Christmas Eve-ing

All night long and all day long the snow has continued to fall. This is probably the most Christmassy Christmas Eve I have ever seen in all my years in Vancouver.

Never mind that the snow is knee deep in drifts around my apartment. All the better for Santa’s sleigh tonight, although I am sure that the falling snow will muffle the sounds of the midnight sleigh bells and the tapping of hooves on the rooftops.

I don’t have to work today which is a good thing, as I don’t have snow boots and getting transportation to work other than by foot could pose a major problem.

The snow is falling so thickly that when I put my head out the window to have a look it comes back covered in wet white powder.

Now if only I could have avoided the family holiday blues and if only the Canucks had not been skunked by the Sharks, it would be a picture perfect holiday. On second thought, isn’t family drama a huge chunk of the traditional holiday season? It is for me, anyway!

Not all the family is suffering. My daughter Chaya is in bliss by a fireplace today reveling in holiday spirit and my son Ky purchased his plane tickets for the UK. He leaves on January 19th, putting his dream into reality.

He showed up at my place yesterday with a gift of a steam iron (which he says he never uses and has to get rid of for his trip) and a book of poems & drawings by Leonard Cohen called The Book of Longing published in 2006.

We shared a holiday eggnog and talked about his upcoming journey. He is literally chomping at the bit, as I was at his age.

I wonder if I ever told him that it was Cohen’s The Spice Box of Earth and Eliot’s The Wasteland that really fueled my start into writing in California in the late 60’s?

Never mind. All things considered it is shaping up to be a Wonderful Christmas.

Missing Songs

It is around 7:30 pm on Wednesday as I slowly gear up for my weekly work shift.

Ky visited this week and informed me that my songs from Alchemy and Border Crossings were now inaccessible on line. He said the pages had disappeared.

I checked and although I still found the pages, I found that the .ram files (Real Audio) were not playing properly. Maybe it has been too long since I updated my player.

I spent a good portion of today recreating mp3 versions of my songs Destiny (from the album Alchemy) and Master Five Willows (from Border Crossings).

You can now access them at my Eagalic Music website at http://www.eagalicmusic.com/music and I should have the lyrics posted in the next few days.

It has been an interesting weekend...and today I took my seawall walk under the cloudy skies. I was expecting sun but that didn't come until I had arrived home in the late afternoon.

I have been processing the news that my blood pressure count is now in the danger zone once again despite following my medication dosage every day.

Last night while meditating before sleep I decided not to worry and let it interfere with my peace of mind.

Without that, (as my sister Marilyn had reminded me) I am in no postion to carry on day to day or to help family.

After all, what is more important than that?

Temple Bells

When I visited India in 1986 with my family, I took my guitar with me. I imagined that India would be fertile ground for writing more music.

But as I have written in my book Eagalic Music, I think my creative powers were temporarily blocked in India as I couldn't summon any music. In retrospect, I think all of my resources were used up simply taking in and trying to process the vastness/immensity that is India.

I did a lot of writing in India though, keeping daily journals of many of our experiences. At a bookseller's in Connaught Circle downtown Delhi I purchased 6 enormous hard cover journals, each one weighing a couple of pounds at least.

I filled these up in the next year or so and started the process while still in India. But when we arrived in Greece and set up house on the island of Symi in April 1986 on the return leg of our journey to the East, I began to compose songs again and wrote the lyrics in the first of these huge books.

I composed most of the songs on my album Alchemy in Symi but I didn't compose Temple Bells until we arrived back home and settled into our house on Dovedale Road in Shawnigan Lake.

There I set up a makeshift home studio using a 4 track recorder (a Tascam Porta One) and that is where I recorded Temple Bells.

A couple of months ago I uploaded the first of my unreleased songs The Crofton Mill in mp3 format to my website Eagalic Music and on November 25 I attempted to upload a second song, Temple Bells.

After setting up the post with the lyrics I discovered that the upload function was not working and I couldn't decipher why as an error bar appeared in place of the upload progress bar which covered a background error message with the word "dismiss".

I presented my difficulty to Danny my website designer and friend and on a computer at work, the error message was clear...the file was too big. Danny solved this by increasing the server file size upload limit and although it took him a few days to get to it, the file is now uploaded and if you are interested you can hear one of my songs definitely inspired by India.

Go to: http://www.eagalicmusic.com/ and check out the November 25th post where you will find the lyrics and an mp3 version of this song.

...I knew the angels had intervened.

It's 3:30 pm on Wednesday and I have returned from a seawall walk that almost didn't happen today.

I planned to do a walk today but I also planned for the bright blue sky and sunshine that was forecast, and when I went out this afternoon (after nearly 2 hours of struggling unsuccessfully to upload a new mp3 file to my web site) I was shocked to see a metal grey sky, a watery glimpse of sun barely showing through and to feel the frigid (by Vancouver standards) November chill caressing my hatless head.

But after making it up to London Drugs and doing a blood pressure test I decided a brisk walk was definitely in order since the blood pressure is up nearly 20 points from last week.

So I wrapped a scarf around my neck, put on my wool watch cap and trekked out to 2nd Beach to watch the seagulls frollicking among the fading amber and many assorted colorless scraps of leaves still clinging to the skeletal arms of trees.

I also made a mental note to pocket the extra pair of wool gloves that are hanging unused in my closet for a future cold walk ( a task I have only just now completed).

Karen pulled yet another rabbit out of a hat yesterday, informing me that she has found a home in Kits for herself and Kadir which they will be occupying the first week in December or thereabouts. Weeks of stress around this issue instantly began evaporating in my muscles and bones and I could feel the encroaching weightlessness that always comes in the wake of welcome news.

The odds were against her as she had no job but it appears that both issues are being resolved at the same time as this will be another property management gig for her. When she told me she was busy ordering appliances, I knew the angels had intervened. This is the kind of thing she was born to do. It is what she excelled in, while we were in the Co-op.

I am processing this today and gave thanks during my walk for the seemingly endless string of dead ends and redemptions that have made up my family life for the past 8 years.

In today's economy finding an affordable home is no mean feat even with a regular paycheck.

A rainy day meditation...

It is Tuesday morning and also Remembrance Day and I watched the ceremony from Victory Square on television as I entered my journal. It was double broadcast from both Vancouver and Victoria.

It was raining and the weather chilly. Many in the crowd of spectators held umbrellas as a solitary piper from the Seaforth (Karen’s dad’s regiment) Highlanders blew a salute and the Vancouver Youth Bach Choir sang a setting of In Flanders Fields.

A grade 12 student Catherine Chan read a simple but moving poem she wrote called Poppies and the wreath laying began at both the Vancouver and Victoria cenotaphs.

It is now just coming up to 3 p.m. and I have folded and stowed the last of 3 loads of laundry. These include the vestiges of towels and sheets from Karen’s stay. It is a really dreary day, but sort of peacefully quiet. The laundry room was empty and so I had no competition to complete my chores.

It is strange how empty a place can feel after someone close to you has left. But I confess that I was glad when she did as this place is far too small for 2 people, especially when they are leading such different lifestyles.

Earlier I walked up bare headed in the misty rainfall to Super Value and bought some nugget potatoes and Brussels sprouts for my dinner. I also stopped at Kin's market and bought some onions and bananas. It is a good day to avoid the longer walk to Safeway.

I may prepare a mid afternoon meal as I have eaten nothing today.

I am reminded today of the words of a Zen master I read long ago while living in my little shack on the mountainside;

...when hungry eat, when tired sleep
lie down on your mat, reclining quite flat
that's what's meant by dharma.

Let the Future Begin!

I invited my son Ky over for pizza after his work shift yesterday and just when he was about to arrive, Karen came home too. So the 3 of us enjoyed the pizza together.

I wanted to celebrate his recent news. He found an apartment on Commercial Drive with just a couple of days to spare before being convicted to couch surfing at his friends' places. It is an affordable rent too, a crucial thing as he is planning on going to the UK in the New Year.

He was over 2 days ago and showed me his passport which had been returned from the British Consulate in Ottawa with a flashy12 month "working holiday" visa pasted inside (what a great concept, he can stay for 2 years but will only be allowed to work for one so that technically he could travel Europe and return periodically to replenish his funds.)

The other great news is that his boss has given him a contact to someone high up in the coffee industry in London, a supplier. This may help him secure employment more quickly.

When I went for my seawall walk yesterday (the weeks' forecast rains still miraculously holding off as they are again today) I was feeling pretty happy knowing how things seem to be working out so well for him.

Karen and I later watched the announcement later that Barak Obama had won the vote and become the 44th US President and we listened to all the speeches, some of which were incredibly moving. Jesse Jackson was in tears. Because of this I missed the hockey game but saw later that the Canucks shut out the Predators 4 – zip!

This morning there was evidence of footsteps on the scaffolding outside my window, and the clanking of metal pipes began. Within a couple of hours, the scaffolding was taken down.

Halleluiah, it’s the end of another era for me! This one seems to have begun with the installation of new windows in my apartment and the announcement by Basti my Kurdish friend and the window installer, "Baba, now you have new windows and next you will have to find a new woman."

Prophetic words although the woman he suggested I would find was only new to my apartment and I had a the great fun of opening my window the day after he said this and calling to him. He was on the scaffolding as usual and I said, "Basti, come over here, I want to show you something. Look into my kitchen." He did so.

"A new woman," I announced and his jaw gaped.

My ex-wife of 20 years and the mother of my children Karen had temporarily moved in with me as described in my last blog. She is still here nearly a month later but will hopefully soon find her own place.

