I was up at 10:30 this morning, my head full of worries about high blood pressure and slowly swelling lymph nodes. There is a part of me that would like to chuck everything, and just go away somewhere and be a musician again, but that part does not acknowledge the fullness of this present moment.
I know that if there is ever a time for me to have trust and faith it is now.
I managed my morning shave and made coffee. Yesterday I didn’t have coffee at all. There was also a glimpse of sunlight so I planned a short hike along the seawall. I was sure it would do me a world of good, as it's mainly the constant cold and rain bringing me down.
I put on my warm khaki coat and headed downhill toward the beach.
What a glorious day!
The sun was brilliant, warming and there appeared joggers in shorts displaying the white legs of winter, young moms pushing big-wheeled strollers, little old ladies negotiating walkers between puddles, countless dogs on leashes sniffing at pantlegs of passersby and fat Canada Geese basking in the green grass.
What a contrast from yesterday's dull drone of steady rain!
I have not been along the seawall since the recent storms that blew down all the trees and so I decided to hike as far as I could.
Once I got out past 2nd beach, I was able to relax into the rhythm of my walk and gaze into the haze over the calm waters, immerse myself in the texture of the sand rippling out to the low tide, the bleached driftwood natural sculptures and the sounds of rivulets gushing down the steep parts of the embankment where forest meets paved roadway, and at one point creating a broad floodway that poured over the seawalk walk, and through which I splashed in my shoes rather than attempting the tightrope walk along the seawall rim which on this section is rough-hewn.
I rounded the corner to 3rd Beach and at that point I could see that the seawall was now blocked and gated by the Parks Board along the stretch to Siwash Rock. I hesitated and was about to turn back, but thought better of it. Taking this walk to the very end of possibility today, seemed like the best choice and so I decided to walk right up to the fence that is closing off the seawall past this point, and look through the mesh to glimpse the fragmented mess along the walkway that has still not been cleared.
As I approached the walk below the concession stand, the haunting sounds of a flute or horn could be heard coming from the area next to the stand. As I got closer I saw a white-haired gent in black beret up on the rise sitting at a music stand and playing what looked and sounded to be an Alto Sax.
It was a very slow and gorgeous one note samba, and as I listened to the expressive tones unfolding and to the intervals between that created imaginary augmented and diminished chords between notes, the melody line came into focus but only for the moment.
As I look back, all I can recall is the beauty of it, and the sense of peace it created in me as I passed.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
An Uncomfortable Physical
Today's rainy cold exactly matched my mood.
I don't like doctor's appointments and I am just back from my latest appointment with my hematologist, and today I had a long wait to get in, and finally a rather uncomfortable physical.
I have noticed some slight swellings around the neck and abdomen that I didn’t notice a few months ago. I decided not to say anything but to wait for the results of the physical exam.
In October there was some suggestion that after this appointment I would only have to check in every six months, not every 3 months.
As soon as my physical began, she immediately touched several of the new nodes that have developed and her fingers lingered on and probed the areas as though her intuitive or trained radar had picked up something.
She gave me a fair jab at one spot in my abdomen that caused me to yelp in pain.
She also did two blood pressure tests and told me that mine is “way high”. She suggested that I monitor it myself over the next few weeks to see if it remains high, and if it does to see my family doctor.
After the exam was over, she didn’t indicate that anything new had developed, but scheduled me for further blood tests in April, a new appointment and suggested that perhaps I would also have an x-ray and ultra-sound at that point.
This was not what I hoped to hear, and I walked away from the meeting feeling at one with the rainy gray day.
I had arranged to meet Nika for lunch afterwards, but I am afraid I was not very good company. Nika said, “You have your nice bright yellow shirt on dad, but why the frown?”
"Am I frowning?" I asked. I hadn't realized it. I tried to explain without upsetting her, but as my face matched my mood, I don’t think I did a very good job.
The good news...3 more months until further tests!!!
I don't like doctor's appointments and I am just back from my latest appointment with my hematologist, and today I had a long wait to get in, and finally a rather uncomfortable physical.
I have noticed some slight swellings around the neck and abdomen that I didn’t notice a few months ago. I decided not to say anything but to wait for the results of the physical exam.
In October there was some suggestion that after this appointment I would only have to check in every six months, not every 3 months.
As soon as my physical began, she immediately touched several of the new nodes that have developed and her fingers lingered on and probed the areas as though her intuitive or trained radar had picked up something.
She gave me a fair jab at one spot in my abdomen that caused me to yelp in pain.
She also did two blood pressure tests and told me that mine is “way high”. She suggested that I monitor it myself over the next few weeks to see if it remains high, and if it does to see my family doctor.
After the exam was over, she didn’t indicate that anything new had developed, but scheduled me for further blood tests in April, a new appointment and suggested that perhaps I would also have an x-ray and ultra-sound at that point.
This was not what I hoped to hear, and I walked away from the meeting feeling at one with the rainy gray day.
I had arranged to meet Nika for lunch afterwards, but I am afraid I was not very good company. Nika said, “You have your nice bright yellow shirt on dad, but why the frown?”
"Am I frowning?" I asked. I hadn't realized it. I tried to explain without upsetting her, but as my face matched my mood, I don’t think I did a very good job.
The good news...3 more months until further tests!!!
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Mood Swings Meditation
It is one of those mornings where I am forced to pay close attention to things, because if I had a choice, I would have gone back to bed after I first got up. But I have work today.
Yesterday, the idea came to blog mood changes, and these are closely related to energy shifts in the body. But yesterday I was feeling pretty chipper, as the fire alarm inspector came and I had to be up early to let him in, and I succeeded in getting everything done that needed to be done before I was interrupted by his visit.
