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.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
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!
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!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
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?
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?
Monday, February 18, 2008
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!
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!
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
The Art of Waiting?
It is a cloudy Wednesday but the heavy rains of yesterday morning have been replaced by a light drizzle. It is much balmier than it has been this past week although still on the cool side.
It’s a day off work and I was up early again waiting for the elusive courier. But it was clear after yesterday’s communication with the company that they have lost track of my friend’s envelope. She has called them from Boston too, and perhaps together we can find a solution.
They delivered it once on Friday but I missed the delivery and the sticker on my front door noted they would return Monday. They did not and repeated follow up calls underlined the need for more professional customer service as no one seemed to know what was happening with the package.
There were repeated calls to the DHL 1-800 number and I had to keep holding, keep waiting. First it was call back after 10, then it was call back after 2, then it was…wait until tomorrow. Finally tomorrow came and after the same series of calls it was…how bizarre, we’ll have to put a trace on it.
I am sure my friend is upset as these are passport documents that I was going to verify for her.
Once again, it also underlined for me the need to develop more discipline in the art of waiting, something I have never enjoyed doing. It is the second of my days off and I can’t put my chores on hold any longer as my son Ky is coming for dinner tonight and so I slipped off on several quick forays leaving notes for the courier in case someone showed.
I walked up to Safeway to do my grocery shopping but didn’t have to take an umbrella and my glasses are only spritzed with rain, my wool watch cap mostly dry. The walk was refreshing in the cool damp air, and I was momentarily freed from the waiting game.
When I returned home with groceries I was almost afraid to look at my front door in case there was another yellow tried to deliver sticker. There was not.
So I placed a call to DHL to see if there was any news on the package. I spoke to a young woman named Irena who after I explained the details said she had just been speaking to Mary, the sender.
How many agents are answering phones, I asked.
About a hundred, she replied.
It’s a very strange co-incidence I should get you, I said.
Not so strange, she responded as though such synchronicity was an everyday occurrence for her.
At any rate, she told me there was still no news on the package and so I gave up and left to do the rest of my shopping. This time I forgot to leave my sticky note for the courier and almost went back but decided that there was little hope of hearing anything as if the package had been scanned today and loaded into a truck they would know and would have told me so.
I walked up to Capers to get some whole grain oats, flax seeds and other dietary supplements I am using these days. The rain was still spritzing but by the time I came out of the store, it had turned into free fall snow and rain. This time I had to put up my hood, and by the time I got home my glasses were running with water and I could barely see.
I took off my coat, hung it and was preparing to put away my groceries when my door buzzer sounded.
DHL Courier, came the voice. I buzzed him in. He was pleasant looking, heavy-set man in his early 60’s I estimated.
Your timing could not have been better, I quipped. I just got in the door.
Looks like you just managed to beat the heavy snow, he joked.
Did they manage to track the package? I asked. He had no idea what I was talking about and said that it was just a usual delivery. When I told him that the package had not been scanned for two days he was stymied.
That’s impossible, he replied. Packages are scanned every day whether they get delivered or not.
Well, maybe an angel was looking after the package for 2 days?
Or perhaps it is all about timing, and not bothering to wait.
Maybe that’s the art of waiting?
It’s a day off work and I was up early again waiting for the elusive courier. But it was clear after yesterday’s communication with the company that they have lost track of my friend’s envelope. She has called them from Boston too, and perhaps together we can find a solution.
They delivered it once on Friday but I missed the delivery and the sticker on my front door noted they would return Monday. They did not and repeated follow up calls underlined the need for more professional customer service as no one seemed to know what was happening with the package.
There were repeated calls to the DHL 1-800 number and I had to keep holding, keep waiting. First it was call back after 10, then it was call back after 2, then it was…wait until tomorrow. Finally tomorrow came and after the same series of calls it was…how bizarre, we’ll have to put a trace on it.
I am sure my friend is upset as these are passport documents that I was going to verify for her.
Once again, it also underlined for me the need to develop more discipline in the art of waiting, something I have never enjoyed doing. It is the second of my days off and I can’t put my chores on hold any longer as my son Ky is coming for dinner tonight and so I slipped off on several quick forays leaving notes for the courier in case someone showed.
I walked up to Safeway to do my grocery shopping but didn’t have to take an umbrella and my glasses are only spritzed with rain, my wool watch cap mostly dry. The walk was refreshing in the cool damp air, and I was momentarily freed from the waiting game.
When I returned home with groceries I was almost afraid to look at my front door in case there was another yellow tried to deliver sticker. There was not.
So I placed a call to DHL to see if there was any news on the package. I spoke to a young woman named Irena who after I explained the details said she had just been speaking to Mary, the sender.
How many agents are answering phones, I asked.
About a hundred, she replied.
It’s a very strange co-incidence I should get you, I said.
Not so strange, she responded as though such synchronicity was an everyday occurrence for her.
At any rate, she told me there was still no news on the package and so I gave up and left to do the rest of my shopping. This time I forgot to leave my sticky note for the courier and almost went back but decided that there was little hope of hearing anything as if the package had been scanned today and loaded into a truck they would know and would have told me so.
I walked up to Capers to get some whole grain oats, flax seeds and other dietary supplements I am using these days. The rain was still spritzing but by the time I came out of the store, it had turned into free fall snow and rain. This time I had to put up my hood, and by the time I got home my glasses were running with water and I could barely see.
I took off my coat, hung it and was preparing to put away my groceries when my door buzzer sounded.
DHL Courier, came the voice. I buzzed him in. He was pleasant looking, heavy-set man in his early 60’s I estimated.
Your timing could not have been better, I quipped. I just got in the door.
Looks like you just managed to beat the heavy snow, he joked.
Did they manage to track the package? I asked. He had no idea what I was talking about and said that it was just a usual delivery. When I told him that the package had not been scanned for two days he was stymied.
That’s impossible, he replied. Packages are scanned every day whether they get delivered or not.
Well, maybe an angel was looking after the package for 2 days?
Or perhaps it is all about timing, and not bothering to wait.
Maybe that’s the art of waiting?
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Snapshot of a 14 year old dreaming...
After a couple of weeks of trying I finally got through to Kadir yesterday morning just before I left for work. He told me he was at his mom’s place with his pal Chris studying for his mid-terms.
I asked if he had a few minutes to talk and he replied “Not really”, and not wanting to push him I told him I loved him and was thinking about him and let him go. But before I did he asked me the question I knew was coming sooner or later.
“Can I borrow your bass?”
I bought the electric bass from my friend John Gogo (a gifted Vancouver Island musician) in the early 90’s (about the time Kadir was born) when he visited us in Kits, along with a couple of drum machines, and I used all of them in quite a few home recordings over the next couple of years. The bass is a Fender clone and has seen better years but it sounds good and is quite functional.
After the visit with Chris a couple of weeks back when they jammed using the bass I figured that they sounded pretty good as Chris is a junior whiz on guitar and Kadir seems to be a one-note-at-a-time man. He is definitely interested in rock and roll and pop melody and when he played along with Chris on bass I could see the makings of a teen group in embryo.
After initial hesitation and my comment that he tends not to take good care of things he is given (the little acoustic I bought him lies ruptured and dormant at his brother Ky’s, the electronic tuner disappeared into the bowels of the Co-op, and his electric mini-Stratocaster style guitar gathers dust on it's stand in his room out of tune while he fiddles on his computer games) I relented.
