She replied, “I feel like I never missed a beat.”
As I walked home along the seawall, I was making the connection between her strength in swimming, her survival instincts and the constant presence in her life of those invisible water wings!
When we lived on Vancouver Island from about 1984 she was out all summer sun tanning on a big beach towel at the ages of 3 and 4, and before I knew what had happened was swimming. As far as I know she never needed water wings, she had invisible ones.
When we moved back to Vancouver in 1992, she was 11 years old. She came over with me on the ferry first to find a place to live and we found a basement suite in Kits and the family followed.
That summer, her mother took her daughters to the Aquatic Centre to swim, and I watched from the gallery in amazement as my daughter, who had never dived from a high board before, followed her mom off the 7.5 meter board without an ounce of hesitation or fear. They went up and off, just like that. I was reminded of a mother duck with her duckling following behind.
She, her sister Nika and brother Ky had all been home-schooled on the island, but when we came to Vancouver, she made the decision to go to school and the others followed suit. She started off in grade 5, always excelled and never looked back. She was the honor roll all the years at Kits High School. She crafted braided and beaded friendship bracelets, and made me a new one every few months.
In her last year of high school, our family friend and the kids’ godfather Herb loaned her money for enrollment in a lifeguard course, and in very short order, she was suited up in red and on the job at Kits Beach.
It seems that red was Chaya’s lucky color as I have an equally vivid memory of her walking down 4th Avenue in her new Safeway cashier’s uniform, and me the proud papa going to meet her.
It didn’t take long for the manager at Safeway to recognize her potential and he began counseling her and mentoring her for management training. At the age of 22, she was Safeway’s youngest assistant manager.
She soon found her own apartment, had a spiffy red sports car, and was on top of the world. Then early this year she developed a bad cough that would not go away. It went on for a month or more until one day it got so bad she left work to go to a walk-in clinic. They took an x-ray. She was diagnosed with cancer.
When she started her chemo, one of the first things she said to me was, “I was so looking forward to swimming this summer, and now I won’t be able to.” During the course of the chemo, I went through a period of depression and wondered if she would make it. Maybe she would never be able to swim again, and we would lose her?
Today, she went for her first swim this year since finishing chemo last week, and I went to the Aquatic Centre to watch, and sat in almost the same place where I first watched her jump off the high board. The memories flooded back.
She is a strong swimmer and when she took a break, she came over to talk to me and I said, “You look like a natural in there!” She replied, “I feel like I never missed a beat.”
As I walked home along the seawall, I was making the connection between her strength in swimming, her survival instincts and the constant presence in her life of those invisible water wings!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
A Boxer "Short"
Who wants to pay $18 for a pair of boxers, or $22 or more, just because the waistline reads Joe Boxer or something else? That’s over 2 hours pay for many people!
I wear boxers to bed instead of pajamas, which are too constricting for me. During the day, I wear men's briefs.They are easier to wash, cheaper to buy, and last as long or longer than boxers. I can usually get a package of 3 for around $6. Most of the time these are Fruit of the Looms, usually manufactured in Central America by workers making pennies an hour.
Fruit of the Loom made an excellent low price boxer which used to be easy to find but is now becoming more and more difficult to find, due to people who like me, refuse to pay $18 or more for a single pair of boxer shorts.
Would it be more politically correct to buy Joe Boxer boxers…wearing a proud Maple Leaf but assembled in Thailand for the same pennies per hour wage? It is the branding that sticks over the waistline of the jeans worn slung low by those who care “whas up?” and the advertising that makes them a hot item, a must-have.
Also, if you are taking off your pants in front of Penelope Cruz, you want to have something cool on down there, because you can be sure she will!
Today I headed down to Army & Navy but there were no bargains on boxers.
You never know where a bargain might be found. I found 2 Mantles 100% cotton boxers on my walk back from Chinatown at The Bay. They were made in China and on SALE…2 pair for $4.99! You have to look carefully for these things, as they were the only Medium size left in a huge rack of X-Larges!
The sales clerk, a young woman in her 30’s gave them a cursory glance and quipped, “Looks like you got a freebee here.”
If it was Penelope saying this, I might have felt deflated!
I wear boxers to bed instead of pajamas, which are too constricting for me. During the day, I wear men's briefs.They are easier to wash, cheaper to buy, and last as long or longer than boxers. I can usually get a package of 3 for around $6. Most of the time these are Fruit of the Looms, usually manufactured in Central America by workers making pennies an hour.
Fruit of the Loom made an excellent low price boxer which used to be easy to find but is now becoming more and more difficult to find, due to people who like me, refuse to pay $18 or more for a single pair of boxer shorts.
Would it be more politically correct to buy Joe Boxer boxers…wearing a proud Maple Leaf but assembled in Thailand for the same pennies per hour wage? It is the branding that sticks over the waistline of the jeans worn slung low by those who care “whas up?” and the advertising that makes them a hot item, a must-have.
Also, if you are taking off your pants in front of Penelope Cruz, you want to have something cool on down there, because you can be sure she will!
Today I headed down to Army & Navy but there were no bargains on boxers.
You never know where a bargain might be found. I found 2 Mantles 100% cotton boxers on my walk back from Chinatown at The Bay. They were made in China and on SALE…2 pair for $4.99! You have to look carefully for these things, as they were the only Medium size left in a huge rack of X-Larges!
The sales clerk, a young woman in her 30’s gave them a cursory glance and quipped, “Looks like you got a freebee here.”
If it was Penelope saying this, I might have felt deflated!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Great News on a Great Day
How could there be anything else than good news on a day like today?
It is another stunning autumn day, the air crisp and cool, and the sun bathing the colored leaves in rich light. There is something energizing too about wearing freshly laundered jeans and sweater, which puts a little more spring into each step.
I have been waiting for today for over 2 months. This is the day I met with the hematologist to receive the results of my blood tests and CT Scan.
It has been a long time coming, but I have been in no hurry. No hurry to receive more punishing tests, that's for sure. Yet today, I found myself strangely excited and optimistic.
My appointment was for 2 p.m. but I was early, as usual by about 15 minutes. But to my surprise at 2 p.m. sharp my doctor called me in.
First she asked me how I felt and I told her that I felt great! I have been working on my diet, as explained in previous blogs and so I seem to have a lot more energy than I did a month ago.
She explained that the type of cancer I have been diagnosed with, Mantle Cell Lymphoma, when discovered in men my age, is usually more advanced. It is a type of blood cancer and they did the bone marrow biopsy to see how far it has progressed. The result was that although some evidence of cancer has been found in the bone marrow, it is minimal, and that in her opinion treatment at this time is unnecessary.
The cancer appears to be indolent, sleeping in other words.
She advised that this cancer can become aggressive very quickly though, and that they must monitor me for the next few months.
She asked me what I had been doing and I explained about change of diet, meditation, prayer, visualization and she encouraged me to keep doing what I am doing as it appears to be working.
She said there is still a "blip" in her diagnosis in that she must take my results before a panel at the BC Cancer Society and get their opinion but said she wouldn't call me unless there was a change of approach needed, in their opinion.
Other than this, I go back to see her for blood tests and appointment in early January 2007.
A perfect conclusion to an otherwise perfect day, and as I write this I am preparing my supper of salad, brown rice and beans with a little chicken thrown into the mix!
What great news to share with my family and friends!
Over the past couple of months, your prayers, comments, suggestions and support have meant so much to me.
If I have learned anything from this, it is I am not alone!
It is another stunning autumn day, the air crisp and cool, and the sun bathing the colored leaves in rich light. There is something energizing too about wearing freshly laundered jeans and sweater, which puts a little more spring into each step.
I have been waiting for today for over 2 months. This is the day I met with the hematologist to receive the results of my blood tests and CT Scan.
It has been a long time coming, but I have been in no hurry. No hurry to receive more punishing tests, that's for sure. Yet today, I found myself strangely excited and optimistic.
My appointment was for 2 p.m. but I was early, as usual by about 15 minutes. But to my surprise at 2 p.m. sharp my doctor called me in.
First she asked me how I felt and I told her that I felt great! I have been working on my diet, as explained in previous blogs and so I seem to have a lot more energy than I did a month ago.
She explained that the type of cancer I have been diagnosed with, Mantle Cell Lymphoma, when discovered in men my age, is usually more advanced. It is a type of blood cancer and they did the bone marrow biopsy to see how far it has progressed. The result was that although some evidence of cancer has been found in the bone marrow, it is minimal, and that in her opinion treatment at this time is unnecessary.
The cancer appears to be indolent, sleeping in other words.
She advised that this cancer can become aggressive very quickly though, and that they must monitor me for the next few months.
She asked me what I had been doing and I explained about change of diet, meditation, prayer, visualization and she encouraged me to keep doing what I am doing as it appears to be working.
She said there is still a "blip" in her diagnosis in that she must take my results before a panel at the BC Cancer Society and get their opinion but said she wouldn't call me unless there was a change of approach needed, in their opinion.
Other than this, I go back to see her for blood tests and appointment in early January 2007.
A perfect conclusion to an otherwise perfect day, and as I write this I am preparing my supper of salad, brown rice and beans with a little chicken thrown into the mix!
What great news to share with my family and friends!
Over the past couple of months, your prayers, comments, suggestions and support have meant so much to me.
If I have learned anything from this, it is I am not alone!