Today I got up and the first thing I noticed was…no energy. I feel tired, listless, dragged out. It’s a good thing I have my morning routine, as it is like a map of what to do, where to do it, and all I have to do is follow it, taking one step at a time.
What a perfect day to blog mood changes!
As I sit here at my keyboard, I picture myself floating in a large empty bowl of space. And despite the lack of energy, all I really want to do is to allow myself to settle to the very bottom of this bowl, in stillness and silence.
It would be easy to go off on a tangent and describe reasons why I feel this way. But the thing I really want and need to do is to regain my strength and energy. It seems to me that the first step in the process is letting it go and not to try and pump it up.
However, part of my morning routine is my physical exercises, and I did them in the exact same way as I am describing now, slowly, paying close attention, and trying not to push or rush through them. Feeling how sore and tired I am with every movement. Allowing myself to sink into the feeling.
I am blogging this in exactly the same way, one word at a time, no rush, no hurry.
Usually, I check email first thing, but today I opted for quiet. No radio, no distraction. Deal with the low energy!
An hour later, my mood swings meditation is bearing me up!
Yesterday, the idea came to blog mood changes, and these are closely related to energy shifts in the body. But yesterday I was feeling pretty chipper, as the fire alarm inspector came and I had to be up early to let him in, and I succeeded in getting everything done that needed to be done before I was interrupted by his visit.
Today I got up and the first thing I noticed was…no energy. I feel tired, listless, dragged out. It’s a good thing I have my morning routine, as it is like a map of what to do, where to do it, and all I have to do is follow it, taking one step at a time.
What a perfect day to blog mood changes!
As I sit here at my keyboard, I picture myself floating in a large empty bowl of space. And despite the lack of energy, all I really want to do is to allow myself to settle to the very bottom of this bowl, in stillness and silence.
It would be easy to go off on a tangent and describe reasons why I feel this way. But the thing I really want and need to do is to regain my strength and energy. It seems to me that the first step in the process is letting it go and not to try and pump it up.
However, part of my morning routine is my physical exercises, and I did them in the exact same way as I am describing now, slowly, paying close attention, and trying not to push or rush through them. Feeling how sore and tired I am with every movement. Allowing myself to sink into the feeling.
I am blogging this in exactly the same way, one word at a time, no rush, no hurry.
Usually, I check email first thing, but today I opted for quiet. No radio, no distraction. Deal with the low energy!
An hour later, my mood swings meditation is bearing me up!
Thursday, January 18, 2007
A Winter Feast
It is a typical mid January Vancouver morning…because of the rain it seems 2 hours earlier than the nearly 11 a.m. it actually is.
Last night my family gathered at my daughter Chaya’s new apartment to celebrate her successful landing and to finally have the traditional Christmas dinner we all missed this year.
I met my daughter Nika after work at her office and we walked together in the chilly early dusk, over the Cambie Street Bridge to the family-housing complex where Chaya and Kadir (my youngest) now live.
Chaya doesn’t have a landline and so no door buzzer and Nika had to announce our presence with her cell phone. Her older sister came skipping downstairs to open the door and greet us with big hugs.
She then led us to and proudly displayed her new digs, which she has touched up with fresh paint and a few new furnishings. It is great to see her in her element again, as the communal situation in their last place was not exactly comfortable, nor was it her space.
It is still a work in progress. Both she and Kadir now have their own separate rooms and Kadir’s is simply set up with a computer and desk, a nice big bed, and his new guitar and amp standing in the corner. She couldn’t show me hers, as she gave Kadir their only working bedroom light.
Chaya then returned to the kitchen where she and her mom were cooking up a feast, and I tried to engage Kadir in some conversation. But for this 13 year old, dad’s well meant efforts quickly caused noncommittal monosyllabic shrugs and grunts, rollings upwards of the eyes, deep and exasperated sighs and finally a plaintive moaned appeal, “Quit asking so many questions”.
Point taken! But just as I was giving up and turning away, Kadir caught my attention by extending his arm towards me and opening and closing his fingers in a snapping gesture that could only be translated as “pay up!” The subject of his allowance was the one topic he was willing to discuss.
When my older son Ky arrived straight from work, he gave me a big hug and was quick to answer my questions about how his day had gone. This was a refreshing turn of energy for me and I noticed Kadir quietly observing this.
It is amazing how a few years can change a child’s perspective completely. When my daughters were Kadir’s age, they were reluctant to talk to me either and tended to be embarrassed by any effusiveness from dad.
The dinner erased any tensions that had developed in the early part of the evening. This would be the first home cooked dinner in nearly 2 years where all of us were present.
We sat around the table, linked our hands and I led a very short blessing of the food. My kids are still a bit skeptical of this ritual, but put up with it for dad’s sake when we are together. It is a continuing attempt by me of passing along a glimpse of my decades of religious training without the dogma of formal religion. I hope that years from now they will remember this is a good way.
My blessing last night consisted of the words, “Thank you for these gifts,” to which and to my pleasant surprise Nika added the word, “Amen.”
The dinner was fabulous and afterwards we settled down to watch a 2-hour episode of this season’s American Idol. I couldn’t take the second hour of the hilarious but excruciatingly bad singing and so Nika and I bundled up for a walk back home along the Cambie Bridge in the pouring rain, as we are now nearly next-door neighbors in the West End.
We put up our hoods against the weather and hiked up 6 or 7 tiers of spiral stairs in the pelting elements, to the east sidewalk of the bridge and from there made our way to Pacific Boulevard. Nika suggested taking the seawall route back, but it was simply raining to hard and it was too cold to be able to enjoy any kind of stroll.
We both had work the next day and it was the vision of entering my own warm apartment after I had accompanied Nika home that kept me smiling and talking through the cold rain.