“I’ll do it!” I gave back. End of conversation. The next move is his. He says he is going to carry it in a gig bag but I don’t think he’ll have one big enough.
My plan is to present it to him as a gift and ask him to promise that in return he will not neglect his studies or home duties. He is 14 and just about the age where I sat down behind my first snare drum. The black and white Kodak snapshot is on my fridge. I am certainly not a whole lot older, maybe a year at most. But I had practiced with table knives on kitchen chairs for a couple of years beforehand.
I can’t help but remember how I craved a real set of drums and almost talked my dad into signing a contract at Winnipeg Music for a snazzy set of cherry red Sonar drums. Almost!
My dad had another idea and that was to altogether avoid the pain of monthly payments. He brought home a drinking buddy from the Brooklands Hotel one night who told me that he had a set of Ludwig drums (Ringo’s brand) stored at his brother’s place in New York and that he was going to get them for me.
I waited for months and he kept stalling but still promising and eventually the sad realization dawned that I would never see these drums.
Kadir was depressed this Christmas because he didn’t get the game he asked for. If Kadir wants to be a guitar hero, better a taste of the real thing than the computer game version!
I asked if he had a few minutes to talk and he replied “Not really”, and not wanting to push him I told him I loved him and was thinking about him and let him go. But before I did he asked me the question I knew was coming sooner or later.
“Can I borrow your bass?”
I bought the electric bass from my friend John Gogo (a gifted Vancouver Island musician) in the early 90’s (about the time Kadir was born) when he visited us in Kits, along with a couple of drum machines, and I used all of them in quite a few home recordings over the next couple of years. The bass is a Fender clone and has seen better years but it sounds good and is quite functional.
After the visit with Chris a couple of weeks back when they jammed using the bass I figured that they sounded pretty good as Chris is a junior whiz on guitar and Kadir seems to be a one-note-at-a-time man. He is definitely interested in rock and roll and pop melody and when he played along with Chris on bass I could see the makings of a teen group in embryo.
After initial hesitation and my comment that he tends not to take good care of things he is given (the little acoustic I bought him lies ruptured and dormant at his brother Ky’s, the electronic tuner disappeared into the bowels of the Co-op, and his electric mini-Stratocaster style guitar gathers dust on it's stand in his room out of tune while he fiddles on his computer games) I relented.
“I’ll do it!” I gave back. End of conversation. The next move is his. He says he is going to carry it in a gig bag but I don’t think he’ll have one big enough.
My plan is to present it to him as a gift and ask him to promise that in return he will not neglect his studies or home duties. He is 14 and just about the age where I sat down behind my first snare drum. The black and white Kodak snapshot is on my fridge. I am certainly not a whole lot older, maybe a year at most. But I had practiced with table knives on kitchen chairs for a couple of years beforehand.
I can’t help but remember how I craved a real set of drums and almost talked my dad into signing a contract at Winnipeg Music for a snazzy set of cherry red Sonar drums. Almost!
My dad had another idea and that was to altogether avoid the pain of monthly payments. He brought home a drinking buddy from the Brooklands Hotel one night who told me that he had a set of Ludwig drums (Ringo’s brand) stored at his brother’s place in New York and that he was going to get them for me.
I waited for months and he kept stalling but still promising and eventually the sad realization dawned that I would never see these drums.
Kadir was depressed this Christmas because he didn’t get the game he asked for. If Kadir wants to be a guitar hero, better a taste of the real thing than the computer game version!
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Flashing Phones and Flying Debris
It is Tuesday morning and I am hearing the sound of some heavy machinery this morning and can’t help but wonder if construction is starting across the street as advertised by the city. I looked out the window and the sound is coming from the opposite direction, the lane behind my building.
It is clear and cold outside.
Yesterday a vicious windstorm blew through the city and they had to block off all traffic around Shangri-La next to my office building as debris from the construction was coming loose and flying into the street, damaging cars and threatening to damage people.
When I left the building for my dinner break at 5 p.m. I had to lean into the wind and opted for a corned beef on rye sandwich at Kaplan’s deli…too high priced for my budget but just around the corner from us. Normally I walk about 10 blocks during my break and go for salad and soup at IGA but it was far too windy to do that…and possibly dangerous given the flying debris.
By the time I left work the wind had died down considerably but the street to the west of us was still taped off and so I had to take a detour around the back of the building and head up Thurlow at Alberni, not my normal route. Given the weather, there was no sign of the panhandler who usually sits posted at that street corner outside the 7-11.
As I approached the corner however along Alberni, a bearded and bedraggled man approached me and I thought here he is after all but instead he said, “The Liquor Store is closed.” After all, why else would I be walking in that general direction at that time of night?
It had been another killer shift with the phones flashing non-stop all evening but it was my Friday and so I could look forward to my 2 days off.
I made my way home along the dark still windy streets. Earlier in the day they had been rain soaked but now were completely dried off by the strong winds.
Thank God for that walk home to ease the tensions of a busy day!
It is clear and cold outside.
Yesterday a vicious windstorm blew through the city and they had to block off all traffic around Shangri-La next to my office building as debris from the construction was coming loose and flying into the street, damaging cars and threatening to damage people.
When I left the building for my dinner break at 5 p.m. I had to lean into the wind and opted for a corned beef on rye sandwich at Kaplan’s deli…too high priced for my budget but just around the corner from us. Normally I walk about 10 blocks during my break and go for salad and soup at IGA but it was far too windy to do that…and possibly dangerous given the flying debris.
By the time I left work the wind had died down considerably but the street to the west of us was still taped off and so I had to take a detour around the back of the building and head up Thurlow at Alberni, not my normal route. Given the weather, there was no sign of the panhandler who usually sits posted at that street corner outside the 7-11.
As I approached the corner however along Alberni, a bearded and bedraggled man approached me and I thought here he is after all but instead he said, “The Liquor Store is closed.” After all, why else would I be walking in that general direction at that time of night?
It had been another killer shift with the phones flashing non-stop all evening but it was my Friday and so I could look forward to my 2 days off.
I made my way home along the dark still windy streets. Earlier in the day they had been rain soaked but now were completely dried off by the strong winds.
Thank God for that walk home to ease the tensions of a busy day!
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Early January Seawall Awakening
It is Wednesday and a day off work. I had no plans for the day until I checked voice mail. There were 2 messages, the first from my daughter Chaya who will be visiting me this evening and the second from my son Kadir, asking if he could come over after school today.
I don’t get that many calls from my “too busy” 14 year old son these days and so a visit from both will be welcome.
I went through my usual morning rituals and after coffee I decided to hike up to Safeway to stock up on a few supplies.
It was a cloudy, cold day and when I got out the door I was relieved to see that the rain was holding off and decided to make the best of this situation and take my seawall walk to 2nd Beach. I wear several layers of warm clothing in this kind of weather and as soon as I felt the cold air on my head, I pulled out my navy wool watch cap to help seal in a bit more body heat.
I walked down to Sunset Beach at the foot of the hill and making my way along the winding path by the Aids Memorial I soon found myself heading along the seawall in a westerly direction.
In this kind of weather there were only a few walkers, a few joggers and most of the folks on the walk were exercising Fido. The dog, not the phone.