Saturday, September 30, 2006
The Fate of Shangri La
It is already the last day of September. How quickly this month has passed!
When I left for work around noon today, it was drizzling rain, just a very little, like a fine mist, and I didn't even have to open my umbrella.
I was munching a Gala apple (reported to be a great antioxidant) as I walked and breathing in the cool air. I have tried to re-introduce as many fresh vegetables and fruits as I can into my diet, after having lost the taste for them over the last few years of too many fast food meals.
I had talked to my daughter Chaya earlier and she was feeling the effects of yesterday’s chemo treatment (her 2nd to last) and so I breathed a few silent prayers in her direction as I walked.
I looked forward to walking into the office, as weekends are casual dress and the mood is also more casual, and I usually spent the first hour laughing, gossiping and joking with everyone (when they are not on the phones), which is a great mood booster and sets me up for a great shift.
The day went quickly, the pace was fairly steady and at 9:30 p.m. I left the office for the day, and began my walk home.
They are building a huge high rise called Shangri La next to the building I work in, and it is supposed to become one of the tallest structures in the city, combining condos, hotel facilities and luxurious never-before-seen amenities for those who can afford them.
The construction site zone however, has become a haven for squeegee kids struggling to survive and also the covered walkway along the Georgia corridor is the bedroom of a young man who sleeps there every night.
I pass him on my walk home and he has been there most recent nights.
He has laid out a cardboard box for his mattress, one of those waterproofed kinds that are used by fruit and vegetable wholesalers, and it is usually lying there in wait for him on my way into work.
When I left work tonight and passed him, he was rolled up in his blue sleeping bag and sleeping, but most nights he has a book open and is reading.
It is extraordinary to see him there completely relaxed, as though he is lounging in his apartment, and deep into a book. He never has a paper cup or hat out for spare change, but is simply there.
The fall chill has started to hit the streets, and it is far from cozy on a cold cement sidewalk but he doesn’t look up from his book as I pass, and I sense that the world of the book has taken him from the world of the street, completely and utterly. He is never stoned or drunk but always reading, as far as I can see.
Behind the wooden barrier erected by the constuction crew, the future of this city block lies dormant, waiting to be summoned into existence by sorcerers in hardhats, armed with hammers and calculators.
But in my mind, this sleeping youth is the sage who will ultimately decide the fate of Shangri La.
Such things are possible!
When I left for work around noon today, it was drizzling rain, just a very little, like a fine mist, and I didn't even have to open my umbrella.
I was munching a Gala apple (reported to be a great antioxidant) as I walked and breathing in the cool air. I have tried to re-introduce as many fresh vegetables and fruits as I can into my diet, after having lost the taste for them over the last few years of too many fast food meals.
I had talked to my daughter Chaya earlier and she was feeling the effects of yesterday’s chemo treatment (her 2nd to last) and so I breathed a few silent prayers in her direction as I walked.
I looked forward to walking into the office, as weekends are casual dress and the mood is also more casual, and I usually spent the first hour laughing, gossiping and joking with everyone (when they are not on the phones), which is a great mood booster and sets me up for a great shift.
The day went quickly, the pace was fairly steady and at 9:30 p.m. I left the office for the day, and began my walk home.
They are building a huge high rise called Shangri La next to the building I work in, and it is supposed to become one of the tallest structures in the city, combining condos, hotel facilities and luxurious never-before-seen amenities for those who can afford them.
The construction site zone however, has become a haven for squeegee kids struggling to survive and also the covered walkway along the Georgia corridor is the bedroom of a young man who sleeps there every night.
I pass him on my walk home and he has been there most recent nights.
He has laid out a cardboard box for his mattress, one of those waterproofed kinds that are used by fruit and vegetable wholesalers, and it is usually lying there in wait for him on my way into work.
When I left work tonight and passed him, he was rolled up in his blue sleeping bag and sleeping, but most nights he has a book open and is reading.
It is extraordinary to see him there completely relaxed, as though he is lounging in his apartment, and deep into a book. He never has a paper cup or hat out for spare change, but is simply there.
The fall chill has started to hit the streets, and it is far from cozy on a cold cement sidewalk but he doesn’t look up from his book as I pass, and I sense that the world of the book has taken him from the world of the street, completely and utterly. He is never stoned or drunk but always reading, as far as I can see.
Behind the wooden barrier erected by the constuction crew, the future of this city block lies dormant, waiting to be summoned into existence by sorcerers in hardhats, armed with hammers and calculators.
But in my mind, this sleeping youth is the sage who will ultimately decide the fate of Shangri La.
Such things are possible!
Monday, September 25, 2006
In The Blink Of An Eye
The last band I played with in Winnipeg, before I took a train to Toronto to find my fortune was called Friday the 13th.
We were moderately successful and popular by local standards and played all the venues available to us and were even taken under wing of a local radio show host who saw in us a possible next big thing.
This was in the mid-to late 1960's...when rock and roll was many a poor boy's dream of fame and fortune.
When I arrived in Toronto, I was joined by the guitarist of this same Winnipeg group, who we knew as Gord. There we shared some hard times and learned a few more hard lessons about the unforgiving nature of the music business and poverty surrounding it if you don't make your mark.
After a very difficult but eye-opening winter there we went our separate ways and we lost contact through the following years.
But a few years back we regained contact again in Vancouver, after approximately 37 years apart and although we had changed dramatically, we instantly recognized each other, in a pre-arranged meeting in a coffee shop and picked up in approximately the exact same place we left off. No problem!
Within minutes, we were both laughing, joking, sharing stories and unselfconciously comfortable in each others' presence. In the old days, we used to joke that we were two old men and mimic the accents and the use of canes and before too long we were doing the same thing in the coffee shop, except this time we both had gray hair.
Today we met again for lunch at Tim Hortons on Alberni, and immediately the stories, jokes and laughter kicked in. Two hours passed in the blink of an eye.
What's two hours or 40 years to old friends?
We were moderately successful and popular by local standards and played all the venues available to us and were even taken under wing of a local radio show host who saw in us a possible next big thing.
This was in the mid-to late 1960's...when rock and roll was many a poor boy's dream of fame and fortune.
When I arrived in Toronto, I was joined by the guitarist of this same Winnipeg group, who we knew as Gord. There we shared some hard times and learned a few more hard lessons about the unforgiving nature of the music business and poverty surrounding it if you don't make your mark.
After a very difficult but eye-opening winter there we went our separate ways and we lost contact through the following years.
But a few years back we regained contact again in Vancouver, after approximately 37 years apart and although we had changed dramatically, we instantly recognized each other, in a pre-arranged meeting in a coffee shop and picked up in approximately the exact same place we left off. No problem!
Within minutes, we were both laughing, joking, sharing stories and unselfconciously comfortable in each others' presence. In the old days, we used to joke that we were two old men and mimic the accents and the use of canes and before too long we were doing the same thing in the coffee shop, except this time we both had gray hair.
Today we met again for lunch at Tim Hortons on Alberni, and immediately the stories, jokes and laughter kicked in. Two hours passed in the blink of an eye.
What's two hours or 40 years to old friends?
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Music In the Morning
What a morning!
The rain was coming down in buckets and it was the day I had promised to meet Chaya at the Orpheum to see the CBC Radio Orchestra. She had some comp tickets and had offered one to me and one to a friend of hers.
The driving wind soon took the sail out of my dollar store relic of an umbrella and after a few blocks there were two new silver spines sticking out where the umbrella should have been.
By the time I got there, the rain had soaked through my shoes and my feet were wet but it was great to sit in the ambience of this historic theatre listening to live music again.
I had seen the CBC orchestra a few years back with friend Herb at the Chan Centre and really liked it, but the main reason I thought I might like to go today (other than simply hanging out with my daughter) was that Jane Coop was one of the 3 featured pianists.
I have heard her on record but never live, and what a skinny (think Uma Thurman in cropped hair) powerhouse…kinda cute too! She walked out in a knee length gold jacket (not to be outdone by pianist Janina Fialkowska, who, as Shelagh Rogers the CBC host noted, was dressed like Mozart).
She was debuting a piece by contemporary composer Ramona Luengen and after a virtuoso performance almost knocked herself off the piano stool with the last chord-stroke, she hit the keyboard so hard. She teetered backward momentarily and the audience took a collective breath, but she quickly regained her balance, stood, and bowed to generous applause mixed with delighted laughter at the brief comic relief (classical music concerts are sometimes so stiff and formal that they become boring, at least in my experience.)
For me the rest of the concert (piano concertos by Mozart and Mendelssohn) was a bit of a doze but it was the first of this season’s Music in the Morning series and the place was packed, mostly with seniors whose children had treated them, as my daughter had treated me…it could easily have been Saturday night.
By the time I got home I was thoroughly soaked, but they are replacing the hallway carpets in the building and there was such a racket going on I decided that I would take a bus to Army & Navy and check out their winter jacket sale. I got as far as my front sidewalk, and it was still pouring so hard that I went grocery shopping instead.
East Hastings near Main in a rain storm is not one of my favorite nature walks. So I walked up to the Safeway at Cardero and Davie.
The wet streets were littered with multicolored leaves and nearly deserted and so when I saw the thin, bearded man in the beige coat approaching, swinging a stick and singing, my attention was immediately attracted. I didn’t look too closely though as soon as I realized that every second word was a curse, and heard the anger mixed with melody.