Last night my family gathered at my daughter Chaya’s new apartment to celebrate her successful landing and to finally have the traditional Christmas dinner we all missed this year.
I met my daughter Nika after work at her office and we walked together in the chilly early dusk, over the Cambie Street Bridge to the family-housing complex where Chaya and Kadir (my youngest) now live.
Chaya doesn’t have a landline and so no door buzzer and Nika had to announce our presence with her cell phone. Her older sister came skipping downstairs to open the door and greet us with big hugs.
She then led us to and proudly displayed her new digs, which she has touched up with fresh paint and a few new furnishings. It is great to see her in her element again, as the communal situation in their last place was not exactly comfortable, nor was it her space.
It is still a work in progress. Both she and Kadir now have their own separate rooms and Kadir’s is simply set up with a computer and desk, a nice big bed, and his new guitar and amp standing in the corner. She couldn’t show me hers, as she gave Kadir their only working bedroom light.
Chaya then returned to the kitchen where she and her mom were cooking up a feast, and I tried to engage Kadir in some conversation. But for this 13 year old, dad’s well meant efforts quickly caused noncommittal monosyllabic shrugs and grunts, rollings upwards of the eyes, deep and exasperated sighs and finally a plaintive moaned appeal, “Quit asking so many questions”.
Point taken! But just as I was giving up and turning away, Kadir caught my attention by extending his arm towards me and opening and closing his fingers in a snapping gesture that could only be translated as “pay up!” The subject of his allowance was the one topic he was willing to discuss.
When my older son Ky arrived straight from work, he gave me a big hug and was quick to answer my questions about how his day had gone. This was a refreshing turn of energy for me and I noticed Kadir quietly observing this.
It is amazing how a few years can change a child’s perspective completely. When my daughters were Kadir’s age, they were reluctant to talk to me either and tended to be embarrassed by any effusiveness from dad.
The dinner erased any tensions that had developed in the early part of the evening. This would be the first home cooked dinner in nearly 2 years where all of us were present.
We sat around the table, linked our hands and I led a very short blessing of the food. My kids are still a bit skeptical of this ritual, but put up with it for dad’s sake when we are together. It is a continuing attempt by me of passing along a glimpse of my decades of religious training without the dogma of formal religion. I hope that years from now they will remember this is a good way.
My blessing last night consisted of the words, “Thank you for these gifts,” to which and to my pleasant surprise Nika added the word, “Amen.”
The dinner was fabulous and afterwards we settled down to watch a 2-hour episode of this season’s American Idol. I couldn’t take the second hour of the hilarious but excruciatingly bad singing and so Nika and I bundled up for a walk back home along the Cambie Bridge in the pouring rain, as we are now nearly next-door neighbors in the West End.
We put up our hoods against the weather and hiked up 6 or 7 tiers of spiral stairs in the pelting elements, to the east sidewalk of the bridge and from there made our way to Pacific Boulevard. Nika suggested taking the seawall route back, but it was simply raining to hard and it was too cold to be able to enjoy any kind of stroll.
We both had work the next day and it was the vision of entering my own warm apartment after I had accompanied Nika home that kept me smiling and talking through the cold rain.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Below Zero
The last couple of days have reminded me of long ago Winnipeg winters, lots of sun, crusty icy snowy streets, and temperatures below zero. It has been a long time since Vancouver has seen such weather, and so I trekked to work the past couple of days, breathing steam, hands in pockets and feeling very chilled.
But later today I was reminded that temperatures in Edmonton were in the mid 30-below range and Winnipeg has seen it's coldest weather in over 2 years. A friend who had just flown in from Edmonton said when he landed, he felt he was in Hawaii after the frigid temperatures there.
But I guess it's all irrelevant for someone with a job and a warm office to check into. Not so for the many homeless on the streets still, in blankets and sleeping bags, begging for the money for a cup of coffee. Cold is cold, and homeless is homeless.
I am one of the lucky ones, home tonight in my warm room and sitting at my keyboard, playing out my words and thoughts into cyberspace for friends, family and unknown strangers who may happen by.
I thank God for everyday blessings that are so easily taken for granted.
But later today I was reminded that temperatures in Edmonton were in the mid 30-below range and Winnipeg has seen it's coldest weather in over 2 years. A friend who had just flown in from Edmonton said when he landed, he felt he was in Hawaii after the frigid temperatures there.
But I guess it's all irrelevant for someone with a job and a warm office to check into. Not so for the many homeless on the streets still, in blankets and sleeping bags, begging for the money for a cup of coffee. Cold is cold, and homeless is homeless.
I am one of the lucky ones, home tonight in my warm room and sitting at my keyboard, playing out my words and thoughts into cyberspace for friends, family and unknown strangers who may happen by.
I thank God for everyday blessings that are so easily taken for granted.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
The Calm
This morning I woke late to a list of chores that always waits for the first of my days off from work.
The gray, windy and silent sky intoduced a calm in me, that reminded me of days on the island of Symi in the Dodecanese, in the early 70's.
In those days, I would open my journal and with pen in hand, enter the first thoughts of the day. Many of these came out as poems or partial songs (which were later finished with music).
These days, my paper journal has been replaced by my computer journal, which is only a difference in formats. I always begin each day writing, and have done so for over 30 years.
So, despite the chores facing me, I launched into them with the idea of keeping the calm sensation I was experiencing today in focus. This was accomplished by an unhurried and quiet attention to each chore at hand.
I multitasked, breathing easily and went grocery shopping between laundry loads, all the while relaxing into the rhythm of the day. I even managed to get my white shirts out of the load, before the dryer had finished, so that I would not have to iron them. I did this without really trying to do so but paying attention to the rhythm in which things were unfolding.