Pedestrians thinned out even more as I rounded the path by the Parks Board offices. The pavement was puddle strewn with sandy, muddy, mulch piles which I avoided as much as possible and passing a puddle I could see that the rain was starting again, the telltale rippling pockmarks appearing in the water and so I pulled up the hood of my jacket to prevent getting too wet.
Closer to 2nd Beach I became aware of the steady rhythmic unhurried drone of the small surf which had not been evident until now.
It was a cold walk and I picked up the pace as I rounded the pool area by the concession stand. I took the loop with the pool to my left and when I turned back in an easterly direction for my return the cloudy blue green water over the sandy seafloor revealed its beauty to me, and I paused to look into it. I let my energy drift with my gaze into the depth of the water.
Farther to the southeast the sun was trying to break through the clouds, brightening the sky considerably albeit without real success.
A day that only a half hour earlier had seemed drab and dreary was suddenly filled with a real vibration of magical aliveness.
Had I let the cold day keep me in, I would have missed this experience.
I don’t get that many calls from my “too busy” 14 year old son these days and so a visit from both will be welcome.
I went through my usual morning rituals and after coffee I decided to hike up to Safeway to stock up on a few supplies.
It was a cloudy, cold day and when I got out the door I was relieved to see that the rain was holding off and decided to make the best of this situation and take my seawall walk to 2nd Beach. I wear several layers of warm clothing in this kind of weather and as soon as I felt the cold air on my head, I pulled out my navy wool watch cap to help seal in a bit more body heat.
I walked down to Sunset Beach at the foot of the hill and making my way along the winding path by the Aids Memorial I soon found myself heading along the seawall in a westerly direction.
In this kind of weather there were only a few walkers, a few joggers and most of the folks on the walk were exercising Fido. The dog, not the phone.
Pedestrians thinned out even more as I rounded the path by the Parks Board offices. The pavement was puddle strewn with sandy, muddy, mulch piles which I avoided as much as possible and passing a puddle I could see that the rain was starting again, the telltale rippling pockmarks appearing in the water and so I pulled up the hood of my jacket to prevent getting too wet.
Closer to 2nd Beach I became aware of the steady rhythmic unhurried drone of the small surf which had not been evident until now.
It was a cold walk and I picked up the pace as I rounded the pool area by the concession stand. I took the loop with the pool to my left and when I turned back in an easterly direction for my return the cloudy blue green water over the sandy seafloor revealed its beauty to me, and I paused to look into it. I let my energy drift with my gaze into the depth of the water.
Farther to the southeast the sun was trying to break through the clouds, brightening the sky considerably albeit without real success.
A day that only a half hour earlier had seemed drab and dreary was suddenly filled with a real vibration of magical aliveness.
Had I let the cold day keep me in, I would have missed this experience.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Christmas Lights, Seasons Greetings
This Christmas Day I was treated to a wonderful feast at the home of my daughter Chaya and all family members were present for the first time in at least 7 years.
Last night on Boxing Day, all alone in my apartment I was reviewing the events of the day before. As with most family gatherings at Christmas, a lot of things come to the fore that need to be addressed and this was no exception.
I found myself getting hungry and since the oven in my stove burned out over the holidays I went out and bought a falafel on Davie Street. It was a cold, clear evening and I wanted to stroll and work off the doldrums that had somehow settled into my psyche that evening.
Chaya had told me she wouldn’t be visiting after her usual Wednesday meeting in the West End last night, but I wasn’t sure and wanted to be alert if she did come.
I walked slowly up Burrard eating my falafel and then depositing the wrapper in a trash can near the bus stop I rounded the corner and walked slowly up Pacific Blvd in the direction of English Bay. I thought I would keep my eye open for the construction of a new pizza place that I thought I had read was moving here, but I could find no evidence of the same.
I had not walked far when I noticed the outline of a young woman dressed in black standing by the sidewalk. The light was very dim here but as I got closer I could see that her dog was squatting nearby, providing me with the reason for her pause in the dark street.
As I passed, the dog finishing its business came up and stood on its hind legs, putting its paws on my legs briefly hindering my progress. The young woman admonished the dog and I went on my way thinking “some people should take better control of their animals.” I was not in a good mood and I wasn’t sure whether the dog was either.
But I had only taken a few steps onward when the dog came scampering up from behind and this time stood straight up in front of me, tapping me determinedly on the chest with its muddy paws and definitely staying my progress.
It was as if a light went on. The dog wanted to play with me.
So I stopped and gave him a hearty petting right there and then and I could now see that he was just a young dog barely beyond the puppy stage and he was honoring this stranger passing in the dark night with the gift of friendship. He could just as easily have growled and threatened me.
The young woman caught up to us admonishing her dog but I responded, “It’s okay. He just wanted to say hello. I should have stopped and petted him the first time.”
As I walked away and passed a streetlight I could see the dog's muddy prints on the front of my coat, but I didn't care. In fact, I felt quite happy about it.
By the time I reached the big tree at English Bay that is always lit up this time of year, I was feeling much better.
The strings of violet, white and blue lights made it look like a vast, ornate candelabra or maybe a chalice and this Christmas it seemed more beautifully decorated than before, the lights more meticulously placed to give the sensation of moving dimension to the passer by.
Last night on Boxing Day, all alone in my apartment I was reviewing the events of the day before. As with most family gatherings at Christmas, a lot of things come to the fore that need to be addressed and this was no exception.
I found myself getting hungry and since the oven in my stove burned out over the holidays I went out and bought a falafel on Davie Street. It was a cold, clear evening and I wanted to stroll and work off the doldrums that had somehow settled into my psyche that evening.
Chaya had told me she wouldn’t be visiting after her usual Wednesday meeting in the West End last night, but I wasn’t sure and wanted to be alert if she did come.
I walked slowly up Burrard eating my falafel and then depositing the wrapper in a trash can near the bus stop I rounded the corner and walked slowly up Pacific Blvd in the direction of English Bay. I thought I would keep my eye open for the construction of a new pizza place that I thought I had read was moving here, but I could find no evidence of the same.
I had not walked far when I noticed the outline of a young woman dressed in black standing by the sidewalk. The light was very dim here but as I got closer I could see that her dog was squatting nearby, providing me with the reason for her pause in the dark street.
As I passed, the dog finishing its business came up and stood on its hind legs, putting its paws on my legs briefly hindering my progress. The young woman admonished the dog and I went on my way thinking “some people should take better control of their animals.” I was not in a good mood and I wasn’t sure whether the dog was either.
But I had only taken a few steps onward when the dog came scampering up from behind and this time stood straight up in front of me, tapping me determinedly on the chest with its muddy paws and definitely staying my progress.
It was as if a light went on. The dog wanted to play with me.
So I stopped and gave him a hearty petting right there and then and I could now see that he was just a young dog barely beyond the puppy stage and he was honoring this stranger passing in the dark night with the gift of friendship. He could just as easily have growled and threatened me.
The young woman caught up to us admonishing her dog but I responded, “It’s okay. He just wanted to say hello. I should have stopped and petted him the first time.”
As I walked away and passed a streetlight I could see the dog's muddy prints on the front of my coat, but I didn't care. In fact, I felt quite happy about it.
By the time I reached the big tree at English Bay that is always lit up this time of year, I was feeling much better.
The strings of violet, white and blue lights made it look like a vast, ornate candelabra or maybe a chalice and this Christmas it seemed more beautifully decorated than before, the lights more meticulously placed to give the sensation of moving dimension to the passer by.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Christmas Eve Along the Seawall
It is about 4 p.m. on Christmas Eve and I am back from a long walk along Davie Street and down to English Bay.