Yet, there was no mistake…he was singing!
The rain was coming down in buckets and it was the day I had promised to meet Chaya at the Orpheum to see the CBC Radio Orchestra. She had some comp tickets and had offered one to me and one to a friend of hers.
The driving wind soon took the sail out of my dollar store relic of an umbrella and after a few blocks there were two new silver spines sticking out where the umbrella should have been.
By the time I got there, the rain had soaked through my shoes and my feet were wet but it was great to sit in the ambience of this historic theatre listening to live music again.
I had seen the CBC orchestra a few years back with friend Herb at the Chan Centre and really liked it, but the main reason I thought I might like to go today (other than simply hanging out with my daughter) was that Jane Coop was one of the 3 featured pianists.
I have heard her on record but never live, and what a skinny (think Uma Thurman in cropped hair) powerhouse…kinda cute too! She walked out in a knee length gold jacket (not to be outdone by pianist Janina Fialkowska, who, as Shelagh Rogers the CBC host noted, was dressed like Mozart).
She was debuting a piece by contemporary composer Ramona Luengen and after a virtuoso performance almost knocked herself off the piano stool with the last chord-stroke, she hit the keyboard so hard. She teetered backward momentarily and the audience took a collective breath, but she quickly regained her balance, stood, and bowed to generous applause mixed with delighted laughter at the brief comic relief (classical music concerts are sometimes so stiff and formal that they become boring, at least in my experience.)
For me the rest of the concert (piano concertos by Mozart and Mendelssohn) was a bit of a doze but it was the first of this season’s Music in the Morning series and the place was packed, mostly with seniors whose children had treated them, as my daughter had treated me…it could easily have been Saturday night.
By the time I got home I was thoroughly soaked, but they are replacing the hallway carpets in the building and there was such a racket going on I decided that I would take a bus to Army & Navy and check out their winter jacket sale. I got as far as my front sidewalk, and it was still pouring so hard that I went grocery shopping instead.
East Hastings near Main in a rain storm is not one of my favorite nature walks. So I walked up to the Safeway at Cardero and Davie.
The wet streets were littered with multicolored leaves and nearly deserted and so when I saw the thin, bearded man in the beige coat approaching, swinging a stick and singing, my attention was immediately attracted. I didn’t look too closely though as soon as I realized that every second word was a curse, and heard the anger mixed with melody.
Yet, there was no mistake…he was singing!
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
The Alchemy of Evening
After my evening supper, I decided to walk down along the seawall from Howe, to view the sunset.
By the time I reached Burrard Street the sun had disappeared and the sky had darkened with purple hued clouds, the precursor for the forecast rain showers I was sure. The temperature had also dropped.
I was already putting on my jacket but when I reached Sunset Beach, a miraculous change had developed. The setting sun, still obscured by dark clouds, but low on the horizon, had begun to filigree the horizon. The brilliant rays, shining through the dark clouds, formed a golden etched serpentine calligraphy that grew brighter with every passing moment.
I could not tell how far down the sun had set, but the hieroglyphic lines appearing in the sky seemed to me to be the very essence of art in every sense of the word.
A gray haired man in elegant blue dress shirt and lavender tie passed me and asked, with a slight English accent: “May I offer you something positive to read?” It was a copy of the Jehovah Witness magazine Awake. I refused and didn’t wish to insult him by what was on my mind, but what more positive and inspiring thing could I possibly read than nature’s own news article appearing in the evening sky?
To give him due credit he smiled back and said, “Enjoy this beautiful evening.”
An elderly tourist passing by with his wife and friends and seeing my smile put it perfectly, saying in an Aussie accent, “And it’s all FREE!”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” I responded, smiling back at them.
But in my thoughts I added the words, “Yes, and free in every sense of the word”.
Just when it seemed the sky could not get more beautiful, the sun emerged into the small clear space between clouds and ocean, at first like a small tear of molten gold that grew into a spendid shining mirror and finally acheived the radiance of a crimson dragon, cloaking the landscape for an unbelievable moment in purples and golds.
By the time I reached Burrard Street the sun had disappeared and the sky had darkened with purple hued clouds, the precursor for the forecast rain showers I was sure. The temperature had also dropped.
I was already putting on my jacket but when I reached Sunset Beach, a miraculous change had developed. The setting sun, still obscured by dark clouds, but low on the horizon, had begun to filigree the horizon. The brilliant rays, shining through the dark clouds, formed a golden etched serpentine calligraphy that grew brighter with every passing moment.
I could not tell how far down the sun had set, but the hieroglyphic lines appearing in the sky seemed to me to be the very essence of art in every sense of the word.
A gray haired man in elegant blue dress shirt and lavender tie passed me and asked, with a slight English accent: “May I offer you something positive to read?” It was a copy of the Jehovah Witness magazine Awake. I refused and didn’t wish to insult him by what was on my mind, but what more positive and inspiring thing could I possibly read than nature’s own news article appearing in the evening sky?
To give him due credit he smiled back and said, “Enjoy this beautiful evening.”
An elderly tourist passing by with his wife and friends and seeing my smile put it perfectly, saying in an Aussie accent, “And it’s all FREE!”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” I responded, smiling back at them.
But in my thoughts I added the words, “Yes, and free in every sense of the word”.
Just when it seemed the sky could not get more beautiful, the sun emerged into the small clear space between clouds and ocean, at first like a small tear of molten gold that grew into a spendid shining mirror and finally acheived the radiance of a crimson dragon, cloaking the landscape for an unbelievable moment in purples and golds.
Wind, Big Waves and Qigong
I was so looking forward to my daughter Chaya's visit today as we had many things to discuss and she had promised me a Qigong lesson.
Chaya got here a few minutes after 11 and my son Ky was with her, and so we went for a long walk along the seawall to 2nd Beach.
Before we set off down the beach though, Chaya took me through a series of 6 Qigong exercises as she promised she would, ones she learned on her retreat in Montreal. They are spiritual/physical exercises based on slow movement and breathing (similar to Tai Chi) used to to stimulate one's Qi (Chi) energy.
This is right up my alley as it is all about working on my immune system right now!
We did these by the big rock in front of the Aids Memorial Wall, in mottled sunlight on the grass and below the big trees. A perfect setting!
The ocean was as choppy as I have seen it in a long time, with big waves washing up over the seawall in places and a chilly wind coming off the blue-green churning water. But it was a gorgeous day, with wind-blown leaves flashing colors and plenty of warm golden sunlight (despite the afternoon forecast of rain).
As we set off for 2nd Beach, Ky and Chaya discussed recent and upcoming favorite movies...they always point out great stuff to watch for, and the latest I-pod innovations. I didn't have much to offer but asked a lot of questions and remembered to swing my arms as I walked and focus on breathing. What a great feeling to walk between my two kids who are both taller than me. I felt like I was being guarded/guided on each side by an angel.
By the time we got to 2nd Beach, Ky commented that the waves there were big enough to surf in...you don't often get that in downtown Vancouver.
We then returned along the seawall to English Bay and up along Denman to find a restaurant. Both Ky and I were thinking “cheap, tasty and simple”, Chaya agreed and so we settled on one of the little Chinese all day breakfast cafes and I had my first coffee of the day, poached eggs and brown toast with fresh fruit, Chaya opted for a hearty grilled sandwich (which included mushrooms, yum) and a green salad, and Ky went traditional, scrambled, sausages and hash browns with immense dollops of ketchup!
By the time we returned to Chaya’s car, it seemed clear they would like to spend a little more time in the sun, so we went down to Sunset Beach once again and found a nice bench where we lounged and chatted for nearly an hour longer.
She is close to completion of her chemo treatments now, and it was a pleasure to watch her relax her face into the sun and sea, and witness the shining happiness emanating from it.
They have gone home now, Ky taking the wheel of Chaya's car for a driving lesson (he has his learner’s permit) and I came home to watch today’s Y&R episode.
Tomorrow I go back to work….these days off have been great and passed like a dream!
Chaya got here a few minutes after 11 and my son Ky was with her, and so we went for a long walk along the seawall to 2nd Beach.
Before we set off down the beach though, Chaya took me through a series of 6 Qigong exercises as she promised she would, ones she learned on her retreat in Montreal. They are spiritual/physical exercises based on slow movement and breathing (similar to Tai Chi) used to to stimulate one's Qi (Chi) energy.
This is right up my alley as it is all about working on my immune system right now!
We did these by the big rock in front of the Aids Memorial Wall, in mottled sunlight on the grass and below the big trees. A perfect setting!
The ocean was as choppy as I have seen it in a long time, with big waves washing up over the seawall in places and a chilly wind coming off the blue-green churning water. But it was a gorgeous day, with wind-blown leaves flashing colors and plenty of warm golden sunlight (despite the afternoon forecast of rain).
As we set off for 2nd Beach, Ky and Chaya discussed recent and upcoming favorite movies...they always point out great stuff to watch for, and the latest I-pod innovations. I didn't have much to offer but asked a lot of questions and remembered to swing my arms as I walked and focus on breathing. What a great feeling to walk between my two kids who are both taller than me. I felt like I was being guarded/guided on each side by an angel.
By the time we got to 2nd Beach, Ky commented that the waves there were big enough to surf in...you don't often get that in downtown Vancouver.