On the way to Safeway, I realized I forgot to turn my TV off or wash out my coffee pot but did not allow myself to worry about these things. When I got home, I turned off my TV, turned on CBC and, while listening to Radio 2, finished my morning dishes and began my preparations for the evening meal.
It is now nearly 4:30 and supper is ready but uneaten on the stove, and I am back at the computer finishing this blog.
Although it rained most of the time I was out, and the wind was increasing, the evening is once again inducing a sensation of calm. Today's weatherforecast was for a storm beginning this evening.
But for now, I am simply and gratefully enjoying the calm. It is so beautiful!
The gray, windy and silent sky intoduced a calm in me, that reminded me of days on the island of Symi in the Dodecanese, in the early 70's.
In those days, I would open my journal and with pen in hand, enter the first thoughts of the day. Many of these came out as poems or partial songs (which were later finished with music).
These days, my paper journal has been replaced by my computer journal, which is only a difference in formats. I always begin each day writing, and have done so for over 30 years.
So, despite the chores facing me, I launched into them with the idea of keeping the calm sensation I was experiencing today in focus. This was accomplished by an unhurried and quiet attention to each chore at hand.
I multitasked, breathing easily and went grocery shopping between laundry loads, all the while relaxing into the rhythm of the day. I even managed to get my white shirts out of the load, before the dryer had finished, so that I would not have to iron them. I did this without really trying to do so but paying attention to the rhythm in which things were unfolding.
On the way to Safeway, I realized I forgot to turn my TV off or wash out my coffee pot but did not allow myself to worry about these things. When I got home, I turned off my TV, turned on CBC and, while listening to Radio 2, finished my morning dishes and began my preparations for the evening meal.
It is now nearly 4:30 and supper is ready but uneaten on the stove, and I am back at the computer finishing this blog.
Although it rained most of the time I was out, and the wind was increasing, the evening is once again inducing a sensation of calm. Today's weatherforecast was for a storm beginning this evening.
But for now, I am simply and gratefully enjoying the calm. It is so beautiful!
Friday, January 05, 2007
Healing Prayer from the "Gayan" of Inayat Khan
Nayaz
Beloved Lord, Almighty God,
through the rays of the sun,
through the waves of the air,
through the all-pervading life in space,
purify and revivify me,
and I pray,
heal my body, heart and soul.
- Sufi Pir-O-Murshid Inayat Khan
I first read this prayer over 30 years ago in a little hand-me-down book from Paul Reps' library called In the Garden, which was a collection of writings by and about the American Sufi teacher Samuel Lewis, affectionately known as Sufi Sam.
The book had been a gift to Reps and the hand written inscription on the first page read "Hi Reps, may your breath ever be sweet - Love, Wali Ali" (he was one of Sam's students and later also a sufi teacher.)
The message and energy of this short piece has stayed with me, as it's all about vibrations.
Both Sam and Reps were super initiated into the Sufi path by Inayat Khan around the same time in the 1920's and knew each other well.
This prayer has been coming back to me during my morning meditations ever since August when I began this blog, and in this week's mail came a package from England, addressed by a good friend, who had just returned from a short pilgrimage to Egypt. It was a copy of Inayat Khans' Gayan (or songs/prayers/sayings). And one of the first pages I opened was the above prayer.
Reps used to say that you can tell whether a book is a good one or not by holding it in your hands and feeling its vibrations.
Even before I opened this package, I could feel those healing vibrations as I held it in my hands. So Justin, thanks for this gift from the bottom of my heart.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Bruno's Bench
Yesterday morning, the first of my days off this week, I woke to the dreary sound of a Vancouver winter downpour. This was especially disappointing as this was the day I had agreed to visit Bruno's bench with a dear friend who knew Bruno intimately, his wife Brigitte.
On November 11th of this year I wrote a blog in memory of Bruno, and to my surprise, a friend of a relative of the family in France read the blog and forwarded it to Brigitte, who was still here in Vancouver although I had not been able to find her. I received an email from her son telling me that the family had read the blog, and the same day another email from Brigitte.
After hearing from them I surfed the net to find out more family info and found that they had dedicated a bench to Bruno, in his memory. And so, for nearly two months now, I have been planning a visit to Hastings Mill Park to visit Bruno's bench.
The fact that the family had dedicated a bench in Bruno's memory delighted me, as the words "Bruno's bench" have long been a part of my vocabulary.
I had an earlier version of this bench with me for many years, which was constructed, painted a dark sky blue, and given to me as my first and only piece of furniture in a newly rented room on West 2nd in Kitsilano in 1978 when I was working in the old Greenpeace office at 4th and Arbutus, by my good friend and the designer and builder himself, Bruno Castellan. My décor was Bruno’s bench, and a mattress on the floor and a magazine picture of a gorgeous woman in a bath on the wall.
For several years Bruno's bench served as my table and writing desk. I ate, kneeling down on a pillow beside it, and I wrote my poetry and songs on it. This was not an act of devotion to my friend, but simple necessity as I had little money, travel plans, and no inclination to plant roots.
Once we connected via the Internet, Brigitte agreed to accompany me to Bruno’s bench on a bright and sunny day when our schedules didn’t conflict, and it seemed that despite the rain, this had to be the day. We came close to postponing when I called in the morning, but then agreed to "brave the elements" in honor of Bruno.
We arrived at the park together in the pouring rain, umbrellas aloft and dodging deep puddles and muddy patches and made our way to the bench. It was too wet to sit, and there was a trough full of water in front of the bench where the ground was indented by the feet of many who had sat in this spot. So we walked around behind the bench and talked, and I rested a free hand on the back of the bench.