It is a cold, clear day and from the distance I could see the whitecaps spiking on the dark gray green aquamarine highlighted water of the bay. It occurred to me that it might be very windy down by the water but I needed the exercise as I haven’t been getting much in all the rainy weather lately.
By the time I got down to the Bay I was already invigorated by my walk so far and the smiling faces of folks going about their last minute business before tomorrow’s holiday inspired me to make the most of this weather.
I pulled up the collar of my coat and put on my navy wool watch cap and quickened my steps as I crossed the intersection at Davie and Denman to reach the water.
The seawall was far from crowded but many of the people walking down there had smiles on their faces as it was a truly beautiful afternoon and what a way to spend the day before Christmas!
A middle-aged lone artist in a leather jacket sat sketching on the edge of the seawall, his back to the passers-by in a spot usually populated by other artists displaying their works, but today deserted because of the chill weather. His drawings were laid out side by side face up on the seawall ledge beside him. Most of them were intricate cityscapes with a local flavor.
By the time I reached the waters of the bay opposite the Parks Board offices where Kind Acts hosts their Monday night open mikes in the summer, I could hear and feel the thunderous force of the large surf pounding in. In places the waves were splashing up over the seawall while pedestrians ducked aside to avoid being drenched. I couldn’t help but draw a parallel between this raw activity of nature today and the few huge waves that came in a few days back over an otherwise peaceful bay.
The crash of surf is an unusual sound on this sheltered bay and it was wonderful music to listen to as I walked along breathing in the ocean air and watching a large flock of black waterfowl easily riding the wild surf and forming an undulating crowd of bodies moving in perfect and calm sympathy with the force of the ocean.
I thought of my sister Marilyn at home in Edmonton and of the times she has joined me along this route on her visits and of how much she would enjoy this day.
She often reminds me how lucky I am to live in such a picturesque part of Canada, where a teeming metropolis meets nature in such a simple and magnificent way that I too often take for granted.
It is a cold, clear day and from the distance I could see the whitecaps spiking on the dark gray green aquamarine highlighted water of the bay. It occurred to me that it might be very windy down by the water but I needed the exercise as I haven’t been getting much in all the rainy weather lately.
By the time I got down to the Bay I was already invigorated by my walk so far and the smiling faces of folks going about their last minute business before tomorrow’s holiday inspired me to make the most of this weather.
I pulled up the collar of my coat and put on my navy wool watch cap and quickened my steps as I crossed the intersection at Davie and Denman to reach the water.
The seawall was far from crowded but many of the people walking down there had smiles on their faces as it was a truly beautiful afternoon and what a way to spend the day before Christmas!
A middle-aged lone artist in a leather jacket sat sketching on the edge of the seawall, his back to the passers-by in a spot usually populated by other artists displaying their works, but today deserted because of the chill weather. His drawings were laid out side by side face up on the seawall ledge beside him. Most of them were intricate cityscapes with a local flavor.
By the time I reached the waters of the bay opposite the Parks Board offices where Kind Acts hosts their Monday night open mikes in the summer, I could hear and feel the thunderous force of the large surf pounding in. In places the waves were splashing up over the seawall while pedestrians ducked aside to avoid being drenched. I couldn’t help but draw a parallel between this raw activity of nature today and the few huge waves that came in a few days back over an otherwise peaceful bay.
The crash of surf is an unusual sound on this sheltered bay and it was wonderful music to listen to as I walked along breathing in the ocean air and watching a large flock of black waterfowl easily riding the wild surf and forming an undulating crowd of bodies moving in perfect and calm sympathy with the force of the ocean.
I thought of my sister Marilyn at home in Edmonton and of the times she has joined me along this route on her visits and of how much she would enjoy this day.
She often reminds me how lucky I am to live in such a picturesque part of Canada, where a teeming metropolis meets nature in such a simple and magnificent way that I too often take for granted.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
After the Solstice
It is Sunday morning and two days after the solstice the sky is slate gray and the rain still drizzling steadily.
All is quiet here this morning except for a few brief slammings of the neighbor’s door as he exits the apartment, a daily ritual but one that does not really disturb as he has shown me great respect in keeping the volume of his music down after I asked him to a few weeks ago.
"Well what kind of music do you like?" he countered.
"That's not the point," I replied, " I like all kinds but I don't want to hear it through my walls." I guess the penny dropped and he has been very pleasant to me ever since too.
My window ledges are soaked which means that I will be leaving with an open umbrella this morning, but there doesn’t appear to be any wind.
I opened the window to test the temperature and although it’s cold it’s not freezing and that gives me hope for a comfortable walk into work.
A few days back the holiday was looking fairly bleak due to ongoing difficulties experienced by several family members, but in the last two days I have received messages from them that give me a new hope.
As the days begin to increase in length and more light enters into them, may more light also enter into hearts and minds of those I love and help in the healing we all need so much.
This is after all the approach of the Holy Season, when the world comes to a slow stop, a brief pause, maybe a moment of prayer and the giving of gifts and blessings and in the rhythm of a heartbeat everything begins anew.
All is quiet here this morning except for a few brief slammings of the neighbor’s door as he exits the apartment, a daily ritual but one that does not really disturb as he has shown me great respect in keeping the volume of his music down after I asked him to a few weeks ago.
"Well what kind of music do you like?" he countered.
"That's not the point," I replied, " I like all kinds but I don't want to hear it through my walls." I guess the penny dropped and he has been very pleasant to me ever since too.
My window ledges are soaked which means that I will be leaving with an open umbrella this morning, but there doesn’t appear to be any wind.
I opened the window to test the temperature and although it’s cold it’s not freezing and that gives me hope for a comfortable walk into work.
A few days back the holiday was looking fairly bleak due to ongoing difficulties experienced by several family members, but in the last two days I have received messages from them that give me a new hope.
As the days begin to increase in length and more light enters into them, may more light also enter into hearts and minds of those I love and help in the healing we all need so much.
This is after all the approach of the Holy Season, when the world comes to a slow stop, a brief pause, maybe a moment of prayer and the giving of gifts and blessings and in the rhythm of a heartbeat everything begins anew.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
The Very Edge of the World
I had been looking forward to this morning for the last few days as my daughter Chaya was going to meet me for breakfast.
Chaya surprised me by showing about 15 minutes early. She was in a great mood and the first thing we did was to walk up to the dollar store where she purchased some containers for her Christmas baking (gifts) and a few decorations. She told me that she has changed her mind about "not doing Christmas" this year and is going to put up a tree.
Immediately I thought about how much this will mean to Kadir.
We walked up Davie towards the beach and tried out the little restaurant called The Red Umbrella that I pass so often but have never visited. She had sausages and eggs and I ordered a single blueberry pancake and a fruit cup.
She wound up sharing mine too, at my invitation. It was great food, tasting very homemade and at a good price.
Afterwards we walked back home along the seawall. She headed home to start baking and after checking mail I went back towards Safeway to do my grocery shopping. It had started to rain when Chaya left but by the time I got back to English Bay the sun had re-appeared and so I took the opportunity to stroll up to 2nd Beach and get in a bit of exercise.
Along the way I saw two elderly men talking, or rather one holding court and the other listening with an over-polite, and rather conciliatory expression on his face. The one talking said, “If you dig a deep enough hole, you can bury anything.”