So it is close quarters in my one room bachelor apartment but we are making do and so far have only bumped heads a few times.

This morning as they removed the scaffolding I looked for signs of my friend Basti but he was nowhere to be seen.

I wanted to tell him I would miss his singing outside my window but that I wouldn't miss the hammering and other noises!

Ah well, one must let go of the past to let the future begin!

One Day at a Time

Yesterday after I updated my computer security downloads I went for a walk along the seawall. I wasn’t sure where I was headed but it was a sunny and colorful fall afternoon.

I decided to complete a cycle I have been avoiding and return to the Pauline Johnson memorial at 3rd Beach. It was on the day I visited it nearly 3 months ago that I suffered vertigo that sent me to hospital for a week and wiped out my balance.

I finally seem to be recovering and yesterday walked without a cane as I have been doing the past week.

I found that the going was a bit slow but I negotiated my way to Siwash Rock, my first long seawall walk since the accident.

There was a young woman sitting there along the seawall, her head bowed and I thought maybe she was praying but as I passed her, I saw she was writing in a notebook.

I said a short prayer in memory of my mom and then returned to the 3rd Beach concession stand to use the washroom.

I strolled for most of the walk as I didn’t have the energy to power walk. I found that I am still feeling a fair amount of vertigo, but it is not throwing me completely off balance as it was a few weeks back. However, I have to focus to keep from wobbling.

When I got home, Karen was there. She has been staying with me for 2 weeks now after being evicted from her Kits apartment by an unscrupulous landlord. Our son Kadir has gone to stay with his sister Nika, pending Karen finding them a new place to live.

She is also looking for work and so it has been a change of schedule for me which I have had to adjust to. I am usually awake now at 7 or 7:30 which is her morning schedule. This makes for a rather long work day.

But when I came to the decision to invite Karen to stay here temporarily, I also made the decision to deal with the change in my daily routine as I knew I would have to.

Eight years is a long time to be apart, and it has taken a lot of adjustment to deal with the presence of another person in my tiny bachelor apartment.

When Karen came to live with me nearly 30 years ago she gave me a card inscribed with lines on the strategy of climbing a difficult mountain. The lines ended with the words...you can do it by taking it one step at a time.

Little did I realize what lay ahead for us.

God willing we will still overcome the obstacles one day at a time.

The Rest of the Chorus

It is Tuesday morning my day off, and the knock at my window didn’t come until nearly 9 a.m. as the workers were doing other jobs.

When Basti, my new Kurdish friend and window installer did knock, it was only to retrieve the extension cord he left on the floor of my apartment when he finished installing my windows yesterday. He did a great job by the look of things.

I think he was very happy with me because while installing the first window on Friday he spotted my flutes and noticed that among them was a Persian ney, which was given to me as a gift by one of the Mevlevi dervishes in the days when I played for their sema.

On Monday morning before starting work he mentioned that he would like to try it out, and asked if I would be willing to sell it.

Of course I already knew the answer, and I was pretty sure my decision was the right one. I handed him the ney, an instrument I had struggled with for months just trying to find a single note. He put it to his lips and immediately blew an intricate musical phrase, something that he had obviously done many times before.

While counting the finger holes, as though to verify what he had decided was the origin and type of the ney, he told me he wasn't able to find a good ney in Vancouver. I told him, "You don't have to search any more. This ney is my gift to you."

His face lit up like a young boy's and he began another dancing riff of wavering notes. "This is a really nice gift", he effused.

"Well, don't just sit there playing the ney all day", I admonished, "finish fixing my window". I had the old man tone of voice down pat.

"No problem Baba", he exclaimed and went straight to his tasks.

"And don't forget to lock up when you leave", I threw in for good measure as I left the apartment for the office.

We were both wearing huge grins.

When I came home last night, both windows were fully installed, caulked and the mess largely cleared away. He even remembered to turn my lights off this time.

A Chorus of One

It is a cloudy Friday morning and right on cue Caiaphas the chief high priest climbed up the scaffolding and knocked on my window.

He was a bearded man of possibly Iranian origin maybe in his late 20’s just about the age of the Caiaphas in the Norman Jewison film, with a similar build and look. At first I thought I might ignore them as I was not yet out of bed, but he knocked again and I realized that the time for my old cracked window had finally arrived.

We conversed briefly and he didn’t seem to mind that I was standing in my undershorts. He asked if he could come in through the window and told me he would be using the electrical outlet inside.

He came in briefly and exited my apartment through the apartment door.

When he appeared back at my window on the scaffolding I explained that I was going to be saying my prayers and doing my exercises but to ignore me.

He replied in a Middle Eastern accent…”Cool, I do the same.”

I would not have been too surprised if echoing my Jesus Christ Superstar comment in yesterday’s blog, he had added, “…Mohammad is Cool!”

I proceeded through my prayers and exercises although the heavy mallet blows as he was knocking the old window frame out of position were a bit jarring. I am used to morning peace and quiet.

In between hammer blows he began singing in a very melodic voice and whistling. His presence was very harmonious once I was used to him being there. I can’t say that I recognized the tunes, but the spirit was obvious and totally recognizable.

I then prepared coffee and checked email, in full view of the window with this kindly stranger looking in and hammering away with a modicum of decorum I might add. It was as though he was holding back some force out of respect for the old man inside the apartment.

I prepared my morning cereal and when I sat back down at my keyboard we started to talk again. He told me he was Kurdish from Northern Iraq…and that he was the oldest of 6 children. He talked about how his brothers and sisters now lived in many different countries and when I asked if they communicated by letter, he smiled and said, “We talk to each other all the time on web cam!” Ah yes, it is a different world than the one I knew at his age.

As I ate my breakfast he proceeded to slowly dismantle the window. He told me that it was probably 50 years old as he extracted the original screws one by one. “They built in wood in those days”, he commented. They are trying to take out the old windows but keep the frame intact to hold the new ones.

The old windows were swing-out windows, and the new ones will have sliding panels so that they can be opened without having to secure them in a strong wind. It looks like the new ones will also have screens that can be used in summer.

He stepped back through the window into my apartment explaining that he now had to work from inside and very respectfully exited through my apartment door again.

So my intuition about the workmen was in the ballpark but so far it's a chorus of one.

A Chorus of Workmen

This morning the hammering and clatter of tools and the sounds of workmen’s voices encroaches on my window once again.

They are re-doing the building envelope and the last 2 months they have been on the opposite side of my building and now for those of us on the western side, it is our turn.

Soon there will be scaffolding erected covering the entire west wall of the building and it will be draped in that porous green fabric that is now so familiar on many older buildings. This shroud will bring 24 hour twilight to my windows.

And soon I will pause before drawing my curtains, preparing for an unfamiliar face to be peering through the glass at me. I already do that since my windows face a neighboring apartment but seeing a person in another window will not be quite as startling as staring into the face of someone hunkered down on a plank two feet away.

Ah well, the good news is that in a couple of months it will all be over and when the really wet and cold weather arrives I will be safe and dry and warm. And the upside of living in a managed building is that my life is not structured around fending off rodents, insects and mould or keeping warm by turning on the oven, as I did one winter on Vancouver Island.

It looks like my intuition was accurate this morning. For the past few days the scaffolding has been retreating and advancing, a few windows at a time. What they put up during the day was taken down at night.

But today it is a full frontal assault. The scaffolding has now been erected from back to front of the building and they won’t be undoing that at the end of the shift.

I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see the cast of high priests in black capes and headgear from the 1960’s musical Jesus Christ Superstar climbing the rungs of the scaffolds singing “One thing I’ll say for him…Jesus is Cool”.

I just hope they sing and hammer in tune!

Letting Go

It is another in a series of cloudy, cool September mornings. It may have rained but not heavily.

My understanding is that this is the last day of summer and that the first day of fall will be tomorrow, Monday 22nd.

I have now negotiated 3 days of work after my illness and all is well. Yesterday’s shift dragged a fair bit, and I was counting the minutes at the end but it was one of those slow days and of course the end eventually came, as it always does despite my impatience.

I noticed on the way home last night that I had more than usual vertigo. I seemed to be stumbling quite a bit, partially because it was dark and I couldn’t gauge the uneven surfaces of the sidewalk, but also I think because I was rushing to get home. It's like being slightly drunk.

I am trying to stay centered and balanced to the best of my ability. I am also trying not to panic or despair at my seemingly decreasing physical capacities. We all get old…it is a part of life.

There has been no news the past few days from family members, and I am assuming all is stable…God willing.

I get fragments of understanding about my inability to affect the outcomes in the lives of my close ones. All I can do is stay focused, pray and help out where I know I can or where I am asked to help.

At this time of the year my mind goes back to the mid 1990’s and our first fall in the Juniper Co-op in Kits. I am sitting at my little DOS based computer with amber text on the screen, noting how the colors of the fall leaves outside the window are reflected in the color of the text and feeling a certain sense of security that for this winter at least our family is safe and protected.

We spent close to six years there if my memory serves and it was only the last one that was truly challenging and painful as I knew my time was up and I would have to leave the company of my beloved family. Hopefully the pain of that year has been duly processed but my heart still aches when I think about it.

The theme of leaving seems to be a constant one in my life and for some reason the leaving has rarely been initiated by me, but always forced upon me by circumstance. If there is a life lesson I have had to learn repeatedly it is the one of letting go.

I am now in my 7th year in my little West End bachelor apartment and I believe it is the longest I have ever lived anywhere. Sometimes when I come home from a busy day I kiss the walls, giving thanks that I have this safe haven in a city where so many are sleeping on the sidewalks. But my recent stay in the hospital reminded me that nothing is written in stone, and that any moment our imagined independence can be taken from us.