We then returned along the seawall to English Bay and up along Denman to find a restaurant. Both Ky and I were thinking “cheap, tasty and simple”, Chaya agreed and so we settled on one of the little Chinese all day breakfast cafes and I had my first coffee of the day, poached eggs and brown toast with fresh fruit, Chaya opted for a hearty grilled sandwich (which included mushrooms, yum) and a green salad, and Ky went traditional, scrambled, sausages and hash browns with immense dollops of ketchup!
By the time we returned to Chaya’s car, it seemed clear they would like to spend a little more time in the sun, so we went down to Sunset Beach once again and found a nice bench where we lounged and chatted for nearly an hour longer.
She is close to completion of her chemo treatments now, and it was a pleasure to watch her relax her face into the sun and sea, and witness the shining happiness emanating from it.
They have gone home now, Ky taking the wheel of Chaya's car for a driving lesson (he has his learner’s permit) and I came home to watch today’s Y&R episode.
Tomorrow I go back to work….these days off have been great and passed like a dream!
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Healing Through Diet
My sister Dianne was amused by my description of making it around Stanley Park without having to stop to use the washroom, but it is an amazing turn around for me in a short time.
She also asked me what I had changed in my diet...
I emailed her the following:
'My diet now includes a fresh salad (mixed organic greens if possible) every day (with chopped raw ginger, red pepper chopped with tomatoes and preservative free dressings), a handful of raw organic and "unsulphured" walnuts with my banana & orange juice (not from concentrate)for breakfast, lot's of whole grain brown rice with beans and carrot dinners which I cook myself.
If getting canned beans I make sure they are EDTA (preservative) free.
I have cut down my coffee to about a cup or 1 1/2 cups per day, drunk black and made with spring water...no more tap water.
This past 2 weeks I have taken time off from work and walked a whole lot each and every day. Despite my sore lower back, I push myself to do exercises each morning which include, touching toes, knee bends, sit ups and stretches."
This is my summer diet of course, and will probably change as the weather grows colder. I have more or less eliminated red meat for the time being.
What I didn't tell her was that I also have included an apple every day or so in my diet.
Sherry at work reminded me of the healthy benefits of walnuts (thanks Sherry)!
Brown rice diet stems from my study of "macrobiotics" in the 60's, after I read a book by George Oshawa called "You Are All Sanpaku". He cured himself of terminal cancer by adopting the diet of monks in a Buddhist Monastery.
Cooking one's own food is a huge step in the direction of good health, as you mix your own spiritual energy into whatever you prepare. This can include such a simple thing as preparing your own healing water...holding it up to reflect the sunlight and saying a short prayer before drinking it. (Thanks for the reminder Majid).
Those at work who remember me consuming Wendy's chili's on my dinner break every night will probably be amused, but cancer is a good stiff kick in the butt.
She also asked me what I had changed in my diet...
I emailed her the following:
'My diet now includes a fresh salad (mixed organic greens if possible) every day (with chopped raw ginger, red pepper chopped with tomatoes and preservative free dressings), a handful of raw organic and "unsulphured" walnuts with my banana & orange juice (not from concentrate)for breakfast, lot's of whole grain brown rice with beans and carrot dinners which I cook myself.
If getting canned beans I make sure they are EDTA (preservative) free.
I have cut down my coffee to about a cup or 1 1/2 cups per day, drunk black and made with spring water...no more tap water.
This past 2 weeks I have taken time off from work and walked a whole lot each and every day. Despite my sore lower back, I push myself to do exercises each morning which include, touching toes, knee bends, sit ups and stretches."
This is my summer diet of course, and will probably change as the weather grows colder. I have more or less eliminated red meat for the time being.
What I didn't tell her was that I also have included an apple every day or so in my diet.
Sherry at work reminded me of the healthy benefits of walnuts (thanks Sherry)!
Brown rice diet stems from my study of "macrobiotics" in the 60's, after I read a book by George Oshawa called "You Are All Sanpaku". He cured himself of terminal cancer by adopting the diet of monks in a Buddhist Monastery.
Cooking one's own food is a huge step in the direction of good health, as you mix your own spiritual energy into whatever you prepare. This can include such a simple thing as preparing your own healing water...holding it up to reflect the sunlight and saying a short prayer before drinking it. (Thanks for the reminder Majid).
Those at work who remember me consuming Wendy's chili's on my dinner break every night will probably be amused, but cancer is a good stiff kick in the butt.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Shit Happens
I got up early and full of energy on this anniversary of the World Trade & Convention Center disaster and decided that I would at least visit Siwash Rock to honor the memory of my mom who passed away in July 2003, which is where I threw the carnations I bought back from her Winnipeg funeral wreath.
Every day I am living with quite dramatic lower back pain which my daughter Chaya tells me is the result of the body's effort to make up the required white blood cells to fight cancer.
My energy was much more powerful than I thought.
I normally have problems making it half way around before running out of steam. Certainly by then I have to use the washroom to take a pee.
Today, I was passing under the Lion's Gate bridge and still with no bladder urges. It looks like my change of diet and daily rituals is taking effect.
As I passed under the bridge I noticed a few things.
First there was an ancient oriental fisherman in a wonderful figure 8 white hat that looked like the magician's hat on card #1 of the Tarot deck. Google the "Rider version of the Tarot" if you don't know what I am talking about. (Note: The Rider Deck Magician actually only has the symbol of infinity over his head, which is a horizontal figure 8. Check out this link from a French deck designed by Papus where the Magician is called The Juggler, to see a picture of the big floppy hat :)
http://www.sacred-texts.com/tarot/tob/tob14.htm
Second was a dakini in a bikini, that momentarily diverted me from my path. Google "dakini" if you're still not sure. She was gorgeous and proved that my energy was pointed in a healing direction.
Third was a young man on roller blades with bare chest and a generous six pack, also looking at the dakini in the bikini. For all I know she must have been looking at him too, but for whatever reason he ignored my approach and headed straight for me.
At the exact point where our paths would have intersected, I stepped aside to let him pass.
At the same moment that I did, I heard several loud splats or splashes and heard him exclaim "Oh F***k". I think the 4 letter word in my title would have been more appropriate.
I guessed that not one, but a whole family of seagulls perched on the cliffs overhead had let loose their day's diet over his head.
I didn't look back to check, as I was sure I couldn't bear the sight!
I made it all the way home without having to take a bathroom break. This is an excellent sign!!!
Every day I am living with quite dramatic lower back pain which my daughter Chaya tells me is the result of the body's effort to make up the required white blood cells to fight cancer.
My energy was much more powerful than I thought.
I normally have problems making it half way around before running out of steam. Certainly by then I have to use the washroom to take a pee.
Today, I was passing under the Lion's Gate bridge and still with no bladder urges. It looks like my change of diet and daily rituals is taking effect.
As I passed under the bridge I noticed a few things.
First there was an ancient oriental fisherman in a wonderful figure 8 white hat that looked like the magician's hat on card #1 of the Tarot deck. Google the "Rider version of the Tarot" if you don't know what I am talking about. (Note: The Rider Deck Magician actually only has the symbol of infinity over his head, which is a horizontal figure 8. Check out this link from a French deck designed by Papus where the Magician is called The Juggler, to see a picture of the big floppy hat :)
http://www.sacred-texts.com/tarot/tob/tob14.htm
Second was a dakini in a bikini, that momentarily diverted me from my path. Google "dakini" if you're still not sure. She was gorgeous and proved that my energy was pointed in a healing direction.
Third was a young man on roller blades with bare chest and a generous six pack, also looking at the dakini in the bikini. For all I know she must have been looking at him too, but for whatever reason he ignored my approach and headed straight for me.
At the exact point where our paths would have intersected, I stepped aside to let him pass.
At the same moment that I did, I heard several loud splats or splashes and heard him exclaim "Oh F***k". I think the 4 letter word in my title would have been more appropriate.
I guessed that not one, but a whole family of seagulls perched on the cliffs overhead had let loose their day's diet over his head.
I didn't look back to check, as I was sure I couldn't bear the sight!
I made it all the way home without having to take a bathroom break. This is an excellent sign!!!
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Lunch with Ky, and later music with Kim Kuzma
I was feeling lonely today and so when my son Ky told me he had a day off, I asked if he would like to meet for lunch.
We met on the Burrard Street Bridge and then walked downtown together. As soon as I saw my son's tall figure and smiling face approaching, all felt well with my world.
We passed the beginnings of the Davie Days street festival and I was reminded that Kim Kuzma was scheduled there today, but she was nowhere in evidence and I when I mentioned it Ky, he didn't seem interested.
We wound up having some tasty butter chicken at an Indian Restaurant on Robson that was so rich and filling, I almost got ill trying to finish it off. At the end of our meal, and on my visit to the washroom, I was suddenly in pitch darkness. The power had gone off. Fortunately we had just enough cash to pay our bill.
We did a little walk around in the Pacific Centre Mall, Ky got some work socks and then I saw him off on the bus as he was feeling quite tired.
After this I sauntered back towards Davie Street at my own pace and arrived just in time for Kim Kuzma’s first set.
It started late around 3:30 and it was with a conga player, a drummer, a kick ass guitartist and a great keyboard player who played bass with his left hand.
What a doll! What a voice! At one point when she sang a song about loving someone long ago, I swear she looked right at me and spoke the words, “Oh yes, I remember…I got the message loud and clear,” and I wondered whether our mutual friend Brian Donald had told her how I flipped over her and even wrote a song about her the night I first met her and heard her sing a couple years back at the Crowne Plaza on Georgia. I have a heated imagination!