It was quite chilly in the rain, but Brigitte and I had a lot of ground to cover and we talked non-stop. From time to time I looked out over the bay towards Bowen Island where it seemed that a rift in the clouds was developing. Steady rain had been forecast for a full week but then Brigitte said, “It’s stopped raining,” and folded her umbrella. I could barely believe it, and had not noticed until she said something, but I followed suit.
We decided to walk back through Jericho Park still sharing many memories involving Bruno and the spirit of his love and friendship. By the time we left the park the sun was beginning to emerge from the clouds, and by the time we finished our coffee at Yoka’s on 4th, we walked out into a clear and sunny day.
Today, it seems to me that Bruno’s spirit had accompanied us through the rain and aided in parting the clouds just so we could realize our hope of a sunny day visit to his bench, dedicated to his memory by family and friends in memory of "et tous nos bons moments ensemble" or"and all the good times we had together"!
On November 11th of this year I wrote a blog in memory of Bruno, and to my surprise, a friend of a relative of the family in France read the blog and forwarded it to Brigitte, who was still here in Vancouver although I had not been able to find her. I received an email from her son telling me that the family had read the blog, and the same day another email from Brigitte.
After hearing from them I surfed the net to find out more family info and found that they had dedicated a bench to Bruno, in his memory. And so, for nearly two months now, I have been planning a visit to Hastings Mill Park to visit Bruno's bench.
The fact that the family had dedicated a bench in Bruno's memory delighted me, as the words "Bruno's bench" have long been a part of my vocabulary.
I had an earlier version of this bench with me for many years, which was constructed, painted a dark sky blue, and given to me as my first and only piece of furniture in a newly rented room on West 2nd in Kitsilano in 1978 when I was working in the old Greenpeace office at 4th and Arbutus, by my good friend and the designer and builder himself, Bruno Castellan. My décor was Bruno’s bench, and a mattress on the floor and a magazine picture of a gorgeous woman in a bath on the wall.
For several years Bruno's bench served as my table and writing desk. I ate, kneeling down on a pillow beside it, and I wrote my poetry and songs on it. This was not an act of devotion to my friend, but simple necessity as I had little money, travel plans, and no inclination to plant roots.
Once we connected via the Internet, Brigitte agreed to accompany me to Bruno’s bench on a bright and sunny day when our schedules didn’t conflict, and it seemed that despite the rain, this had to be the day. We came close to postponing when I called in the morning, but then agreed to "brave the elements" in honor of Bruno.
We arrived at the park together in the pouring rain, umbrellas aloft and dodging deep puddles and muddy patches and made our way to the bench. It was too wet to sit, and there was a trough full of water in front of the bench where the ground was indented by the feet of many who had sat in this spot. So we walked around behind the bench and talked, and I rested a free hand on the back of the bench.
It was quite chilly in the rain, but Brigitte and I had a lot of ground to cover and we talked non-stop. From time to time I looked out over the bay towards Bowen Island where it seemed that a rift in the clouds was developing. Steady rain had been forecast for a full week but then Brigitte said, “It’s stopped raining,” and folded her umbrella. I could barely believe it, and had not noticed until she said something, but I followed suit.
We decided to walk back through Jericho Park still sharing many memories involving Bruno and the spirit of his love and friendship. By the time we left the park the sun was beginning to emerge from the clouds, and by the time we finished our coffee at Yoka’s on 4th, we walked out into a clear and sunny day.
Today, it seems to me that Bruno’s spirit had accompanied us through the rain and aided in parting the clouds just so we could realize our hope of a sunny day visit to his bench, dedicated to his memory by family and friends in memory of "et tous nos bons moments ensemble" or"and all the good times we had together"!
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Coffee Grounds
I woke earlier this morning and forced myself up and out of bed, as I had to be work an hour and a half earlier due to the holiday schedule.
I am not generally a morning person, and to just to prove it to myself, while making my coffee, I tipped the filter out of my hand and in an instant, coffee grounds had scattered over my countertop, into the draws and cupboards ajar below and all over the kitchen floor.
I caught myself before the curse escaped me. I lightened my energy, relaxed my shoulders, and smiled, “Okay, Baba, get with it now!”
It took me about 15 minutes to clean everything up, as it seemed that coffee had not just been dropped, but flung by the hand of a mean little elf, for as far as he could throw it.
About half way through the job I felt that curse coming on again, and then I remembered last night’s CNN broadcast and Saddam Hussein’s quick trip to the gallows.
I had caught the beginning earlier on in the evening, during my break at work, when they were still not sure but said that the appeal for a delay in his execution had been rejected.
For some reason, I stood spellbound watching this unfold, as I had stood the day before when I heard James Brown had died. My daughter Nika had walked in on me that day as I watched the announcement with a pang of real regret, remembering those vintage scenes from the Apollo Theatre, James Brown and the Famous Flames, and “I Feel Good, I knew that I would…”
James Brown set a musical standard for a whole generation of new R&B and Soul musicians, including all the rock band/pop singers that ever were and will be. Without him, there would never have been a Michael Jackson, a Mick Jagger, or a Freddie Mercury. So what if he had his demons? We all do!
I said to Nika, “James Brown just died” and she replied, “Poor dad,” as she knew it had affected me in a sad way.
I felt no such sadness watching the face of Saddam Hussein on the evening broadcast, but I felt a different kind of sadness, when I listened to his daughter’s comments on what a fine and loving father he had been.
From what I saw over the past year, there was a regal quality to his face, something truly noble, but which had been pushed down and smothered in the fire of surviving as a dictator and grasping and killing his way into power. Saddam's demons were too powerful, and they took over. And somewhere along the way, he let them.
What if the other Saddam had taken over, the handsome man with the kind smile, splashing in the water with his child on his shoulders? The one who said “Don’t hate your enemies”! What if that man had ruled and guided Iraq?