These days I am realizing more and more that there is only One Source of security and strength, and it is greater than anything I could possibly create.

I am learning to trust in this.

...so get with it old boy!

It's a rainy, cool September morning and I am heading back to work this morning for my 3rd work day since being off ill for a month.

It feels like the onset of fall, but the Equinox is not for a couple of days.

It's interesting and lucky for me that bountiful West Coast summer lingered on until the day before I returned to work, since I did not have a great time off for most of the month for reasons already blogged.

But the last week, each day was brilliantly sunny, and I was able to get down to the seawall almost every evening to watch the vivid sunsets, a reminder of the blessings in my life.

The return to work has not been stressful as I imagined it might be. I still have use my cane to get around the office, but my balance is really much better than it has been. And the youngsters (smile) in the office, far from making fun of me have been bastions of support.

I received so much love on my return to work, that it felt more like a family reunion than work and it was very empowering to feel I had actually been missed.

The only times during these days that I have actually felt really shaky have been on my evening walks home, once I am tired and the dizziness begins to set in.

I have kept up my blood pressure meds this time, although the blood pressure is once again up slightly due to the inevitable stress at work that is always present, even when you try to give your best.

My family doctor said it best: What job isn't stressful?

Or as the Buddhists say: Life is suffering.

I have to remind myself : Stress is part of the fabric of life, so get with it old boy!

An Almost Indescribable Evening

It is a somewhat cloudy and hazy Saturday morning, proving the weather forecasters wrong again. They predicted hot and clear.

Last evening however was pristine and beautiful along the seawall and I stayed to enjoy the sunset. It was one of those evenings you don’t want to miss, echoing some of the beautiful sunsets I witnessed last year at this time.

I took my usual evening walk along Harwood to Burrard and then over to Hornby where I cut down to the seawall. I took my time, making my way back under the Burrard Street Bridge to Sunset Beach and then on to the Inukshuk at English Bay.

There was a group of about 12 Asian students enjoying the spectacle and enjoying themselves enjoying it, taking numerous digital photos and posing and making faces for the camera. Their good energy was infectious while at the same time remaining unobtrusive.

Since all the benches were being used, I stood by the rocks at water’s edge for some time enjoying the brilliant flash of sunlight reflected on the steely surface of the water, the thin layer of mist only partially obscuring the contours of the green land masses in the distance, and the almost spectral play of mist and color over the trees above the beach.

It was as though there was a rainbow whose colors were barely perceptible, shimmering just behind the evening light.

One of the students, a young girl clambered up on the rocks just behind me when my back was turned. I realized that they were trying to get shots of the sunset and my presence was obscuring the view, but she gave me a beautiful and unselfconscious smile as she posed for her friends.

I discreetly removed myself from the foreground and found a bench a few feet down the walkway where I paused to watch the sun’s slow progress towards the water, and the delightful play of light involved and to listen to the enchanting sounds of their voices and laughter.

As the sun continued its descent the evening chill began to creep in, and so I moved and walked back down towards the Aids Memorial, where I usually make my way back up to my apartment. I am still using my cane so the walk was slow and meditative.

I paused many times to admire the play of light over the surfaces of the trees and building, and could not help but think about my good friend Herb in his last years, and how he used to do the same thing.

A man appeared carrying a djembe or African style hand drum, settled himself on the rocks above the water and began a slow symphonic tone poem to the setting sun.

Just before I turned up the hill, I noticed a flash of bronze from the rock jetty reaching out into the bay. It was the golden sunlight catching the contours of the bare bottom of a young girl almost camouflaged among the grey rocks.

She had taken down her panties to pee and with the clumsy grace only a young girl can muster, she managed to raise her bum straight up in the air before finally settling down to a more sheltered position. She may have been about 11 or 12 years old, and her mother or older sister stood at the top of the rocks protecting and watching her.

When she finished she clambered up the rocks like a young gazelle and into the lap of the woman and they began to embrace and kiss each other with a kind of playful and erotic gentleness that can only arise between those bonded in spirit and love.

I was far enough away that they couldn't see me watching and I confess I didn't want to tear my eyes away from them; the dance between the two of them was so sublime.

The young girl could not seem to get enough of the hugging and kissing, and did everything she could to entice the other to continue. The older woman while trying to maintain decorum and some distance between them, was obviously enraptured by the energy of the young girl and finally gave up, becoming 12 years old herself and immersing herself in ecstasy of the moment.

At this point I gave up trying to climb the hill and found an empty bench once again to enjoy the full spectacle of the sunset, weather the evening chill, and watch the last of the tug-of-war between the two on the rocks until the deepening dusk drove them to their feet and back up to the seawall.

Now I wonder how I am going to find the words to describe this, I thought as I walked home and meditated on the shape and substance of tomorrow’s blog.

The things we take for granted...

Good news...all things being equal I will return to work on September 18th.

My balance is still wonky but closer to normal than it’s been since mid-August when I was admitted to hospital.

I was speaking to one of my co-workers on Wednesday and she told me the same thing happened to her a while back, an air-born viral infection of the inner ear causing vertigo for over 2 weeks.

The things we don’t know! I joked that had they picked me up on the street, they would’ve thrown me in the drunk tank.

This week I was able to complete back to school shopping for son Kadir and so I am breathing easier.

When I go out each morning I usually hit the blood pressure kiosk at London Drugs to check things out but the great news is that my blood pressure/heart rate are now back to normal for the first time in several years.

I still carry my cane but at least until I get tired, I can mostly make my way carrying it under my arm, sort of like Fred Astaire heading out for a date with Ginger. Maybe there is slightly less spring in my step, but I’ve been told a top hat would not be entirely out of place!

It was the luck of the draw that when I went into the ER on August 13th, they told me my heart rate was irregular; fibrillation was the term they used. I was prescribed a beta blocker called Metoprolol while in hospital, as well as low dose aspirin. The Plendil I had been taking earlier this year did little to restore blood pressure to normal level and caused me bowel problems but the Metoprolol seems to be working. I take 50 mg twice a day and so far, so good.

I would like to thank all friends for their prayers and well wishes during a difficult period and for their active support. Also a huge THANK YOU to my co-workers for the lovely flowers and the beautiful get-well-soon card decorated with hand painted Echinacea blossoms and signed by so many there was no room left on the card.

For a guy who was told only a month ago that he might never walk normally again (when they were still talking stroke) I am counting my blessings.

The things we take for granted!!!

Cardiac Echo Pin-Up Guy!

I woke around 6:40 a.m. nicely beating my alarm which was set for 7. I have a much better day if I don't wake up artificially.

I stepped out of bed certain that my balance would be more stable today, but as soon as I stood up I lurched sideways and had to grab for support. Ah well, I guess these things take time.

I began preparing for an early morning visit to the Cardiac Echo Lab at St. Paul’s, but although I planned to wait until afterwards to have breakfast I still managed my exercises and prayers beforehand.

I have a lot to be thankful for!

I dressed, grabbed my cane and wobbled up Mr. Magoo style (Waldo, is that you?) to Saint Paul's, taking my time.

They took the scheduled heart ultrasound at 8:15 a.m. It was one of the rare instances where a hospital exam took place without the wait. I guess in this type of test, any stress caused by waiting would affect the results.

The young technician had me take my shirt off, asked if I had any health problems and when I told her lymphoma she asked if I had lost weight.

“Ghastly isn’t it?” I quipped in re my skin and bones physique...and then I assured her I had always been this thin.

The good news was that my heart is in such good shape she wanted extra shots of it.

She told me the muscle and shape of my heart was near perfect.

“I don’t usually take this long” she gushed, “but I wanted to get more pictures.”

Who needs big biceps and a 6-pack?

A gift from Zeus

It is Tuesday morning and I am home from the hospital. Wednesday night I was hit by a thunderbolt that literally knocked me off my feet. And I have been suffering vertigo ever since. Unfortunately this is only partially metaphoric.

As I mentioned in my blog Wednesday morning I was going off to locate the E. Pauline Johnson memorial in Stanley Park. I intended to have a short visit with the poet “in company” with my late mom who was a writer of poetry herself and an admirer of Ms Johnson. It would, I thought, be a perfect ending to my days off before returning to work Thursday.

I located the memorial with little problem near 3rd Beach in Stanley Park. It is a large rock in a grove of Maple trees inscribed with the poet’s Christian and Native names, and a likeness of her profile carved into the rock. There is a stream of water running through and over the rock face and into a shallow basin and another larger pool at the base of it.

I ran my hands over the rock and the contours of the poet’s carved face and examined all sides of the rock to gather more detail. On the right side I noticed what appeared to be a jutting shard of rock about 6 inches long, which on closer examination proved to be the carefully carved prow of a birch bark canoe emerging from the rock, and resting inside the canoe a small paddle.

I bathed my face in the water and said a few short prayers of thanksgiving before proceeding along the newly constructed trail/walkway on the ridge above Siwash Rock. This is one of the areas that are being restored after the destructive storm 2 years ago and it is a beauty.

After this I walked home, made dinner and then went down to the beach to watch the sunset.

About 7:30 p.m. I went home to check emails. I sat down at my computer and that is when Zeus threw his thunderbolt.

Everything on the computer screen began to scroll from right to left, I could not focus and I felt that I was going to fall off my chair. At the same time I was becoming violently nauseous and knew I had to get to the washroom. The only way to do that was on my hands and knees.