Speaking of Brian, she mentioned that the Seattle crowd was present and it didn’t take too long to spot Brian and Lu sitting in the front row. I played in a band with Brian in Toronto in the 60's. He was the original drummer for Chad Allen and the Silvertones (later the Reflections and still later the Guess Who.)
After the set I went up to say hi to them. Brian’s sister and her hubby from Winnipeg were there, and so I didn’t stay long but told them I would probably show up for Kim’s second set at 7 p.m.
She had mentioned she was going to do a disco set at 7 p.m. and when I showed up I understood what she meant because there was no band, just a set of disco lights and Kim, her hair pulled back in a white scarf, wearing a glittering lamee blouse and holding a mike.
Within 10 minutes she had the crowd up and dancing and holding hands in a human daisy chain that circled among the chairs. The music was prerecorded but the vocals were live. And what vocals...my God that girl can sing.
It was all upbeat until the last number which was Over The Rainbow, which I am sure would have wowed Judy Garland.
I left with tears in my eyes at the end of her set and didn't bother to fight the crowd to reintroduce myself though I was ready to proclaim my undying love right there and then. There are some things that restore my faith, and Kim's voice and presence is one of them.
Kim's website is http://www.kimkuzma.com/.
We met on the Burrard Street Bridge and then walked downtown together. As soon as I saw my son's tall figure and smiling face approaching, all felt well with my world.
We passed the beginnings of the Davie Days street festival and I was reminded that Kim Kuzma was scheduled there today, but she was nowhere in evidence and I when I mentioned it Ky, he didn't seem interested.
We wound up having some tasty butter chicken at an Indian Restaurant on Robson that was so rich and filling, I almost got ill trying to finish it off. At the end of our meal, and on my visit to the washroom, I was suddenly in pitch darkness. The power had gone off. Fortunately we had just enough cash to pay our bill.
We did a little walk around in the Pacific Centre Mall, Ky got some work socks and then I saw him off on the bus as he was feeling quite tired.
After this I sauntered back towards Davie Street at my own pace and arrived just in time for Kim Kuzma’s first set.
It started late around 3:30 and it was with a conga player, a drummer, a kick ass guitartist and a great keyboard player who played bass with his left hand.
What a doll! What a voice! At one point when she sang a song about loving someone long ago, I swear she looked right at me and spoke the words, “Oh yes, I remember…I got the message loud and clear,” and I wondered whether our mutual friend Brian Donald had told her how I flipped over her and even wrote a song about her the night I first met her and heard her sing a couple years back at the Crowne Plaza on Georgia. I have a heated imagination!
Speaking of Brian, she mentioned that the Seattle crowd was present and it didn’t take too long to spot Brian and Lu sitting in the front row. I played in a band with Brian in Toronto in the 60's. He was the original drummer for Chad Allen and the Silvertones (later the Reflections and still later the Guess Who.)
After the set I went up to say hi to them. Brian’s sister and her hubby from Winnipeg were there, and so I didn’t stay long but told them I would probably show up for Kim’s second set at 7 p.m.
She had mentioned she was going to do a disco set at 7 p.m. and when I showed up I understood what she meant because there was no band, just a set of disco lights and Kim, her hair pulled back in a white scarf, wearing a glittering lamee blouse and holding a mike.
Within 10 minutes she had the crowd up and dancing and holding hands in a human daisy chain that circled among the chairs. The music was prerecorded but the vocals were live. And what vocals...my God that girl can sing.
It was all upbeat until the last number which was Over The Rainbow, which I am sure would have wowed Judy Garland.
I left with tears in my eyes at the end of her set and didn't bother to fight the crowd to reintroduce myself though I was ready to proclaim my undying love right there and then. There are some things that restore my faith, and Kim's voice and presence is one of them.
Kim's website is http://www.kimkuzma.com/.
What does a local know anyway?
Two days ago, I sat down along the seawall in a t-shirt bathed in warm sunlight.
Yesterday, the clouds were gathering, and a chilly wind blew a flurry of crisp golden leaves against my face as I sat there in my sweater. A young couple paused and pointed to the leaf-shower, and I heard them say the word “fall”.
An elderly couple paused and asked me, “Are you local?” I told them yes and they said that they were from Australia. The man pointed to the horizon, where an atmospheric haze generated by the cooler temperatures had been gathering, dulling the sharp outlines of the freighters lying in the harbour and the coast lines beyond, and asked, “Is that smog?”
It was in a similar tone of voice that another vacationer had once asked me, “Do you know where we can see some beavers?”
When I told him no, he seemed rather disappointed and inclined to argue with me about it. I did not try to convince him.
I could already hear him saying to the folks back home..."and you would not believe the smog in Vancouver!"
Yesterday, the clouds were gathering, and a chilly wind blew a flurry of crisp golden leaves against my face as I sat there in my sweater. A young couple paused and pointed to the leaf-shower, and I heard them say the word “fall”.
An elderly couple paused and asked me, “Are you local?” I told them yes and they said that they were from Australia. The man pointed to the horizon, where an atmospheric haze generated by the cooler temperatures had been gathering, dulling the sharp outlines of the freighters lying in the harbour and the coast lines beyond, and asked, “Is that smog?”
It was in a similar tone of voice that another vacationer had once asked me, “Do you know where we can see some beavers?”
When I told him no, he seemed rather disappointed and inclined to argue with me about it. I did not try to convince him.
I could already hear him saying to the folks back home..."and you would not believe the smog in Vancouver!"
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Better Than Winning the Lottery!
There are some days that tower above the rest.
Today, my daughter Chaya who has just returned from a Cancer Society sponsored retreat in Montreal, called me to let me know that she and my son Kadir were coming over in about an hour.
Kadir started high school today and so I was eager to get first hand reports from both.
At the time agreed on, I went outside to wait for them in the sunshine. One of my elderly neighbors was outside and having a difficult day. He was very happy to have someone to vent to, as we all need to do sometime. I was happy to listen, as I had nothing else to do.
After nearly 45 minutes though, I thought I better check in with Chaya and went inside to call. She was still waiting for Kadir outside his school. He was in a long line up waiting to have his school photo taken. “How long?” I asked. “Very long,” Chaya told me. “Well, let's just be patient.” I said.
Nearly an hour more passed and I called Chaya. I suggested that we should postpone our visit until tomorrow, as she must be tired after her long trip. Never was a call better timed, as she confided that she had an appointment with her specialist within the next hour.
About 2 hours later I got a call from Chaya. She was so excited she was close to tears, or possibly already crying, I couldn’t tell which.
She and Kadir had gone to the specialist together, and the news of her PET scan had come back.
Chaya’s cancer is now in full remission.
She is to continue the next few scheduled chemo treatments and then, she will have her life back.
Winning the lottery must feel great, but I wouldn't know! How could it could possibly come close to this feeling though? Tomorrow we celebrate!!!
Thank God!
Today, my daughter Chaya who has just returned from a Cancer Society sponsored retreat in Montreal, called me to let me know that she and my son Kadir were coming over in about an hour.
Kadir started high school today and so I was eager to get first hand reports from both.
At the time agreed on, I went outside to wait for them in the sunshine. One of my elderly neighbors was outside and having a difficult day. He was very happy to have someone to vent to, as we all need to do sometime. I was happy to listen, as I had nothing else to do.
After nearly 45 minutes though, I thought I better check in with Chaya and went inside to call. She was still waiting for Kadir outside his school. He was in a long line up waiting to have his school photo taken. “How long?” I asked. “Very long,” Chaya told me. “Well, let's just be patient.” I said.
Nearly an hour more passed and I called Chaya. I suggested that we should postpone our visit until tomorrow, as she must be tired after her long trip. Never was a call better timed, as she confided that she had an appointment with her specialist within the next hour.
About 2 hours later I got a call from Chaya. She was so excited she was close to tears, or possibly already crying, I couldn’t tell which.
She and Kadir had gone to the specialist together, and the news of her PET scan had come back.
Chaya’s cancer is now in full remission.
She is to continue the next few scheduled chemo treatments and then, she will have her life back.
Winning the lottery must feel great, but I wouldn't know! How could it could possibly come close to this feeling though? Tomorrow we celebrate!!!
Thank God!
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Ambling Around Lost Lagoon
Today, despite the heat and clinging to the shadiest paths, I angled my way towards Lost Lagoon.
I have an old relationship with this spot and like to return to it for meditative walks, but I have not been a very devoted lover in the past year.
Carefully avoiding the huge, green and messy Canada Geese turds sprinkling the graveled path, I made my way past the “closed for renovations” Nature House and counterclockwise around the lagoon.
I was hoping I might be lucky and catch one of those crystal clear redwing blackbird songs on a point very close to where the free trolley stops, but I guess it is already too late in the season.
I was not walking. I was studiously ambling and had made a prior decision to do just this. I took my sweet time. It felt great.
Earlier, while passing the little park above English Bay, I had stopped to listen to a large brass jazz band in the gazebo, playing some pretty funky and esoteric music, much to the dismay of the mostly elderly crowd who, for the most part, would probably have been more comfortable with Colonel Boogie but seemed determined to enjoy none the less.