I often wonder at these out of the blue enigmatic "messages from the universe".
The water was calm and serene and it felt peaceful to look out at the horizon as I walked, but on my return along an especially smooth stretch of sandy beach I paused to admire the way the water touched and spread over the sand.
I was engrossed in the tactile look and feel of sea caressing shore when I heard the unexpected crash of surf behind me and noticed that there were several large waves arcing in which I assumed was the result of a wake of a recently passing freighter.
The surf subsided and as I walked further I was startled and awakened by even heavier surges hitting the beach I had just passed.
I stopped again to study the surface of the water and a few huge waves, seemingly out of nowhere, crashed into the seawall where I stood and splashed up over the seawall so that I had to jump back to avoid being soaked.
This activity continued for several more minutes as I stood and watched. There was a young woman standing by a bench a few steps away, talking to someone on her cell phone and she was yanked from that ho-hum ritual by this sudden activity of nature and I heard her say, “What’s with these fucking big waves?” My sentiments fairly exactly!
As I stood there I had an inkling of what it must feel like to be caught in a tsunami. I thought maybe this was a mini tsunami and still feel that this may have been the case.
For a few brief moments I was reminded how it must feel to stand at the very edge of the world.
Chaya surprised me by showing about 15 minutes early. She was in a great mood and the first thing we did was to walk up to the dollar store where she purchased some containers for her Christmas baking (gifts) and a few decorations. She told me that she has changed her mind about "not doing Christmas" this year and is going to put up a tree.
Immediately I thought about how much this will mean to Kadir.
We walked up Davie towards the beach and tried out the little restaurant called The Red Umbrella that I pass so often but have never visited. She had sausages and eggs and I ordered a single blueberry pancake and a fruit cup.
She wound up sharing mine too, at my invitation. It was great food, tasting very homemade and at a good price.
Afterwards we walked back home along the seawall. She headed home to start baking and after checking mail I went back towards Safeway to do my grocery shopping. It had started to rain when Chaya left but by the time I got back to English Bay the sun had re-appeared and so I took the opportunity to stroll up to 2nd Beach and get in a bit of exercise.
Along the way I saw two elderly men talking, or rather one holding court and the other listening with an over-polite, and rather conciliatory expression on his face. The one talking said, “If you dig a deep enough hole, you can bury anything.”
I often wonder at these out of the blue enigmatic "messages from the universe".
The water was calm and serene and it felt peaceful to look out at the horizon as I walked, but on my return along an especially smooth stretch of sandy beach I paused to admire the way the water touched and spread over the sand.
I was engrossed in the tactile look and feel of sea caressing shore when I heard the unexpected crash of surf behind me and noticed that there were several large waves arcing in which I assumed was the result of a wake of a recently passing freighter.
The surf subsided and as I walked further I was startled and awakened by even heavier surges hitting the beach I had just passed.
I stopped again to study the surface of the water and a few huge waves, seemingly out of nowhere, crashed into the seawall where I stood and splashed up over the seawall so that I had to jump back to avoid being soaked.
This activity continued for several more minutes as I stood and watched. There was a young woman standing by a bench a few steps away, talking to someone on her cell phone and she was yanked from that ho-hum ritual by this sudden activity of nature and I heard her say, “What’s with these fucking big waves?” My sentiments fairly exactly!
As I stood there I had an inkling of what it must feel like to be caught in a tsunami. I thought maybe this was a mini tsunami and still feel that this may have been the case.
For a few brief moments I was reminded how it must feel to stand at the very edge of the world.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Sultan of the Heart
My friend Majid sent me a link to the live Sema from Konya this morning and I am listening to the ceremony on line as I write this.
The sweet sound of the flute and the beginnings of zikr as the chorus joins in is holy music to my ears this snowy Sunday morning.
The snow is funneling down in huge wet flakes this morning but is supposed to turn to rain by noon or thereabouts. I am in my apartment preparing to leave for work but part of me is in another country, another world transported by the music I am hearing, swept up in these elegant devotions that are so ancient.
This year is said to be Rumi’s 800th anniversary and celebrations are still going on all over the globe to honor this famous “Sultan of the Heart”, mystic and poet and author of the Masnavi, a collection of his writings that are the holy book of many in the world these days as his name has now become known to so many.
Thanks to Majid and some other friends of the heart I have had the honor of joining in the musical assembly gathered for the sema and have experienced the whirling dance from the perspective of a musician playing for the semazens (dervishes).
This music brings me back into the sacred circle of praise and joy.
To listen, click on the link below:
http://www.semazen.net/news_detail.php?id=646
The sweet sound of the flute and the beginnings of zikr as the chorus joins in is holy music to my ears this snowy Sunday morning.
The snow is funneling down in huge wet flakes this morning but is supposed to turn to rain by noon or thereabouts. I am in my apartment preparing to leave for work but part of me is in another country, another world transported by the music I am hearing, swept up in these elegant devotions that are so ancient.
This year is said to be Rumi’s 800th anniversary and celebrations are still going on all over the globe to honor this famous “Sultan of the Heart”, mystic and poet and author of the Masnavi, a collection of his writings that are the holy book of many in the world these days as his name has now become known to so many.
Thanks to Majid and some other friends of the heart I have had the honor of joining in the musical assembly gathered for the sema and have experienced the whirling dance from the perspective of a musician playing for the semazens (dervishes).
This music brings me back into the sacred circle of praise and joy.
To listen, click on the link below:
http://www.semazen.net/news_detail.php?id=646
Saturday, December 01, 2007
New Snow
It is December 1st and an appropriate morning to wake up to slowly drifting big lazy snowflakes moving past my window.
I opened the window wide to get a breath of the bracing frosty air and saw that the lane, street and trees were blanketed in white.
This is the first snow of the season for us in this area of town so near the water though the mountains have been dusted in fresh white powder for several weeks now.
In memory I can hear the voices of my children over the years on just such mornings shouting, "Dad, let's go out and make a snowman!" And me mulling over coffee and reluctant to go out into the cold but doing so anyway after several such promptings.
It all happens so quickly, and is over so quickly...these precious happenings with children.
I won't be rushing out to make a snowman today, but walking along the snowy street on my way to work. I can already feel the brush of snow against my face and magical sensation of becoming a child once again in the new snowy landscape.
There is something about the first snow of the year that is reminiscent of spring and new beginnings, I guess it has to do with the stark contrast between the two seasons.
But today (and yesterday too for some reason) I feel full of positive strength and have the feeling that all will be well this winter.
I wrapped up more than a few loose ends in the past days and had a wonderful meeting with my son Ky in which we discussed the options of a young man growing into manhood. He honored me by trusting me and opening up some of the feelings that are causing him concern.
In doing so, he imparted to me some of the wisdom of youth, stuff I have largely forgotten in the past few years mostly around the nobility of setting out into that vast unknown of adult life.
Never mind climbing Everest...life itself is the great challenge and how to trust one's instincts in the face of what one has never done or seen.
As I walk to work this morning in the new clean snow, I will think of myself as an adventurer into the unknown and imagine the day opening into exciting challenges and new possibilities that I had not noticed before.
Who is to say that with this new snow, a fresh chapter of my life is not just about to begin?
I opened the window wide to get a breath of the bracing frosty air and saw that the lane, street and trees were blanketed in white.