In a few seconds all my beautiful home cooked dinner was down the toilet but I continued to heave for about another ½ an hour. When the heaving stopped I attempted to stand up. There was absolutely no inner co-ordination and I just toppled over to one side, like a stuffed toy.

I got back up on my hands and knees and rested my forehead on the bathroom floor. I stayed that way for about another 15 minutes and then tried to stand again. Same thing! And to make matters worse, the heaving up began again.

I knew I had to do something quickly but didn’t want to involve family members and worry them and so I called 911.

Rather than go through all the details I will just compact everything by saying I spent 5 days in Saint Paul’s, during which time I had hardly any sleep, was told I might never walk again, had numerous doctors and nurses poking and prodding me at all hours of the day and night, and was suffering severe hallucinations from the Gravol they had mainlined into my veins.

Eventually an MRI scan confirmed that I had not suffered a stroke.

The attending doctor’s prognosis was that it was an inner ear viral infection which is sometimes mistaken for a stroke.

The vertigo problem continues though. On my second day home I am still wobbling around as though I am drunk, and have to use a cane when I go outside for a walk. If the vertigo persists I will have to visit a Neuromuscular Disease specialist.

I have to go back to Saint Paul’s tomorrow for a heart ultrasound test.

When Zeus tosses a thunderbolt, he doesn’t mess around. And it can sure screw up your whole routine!

Another short tour of my world...

Yesterday, I made an early morning decision to try again. I tried once before but failed.

My mission: get school clothes and supplies for my son Kadir who is now going into grade 10 this September thanks to a detour through summer school to pass Science & Socials, which he managed to do.

We have already agreed to go together in a couple of weeks, but thinking of the back-to-school bargains we might miss if wait until the month end, I made my way in the humid morning to the Pacific Mall where within walking distance there are a multiple choice of shops.

By the time I had made it through Sears, I gave up. There is no way of choosing suitable clothes for a 14 year-old that will work from the viewpoint of a 14-year-old. In about a half hour I was dead tired and burned out from my attempt to power shop and so made my way down to Coal Harbour.

The first thing I noticed was that it was warmer outside than it was in the mall, but I needed the exercise and still not sure of my game plan, I walked down Howe to the Pan Pacific Hotel and then segued into the food court as I hadn’t eaten that morning.

The sight of all that fast food and people eating with gusto is enough to make anyone lose their better judgment and this time, despite health issues I opted for a serving of Taco Time Mexi-Fries Deluxe. This is a sloppy mix of fried reconstituted potatoes topped with melted cheese and sour cream. The only saving grace was a small portion of diced fresh tomatoes over the top of everything.

It is the sort of dish that guarantees an instant rise in cholesterol levels but when I looked at the picture of the A&W Hamburger that kept whispering my name I felt my choice wasn’t too bad. This would be less filling but give me the strength to continue my walk, and the motivation to walk off the calories with some gusto.

By the time I reached the Harbour Air flotillas I realized that I was going to attempt a full loop of Stanley Park in the opposite direction that I normally walk it. Mind you, I don’t usually begin my walk after already walking for an hour.

So, keeping the water on my close right, I inched my way along the seawall finding out for the first time that if I circled the Westin Bayshore (keeping it on my left) I did not have to cut away from the water to get to the park. And I also discovered for the first time that this walk is part of the Trans Canada Trail.

These days all sorts of high level toxic construction is going on around Canada Place with the new Convention Centre and so I was also spurred on by the realization that once I rounded the lighthouse at Brockton Point the ocean air would kick in, refreshing my lungs and spirit.

By the time I got to the Yacht Harbor and was approaching Lumberman’s Arch I could feel my body flagging. This was where I had to begin to focus, watching my posture and just putting one foot ahead of the other. They seemed to be coming down on the pavement rather clumsily and hard.

So I picked up the pace, passing a few young woman who were stretched out in a line taking up most of the walkway.

Clipping past all that young energy and beauty gave me a further boost and I started to get a second wind.

Before I knew it I had passed the bowsprit of the Empress of Japan, the littlest mermaid with those brazen eyes looking out from under her facemask and was entering 17th century China.

Along the seawall on both sides of the bridge a dozen or so middle-aged Asian Canadian fisherman in floppy hats were sitting on 5 gallon plastic buckets and casting their lines into the surf.

A few of them appeared to have small catches but I curbed my inclination to ask how the fish were biting. After all they were blissfully enjoying the peaceful silence, the sound of the waves, a temporary release from the big city energy…and did I really want to know?

On the Western side of the bridge a light drizzle began but fizzled out in the bright cloudy haze above Siwash Rock where in 2003 I threw flowers from mom’s funeral wreath into the surf. Every time I pass this way I think about the poet Pauline Johnson (The Song My Paddle Sings) and remind myself that one day I must find her memorial in the park.

My mom wrote poetry too and Pauline Johnson was a contemporary she admired and in my mind the two of them are connected. If I do find that marker, I know mom will be visiting her with me.

In fact, maybe it is still early enough today to go and search for it…

A Dream Bead Game

In the wee hours of this morning I had a very unusual dream.

It was almost a waking dream in that the experience in the dream felt real.

I was sitting on the ground with two or three young boys and they were playing a kind of bead game around me, sorting out and arranging strings of colored objects into equally balanced segments. The objects seemed made from nature such as seed pods, beans, stones and the like.

They were placing these arrangements on the ground much in the way Buddhist monks create sand mandalas, which sometimes take weeks to finish and which they then erase after the ceremony.

There seemed to be some sort of ritual involved although it all seemed like play. As they played though, I became hypnotized, gradually losing consciousness and I seemed to hear them discussing the positive effects of meditation and trance on cancer.

It was as though I was also seeing textbooks set out in front of me on this subject.

Finally someone, a much older person, seemed to be speaking and telling the boys that I was getting weaker. Then this someone told the boys to tell me to cross my legs which they did and then told the boys I was going to lose consciousness.

At this point I had the experience I mentioned above.

I didn’t lose consciousness but rather snapped into a state of timeless alertness outside of the dream consciousness. It was as though I had entered empty space and it felt very serene and yet devoid of emotion. I remained in this state for what seemed a few moments and then woke from my dream to go to the bathroom.

It seemed that I had stepped directly from this state of emptiness into my waking state and didn’t pass back through the dream realm first.

It was astonishing and wowed me, so much so that I looked into the bathroom mirror to see if I could see any change in my face.

Nope, it was the same tired sleepy face looking back but the person inside didn’t feel that way at all.

Nor does he feel that way this morning.

Averyville Meditation

Yesterday I walked over to the stretch of beach just past 2nd Beach where my friend Kent Avery balances rocks. Once again he was not present but the stones he balanced a week or so ago were still in place.

I sat on a bench opposite the tallest and most complex of these natural sculptures to listen to the waves and to watch passers by as the stones caught their attention and slowed them down.

The word “glue” is the most widely used in the comments I have overheard over the past couple of years. It seems that folks can’t get their heads around the concept of balance.

“Oh, they are just glued there…”

“He uses glue…”

“It’s impossible; they have to be glued in place…”

Yesterday a group passed by and the women made passing comments about the stones being balanced but one of the men in their group refused to get it. He dropped behind them and tried to slow them up, dissuading them from their false beliefs.

He had his thumb stuck out like some dumb hitchhiker, pointing back in the direction of the rocks and shouted forward to his group, “They’re glued; they’re not balanced. What are you talking about?”

The fact that they were largely ignoring him spurred him on. The whole troupe of them disappeared from my sight around a curve in the seawall, but minutes later he came back like a creature from a Wile E. Coyote cartoon, looking in all directions to see if anyone was watching him and then he lowered himself over the edge of the wall onto the rocks below.

He approached one of the smaller structures, balanced on a rock that was fairly accessible and fumbling with both hands made a scrambling climb to the top, where he stood upright and then paused to look over at me…the only person in sight at the moment.

He looked back over his shoulder in the direction his group had gone hoping to prove his point but his body language told that they were no longer watching.

Then he positioned his hand over the topmost tiniest rock (one that he was certain was glued in place) and prepared to try and pick it up to prove his point. He looked at me one more time as he stood in live action pose and then looked back at the stones.

It was as though time was suspended, and all stood still. He didn’t move. I felt that there was a force field shielding the rocks from his intervention.

His hand was only inches away, and then after about a minute where nothing happened, he gestured with his finger (but did not touch) the littlest rock, jumped back down, scaled the seawall and hurried off to join his group.

There was something sacred about that moment in time when this obvious skeptic suspended his judgment which hung in balance like the stones he stood before.

Later on another group biked by where many were pausing to take cell phone snapshots and a woman shouted back to the man following her, “Take a picture, Harry!”

“I don’t have to”, he bravely responded. “I’ll remember it!”

I wish Kent had heard that one.

Wednesday, 12:05 p.m.

It was a pristine and warm day yesterday with a pleasant cooling breeze coming in from the ocean.

I had more time than usual on my Tuesday off as I had completed my laundry the night before on my return from work.

After 2nd guessing myself a couple of times, I opted to walk up for a haircut as it would have to be done in the next week anyway, and I reasoned that I would have a better day at the annual office “pitch and putt” on Friday without an unruly mop of damp, sweaty hair to deal with. I got it chopped down to finger length and the lady trimmed my eyebrows too. It’s as close as I have been to my 1986 India look in a while (except of course now I am older and less easy on the eyes.)

After doing a bit of grocery shopping I returned home to find the rebate cheque for my recent eye exam and purchased eyeglasses in the mail and so I walked up to the bank to deposit it and then segued over through the park to 2nd Beach to capture a modicum of that glorious sunshine.