My ears were still tuned to hear the song of the redwing blackbird, when to my astonishment I heard the deep, meandering tones of a brass instrument playing musical scales. It sounded to me like a Euphonium, a brass horn second only in size to the Tuba.
I have been listening to Rufus Wainwright’s great album “Want One” and it’s catchy single which begins with the oomp-pah-pah of a Tuba and as I rounded the corner, there sat the Tuba-ist, a heavyset, bespectacled and bearded youth dressed in black and holding the brassiest and gleamingest of miniature Yamaha Tubas. He was practicing, and in what a perfect setting! There were no neighbors to complain and the sound resonated so beautifully among the trees and over the surface of the lagoon.
I still thought it was a Euphonium and stopping to question him, was soon set straight! There followed a brief and wonderfully friendly exchange in which he told me he was just finishing his vacation and preparing for an audition with his Tuba.
I praised his tone and embouchure, at which term he smiled and asked me, “I take it you once played the Euphonium?” I smiled and said, “No, it was the Baritone Horn” a step further down in size from the Euphonium.
It was on the Baritone Horn, in the HMCS Chippewa Sea Cadet Brass band that I received my most priceless musical education in sight-reading, the light classics and jazz standards from my teacher Sub. Lt. Ed Rigg, who was a retired clarinetist of the Benny Goodman era. His nickname for me was “Katrink”.
I had been the lead drummer in the Navy League Cadets drum and bugle corps prior to that and was terribly disappointed that they already had enough drummers when I applied, as I had just seen Sal Mineo in “The Gene Krupa” story.
Never in my wildest dreams, did I realize what a depth of musical education I was about to and did receive, carrying this unwieldy instrument on the bus, every Thursday night to band practice in the heart of the freezing Winnipeg winters.
I wished the young man the best of luck and continued my ambling down the hot and dusty trail beside the lagoon.
I have an old relationship with this spot and like to return to it for meditative walks, but I have not been a very devoted lover in the past year.
Carefully avoiding the huge, green and messy Canada Geese turds sprinkling the graveled path, I made my way past the “closed for renovations” Nature House and counterclockwise around the lagoon.
I was hoping I might be lucky and catch one of those crystal clear redwing blackbird songs on a point very close to where the free trolley stops, but I guess it is already too late in the season.
I was not walking. I was studiously ambling and had made a prior decision to do just this. I took my sweet time. It felt great.
Earlier, while passing the little park above English Bay, I had stopped to listen to a large brass jazz band in the gazebo, playing some pretty funky and esoteric music, much to the dismay of the mostly elderly crowd who, for the most part, would probably have been more comfortable with Colonel Boogie but seemed determined to enjoy none the less.
My ears were still tuned to hear the song of the redwing blackbird, when to my astonishment I heard the deep, meandering tones of a brass instrument playing musical scales. It sounded to me like a Euphonium, a brass horn second only in size to the Tuba.
I have been listening to Rufus Wainwright’s great album “Want One” and it’s catchy single which begins with the oomp-pah-pah of a Tuba and as I rounded the corner, there sat the Tuba-ist, a heavyset, bespectacled and bearded youth dressed in black and holding the brassiest and gleamingest of miniature Yamaha Tubas. He was practicing, and in what a perfect setting! There were no neighbors to complain and the sound resonated so beautifully among the trees and over the surface of the lagoon.
I still thought it was a Euphonium and stopping to question him, was soon set straight! There followed a brief and wonderfully friendly exchange in which he told me he was just finishing his vacation and preparing for an audition with his Tuba.
I praised his tone and embouchure, at which term he smiled and asked me, “I take it you once played the Euphonium?” I smiled and said, “No, it was the Baritone Horn” a step further down in size from the Euphonium.
It was on the Baritone Horn, in the HMCS Chippewa Sea Cadet Brass band that I received my most priceless musical education in sight-reading, the light classics and jazz standards from my teacher Sub. Lt. Ed Rigg, who was a retired clarinetist of the Benny Goodman era. His nickname for me was “Katrink”.
I had been the lead drummer in the Navy League Cadets drum and bugle corps prior to that and was terribly disappointed that they already had enough drummers when I applied, as I had just seen Sal Mineo in “The Gene Krupa” story.
Never in my wildest dreams, did I realize what a depth of musical education I was about to and did receive, carrying this unwieldy instrument on the bus, every Thursday night to band practice in the heart of the freezing Winnipeg winters.
I wished the young man the best of luck and continued my ambling down the hot and dusty trail beside the lagoon.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
English Bay Sunset
It was one of those spellbinding and absolutely stunning English Bay sunsets, the kind that tourists travel from half a world away to witness, and I had wandered down to the beach and stumbled into it.
The sun was a huge warm fireball, sinking into a dusky lavender haze over the rippling water and a parade of cyclists, skateboarders, joggers and pedestrians streamed along the seawall, blending unselfconsciously into the beauty of it.
I settled myself on a bench at Sunset Beach above the walk, and prepared myself for the ritual watching of the sunset. It was then that I noticed the photographer, who had not been there a moment before, but had mysteriously appeared in position, tripod already spread, and at the opportune time and at the precise moment.
He was a young man in his early 30’s I guess, and dressed in work clothes, backpack and camera equipment bags slung over his shoulders, the garb of a photographer on the job I thought. Maybe he was shooting the cover of next week’s West Ender. He was totally focused and already snapping shots as the crowd passed him by, throwing cursory glances but not paying too much attention. He could have cared less. His camera was focused on the horizon and he was reaching for something ineffable, the perfect photo!
As I continued to watch the spectacle of the sunset, and the passers by, my gaze kept drifting back to him, and for the space of probably 45 minutes, he only shifted only once, and that was to set up again a few feet from his original position to get a better angle. He was hunched over the tripod, the very essence of a painter, pausing, reconsidering, taking the shot, then studying the view finder, barely looking up and paying no attention to the flow of traffic behind him.
The sun continued its rhythmic imperceptible descent below the horizon and still he stood focused, taking shot after shot, but not without long pauses between, always studying the viewfinder.
Finally the light began to diminish and his focus wavered a couple of times, once to take a shot in the opposite direction toward the Burrard Street Bridge and again when the mystical shadowy outline of a heron, crossed the water and his lens followed it.
Then with a few workmanlike movements, he dismantled the tripod, wrapped his camera in plastic, stowed it and walked away.
But before he left he turned once more, and with the air of a house builder who has driven the last nail of the day, leaned on his tripod and looked at the horizon, as though he had just arrived, and was seeing it for the first time.
The sun was a huge warm fireball, sinking into a dusky lavender haze over the rippling water and a parade of cyclists, skateboarders, joggers and pedestrians streamed along the seawall, blending unselfconsciously into the beauty of it.
I settled myself on a bench at Sunset Beach above the walk, and prepared myself for the ritual watching of the sunset. It was then that I noticed the photographer, who had not been there a moment before, but had mysteriously appeared in position, tripod already spread, and at the opportune time and at the precise moment.
He was a young man in his early 30’s I guess, and dressed in work clothes, backpack and camera equipment bags slung over his shoulders, the garb of a photographer on the job I thought. Maybe he was shooting the cover of next week’s West Ender. He was totally focused and already snapping shots as the crowd passed him by, throwing cursory glances but not paying too much attention. He could have cared less. His camera was focused on the horizon and he was reaching for something ineffable, the perfect photo!
As I continued to watch the spectacle of the sunset, and the passers by, my gaze kept drifting back to him, and for the space of probably 45 minutes, he only shifted only once, and that was to set up again a few feet from his original position to get a better angle. He was hunched over the tripod, the very essence of a painter, pausing, reconsidering, taking the shot, then studying the view finder, barely looking up and paying no attention to the flow of traffic behind him.
The sun continued its rhythmic imperceptible descent below the horizon and still he stood focused, taking shot after shot, but not without long pauses between, always studying the viewfinder.
Finally the light began to diminish and his focus wavered a couple of times, once to take a shot in the opposite direction toward the Burrard Street Bridge and again when the mystical shadowy outline of a heron, crossed the water and his lens followed it.
Then with a few workmanlike movements, he dismantled the tripod, wrapped his camera in plastic, stowed it and walked away.
But before he left he turned once more, and with the air of a house builder who has driven the last nail of the day, leaned on his tripod and looked at the horizon, as though he had just arrived, and was seeing it for the first time.
Friday, September 01, 2006
The View From My Window
The view from my apartment is not the greatest. My window faces directly towards the building next door, and because I don’t like people looking into my apartment I keep the curtains drawn most of the time. But on beautiful days like yesterday, I throw the windows open anyway.
When I did, I looked up to my right between the two buildings and looked at the towering tree across the street.
I've often admired the colors of the leaves in fall, but yesterday the sun was hitting it just right and I looked way up to the top and noticed the wind rippling the sun enriched green leaves and branches. I felt an immediate sense of peace and took a deep breath.
As I looked over to my left I saw the etched white trail of a jet stream, bridging the blue-sky gap between the buildings, the sun glistening off the surface of the distant plane. I was instantly filled with a feeling of adventure and hope.
When I did, I looked up to my right between the two buildings and looked at the towering tree across the street.
I've often admired the colors of the leaves in fall, but yesterday the sun was hitting it just right and I looked way up to the top and noticed the wind rippling the sun enriched green leaves and branches. I felt an immediate sense of peace and took a deep breath.