My urge to curse was now fading. Spilled coffee grounds are not so bad!
Hell, they're nothing at all!
I am not generally a morning person, and to just to prove it to myself, while making my coffee, I tipped the filter out of my hand and in an instant, coffee grounds had scattered over my countertop, into the draws and cupboards ajar below and all over the kitchen floor.
I caught myself before the curse escaped me. I lightened my energy, relaxed my shoulders, and smiled, “Okay, Baba, get with it now!”
It took me about 15 minutes to clean everything up, as it seemed that coffee had not just been dropped, but flung by the hand of a mean little elf, for as far as he could throw it.
About half way through the job I felt that curse coming on again, and then I remembered last night’s CNN broadcast and Saddam Hussein’s quick trip to the gallows.
I had caught the beginning earlier on in the evening, during my break at work, when they were still not sure but said that the appeal for a delay in his execution had been rejected.
For some reason, I stood spellbound watching this unfold, as I had stood the day before when I heard James Brown had died. My daughter Nika had walked in on me that day as I watched the announcement with a pang of real regret, remembering those vintage scenes from the Apollo Theatre, James Brown and the Famous Flames, and “I Feel Good, I knew that I would…”
James Brown set a musical standard for a whole generation of new R&B and Soul musicians, including all the rock band/pop singers that ever were and will be. Without him, there would never have been a Michael Jackson, a Mick Jagger, or a Freddie Mercury. So what if he had his demons? We all do!
I said to Nika, “James Brown just died” and she replied, “Poor dad,” as she knew it had affected me in a sad way.
I felt no such sadness watching the face of Saddam Hussein on the evening broadcast, but I felt a different kind of sadness, when I listened to his daughter’s comments on what a fine and loving father he had been.
From what I saw over the past year, there was a regal quality to his face, something truly noble, but which had been pushed down and smothered in the fire of surviving as a dictator and grasping and killing his way into power. Saddam's demons were too powerful, and they took over. And somewhere along the way, he let them.
What if the other Saddam had taken over, the handsome man with the kind smile, splashing in the water with his child on his shoulders? The one who said “Don’t hate your enemies”! What if that man had ruled and guided Iraq?
My urge to curse was now fading. Spilled coffee grounds are not so bad!
Hell, they're nothing at all!
Monday, December 25, 2006
Big Wheel Turning
Last night I came home from work early, as the phones closed at 8 p.m. for the holidays, and I spent about a half hour extra closing the office.
At home I reached down a bottle of rum which has been sitting in my kitchen since last Christmas and poured a shot into a Light Holiday Eggnog from Safeway. I turned on Channel 4 to watch and listen to the crackling of the Yule Log and checked email.
This doesn't measure up to lighting my wood fire with cedar bough kindling on my Vancouver Island days, and putting a pot of clove-scented water on the stove to boil, but brings back pleasant memories anyway.
I spent most of this Christmas morning designing a Christmas greeting email, which I started to work on last night and finally got finished and sent out. The fonts might not match on other computers, or maybe the angels won’t appear on hotmail, but the intention is there anyway.
I also received an email from a good friend who is in East Berlin on a Christmas break from work in London. He reminded me, “You have been remiss in updating your blog.”
I talked to all family members via phone this morning. Nika initiated this with a Merry Christmas dad call, and all the kids (now young ladies and gentlemen) chimed in one at a time, as they had all spent Christmas Eve together exchanging gifts, as our family gathering is not planned until Boxing Day. Then they had all slept over at Chaya's and were planning to go snowboarding as a group today.
I can't tell you how proud I am of my children, that they value each other enought to celebrate as a family in the absence of mom and dad.
I don't know what everyone received but I do know that Kadir will be "rockin' the blues" with a new Fender guitar and amp, courtesy of Saint Nick. Thank God, for Santa Claus...one of the many joyful creations of our common Creator.
And don't start trying to tell me that there is no Santa Claus. I ain't a-buyin' it!
So for this Christmas anyway, I pray along with many others for food and shelter for all humankind, for someone or something to Love for each of us, and for Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all. I plan to continue this prayer throughout the next 365 days.
If you think Santa forgot you this year, the Big Wheel isn't yet finished turning.
At home I reached down a bottle of rum which has been sitting in my kitchen since last Christmas and poured a shot into a Light Holiday Eggnog from Safeway. I turned on Channel 4 to watch and listen to the crackling of the Yule Log and checked email.
This doesn't measure up to lighting my wood fire with cedar bough kindling on my Vancouver Island days, and putting a pot of clove-scented water on the stove to boil, but brings back pleasant memories anyway.
I spent most of this Christmas morning designing a Christmas greeting email, which I started to work on last night and finally got finished and sent out. The fonts might not match on other computers, or maybe the angels won’t appear on hotmail, but the intention is there anyway.
I also received an email from a good friend who is in East Berlin on a Christmas break from work in London. He reminded me, “You have been remiss in updating your blog.”
I talked to all family members via phone this morning. Nika initiated this with a Merry Christmas dad call, and all the kids (now young ladies and gentlemen) chimed in one at a time, as they had all spent Christmas Eve together exchanging gifts, as our family gathering is not planned until Boxing Day. Then they had all slept over at Chaya's and were planning to go snowboarding as a group today.
I can't tell you how proud I am of my children, that they value each other enought to celebrate as a family in the absence of mom and dad.
I don't know what everyone received but I do know that Kadir will be "rockin' the blues" with a new Fender guitar and amp, courtesy of Saint Nick. Thank God, for Santa Claus...one of the many joyful creations of our common Creator.
And don't start trying to tell me that there is no Santa Claus. I ain't a-buyin' it!