I stopped at the concession stand and bought myself a Hagen-Daz ice cream bar, although I usually steer clear of sweets. But the cold ice cream eaten standing in the shade of a maple tree by the public pool was a pleasure that had me remembering how much I enjoyed this sort of thing as a child in Winnipeg. Of course back then it was two scoops of a no-name brand in a papery but edible cone.

I decided to walk up to “Averyville” (David Campbell’s coined phrase for the stretch of beach on which Kent Avery practices his art) to see if my friend was at work balancing rocks on the beach but though there was still strong evidence of the articulate work he’d done last week (still standing despite the threat of wind, waves and mischievous humans) Kent was nowhere to be seen.

I found a shady bench where I parked myself for a while longer listening to the soft cacophony of passers by, wheeled apparatus, beach splashers and the intermittent calls of crows and gulls.

I had planned to walk further but it was simply too hot and so after sitting and enjoying a short rest, I took my time returning along the seawall heading in an easterly direction.

I had no idea no idea what the rest of my day held in store, but was confident that it would remain a great day no matter what happened.

And it did!

Canada Day 2008

It is Wednesday morning and a sad and nostalgic one for me, knowing what I do today.

After a great Canada Day spent with my daughter and later alone I received an email from Ky saying that he’s lost his best friend Tommy, the one he went to Mexico with.

Apparently a couple of Ky’s friends were on a rooftop and Tommy fell…they had him on life support for several days but finally couldn’t save him.

My son wrote to tell me that his boss wants him to return for the funeral and then go back to NY to continue helping him.

By the tone of his email, Ky is in shock but I wouldn’t be surprised to find him back here in a day or so. He feels badly that he is not here to give support to his friends.

I was able to offer some words of condolence but nothing can repair what has happened and it is a tragic blow for a young man. The same thing happened to my son Chad at about the same age and I was not able to be there to console him, although he told me about it briefly when we met at the Duncan Folk Festival the year after I left the island.

I understand more so now why he cried when I held him in my arms during that brief window.

Anyway, yesterday was a beauty of a sunny summer day and Nika biked over to join me in a walk along the seawall, as her guy was in Whistler on the job.

We stopped for a coffee at Starbucks and walked with our drinks up towards 2nd Beach and past to Siwash Rock to say hi to grandma…it would have been her 86th birthday.

Along the way we paused at the corner where my friend Kent Avery was balancing rocks as he does every summer, watched by a large group of people with cameras who stopped to take photos and look at or buy his photos which were distributed along the seawall’s edge. Many made comments in his open notebook placed there for that purpose and most that did made a donation of some kind.

We talked briefly and on the way back we got to witness him climbing easily onto a large rock and putting a final stone in place at the top of an already impossibly high column of them. He held it in place for several moments, tapping it lightly at the end as though to channel some of his energy into it. There was no single moment of insecurity or hesitation in his movements.
The silent crowd was wowed and awed as were we.

He is at least my age too, and with his long grey hair flowing out from underneath his tall straw hat looks a little like a modern day Gandalf.

I was able to give Nika a copy of the disk of photos of our trip to India in 1986 (which I recently had copied from the color slides) when she was only two and afterwards she biked over to Kits with another copy for her mom.

I then took an afternoon nap and woke about 7 p.m. when I headed back down to the seawall to enjoy the sunset.

Many people had their little Canadian flags displayed discreetly on their clothing or tucked into a breast pocket. There was something gentle and non-ostentatious about all this. Families were quietly picnicking and playing along the grassy areas and on the beach. There was little or no noise…

As the late afternoon deepened into evening the sun dropped behind the rippling shadows of the landscape leaving a soft aureole of gold and lavender in the sky, and I continued to walk and sit alternately watching the people as they passed.

Finally I ascended the cobbled walkway at the Aids Memorial and made my way up to the grassy knoll at the edge of the parking lot where I took one last look at the darkening beach.

Then I turned homeward, at peace but still unaware of the unsettling news awaiting my return.

Late June Update...

Yesterday morning I got my first real taste of this summer of 2008, as I woke early to prepare for work and set off to pick up my new eyeglasses before my shift.

I have purchased most of my glasses at Opticana in Vancouver for the last 20 years or so as they have a great deal where the frames are free...and they aren't bad frames either.

Recently my doctor advised me to have my eyes tested as there have been a few issues with my vision lately but when I went for the test the news was all good. My vision has improved slightly in the past 7 years since my last exam.

The only thing I needed was new prescription for my computer glasses as I spend a full working day gazing at a computer screen. Fortunately they've dumped the old style monitors in favor of the new flat screen displays which are much easier on the eyes.

As it has been a cool summer I set off with jacket in hand but a few blocks from my home I was so warm that I realized I would not have to put it on. The sun was shining brilliantly and pedestrians in tank tops and shorts abounded. (Well, they weren't actually leaping but more smiling and sauntering.)

I took my time as I had a couple of hours before my shift actually started and so I ambled along Bute Street, crossing Thurlow by St. Paul's Hospital and making my way to the 500-block of Seymour where Opticana has just moved to avoid the crush of the Canada Line construction along the Granville corridor.

I passed the open door of a pub on Dunsmuir, just east of Granville and was inundated by the sheer volume inside. People were cheering and pressed up to the bar and crowding the entrance way and I realized that Spain had just scored a goal. It is soccer season, and in many ways it outdoes hockey for sheer spectator exuberance locally.

I stopped briefly to peer in, but the crowd was too dense to make out anything other than waving arms, lifted mugs and people slapping each other on the back. It brought back memories of the Canucks last stand this winter, though.

A few minutes later I arrived at the shop and was happy to see that I was the only customer. The technician who had originally taken my order was there to fit the glasses and it took only a few moments.

Soon I was headed into work re-orienting my balance with the new glasses as they made me feel like I was standing a couple of inches higher off the pavement and while I walked I was thinking about my lack of blogging this month. My friends and family who follow it will wonder if I am still alive and so this morning I have entered this piece just by way of saying hi.

The eagalicmusic website is on hold right now, as my friend Danny is in the midst of a bigger project and so is unable to complete the steps necessary for me to continue posting.

In the next few weeks I hope this will be remedied and I can continue posting chapters of my book and new photos.

In the meantime, I guess I'll be seeing my computer screen at work a bit more clearly.

Eagalic Music - 2

It's Wednesday and I am just finished up my chores before heading out for my seawall walk.

It has been a busy couple of days for me as I have been editing chapters of my book for posting on the new website and scanning images and photos taken over the years that relate to the subject.

Danny and I seem to be in synch as while I was posting yesterday, he also updated the site with a great new look and feel.

However, he is still writing code to make it function and the homepage somehow disappeared yesterday.

Slowly but surely though, we will make it happen.

I have decided it would be a great idea to post complete mp3 files of my songs, one per month which will be freely downloadable to those who visit the site.

It is interesting how inspiring this labour is to me, after so many years plugging away at bits and pieces of the puzzle.

When I first emailed Danny some of my ideas, I said that the mission statement for the website would be subtitled "Breaking out of the Box".

This has very literal meaning, as most of my writings are stored in journals and notebooks that have not seen the light of day in years, but are packed away in cardboard boxes that fill up my closet and floor space.

I have misplaced some crucial boxes over the years and in the mid-70's having decided to chuck it all and go fruit picking in the Okanagan I burned a few of them. In retrospect I wish I hadn't done so as there were some quite miraculous things recorded in those journals which are now lost for ever.

The Mexican Federales also took some of my travel notebooks from me when they threw me in jail in La Paz (mid 70's), which were detailed accounts of my attempted sojourn to the Andes which took me as far as Central America.

Anyway, to all my friends who visit my whirld-dervish blog, I am still here and there will be lots more to come, God willing.

Eagalic Music Dot Com

Yesterday was one of those rain-soaked, chilly, and gray Vancouver days where you just want to stay indoors.

Chaya came over just before noon yesterday, braving the rain on her new bike and flush from her hot yoga class. We had agreed to going for lunch and so we hiked up to English Bay along Harwood Street.

We settled for falafel on Denman and shared a single portion, as I am never very hungry at noon.

She gave me the lowdown on her recent cruise to Alaska, showed me pictures and shared more bad tidings in regard to Kadir cutting classes and possibly having to go to summer school this year to catch up. She also hinted that something good was up with Ky but that he wanted to tell me himself.

We parted at Denman and Davie, she to take the seawall ride home and me to a haircut and then shopping at Safeway.

I didn’t get to my email until later but when I did there was a note from Ky telling me that the company he works for a very successful local venture is sending him to New York for a month as a café consultant. They want him to train a manager for them and to help implement structure in line with and up to the standards of the local venues.

I could not be happier for him and no one deserves this chance more than he does as he has worked incredibly hard starting back in grade 10, balancing school and work to pay his own way.

He let me know he has been missing my blog lately and so I told him that I have been working on editing and posting chapters of my book on my new website which is still under development.

For those of you who might want to check progress, visit:

http://www.eagalicmusic.com/

Once around the park and sex still sells...

It is Thursday morning and I am up and preparing for work.

Yesterday I started off towards 2nd Beach and somewhere along the way made the decision to continue first to Siwash Walk (a prayer and a talk with mom) and then onwards right around the seawall, my first complete tour in over 2 years since the devastating wind storm.

The tide was way out when I started and had a deep reddish tinge but even at low tide with the eastern base of Siwash Rock exposed to the sun and wind, the western side was still taking the direct hit of surf, which smacked the base of the rock in a slamming boom, white fingers of spray hurtling skyward.