As I looked over to my left I saw the etched white trail of a jet stream, bridging the blue-sky gap between the buildings, the sun glistening off the surface of the distant plane. I was instantly filled with a feeling of adventure and hope.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Fearless Forwarding
It's taken me a while, but I've decided that any forwarded emails that suggest any negativity…i.e. if you don’t forward this to at least 8 people you will have a year of bad luck…I will delete!
I hope this will eventually dawn on others who keep sending them.
When forwarding emails, I now BCC the recipients, so that others can’t add them to their own email lists. I've been told too that it is safest to copy and paste to a new email, rather than to forward the original.
Also, it seems to me that if you send something to someone else you should not attach any conditions at all…i.e. if you forward this you will have 7 years of good luck! Why not just let it go?
If I think the emails are good and funny or inspiring or whatever, but they have souring conditions attached, I sometimes edit out that part, and send them on.
Some of my friends have asked that I do not forward anything at all. They feel that all communications should be personal. But I understand that for others, it is simply a way of keeping in touch.
I always get a thrill when I recognize a friend’s name in the lists of spam that arrive every day, no matter what they are sending and whether or not I pass it on. Sometimes it reminds me that I haven’t communicated with them in too long, and so I send a note!
I hope this will eventually dawn on others who keep sending them.
When forwarding emails, I now BCC the recipients, so that others can’t add them to their own email lists. I've been told too that it is safest to copy and paste to a new email, rather than to forward the original.
Also, it seems to me that if you send something to someone else you should not attach any conditions at all…i.e. if you forward this you will have 7 years of good luck! Why not just let it go?
If I think the emails are good and funny or inspiring or whatever, but they have souring conditions attached, I sometimes edit out that part, and send them on.
Some of my friends have asked that I do not forward anything at all. They feel that all communications should be personal. But I understand that for others, it is simply a way of keeping in touch.
I always get a thrill when I recognize a friend’s name in the lists of spam that arrive every day, no matter what they are sending and whether or not I pass it on. Sometimes it reminds me that I haven’t communicated with them in too long, and so I send a note!
Saturday, August 26, 2006
In the kitchen...and work
It is Saturday morning, and since I have a closing shift today, I am cooking my lunches for the next few days, a mix of brown rice, broccoli, carrots and beans.
I am laying off meat as much as possible while I am trying to change the tide of events in my body!
In answer to my sister Dianne's comment...yes it has been a while since I played music in public, although I continue to write and play at home.
For those who see me at work every day and are reading my blog, let me clarify why I choose the Arts as my occupation. This is because writing is still my primary focus and because for most of my life, music my main occupation.
While I was playing up in Courtenay in the 80’s, my friend Richard who sheltered me at his home while I worked my gigs up there, accused me of “trying to do an end run around reality”. At the time I was miffed but now see the truth of his statement.
Try to raise a family of 6 on a busker’s allowance! This and too many years of welfare put the nails in the coffin of my marriage. No matter how I tried I couldn’t find a regular job, partly my age I guess and no work history to speak of! In 2001, my wife had had enough, and so had I! I had to move out.
I spent almost 2 years working for an elderly friend of mine, Herb Gilbert as his caregiver and personal attendant. Herb was a professor of Fine Arts at UBC for many years and we collaborated in bringing Paul Reps up to Vancouver for a series of his "playshops" in the early 80's. He was also a very close personal friend and benefactor to our family. He passed away in November of 2005 and the world is short one fine artist, activist, pacifist and supporter of environmental healing. His website is: www.vcn.bc.ca/~oratorio
Then, one of my old band mates from our Winnipeg group "Friday the 13th", Rob McPherson re-appeared in my life, analyzed my predicament and threw me a lifeline. He got me a job in the call center of a major hotel chain, and I have been there close to 5 years now. Rob, I will forever be in your debt as your help has prevented several likely family disasters from happening.
Well, I better finish preparing my rice bowl...
I am laying off meat as much as possible while I am trying to change the tide of events in my body!
In answer to my sister Dianne's comment...yes it has been a while since I played music in public, although I continue to write and play at home.
For those who see me at work every day and are reading my blog, let me clarify why I choose the Arts as my occupation. This is because writing is still my primary focus and because for most of my life, music my main occupation.
While I was playing up in Courtenay in the 80’s, my friend Richard who sheltered me at his home while I worked my gigs up there, accused me of “trying to do an end run around reality”. At the time I was miffed but now see the truth of his statement.
Try to raise a family of 6 on a busker’s allowance! This and too many years of welfare put the nails in the coffin of my marriage. No matter how I tried I couldn’t find a regular job, partly my age I guess and no work history to speak of! In 2001, my wife had had enough, and so had I! I had to move out.
I spent almost 2 years working for an elderly friend of mine, Herb Gilbert as his caregiver and personal attendant. Herb was a professor of Fine Arts at UBC for many years and we collaborated in bringing Paul Reps up to Vancouver for a series of his "playshops" in the early 80's. He was also a very close personal friend and benefactor to our family. He passed away in November of 2005 and the world is short one fine artist, activist, pacifist and supporter of environmental healing. His website is: www.vcn.bc.ca/~oratorio
Then, one of my old band mates from our Winnipeg group "Friday the 13th", Rob McPherson re-appeared in my life, analyzed my predicament and threw me a lifeline. He got me a job in the call center of a major hotel chain, and I have been there close to 5 years now. Rob, I will forever be in your debt as your help has prevented several likely family disasters from happening.
Well, I better finish preparing my rice bowl...
Friday, August 25, 2006
KAT scan
I am back home from a morning trip to the hospital and a full day's work!
It is Friday night 10:52 p.m. and I had my CT Scan this morning.
I was surprised that the hospital rescheduled me so soon; I guess the scan-mechanics know their stuff! Didn't want to alert my family, although they wanted to know, as there just wasn't enough of a window.
So hit the bottle again last night…the bottle of Telebrix that is, which I guess helps the scanner to track the road map of my body!
Today I went to the hospital on my way to work. The worst part was the waiting room. I got there at 11 a.m. and everybody who came in after me, went ahead of me. I didn't get called in for nearly an hour.
Finally a nurse called me in. I was pacing by then and uptight as the receptionist had answered my earlier inquiry of "Have they forgotten about me?" with the statement, " Oh no, I checked and they have had a couple of emergencies." Since I was the only one waiting, could she not have said something, especially when she saw me pacing (and she did)?
Have you ever had the pleasure of changing into one of those polyester night gowns, putting your clothes in a bag, and then sitting in the waiting room with your skinny bare legs and feet (still in socks and shoes) hanging out, with a another group of fully clothed people?
Plus she gave me a cup of flat orange liquid and didn't ask, "Would you like a drink?" It was "Drink this and then they will call you in." But FIRST, she gave me an IV!
Then she informed me, "When they inject the inert iodine into your body, you will feel a hot rush and a tingling and itching all over, and you may think you are wetting your pants!"
Great...and just what I needed to hear.
(Note: My nurse's name was Angela, and I complained that the previous person who stuck a needle in me left me with a huge bruise. She gave me the IV and promised she would do her best not to bruise me. She kept her word. Thanks Angela!)
I had my hands up with fingers locked behind my head and the iodine rush going into my veins.
Going into the CT Scanner felt like a scene from Star Wars, or the Matrix...and half way in, my elbows got trapped in the cylinder. The technician was saying, "Sir, are you okay..." as I struggled to get my elbows out.
As my body was passed in and out of the Scanner, there was a recorded voice that sounded like Darth Vader's saying "Breathe IN" and then "Breathe"...which I assumed meant "Breathe out"!
The good news: At no time did I feel I was going to wet my pants!
It is Friday night 10:52 p.m. and I had my CT Scan this morning.
I was surprised that the hospital rescheduled me so soon; I guess the scan-mechanics know their stuff! Didn't want to alert my family, although they wanted to know, as there just wasn't enough of a window.
So hit the bottle again last night…the bottle of Telebrix that is, which I guess helps the scanner to track the road map of my body!
Today I went to the hospital on my way to work. The worst part was the waiting room. I got there at 11 a.m. and everybody who came in after me, went ahead of me. I didn't get called in for nearly an hour.
Finally a nurse called me in. I was pacing by then and uptight as the receptionist had answered my earlier inquiry of "Have they forgotten about me?" with the statement, " Oh no, I checked and they have had a couple of emergencies." Since I was the only one waiting, could she not have said something, especially when she saw me pacing (and she did)?
Have you ever had the pleasure of changing into one of those polyester night gowns, putting your clothes in a bag, and then sitting in the waiting room with your skinny bare legs and feet (still in socks and shoes) hanging out, with a another group of fully clothed people?
Plus she gave me a cup of flat orange liquid and didn't ask, "Would you like a drink?" It was "Drink this and then they will call you in." But FIRST, she gave me an IV!
Then she informed me, "When they inject the inert iodine into your body, you will feel a hot rush and a tingling and itching all over, and you may think you are wetting your pants!"
Great...and just what I needed to hear.
(Note: My nurse's name was Angela, and I complained that the previous person who stuck a needle in me left me with a huge bruise. She gave me the IV and promised she would do her best not to bruise me. She kept her word. Thanks Angela!)
I had my hands up with fingers locked behind my head and the iodine rush going into my veins.
Going into the CT Scanner felt like a scene from Star Wars, or the Matrix...and half way in, my elbows got trapped in the cylinder. The technician was saying, "Sir, are you okay..." as I struggled to get my elbows out.