This is the first snow of the season for us in this area of town so near the water though the mountains have been dusted in fresh white powder for several weeks now.
In memory I can hear the voices of my children over the years on just such mornings shouting, "Dad, let's go out and make a snowman!" And me mulling over coffee and reluctant to go out into the cold but doing so anyway after several such promptings.
It all happens so quickly, and is over so quickly...these precious happenings with children.
I won't be rushing out to make a snowman today, but walking along the snowy street on my way to work. I can already feel the brush of snow against my face and magical sensation of becoming a child once again in the new snowy landscape.
There is something about the first snow of the year that is reminiscent of spring and new beginnings, I guess it has to do with the stark contrast between the two seasons.
But today (and yesterday too for some reason) I feel full of positive strength and have the feeling that all will be well this winter.
I wrapped up more than a few loose ends in the past days and had a wonderful meeting with my son Ky in which we discussed the options of a young man growing into manhood. He honored me by trusting me and opening up some of the feelings that are causing him concern.
In doing so, he imparted to me some of the wisdom of youth, stuff I have largely forgotten in the past few years mostly around the nobility of setting out into that vast unknown of adult life.
Never mind climbing Everest...life itself is the great challenge and how to trust one's instincts in the face of what one has never done or seen.
As I walk to work this morning in the new clean snow, I will think of myself as an adventurer into the unknown and imagine the day opening into exciting challenges and new possibilities that I had not noticed before.
Who is to say that with this new snow, a fresh chapter of my life is not just about to begin?
Sunday, November 18, 2007
A Dream of Breaking into Freedom
I have just finished my morning shower, and while toweling off I recalled a late morning dream I had just before waking.
I had gone up to Whistler in a snappy silver compact rental car with some family and friends, and we were all visiting my friend Robert who was in hospital.
He was wrapped in an orange blanket, his body and head covered and seemed not to hear us speaking to him. While we continued to talk he suddenly spoke saying, “Do you hear the glacier moving?”
At this cue, I could hear a dull and distant roar and looking out the window saw a nearby mountainside in motion, the white side of it rippling down like melting icing on a cake.
All of us looked in amazement as the rippling became a full-fledged avalanche and turned into an explosion of rocks and boulders which spread to the surrounding peaks. As we watched in growing horror the volley of debris came cascading towards the village and I realized that it was going to reach us and probably destroy the rental car, cutting off our means of escape from the devastation that was about to engulf us.
We all began racing toward the exit and fled from the hospital as we could hear the rocks crashing into the building behind us and destroying it. We seemed to be running through a forested area towards the ocean as my dream Whistler was also a waterfront town.
The harbor looked peaceful and I noticed people walking about their business seemingly oblivious of the disaster we were fleeing from. I turned around and could see everyone emerging safely from the forest at full run and I looked up.
In the sky a flock of white snow geese appeared in V-formation, and I felt the thrill of freedom and knew at that moment we were safe and all would be well.
I had gone up to Whistler in a snappy silver compact rental car with some family and friends, and we were all visiting my friend Robert who was in hospital.
He was wrapped in an orange blanket, his body and head covered and seemed not to hear us speaking to him. While we continued to talk he suddenly spoke saying, “Do you hear the glacier moving?”
At this cue, I could hear a dull and distant roar and looking out the window saw a nearby mountainside in motion, the white side of it rippling down like melting icing on a cake.
All of us looked in amazement as the rippling became a full-fledged avalanche and turned into an explosion of rocks and boulders which spread to the surrounding peaks. As we watched in growing horror the volley of debris came cascading towards the village and I realized that it was going to reach us and probably destroy the rental car, cutting off our means of escape from the devastation that was about to engulf us.
We all began racing toward the exit and fled from the hospital as we could hear the rocks crashing into the building behind us and destroying it. We seemed to be running through a forested area towards the ocean as my dream Whistler was also a waterfront town.
The harbor looked peaceful and I noticed people walking about their business seemingly oblivious of the disaster we were fleeing from. I turned around and could see everyone emerging safely from the forest at full run and I looked up.
In the sky a flock of white snow geese appeared in V-formation, and I felt the thrill of freedom and knew at that moment we were safe and all would be well.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Installation Blues & Sage Advice
It is just after 9:30 and I am awake and up slightly early after another night downloading antivirus software file updates.
When I got home from work yesterday I set right to work to try and un-jam my laptop by manually un-installing Trend Micro Pro upgrade which support had linked me to in error and which was now “stuck” in my system. Of course I could not…and so I tried the tack of reinstalling it, got as far as unloading the installation files, found the diagnostic “toolkit” and ran that to un-install the program.
To my great relief it worked. So then I re-installed PC-Cillin 2007 my original version.
And then...I re-installed Trend Micro Security 2008 but it could not remove 2007 for some reason so I tried to re-activate the 2007 version and it worked. It is good to go for another year if I want to leave it that way (knock on wood.) But what a headache!
This is nearly 2 weeks of off-target support from Trend Micro, failed installations and inability to connect to the net.
My friend and coworker Leon laughed at me when I explained that my days off had been screwed up by this. He admonished me, “With all you have to worry about, you are complaining about software problems?”
The Paramount Hotel Seattle reps visited us yesterday and bought huge heaps of pizza so I stayed in for my break avoiding the heavy rain outdoors.
My intuition told me that I should probably go down and look for my friend Trevor in case he showed as he said he probably would, though with the rain I doubted it. But when I looked out the front doors, there he stood in his hoodie, for all the world looking like my own long lost son.
So I invited him up to the office and offered him pizza. He refused the pizza as he’d already eaten but we went into the Zen room and had a talk for about a half hour. He and his girlfriend of 4 years have broken up and she has left their shared house. He says that they are still talking but that the relationship was not working. He is in search of himself, as so many young men are (and were).
We didn’t have too much to talk about, and he would not admit to any problems that needed to be addressed. When I addressed the issue one last time before he left he gave me that look of what the hell and said, “Ted, get back to work!”
We had more or less spent the entire time bullshitting (shooting the breeze as we used to call it) and laughing for the most part.
So much for imparting sage advice!
When I got home from work yesterday I set right to work to try and un-jam my laptop by manually un-installing Trend Micro Pro upgrade which support had linked me to in error and which was now “stuck” in my system. Of course I could not…and so I tried the tack of reinstalling it, got as far as unloading the installation files, found the diagnostic “toolkit” and ran that to un-install the program.
To my great relief it worked. So then I re-installed PC-Cillin 2007 my original version.
And then...I re-installed Trend Micro Security 2008 but it could not remove 2007 for some reason so I tried to re-activate the 2007 version and it worked. It is good to go for another year if I want to leave it that way (knock on wood.) But what a headache!
This is nearly 2 weeks of off-target support from Trend Micro, failed installations and inability to connect to the net.
My friend and coworker Leon laughed at me when I explained that my days off had been screwed up by this. He admonished me, “With all you have to worry about, you are complaining about software problems?”
The Paramount Hotel Seattle reps visited us yesterday and bought huge heaps of pizza so I stayed in for my break avoiding the heavy rain outdoors.
My intuition told me that I should probably go down and look for my friend Trevor in case he showed as he said he probably would, though with the rain I doubted it. But when I looked out the front doors, there he stood in his hoodie, for all the world looking like my own long lost son.