I was bareheaded but carrying a cap for backup as the sun was quite intense although the air was cool enough for me to keep my jacket on.

By the time I got to the concession stand at the water park just past the bridge I decided I had best fuel up as the walk was taking its toll and I hadn’t eaten and so I ordered a small fries and polished that off quickly, before making a pit stop in the washroom and then continuing on.

I passed HMCS Discovery, the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club and the Vancouver Rowing Club before heading under the overpass to Lost Lagoon. At this point with the sun directly in my face, I opted to put on my cap shielding my face with its brim.

I meandered around the eastern side of the lagoon loitering with the ducks and swans and then made my way directly across the park to 2nd Beach where I checked the time. It was now approaching 5 and I had started my walk about 1:30 p.m.

As I looked out at the water, I saw that the tide was now mostly in and that the reddish tinge to the water had been replaced by a cloudy ochre.

I was walking pretty slowly by this time and decided that I would avoid the trip to Safeway and go straight home.

A young man his back against a log was strumming his guitar at English Bay. Two young girls who had just braved the surf sat giggling and shivering on a bench, wrapped in their towels. They were the only ones brave enough to attempt a swim. It was still quite cool, and I still had my jacket on.

Once home, I fought off the urge to lie down and repaired to my computer where I checked emails and caught up on my journal. I watched a bit of news on TV and made myself something to eat.

I was looking forward to the final episode of American Idol which I have been following closely this year. Last night the judges all agreed that David Archuleta with his masterful performance of all three songs had delivered a knockout blow and that David Cook didn’t stand a chance. I thought the same.

We were all wrong. Sex still sells in pop music and despite David Cook’s tears of sure defeat the night before and his weak delivery of a song chosen by mogul Clive Davis that seemed to be a swan song and kiss of death, the girls in my office were right.

David Cook won by 12 million votes!

Thank You for these gifts...

It is Tuesday morning and it is a cold and wet one, perfect for introspection, writing and chores.

This week I have been dealing with some difficult and intimate issues that have taken my mind away from blogging, but due to the help and wisdom of family and friends I have been able to work my way through much of it.

Before I get into the subject of this post, I should preface my post with the comment that my blood tests (thankfully) have come back stable and that I don't have to return to the hematologist until August.

This Sunday I was watching The Hour of Power on TV which I enjoy doing from time to time, given my Catholic background and the absence of church on Sunday in my adult life. I especially enjoy watching Reverend Robert H. Schuller's son speak, and admire the way he has carried on his father’s ministry with such grace and elegance.

He was talking about prayer and our relationship with God.

In the beginning of learning how to pray he suggested, it is kind of like a child asking Santa Claus for gifts. Please give me this and give me that, etc.

But as we grow in faith, we begin to realize that everything that happens to us in life whether pleasant or unpleasant at first, is there to help us grow and develop as human and spiritual beings. And when we start to get this, our prayers change from prayers of supplication to prayers of thankfulness.

When things are hurting us, this element of thankfulness is very hard to get. So the beginnings of faith are an instruction to help us learn this difficult lesson.

When we were children and practicing Roman Catholics, we sat around the table as a family for meals and began each meal or almost every meal with a grace before meals:

Bless us O Lord and these Thy gifts,
which we are about to receive
from Thy Bounty through Christ Our Lord, Amen.

As children we didn’t always want to do this but it was rule of the home.

When my girls were young and especially after returning from India, where my Sufi teacher told me that I should return to the habit of attending Church on Sundays, I decided that it would be a good habit to adopt grace before meals.

I couldn’t bring myself to going back to the old habit of church on Sundays and putting my own children through a formal Christian education with all the dogma surrounding it but I realized the importance of faith and the giving of thanks. So I invented my own version:

Thank You for these gifts of earth,
Heaven sent and brought to birth,
keep us healthy in Your sight,
and sharing in Your Living Light, Amen.

We started most meals with this blessing, including meals with friends.

As the children grew older, began attending school and learning from their peers, they became more and more reluctant to participate in this family ritual which (especially if friends were present) became an embarrassment.

But as far as I was concerned and although I wished we could continue on in the innocence of our early family togetherness, the seed had been planted and must be allowed to grow in its own way and its own time.

Over the years I have continued this prayer though I have shortened it to the single line…

Thank You for these gifts...

And today I am reciting it with a deep and profound gratefulness and thanks for the support of my family and friends in helping me through this difficult week.

Along with all at work who have given me support this week I especially need to thank my sister Marilyn and all of my children who are turning out far wiser than their dad.

Snowball Satori on the Osborne Street Bridge

This morning I am thinking about an email slideshow my sister Jeannie sent me yesterday called Old Winnipeg. It is snapshots of the city from the early 1900’s through to the 50’s.

There is an aerial photo of the 50's Red River Flood, the same one in which dad drove us over the Redwood Bridge in his Model A Ford, with the water halfway up the sides of the car. That's a very vivid memory. I remember the overpowering sense of awe and excitement that we were actually driving through the river to get downtown from our East Kildonan home.

There is also a shot of the Osborne Street Bridge from the opposite side of Assiniboine River from the Legislative Buildings. Up on the dome is the famous prairie Golden Boy holding a sheaf of wheat.

This brought back another very vivid memory of my youth.

At this time, I think I was living on my own in the rooming house on Balmoral Street but I can’t remember clearly. I could’ve been much younger. I don't remember why I was walking over the bridge.

It was winter and I had walked past the Legislative buildings and was heading across the Osborne Bridge on the right hand side.

I had begun making snowballs and was heaving them over the side of the bridge and down onto the ice far below when I spotted a shopping bag on the ice. I guess someone had thrown that over the side.

From where I stood it looked about the size of a postage stamp.

I can’t remember verbalizing anything but a feeling of invincibility came over me and I knew I could hit the bag.

I rolled and tamped down a perfect snowball and winding up, threw it with all my might over the side of the bridge and as far out as I could.

It spun out and away from me and slowly began arcing downward. There was the beautiful sensation of watching it descend as if in slow motion toward the surface of the river and then there was the incredibly satisfying smack as the ball hit the paper bag dead centre and exploded in a puff of white.

I knew better than to try it twice and diminish this glorious feeling of accuracy.

As I continued on my walk, I knew with a calm and peaceful certainty that there was nothing that I could not accomplish in life if my intent was pure.

* Note: Satori is a Japanese Zen Buddhist term for a moment of enlightenment.

All Systems Go!

Yesterday was an all systems go day! It was one of those days where the timing is all right and everything just seems to work.

While preparing for my shift, I made a decision to stop at the clinic on the way to the office and get that blood test over with. The form has been tucked behind the mirror in my bathroom hallway, peeking out at me since last April when I agreed to return for more tests in a year.

The hematologist wanted me to return in 3 months but the tests were stressing me so much that I decided I would rather give myself a full year of freedom from stress. That year has passed in the blink of an eye!

The hematologist had written "end of April 2008" on it, which mean't if I didn't use it in the next few days I would have to make an appointment with her to get another one, should I opt to take the test.

I had discussed my options with my daughter Chaya when we went for her birthday dinner last Wednesday and although she said she would support whatever decision I made, her first reaction was that I should probably take the test.

I decided that I would not be honest with myself if I didn’t follow through on it. I told myself that if I got to the lab and there was a huge line up I would pass.

It was a toss up between St. Paul’s and the clinic across the street so I opted for the clinic as I had a bad experience last time at St. Paul’s and there was usually a line up at the lab.

When I got to the clinic there was only one person ahead of me, an elderly lady who had gone up in the elevator with me. While they were still processing her paperwork, an attendant called me to the desk and updated my profile.

I had not been to this lab since living in the Co-op 8 years ago and so everything had to be updated. However, they called me in first as the lady was still not done at the front desk. I could not beleive my good luck as I usually have to wait at least a half hour or more.

The lab technician, a man in his mid 30’s, was very good at his job and the test was painless and quick leaving no bruising, in sharp contrast to the one I had last year at St. Paul’s.

The hematologist's office is in the same building and so I walked over to make a follow up appointment but the receptionist told me to wait until next week when they got the results as an appointment might not be necessary. I held up crossed fingers and we both laughed.

Since I still had time before my shift, I walked over Sears to see if I could get a replacement for my belt which is one or two strands away from snapping. They were on sale and I got a new one for just under $11.

At work, my favorite desk was free and so I settled in for my shift and was immediately presented with a small royal blue shopping bag emblazoned with a gold Maui Coast Hotel logo, inside of which was a stuffed miniature humpback whale jumping through a lifebuoy which reads Maui Coast Hotel * Kihei. The hotel staff had come for a visit bearing these gifts for the call center agents.

Kihei was where Paul Reps spent his winters (he drew me a rough map of the area when he directed me to the Maui Zendo in Haiku in the late 70's) and it was where Karen and I went after getting married.

The shift was long as the call volume was low but at home, despite feeling tired I opted to try and re-install my antivirus program, the one I bought for $15 at London Drugs.

Yes, beleive it or not I am still wrestling with this problem which I thought I had solved and although a co-worker suggested a freeware program called AVAST (I tried to install that a couple of days back but my download was corrupted) I decided to give BitDefender one last go round.

This time the update while registering the software was about 1 MB more than last time but I completed it just before my connection timed out. Then I logged back in under another user name, to finalize my update and for the first time in a month my computer is fully protected.

Windows Security Center shows all those little green lights on, a fitting closure to a successful day.

With luck I will not have to do the computer update neutron dance again anytime soon!