So for this Christmas anyway, I pray along with many others for food and shelter for all humankind, for someone or something to Love for each of us, and for Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all. I plan to continue this prayer throughout the next 365 days.
If you think Santa forgot you this year, the Big Wheel isn't yet finished turning.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
"Good Vibrations"
It is Sunday morning and I am slowly getting ready for work.
The big snow and wind that was forecast hit Vancouver Island and some of the lower mainland but in the Greater Vancouver area only the wind arrived, doing some major damage to the trees in Stanley Park, which is now closed to all traffic (including pedestrians) until further notice.
In all my years here, since 1970, I can't remember this ever happening.
After having to boil water a few weeks ago, having power when others were losing it all around the city, made me even more grateful for things we take for granted.
The roller coaster of domestic problems continued into this week and had me praying more than ever that they would be solved before we entered fully into the holiday season. It seems my prayers have been temporarily answered although last night the problems re-visited me multiplied a hundred-fold in my dreams.
A friend of mine suggested the other day, "Where there is family, there is problems", and that is an important reminder that this is another area where we can easily assume things, or take things for granted. When I was single (way back in the Stone Age) I only had my own problems but now I have to bear the difficulties of all my family members with them, there is no choice in the matter!
Along with other areas of changes in my life, I've added the routine of morning prayer after my physical exercises, and during this prayer I try to include the names of all family members and any friends or acquaintances who are having difficulties, and in this way hopefully adding to the volume of "good vibrations" spreading around the planet.
It seems to me that I need to learn more about and then activate the simple human act of bestowing blessing, which of course doesn't come from us, but moves through us from the Source of everything that is!
I can feel prayer as a really "good vibration" that moves through me and heals me too before I begin to breathe it outward.
And I thank God (and of course Brian Wilson) for these good vibrations.
The big snow and wind that was forecast hit Vancouver Island and some of the lower mainland but in the Greater Vancouver area only the wind arrived, doing some major damage to the trees in Stanley Park, which is now closed to all traffic (including pedestrians) until further notice.
In all my years here, since 1970, I can't remember this ever happening.
After having to boil water a few weeks ago, having power when others were losing it all around the city, made me even more grateful for things we take for granted.
The roller coaster of domestic problems continued into this week and had me praying more than ever that they would be solved before we entered fully into the holiday season. It seems my prayers have been temporarily answered although last night the problems re-visited me multiplied a hundred-fold in my dreams.
A friend of mine suggested the other day, "Where there is family, there is problems", and that is an important reminder that this is another area where we can easily assume things, or take things for granted. When I was single (way back in the Stone Age) I only had my own problems but now I have to bear the difficulties of all my family members with them, there is no choice in the matter!
Along with other areas of changes in my life, I've added the routine of morning prayer after my physical exercises, and during this prayer I try to include the names of all family members and any friends or acquaintances who are having difficulties, and in this way hopefully adding to the volume of "good vibrations" spreading around the planet.
It seems to me that I need to learn more about and then activate the simple human act of bestowing blessing, which of course doesn't come from us, but moves through us from the Source of everything that is!
I can feel prayer as a really "good vibration" that moves through me and heals me too before I begin to breathe it outward.
And I thank God (and of course Brian Wilson) for these good vibrations.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Kadir's Win!
It's just past 5 p.m. Wednesday night and I am back home from a brief trip downtown.
My plan today, a day off from work, was to do a little window shopping and maybe even some real shopping and then take in a movie.
I had called my son Kadir at noon to see if he wanted to join me after school and he had not called back and by the time I finished my visit to several stores, I was too early for the movie I wanted to see and so went home to check my voice mail.
There was still no call from Kadir and so I was biding my time as I still had enough time to walk back downtown to the movie when my phone rang.
It was Kadir. He was just getting home from school and was basically rushing home to show his sister Chaya his report card.
He has had a rocky ride in the past few years, as have all of our family for many reasons (only a few of which have been spelled out in this blog), and nearly failed grade 6.
Last year, after my daughter Chaya took over his care, he attended a middle school in Coquitlam and managed mostly "C" grades and this year, his first year in high school, he also managed "C" grades in earlier tests.
About a month ago, after a family discussion, Chaya decided to apply a more focused discipline in terms of homework and we all encouraged him to try harder, as he is "smart as a whip" but tends to drag his feet when he doesn't want to do something.
To make a long story short, he blurted out "Guess what dad? I got an "A" in math!"
In his last years of elementary school he never once scored an "A" in math, and the pride in his voice was evident.
It was plain to me in the past few years that he didn't feel he could possibly do well in school, that he felt he didn't have what it takes...but the love and dedication of his sister Chaya, plus his innate wisdom, is beginning to pay off.
Now he knows he can do it, and that is half the battle won!
And his dad?
Today is a wonderful day!
My plan today, a day off from work, was to do a little window shopping and maybe even some real shopping and then take in a movie.
I had called my son Kadir at noon to see if he wanted to join me after school and he had not called back and by the time I finished my visit to several stores, I was too early for the movie I wanted to see and so went home to check my voice mail.
There was still no call from Kadir and so I was biding my time as I still had enough time to walk back downtown to the movie when my phone rang.
It was Kadir. He was just getting home from school and was basically rushing home to show his sister Chaya his report card.
He has had a rocky ride in the past few years, as have all of our family for many reasons (only a few of which have been spelled out in this blog), and nearly failed grade 6.
Last year, after my daughter Chaya took over his care, he attended a middle school in Coquitlam and managed mostly "C" grades and this year, his first year in high school, he also managed "C" grades in earlier tests.
About a month ago, after a family discussion, Chaya decided to apply a more focused discipline in terms of homework and we all encouraged him to try harder, as he is "smart as a whip" but tends to drag his feet when he doesn't want to do something.