So I invited him up to the office and offered him pizza. He refused the pizza as he’d already eaten but we went into the Zen room and had a talk for about a half hour. He and his girlfriend of 4 years have broken up and she has left their shared house. He says that they are still talking but that the relationship was not working. He is in search of himself, as so many young men are (and were
We didn’t have too much to talk about, and he would not admit to any problems that needed to be addressed. When I addressed the issue one last time before he left he gave me that look of what the hell and said, “Ted, get back to work!”
We had more or less spent the entire time bullshitting (shooting the breeze as we used to call it) and laughing for the most part.
So much for imparting sage advice!
Saturday, November 03, 2007
The Rain, The Lark and my father.
This morning is one of those gray, rain-soaked ones that mark the approach of the winter season in this West Coast Rain Forest climate.
I am taking my time as I prepare for work this morning listening to CBC’s I Hear Music with Robert Harris, a program on the influence of the violin in music.
He is playing that remarkable Hungarian gypsy piece “The Lark” that I have heard once before which after a fireworks display of masterful virtuosity strays off into the stratosphere imitating the sounds of birds towards the end.
The recording I heard before was by Kalman Balough and the Gypsy Cimbalom Band but this one was performed by someone with the name Sandor. Maybe it was the same group, I am not sure.
I just Googled it and the name of the group is Sandor Deki Lakatos and his Gypsy Orchestra. Robert Harris suggested, “Maybe if you to Hungary you can still find his recordings somewhere.”
He followed this with some more modern recordings by Natalie McMaster. And he closed the program with Django and Stephane Grappelli.
I could not help but think of my father as this music was being played, and stopped to say a silent prayer for him. If not for his playing of the violin at home when I was a young boy, I might never have been inspired to become a musician.
I can still remember the fine-tuned vibrato he applied using his left wrist like a dowser might use a wand.
Thanks for those beautiful memories dad!
I am taking my time as I prepare for work this morning listening to CBC’s I Hear Music with Robert Harris, a program on the influence of the violin in music.
He is playing that remarkable Hungarian gypsy piece “The Lark” that I have heard once before which after a fireworks display of masterful virtuosity strays off into the stratosphere imitating the sounds of birds towards the end.
The recording I heard before was by Kalman Balough and the Gypsy Cimbalom Band but this one was performed by someone with the name Sandor. Maybe it was the same group, I am not sure.
I just Googled it and the name of the group is Sandor Deki Lakatos and his Gypsy Orchestra. Robert Harris suggested, “Maybe if you to Hungary you can still find his recordings somewhere.”
He followed this with some more modern recordings by Natalie McMaster. And he closed the program with Django and Stephane Grappelli.
I could not help but think of my father as this music was being played, and stopped to say a silent prayer for him. If not for his playing of the violin at home when I was a young boy, I might never have been inspired to become a musician.
I can still remember the fine-tuned vibrato he applied using his left wrist like a dowser might use a wand.
Thanks for those beautiful memories dad!
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
This Precious Life
It is just after 10 a.m. of a peaceful Tuesday morning and a day off work for me.
According to the Weather Channel it was supposed to be blasting rain today, but there is a mottled blue sky above framing the golden brown leaves on the nearby trees and taking me back to the fall of 1996 when I sat at my old DOS based computer texting my journal, marveling that the color of the text seemed to mirror the color of the leaves.
In those days though, I would never have known what the word “texting” signified. I was still “typing”.
I was an early member of the Vancouver Community Network then and able to surf the net, but all in text format…there were no graphics of any kind. It was still amazing though that I could search my local library and even reserve books over the computer, or research an item or topic. I can’t recall how I did it exactly though, before the omnipotent “Google”!
Before I owned a computer, I carried a notebook with me everywhere, and I was always “journaling”, scribbling dreams, poems, prayers and memories. I began to write so swiftly in a kind of stream of consciousness that my writing became largely illegible to anyone but me and when I review those journals today, even I have trouble deciphering some of the writing.
My apartment is filled with boxes containing roughly 40 years of notebooks full of these writings, plus one or two book manuscripts that have not reached publication and perhaps never will, now that I have discovered blogging.
A few years back, I couldn’t imagine a time when I was not yearning to see my records on the music charts or a newly published book on the best seller list, but these days, for whatever reasons, time has slowed down and I have no such aspirations.
Time has slowed down and at the same time paradoxically speeded up! I realize that it is swiftly slipping past me and that for the sake of my children and for posterity I would do well to leave some markers of my journey for those who follow. And my journey has been nothing short of extraordinary, a near impossible tracking of space and time from my childhood in Winnipeg to my current one-step-at-a-time daily ritual.
I can do now what I could never have done in my twenties and that is to hold down a steady job. I was too troubled, confused and brimming with desires and emotions I couldn't understand and which I was unable to share with anyone. I had yet to learn to heal and to learn the lessons that healing brings.
In learning these lessons, some of them extremely difficult, I had a chance to try my wings, discovered I could fly and flew managing to live some of the life I dreamed of as a child.
So for now, a steady job and the maintenance of a daily structure is my recipe for wholeness.
But who knows what tomorrow holds in store?
All that I know is that I am thankful for every day and night spent enjoying this precious life.
According to the Weather Channel it was supposed to be blasting rain today, but there is a mottled blue sky above framing the golden brown leaves on the nearby trees and taking me back to the fall of 1996 when I sat at my old DOS based computer texting my journal, marveling that the color of the text seemed to mirror the color of the leaves.
In those days though, I would never have known what the word “texting” signified. I was still “typing”.
I was an early member of the Vancouver Community Network then and able to surf the net, but all in text format…there were no graphics of any kind. It was still amazing though that I could search my local library and even reserve books over the computer, or research an item or topic. I can’t recall how I did it exactly though, before the omnipotent “Google”!
Before I owned a computer, I carried a notebook with me everywhere, and I was always “journaling”, scribbling dreams, poems, prayers and memories. I began to write so swiftly in a kind of stream of consciousness that my writing became largely illegible to anyone but me and when I review those journals today, even I have trouble deciphering some of the writing.
My apartment is filled with boxes containing roughly 40 years of notebooks full of these writings, plus one or two book manuscripts that have not reached publication and perhaps never will, now that I have discovered blogging.
A few years back, I couldn’t imagine a time when I was not yearning to see my records on the music charts or a newly published book on the best seller list, but these days, for whatever reasons, time has slowed down and I have no such aspirations.
Time has slowed down and at the same time paradoxically speeded up! I realize that it is swiftly slipping past me and that for the sake of my children and for posterity I would do well to leave some markers of my journey for those who follow. And my journey has been nothing short of extraordinary, a near impossible tracking of space and time from my childhood in Winnipeg to my current one-step-at-a-time daily ritual.
I can do now what I could never have done in my twenties and that is to hold down a steady job. I was too troubled, confused and brimming with desires and emotions I couldn't understand and which I was unable to share with anyone. I had yet to learn to heal and to learn the lessons that healing brings.
In learning these lessons, some of them extremely difficult, I had a chance to try my wings, discovered I could fly and flew managing to live some of the life I dreamed of as a child.
So for now, a steady job and the maintenance of a daily structure is my recipe for wholeness.
But who knows what tomorrow holds in store?
All that I know is that I am thankful for every day and night spent enjoying this precious life.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
A Fine Fall Sunday Morning
It is just coming up to 10 a.m. of a fine fall Sunday morning.