That Eureka Moment

It is Tuesday afternoon and I treated myself to a late sleep in.

When I returned from shift last night I went straight to the installation of my antivirus software which had failed numerous times in the past week.

This is a new set of woes with a new program, not the same ones from a couple of months back. Since then my computer has been unprotected and so I have avoided using the wireless connection.

Two weeks ago I saw that London Drugs had this program on sale for $14.99 and since my old program had expired I bought it.

After the first few days I was starting to regret it, thinking that maybe the low price was because the program didn’t install properly or that it was an attempt to dump product that was not popular.

I had shared my struggles with a few co-workers, one of whom kindly offered to help me install it. But I had already decided that this was my version of playing with toys, and that I was going to soldier through, not sweat the small stuff (as I had done on the last go-round) and achieve success on my terms.

There is nothing like that Eureka moment, when sometime you have been struggling with finally happens to fall into place.

This time, the evening before I had carefully prepared my laptop by doing a thorough cleanup of files, registry and the morning I left for work I defragmented the hard drive, an operation which took about an hour and a half.

After a busy day at work I came home, took off my work clothes, washed up and poured myself a glass of red wine. Then I took the antivirus program box out of my desk, set my laptop up and began the installation process. Once the disk is in the drive it is merely a matter of waiting and ticking the appropriate boxes.

While the initial install was completing I was thinking about my meeting at lunch with an older man from Japan. I had sat down with my bowl of soup and he was sitting nearby on a chair holding a backpack and he kept smiling in my direction and nodding.

When I began to eat, he started up a conversation in very broken English, asking me if I was from here. He used his hand to gesture to the floor, and it was almost as though he was asking if I lived at the Bistro where I was eating.

But his drift was easy to get, as it is when one meets a fellow traveler no matter what the language barrier and where there is no mis-intention. This has happened to me on so many journeys in my past. Deep things are discussed using limited means.

He told me he was from Okayama and had traveled up from San Diego via Amtrak and that he would be headed back to Japan at 5:30 the following morning. With everything he communicated there was a laugh and a child-like smile.

He told me he was 72 and that he had spent the last few days skiing at Whistler.

“You are a braver man that I am,” I countered and he laughed loudly.

He told me that when he was young he liked to “play karate” and I could see his training in his bearing and in his eyes. I guessed that was why at 72 he had the stamina and balance to go skiing, something I have never tried and cannot imagine myself doing.

The subject of our talk drifted from Zen Buddhism, to sports, to Shinto, to Aikido, to children (he has three of his own), to the size of his town (8000 house, bigger than a-Stanrey Park) he quipped in his cute accent.

He commented on my healthy meal, salad and soup and so I began to describe my first discovery of author George Oshawa who had cured himself of cancer by adopting the diet of the Buddhist monks in Japan. But I didn’t have to say much. He was already familiar with whole story.

His presence was very soothing and didn’t disturb me at my meal, which would normally be the case if someone was asking a lot of questions while I was trying to eat and then hurry back to work in time for my shift.

I had already told him that I was going back to work and so when I finished I stood to leave. He stood too and reached to shake my hand and so I bowed to him Japanese fashion and he returned the bow and then gave me the gentlest of handshakes, thanking me for talking to him.

When I left I had more energy than when I sat down and it came to me that this meeting was a real gift, something I had not had to go in search of.

Back at the ranch, after my initial software install I logged on to the internet via dial up as I don’t have a wireless portal in my apartment.

I have a an hour and a half window before the connection shuts down and my update completed fully with only 2 minutes to spare.

It was all systems go and a fulfilling Eureka moment for me.

And last night I slept like a baby.

Hot Pot Deliberations at Posh

Danny picked me up at my place after work as planned and we drove over to the restaurant on Burrard and Broadway where he’d reserved a table. It is called Posh and is Japanese style Hot Pot.

When we arrived around 6 p.m. there were only a few customers. In fact, when we first tried the door it stuck, and it looked like they had not opened for business yet. We peered through the windows and seeing people inside, tried again and entered.

It is a new restaurant, very modern in look and feel with a 4-way hi-definition TV mounted over the tables which can be viewed from any place in the room. They didn’t have the Canucks game on though and besides, Danny and I had a subject we needed to discuss: the website.

There is a gas cooking ring on every table on which is sitting an empty cast iron pot. The server, a thin young man elegantly dressed in jet black, bought us a sheaf of slips on which the menu was displayed, that being a variety of uncooked vegetables, mushrooms, tofu, noodles and meats that are carefully sliced and prepared to deliver to the table.

I didn’t have a clue how to proceed so Danny directed the process asking if I wanted this or that and writing a number 1 to 4 beside the item which indicated how many portions. The meats were delivered in small square russet-lacquered trays, in this case pork and beef thinly sliced and artfully displayed and the rest arrived in a heaping white ceramic bowl.

Because Danny was driving we ordered tea only and it was a kind of deep orange colored and flavorful brew with evidence of the tea leaves and stems in the cups.

Although how it actually happened escaped my attention, at one point I realized that the iron pot had been filled with what looked to be sliced cabbage and a variety of greens, the burner lit and water and a kind of teriyaki sauce added to turn it into a flavorful soup. I think Danny might have been doing this as I was busy talking.

The atmosphere was relaxing, kind of like cooking and talking over a campfire. We added portions of whatever we had ordered into the soup and Danny broke an egg (there were 2 uncooked eggs served on a plate) and dipped the meat in the raw egg before adding the thin strips to the pot.

I asked Danny to explain the rudiments of the web design system he is planning on using as things are quite different now from the basic HTML code I used to design my website pages years ago.

We discussed the concept of the site and what kind of message and feel I planned to deliver. Danny is trying to guide me in a direction that will help the site pay for itself at least and so we exchanged ideas on that subject.

Finally we were full and talked out. Although we had been there over an hour and I had not stopped eating, the bill came to under $30 before tip. When we turned to leave, I saw that the tables were now full, and a line-up gathering at the door.

It is easy to see why such a place would quickly become a favorite dinner hangout.

My Future Home?

It is the second day of spring, Friday morning and I am preparing for work.

This morning when I looked out the window there was a gorgeous mix of heavy, rich dark cloud and brilliant sunlight spilling into it from the east. It is still cold though, and it rained again last night.

Yesterday I went back to work for the first day of my work week and it was my friend and supervisor Luella’s final shift. The office celebrated with a pizza lunch. There were lots of parting gifts and my contribution was a book by celebrated author Eckhart Tolle.

Danny in our our GDS department gave her a scrap book in Leopard skin print binding (matching her favorite neck scarf) which was professionally printed and included notes from everyone in the office (including a few who are no longer with Coast), some printed up and lots of memorable staff photos, many taken at events out of the office. There was also a matching suitcase/totebag to haul away her gifts.

When Luella left she gave everyone huge hugs and cried copiously. I did everything I could think of to dry the flood, but it was like trying to hold her back the day she went after Danny at GM Place (after he accidentally ? spilled water on her head).

She has been in the office since day 1 when I started 6 years ago and it is the end of an era for CRES for sure. I will surely miss her presence as her gentle spirit and welcome smile was a balm to me, and her willingness to listen to my problems (when I needed to vent) was a huge stress reliever.

During the lunch gathering my friend Danny (the EDS guy) suggested we go for dinner, to talk about the website. He has gifted me with my own domain name which we have called Eagalic Music after my as-yet-unpublished autobiography. It has been too busy at work to find the time but yesterday he asked if I had ever had Hot Pot, and when I said no he suggested a place on Broadway near Burrard. We may go this Tuesday after his work shift.

I was thinking about the content and there is absolutely no reason I have to put up the chapters of my book only and exactly as written. I could put up samples, or new stuff or even music samples…some of the stuff that is home recorded that I put on CD for Chaya and a few others.

There's tons of stuff including photos from over the years.

I am doing a lot of thinking about having my own domain website up and running. It is interesting that I am feeling such hesitancy around getting started. It is almost as though there is so much to accomplish and I feel don’t have the energy and tools. But in Danny, I have a willing friend who is ready to begin the challenge.

These gifts in life can’t be accidental and time is wasting if I sit and shuffle my feet and do nothing about it.

I have a chance to do something beautiful again, and I am going to give it my all. It could very well be that when all is said and done, Eagalic Music will be my future home.

The Flashlight & the Bird

After a wet and wintry Monday I was blessed with 2 brilliantly sunny days off this week.

On Tuesday most of my walking was doing chores and I didn’t really get a chance to stretch out and enjoy the sun but yesterday I got up, skipped my usual routine and walked along the seawall in the direction of 2nd Beach.

By the time I had reached it, I had made the decision to see if the seawall was opened past Siwash Rock. I had not walked past 3rd Beach since they blocked off the seawall after the huge windstorm that devastated the park two years ago now.

Although it was clear and sunny, it was cold and I wore my wool hat and gloves without generating much body heat despite the energy of the walk.

By the time I got to the water park on the opposite side of the Lion's Gate Bridge near the bronze mermaid I was exhausted and decided that I would hitch a ride on the free shuttle back to Lost Lagoon. I climbed the hill and began walking along the highway searching for a shuttle stop.

I changed my mind once the highway started to climb but when I got back down to the seawall reversed my decision again. I decided to take it one step at a time. I have never taken the walk up the road to Prospect Point and it was interesting to see how the highway passed over the entrance to the bridge.