As my body was passed in and out of the Scanner, there was a recorded voice that sounded like Darth Vader's saying "Breathe IN" and then "Breathe"...which I assumed meant "Breathe out"!
The good news: At no time did I feel I was going to wet my pants!
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
My Religion
I was baptized into the Roman Catholic Faith and followed my parents’ directives in this until I left home at about age 19. Once I got my own place I dropped all that and began focusing in earnest on developing my musical career.
In my 20’s I began traveling and studying the religions and philosophies of other cultures, dropped my rock and roll focus and turned to contemporary folk. As I traveled I played music and learned how to write my own songs.
In Greece I met Veronica, Irish born Canadian girl who became the mother of my son Chad. She too was an artist and writer and shortly after Chad was born gave me a book by Idries Shah called The Sufis, which seemed to neatly sum up everything I had been thinking about the relationships between culture, religion and philosophy. I had already been practicing meditation in earnest for a few years and so was familiar with some of the territory covered in this and other books.
I also met an authentic traveler and teacher on the spiritual path, Paul Reps whose presence over the next few years influenced me greatly.
In 1979 I met my wife Karen who was to become the mother of our children Chaya, Nika, Ky and Kadir and we began our journey together.
In 1986 Karen, the girls and I traveled to India…(the boys had not yet been born) and it was in Delhi that I was initiated into the Sufi path and given the name Baba Farid. I asked my teacher, “Does this mean that you expect me to become a Moslem?” He smiled with the greatest love and elegance and said, “No Baba, I do not expect any such thing. I am simply giving you the best of Islam to study.”
I have a drop each of the major wisdom traditions running through my veins (as we all do), and I joked with a friend of mine the other day that they are simply battling out their differences in my bloodstream.
In my 20’s I began traveling and studying the religions and philosophies of other cultures, dropped my rock and roll focus and turned to contemporary folk. As I traveled I played music and learned how to write my own songs.
In Greece I met Veronica, Irish born Canadian girl who became the mother of my son Chad. She too was an artist and writer and shortly after Chad was born gave me a book by Idries Shah called The Sufis, which seemed to neatly sum up everything I had been thinking about the relationships between culture, religion and philosophy. I had already been practicing meditation in earnest for a few years and so was familiar with some of the territory covered in this and other books.
I also met an authentic traveler and teacher on the spiritual path, Paul Reps whose presence over the next few years influenced me greatly.
In 1979 I met my wife Karen who was to become the mother of our children Chaya, Nika, Ky and Kadir and we began our journey together.
In 1986 Karen, the girls and I traveled to India…(the boys had not yet been born) and it was in Delhi that I was initiated into the Sufi path and given the name Baba Farid. I asked my teacher, “Does this mean that you expect me to become a Moslem?” He smiled with the greatest love and elegance and said, “No Baba, I do not expect any such thing. I am simply giving you the best of Islam to study.”
I have a drop each of the major wisdom traditions running through my veins (as we all do), and I joked with a friend of mine the other day that they are simply battling out their differences in my bloodstream.
A machine is a machine is a...
After faithfully drinking my bottle of "Telebrix" last night mixed in 18 ounces of water and juice I checked voice messages this morning to hear:
"This is the Radiology Department...our CT Scanner has broken down. We will reschedule your scan as soon as possible."
Anyway, now I can spend my morning figuring out how to edit my blogs and other good stuff!
"This is the Radiology Department...our CT Scanner has broken down. We will reschedule your scan as soon as possible."
Anyway, now I can spend my morning figuring out how to edit my blogs and other good stuff!
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Whirling
It is Monday morning and as I load my antivirus patterns I am also downloading a song by Jim Page I found on the net by searching the blogger site from my daughter Chaya’s page www.chaya.ca
Chaya I love you my warrior daughter and you are one of my heroes. You stuck by your dad and were courageous enough to pick up the drum and join me on stage at La Quena in Vancouver while you were still young enough to be a target of your peers!
Of course, all my children are my heroes...Nika (my Lotus blossom full of talents and promise), Ky (multi-talented visual artist, a poker ace and self-supporting responsible union worker)and Kadir (who is "The Greatly Capable" as his Arabic name suggests and at 12 years of age has already flown a plane) and my oldest son Chad http://sparo.inescapable.org/ too who is a gifted artist I never get to see because he lives in Montreal.
While reading my daughter's blog, I recalled David Campbell's comments about his own blog. David is a veteran singer/songwriter and one of my closest friends. His webpage is http://www.davidcampbellarts.com/
I had discovered that Jim posted a blog this year on the same program as Chaya’s and so I enjoyed reading it at work the other night. He suggests that the blog is a good way of keeping everyone posted while he works on his music.
He is still soldiering on in Seattle, “living in an old house and waiting for it to fall down”.
Jim's website is: http://jimpage.net/
Jim is the most famous, non-famous singer I know and has been praised by Bonnie Raitt, Utah Philips and others. He is also my friend from my Palo Alto – Los Gatos days and the person who most inspired me to start writing songs. He also introduced me to finger style guitar in the late 1960's. This became my path for many years to come.
So Chaya, David and Jim, I owe you guys big time. I even stole Chaya's gag line from her first blog..."testing, testing!"
I have decided that a blog is a good idea, although I am way behind the times in this!
My friend, brother in arms and musician extaordinaire David Campbell gave me the hint months ago but I was slow on the uptake.
My daughter's battle with Hodgkin's Lymphoma kicked me in the butt and jump started me & got me thinking.
But I was still not ready to hear!
Then in early July 2006 I was diagnosed with cancer myself, an aggressive form called Mantle Cell Lymphoma...(though I am not nearly ready to bow out yet and have no intention of doing so)!
I found a book by Neil Ruzic a called "Racing To a Cure" and felt that I had found a brother in arms. I was about to take this book to my first meeting with my hematologist, when I discovered that he had succumbed to this same cancer in 2004, although he had refused chemotherapy, as this cancer is resistant to chemo. However he lived for quite a few years despite this, a very full life, and did a tremendous amount of research.
I decided then though I would go through the intial tests to show solidarity with my daughter that I would try my own version of immunotherapy...i.e. boosting my immune system.
I have been doing this for the past 2 weeks, although I had a bone marrow biopsy which drained my energy and will have a CT Scan tomorrow. I am consuming my telebrix tonight.
In the meantime, I have decided that an on line blog is a much better idea than keeping thoughts to myself...
Chaya I love you my warrior daughter and you are one of my heroes. You stuck by your dad and were courageous enough to pick up the drum and join me on stage at La Quena in Vancouver while you were still young enough to be a target of your peers!
Of course, all my children are my heroes...Nika (my Lotus blossom full of talents and promise), Ky (multi-talented visual artist, a poker ace and self-supporting responsible union worker)and Kadir (who is "The Greatly Capable" as his Arabic name suggests and at 12 years of age has already flown a plane) and my oldest son Chad http://sparo.inescapable.org/ too who is a gifted artist I never get to see because he lives in Montreal.
While reading my daughter's blog, I recalled David Campbell's comments about his own blog. David is a veteran singer/songwriter and one of my closest friends. His webpage is http://www.davidcampbellarts.com/
I had discovered that Jim posted a blog this year on the same program as Chaya’s and so I enjoyed reading it at work the other night. He suggests that the blog is a good way of keeping everyone posted while he works on his music.
He is still soldiering on in Seattle, “living in an old house and waiting for it to fall down”.
Jim's website is: http://jimpage.net/
Jim is the most famous, non-famous singer I know and has been praised by Bonnie Raitt, Utah Philips and others. He is also my friend from my Palo Alto – Los Gatos days and the person who most inspired me to start writing songs. He also introduced me to finger style guitar in the late 1960's. This became my path for many years to come.
So Chaya, David and Jim, I owe you guys big time. I even stole Chaya's gag line from her first blog..."testing, testing!"
I have decided that a blog is a good idea, although I am way behind the times in this!
My friend, brother in arms and musician extaordinaire David Campbell gave me the hint months ago but I was slow on the uptake.
My daughter's battle with Hodgkin's Lymphoma kicked me in the butt and jump started me & got me thinking.
But I was still not ready to hear!
Then in early July 2006 I was diagnosed with cancer myself, an aggressive form called Mantle Cell Lymphoma...(though I am not nearly ready to bow out yet and have no intention of doing so)!
I found a book by Neil Ruzic a called "Racing To a Cure" and felt that I had found a brother in arms. I was about to take this book to my first meeting with my hematologist, when I discovered that he had succumbed to this same cancer in 2004, although he had refused chemotherapy, as this cancer is resistant to chemo. However he lived for quite a few years despite this, a very full life, and did a tremendous amount of research.
I decided then though I would go through the intial tests to show solidarity with my daughter that I would try my own version of immunotherapy...i.e. boosting my immune system.
I have been doing this for the past 2 weeks, although I had a bone marrow biopsy which drained my energy and will have a CT Scan tomorrow. I am consuming my telebrix tonight.
In the meantime, I have decided that an on line blog is a much better idea than keeping thoughts to myself...
World Dervish
I am following in the footsteps of those much wiser than I.
Hi Chaya. Hi Jim. Hi David.
Testing, testing, ...
Is this thing on????
Hi Chaya. Hi Jim. Hi David.
Testing, testing, ...
Is this thing on????
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