It is cloudy and overcast, but there is no rain pelting down, at least not yet. As usual, I am getting ready for work.
Getting ready for me (in part) means preparing coffee, making my bed, brushing teeth, then doing exercises and finally morning prayers before settling into the ritual of checking emails and doing a daily journal entry.
My daily journal is usually a log of events of the day previous, a recording of the nights dreams if any are memorable and sifting through any thoughts that may be playing on my conscious mind which I feel may need some kind of analysis.
I have often thought and said that this journal keeping is my therapy, and an invaluable tool and way of clearing the field for the coming day’s activities and challenges.
If something is troubling me or if I am concerned about something in my daily life, going over it in journal form often helps me to get to the root of the problem or concern.
This morning I don’t have anything other than the morning silence playing on my mind and so as I write, I also take a break to turn on my little aging Sony short wave radio (a gift from my friend Herb sitting on my kitchen table with its aerial aloft), tune in CBC Radio 2 and listen to a little music while I prepare my cereal.
I look out the window and take back my comment about no rain. It is truly pelting down now. But it is only a 20 minute walk to work and I have my umbrella.
The CBC host (Gregory Charles) makes the comment that he was born in 1968 but from now on is going to lie about his age and pretend he’s 22. 1968! My God, he’s a baby but that classic CBC radio style makes him sound so much older. And he has some fine taste in music! This morning's theme, suited to a Sunday morning , seems to be on the subject of faith and belief.
He tells a story that I find compelling which I have never heard. It is about the I Have A Dream speech by Martin Luther King. He said that while King was talking Mahalia Jackson was standing in the background and kept prompting him, “Tell them about the dream” (the announcer said you can hear her voice in the recording) and she kept repeating this until finally he seemed to hear her and launch into the famous I have a dream part of the speech. Talk about timing and the skills of a musician.
I was hoping that there might be some nice gentle music this morning and I am rewarded as he plays You Must Believe in Spring (and Love) sung by Tony Bennett and accompanied by the great Bill Evans on piano.
Bennett’s soft vocal approach combined with the rich colorful palate of the solo piano combine to create a lovely sense of nostalgia and peace in me, somehow perfectly in tune with the cloudy, rainy morning.
And just as though I had been to church and attended a wonderful service, I am feeling uplifted and ready for the day!
It is cloudy and overcast, but there is no rain pelting down, at least not yet. As usual, I am getting ready for work.
Getting ready for me (in part) means preparing coffee, making my bed, brushing teeth, then doing exercises and finally morning prayers before settling into the ritual of checking emails and doing a daily journal entry.
My daily journal is usually a log of events of the day previous, a recording of the nights dreams if any are memorable and sifting through any thoughts that may be playing on my conscious mind which I feel may need some kind of analysis.
I have often thought and said that this journal keeping is my therapy, and an invaluable tool and way of clearing the field for the coming day’s activities and challenges.
If something is troubling me or if I am concerned about something in my daily life, going over it in journal form often helps me to get to the root of the problem or concern.
This morning I don’t have anything other than the morning silence playing on my mind and so as I write, I also take a break to turn on my little aging Sony short wave radio (a gift from my friend Herb sitting on my kitchen table with its aerial aloft), tune in CBC Radio 2 and listen to a little music while I prepare my cereal.
I look out the window and take back my comment about no rain. It is truly pelting down now. But it is only a 20 minute walk to work and I have my umbrella.
The CBC host (Gregory Charles) makes the comment that he was born in 1968 but from now on is going to lie about his age and pretend he’s 22. 1968! My God, he’s a baby but that classic CBC radio style makes him sound so much older. And he has some fine taste in music! This morning's theme, suited to a Sunday morning , seems to be on the subject of faith and belief.
He tells a story that I find compelling which I have never heard. It is about the I Have A Dream speech by Martin Luther King. He said that while King was talking Mahalia Jackson was standing in the background and kept prompting him, “Tell them about the dream” (the announcer said you can hear her voice in the recording) and she kept repeating this until finally he seemed to hear her and launch into the famous I have a dream part of the speech. Talk about timing and the skills of a musician.
I was hoping that there might be some nice gentle music this morning and I am rewarded as he plays You Must Believe in Spring (and Love) sung by Tony Bennett and accompanied by the great Bill Evans on piano.
Bennett’s soft vocal approach combined with the rich colorful palate of the solo piano combine to create a lovely sense of nostalgia and peace in me, somehow perfectly in tune with the cloudy, rainy morning.
And just as though I had been to church and attended a wonderful service, I am feeling uplifted and ready for the day!
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
A Simple Act of Healing
This morning when I looked out my window, I thought I detected a break in the rain.
I got out of bed and went into my morning routine, which on Tuesdays usually includes laundry.
I also prepared a bowl of hot oatmeal with raisins, cinnamon and banana, a habit I recently re-adopted on the advice of my dental hygienist. She asked about my health as she always does and I had mentioned that my cholesterol levels were too high. She suggested oatmeal cereal.
"I don't like cooking in the mornings," I replied.
She admonished me with a gentle smile, and the words "Don't be lazy!"
At this time of the year especially, with the weather turning, it feels good to start off the day with something more substantial than coffee and juice. I use Quaker quick cooking oats and it only takes about 5 minutes to prepare.
With the fruit added, I don't need to add sugar. I just add about 1/3 cup of milk.
This is something I haven't done for years. Having hot cereal in the morning reminds me of my childhood (it was Quaker cereals then too) and preparing for school in the morning. It is a good memory and a good feeling. It is a simple act of healing.
After a shower and a change of laundry loads, I went out into the elements and up to Davie to get groceries. I was wrong about the break in the rain.
But it wasn't a heavy rain, it was one of those comfortable, familiar Vancouver drizzles that get you wet but not soaked and the temperature was also very liveable. I was wearing a t-shirt under a light jacket and a baseball cap and felt quite cozy.
The streets are now strewn with multicolored leaves of many varieties and as I walked up the hill looking at the wet, natural collage under my feet, I felt a lightness of spirit and sure of myself.
I got out of bed and went into my morning routine, which on Tuesdays usually includes laundry.
I also prepared a bowl of hot oatmeal with raisins, cinnamon and banana, a habit I recently re-adopted on the advice of my dental hygienist. She asked about my health as she always does and I had mentioned that my cholesterol levels were too high. She suggested oatmeal cereal.
"I don't like cooking in the mornings," I replied.
She admonished me with a gentle smile, and the words "Don't be lazy!"
At this time of the year especially, with the weather turning, it feels good to start off the day with something more substantial than coffee and juice. I use Quaker quick cooking oats and it only takes about 5 minutes to prepare.
With the fruit added, I don't need to add sugar. I just add about 1/3 cup of milk.
This is something I haven't done for years. Having hot cereal in the morning reminds me of my childhood (it was Quaker cereals then too) and preparing for school in the morning. It is a good memory and a good feeling. It is a simple act of healing.
After a shower and a change of laundry loads, I went out into the elements and up to Davie to get groceries. I was wrong about the break in the rain.
But it wasn't a heavy rain, it was one of those comfortable, familiar Vancouver drizzles that get you wet but not soaked and the temperature was also very liveable. I was wearing a t-shirt under a light jacket and a baseball cap and felt quite cozy.
The streets are now strewn with multicolored leaves of many varieties and as I walked up the hill looking at the wet, natural collage under my feet, I felt a lightness of spirit and sure of myself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