Up on top you get a clear vista of the bridge and the North Shore through the elegant structure itself and on the roadway there are 4 miniature reclining lions, their manes sculpted into what appear to be stylized art deco Egyptian headgear.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I got to Prospect Point but the concession stand was open and there were a contingent of folks in the restaurant lunching on burgers and fish and chips. Since I hadn’t eaten, I browsed the menu but was unwilling to drop $12 on lunch and so settled for a slice of banana bread from the self serve counter.

I walked out into the bright sunshine and sat on a metal stool to rest and enjoy when I heard the familiar clang of the shuttle bell. Good timing I thought as on the half hour walk up to the point it had not passed me once and so I leapt up to board it when it stopped.

The driver greeted me in a friendly way as I climbed up the steps and asked if I had paid for the tour. I thought this was the free shuttle I stated. He informed me that the free shuttle only runs in the summer until September and so I dutifully dismounted and headed into the men’s washroom.

Standing at the urinal I was startled by a quick movement to my right and saw that a beautiful charcoal gray bird with blue, red and white markings was trapped and trying to escape through the clear skylight. I tried to coax him down and while doing so was joined by another elderly man who took the further step of climbing up onto the sinks counter and trying to scare the bird out.

The bird however flew to the opposite side of the washroom and hid itself in some of the roof beams, peeking out at us periodically.

The other man said “It is making the mistake of following its own instinct” and gave up and left but I spent a few more minutes whistling to the bird and trying to talk it down, even extending my arm towards it as I know some of the park birds are comfortable feeding out of the hands of humans. This one responded to my whistling in a remarkable way, coming out to listen to my words and cocking his head as though in agreement.

I was sure the bird would flutter down any minute but it soon disappeared back into a crevice and continued to peek out at me. After 10 minutes, I gave up and left. It was a beautiful sunny day and the sun was visible through the doorway. In the silence of an empty room the bird would surely puzzle out its escape without my help.

And so I began the long trek back to English Bay along the highway and expected to walk that route back all the way until I came to a newly graveled trail leading down to my right parallel but lower than the highway, heading into the trees. It was sign posted Merilees Trail and though I was skeptical of following a path I didn’t know when I was already over-tired there was a smaller sign attached that read 3rd Beach 1.3 km.

In a few minutes I found myself in a solitary landscape surrounded by enormous fallen trunks and broken trees, in the heart of the path of devastation that the windstorm had taken two years ago. There were signs that read Newly Planted, Stay on Trail…and small fluttering ribbons that indicated where many volunteers had replaced the old with the new.

I could no longer hear any sounds from the main road and could very well have been on a solitary logging road somewhere in the wilds of Vancouver Island. The road dipped and climbed and I was offered the most amazing views of the ocean below which now appeared in emerald and aqua hues and almost tropical from this height.

As I was now quite tired I picked my way slowly over the large and uneven hunks of broken stone that were the equivalent of gravel and helped preserve the trail under the weight of parks board vehicles that would have to negotiate it. It was indeed slow going and I prayed that the trail would not come to a dead stop somewhere and that I would not have to retrace my steps up to the main road.

I arrived home utterly exhausted around 4:30 but it seemed like hours more had passed since I left.

Last night I dreamed that I was talking to my mother, and the trapped bird appeared on the wall of the house we were in. Alongside it was a flashlight and they both appeared to be inanimate mounted objects until the bird fluttered away from the wall. It began to talk to me in a human voice and landed on my outstretched hand, the tiny talons gripping almost too tightly until I relaxed.

It communicated to me quite clearly as if to let me know that all was well, but reminding me to pay attention to apparently insignificant everyday happenings whose messages are sometimes all too easy to miss.

An American in Pyongyang

Tonight (early this morning after my work shift) I am watching Lorin Maazel conduct the New York Philharmonic Orchestra performing in Pyongyang, North Korea (at the East Pyongyang Grand Theater) in a CNN Live historic live broadcast concert.

It is already 1:50 a.m. here in Vancouver and so the early entry.

This is the largest U.S. Cultural group ever to perform in North Korea. They are playing Wagner, Dvorak, and Gershwin.

CNN reports that for this concert North Korea opened the door to over 400 Americans. The national anthems for both countries were played.

Maazel introduced the Gershwin piece “An American in Paris” with the comment, “Sometime someone might introduce An American in Pyongyang” and his comment was greeted with huge applause.

As I listened to the familiar strains of the Gershwin opus I could not help wonder how the Koreans would react to these ultra North American classical folk melodies but the faces of the listeners betrayed only joyous admiration.

And then maestro Maazel went on to conduct music by American icon Leonard Bernstein.

I was almost in tears as I watched the rapt expressions in the faces of many of the Korean audience. This beats CNN covering the bombing of Baghdad by a trillion country miles.

Then the orchestra launched into a Korean folk song Arirang. The entire audience respectfully rose to their feet.

The conductor was then presented with many floral bouquets. They said it was the first ever presentation by an American orchestra in this country.

A local commentator then stated that the Pyongyang Symphony Orchestra would be going to the UK in the New Year and Eric Clapton would be visiting to perform in North Korea.

I pray that this is the harbinger of a new era of peaceful relations between the two countries.

Let’s dismantle the bombs and pick up the fiddles!

This Place and Time

First thing this morning I woke and cut to the chase, heading over to Great Clips for a trim and then home to shower and do laundry. It is Tuesday and the first of my two day weekend.

The weather channel forecast a window of sunlight today and I was determined to take advantage of it for a seawall walk, something that the rainy cold weather has stopped me doing recently.

The laundry took a while to complete as the machines were in use but once it was done I headed down Harwood to English Bay and then out along the seawall.

It was a spectacular day with a choppy sea and the freighters at anchor on the Bay beginning to fade into a mist that had just begun to roll in.

As I walked I was thinking of my sister Marilyn and how she would enjoy this day if she were here with me.

Many of the people passing me had contented smiles on their faces as they walked into the bright sunlight, their eyes half closed as if in meditation.

A young mom was sitting on a park bench hungrily devouring a hot dog purchased from the street vendor up the hill. Her baby was watching her from the stroller and as I passed I received her message to her babe as clear as a radio signal. She said, "You're gonna love hot dogs!"

Even as I walked I could see the mist gathering and deepening and before long the tops of buildings were disappearing into the clouds and the horizon had all but disappeared.

The sun became a brilliant circle of contained light diffusing through the mist and the reflection of its light on the choppy surf transformed the surface of the water into a silvery gold expressionist abstract.

Earlier the noon news reported rain arriving again around midnight and I felt blessed to receive this gift of winter sunlight and fresh sea breeze.

As I rounded to corner onto 2nd Beach once again the sound of the surf captured my attention. It was crisp and musical and had eluded me until just now.

There were so many feelings and emotions percolating through my consciousness as I walked. I seemed to be reminded of my childhood, my youth, my early adult years and my years with my young children all at once.

I took a deep breath and drew this heady mix of memory/feeling into my lungs.

What a life it has been and it all comes down to this present!

How can I help but be ever thankful, ever grateful for everything that has brought me to this place and this time?

A Good and Profound Education

It is Monday morning and after a late spate of confusing dreams I am feeling quite lethargic again today. I feel groggy, as though I didn’t get a proper rest.

I kind of sleep-walked through my ablutions, exercises and prayers. I have just checked email and there is nothing personal in there.

Jean emailed me yesterday again from Oregon to tell me she and her husband are involved with a Gurdjieff study group. They are reading a 6 volume commentary by Maurice Nicoll, the same man Roger the Apes told me about during our talks on the cliffs at Santa Cruz when I visited in the mid-70s.

Roger spoke in an English/Australian hybrid accent as a Briton who had emigrated to the antipodes as a teen and found work there and much adventure.

You think your arguments are something, man? Observe a most ancient argument! And Roger then pointing to the huge surf crashing over the cliff-side rocks.

I was truly fortunate though as a young 20 something to earn the friendship of Roger Apperley, Ken Worley and John Mise who although 10 to 20 years senior to my age, welcomed me into their circle. It was a good and profound education.

I was singing at The Cats restaurant in Los Gatos at the time when Ken the bartender (a heavy set and well educated Texan who sometimes doubled as bouncer) introduced me to a bronzed, blond and very fit Roger (think young Michael Caine) who was just back from ship board duties in the South Seas and was hired on to help Ken behind the bar.

The three of us didn’t become close friends until I left the restaurant to move to Santa Cruz where I found a small cabin near the beach and began performing locally. Roger in the meantime had met beautiful black haired Cleo a co-worker at the Catalyst in Santa Cruz and the two of them moved into the ground floor of an old house in town. She called him her Tudor man...and the locals sooned began calling Roger Tooter.

John, Ken (who had also taken new work as a barman in Santa Cruz) and I became frequent visitors to their home. John was a retired (didn’t like the gig) professor of Literature at San Jose State, and amidst many tokes of Acapulco Gold, cups of Lapsang Souchong tea and jugs of California red we carried on discussions on life, love and art into the wee hours and sometimes over several days.

Vern Bennett a gifted pianist who played locally and Norman Thomas a gruff and white tousle-haired painter were also important friends much older than myself but who adopted me as a younger brother providing both fraternal friendship and nourishment to the young troubadour who had stumbled into their company.

Norman, then in his late 60's used to drag me around to the local bars where he introduced me as his son and then began chatting up the young ladies who served us. I still remember that he told Ken and Roger that he liked me because of my tough little Irish mug!

This morning as I putter through my routine these memories drift through my consciousness and evaporate like smoke as quickly as they appear. I can't dwell on them in greater detail as I must leave for work in the next few minutes.

How I survived and flourished in those days of the late 60’s is still a mystery to me! But what a rich and colorful slideshow of memories those days still provide!