To make a long story short, he blurted out "Guess what dad? I got an "A" in math!"
In his last years of elementary school he never once scored an "A" in math, and the pride in his voice was evident.
It was plain to me in the past few years that he didn't feel he could possibly do well in school, that he felt he didn't have what it takes...but the love and dedication of his sister Chaya, plus his innate wisdom, is beginning to pay off.
Now he knows he can do it, and that is half the battle won!
And his dad?
Today is a wonderful day!
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Remembering Bruno
It is of course Remembrance Day and I woke from a particularly moving dream, which included my family and the family of a good friend.
My kids were young and I was walking with them and their mother Karen and we passed a little nondescript gray unpainted house. In the window I noticed Brigitte, Bruno’s wife, wearing a brilliant orange colored dress and bustling about her chores. We had come to visit them.
Her flower garden was filled with multicolored roses, and there was one display set up to look like a Remembrance Day wreath, a pink cross with black flowers at the periphery of the arms.
When we came in Bruno was just coming home from work, all smiles and we had an impromptu lunch, adults and children all toasting our reunion with fruit juices and non-alcoholic beverages. At one point, Bruno appeared to offer Brigitte a glass of home made wine, a light milky rose in color, and she motioned for him to offer me one. In the old days, it would have been let the wine flow, but in the dream I declined. It seemed fitting not to drink, as the offering of wine was made especially to his wife.
Their house was situated in a grassy field in the midst of a city, but from a certain vantage point, all one could see were what looked like farm buildings and it seemed we were out in the country. It was a one-story house, more like a long shed but immaculately clean and roomy inside with large windows and shining with the spirit of those who lived inside, sort of like a Quaker home. The place seemed to be rented from a landlord who lived above in a more luxurious mansion, and as I explored I saw a huge garage filled with expensive older foreign cars, like Bentleys, Mercedes and Jaguars. It seemed to be a business that had rented out the smaller house to Bruno’s family.
As we all sat around the table, I tried to explain how I wished I could have provided such a beautiful surrounding for my own family. And then, I began explaining to them how much I regretted the loss of my good friend Bruno Castellan, who although there in the dream, actually died from cancer at the age of 40, leaving behind his wife and 4 children. Tears began to well up with huge emotions, and I could not find the words to describe the loss of such an important person in my life.
When I woke from this dream, I lay there for a long while still savoring the emotions that the dream awoke in me. How much we take for granted, and how quickly the beautiful things in our lives vanish like mist!
My kids were young and I was walking with them and their mother Karen and we passed a little nondescript gray unpainted house. In the window I noticed Brigitte, Bruno’s wife, wearing a brilliant orange colored dress and bustling about her chores. We had come to visit them.
Her flower garden was filled with multicolored roses, and there was one display set up to look like a Remembrance Day wreath, a pink cross with black flowers at the periphery of the arms.
When we came in Bruno was just coming home from work, all smiles and we had an impromptu lunch, adults and children all toasting our reunion with fruit juices and non-alcoholic beverages. At one point, Bruno appeared to offer Brigitte a glass of home made wine, a light milky rose in color, and she motioned for him to offer me one. In the old days, it would have been let the wine flow, but in the dream I declined. It seemed fitting not to drink, as the offering of wine was made especially to his wife.
Their house was situated in a grassy field in the midst of a city, but from a certain vantage point, all one could see were what looked like farm buildings and it seemed we were out in the country. It was a one-story house, more like a long shed but immaculately clean and roomy inside with large windows and shining with the spirit of those who lived inside, sort of like a Quaker home. The place seemed to be rented from a landlord who lived above in a more luxurious mansion, and as I explored I saw a huge garage filled with expensive older foreign cars, like Bentleys, Mercedes and Jaguars. It seemed to be a business that had rented out the smaller house to Bruno’s family.
As we all sat around the table, I tried to explain how I wished I could have provided such a beautiful surrounding for my own family. And then, I began explaining to them how much I regretted the loss of my good friend Bruno Castellan, who although there in the dream, actually died from cancer at the age of 40, leaving behind his wife and 4 children. Tears began to well up with huge emotions, and I could not find the words to describe the loss of such an important person in my life.
When I woke from this dream, I lay there for a long while still savoring the emotions that the dream awoke in me. How much we take for granted, and how quickly the beautiful things in our lives vanish like mist!
Friday, November 10, 2006
The Day Before Remembrance Day
It is the day before Remembrance Day and this morning on CBC radio host Shelly Soames played a BBC radio recording of a nightingale singing in the English countryside during the 2nd World War. It was a crystal clear recording of the intricate patterns the birdsong makes done for a nature program but in the background, the steady drone of bombers taking off from a nearby RAF base could be heard, “A stark reminder of the contrast between peace and war”, as the host remarked!
I had just got up to get ready for work but stood transfixed as I listened to the complete piece, which probably lasted no more than 3 minutes. I remembered driving my sons and my brother Ken back to Winnipeg in 2003 to attend mom’s funeral, and taking the boys to visit the military graves where my father’s headstone stands. The inscription says he was a gunner in the army but when I was a boy, he told me he was in the signals corps.
He said that he and friend got drunk one night in Toronto, and when they woke up the next morning, they were in the army.
He refused to talk about the war, other than to say his nickname was “Flash”, because when the bombing started, he was the first one to flash behind a rock. Occasionally and after a few drinks he would gross us out by turning up sharp fragments of what he told us were bullets under the skin of his arm. I am not sure to this day what they were, but most likely bone or cartilage.
Like many veterans, my father seemed to be haunted by the past, and as we children grew older, he turned to drinking and was drunk more often than not. Along with drinking came the anger, and he was not a pleasant person to be around when he was angry. As children, all we could see was that he was getting angry for no reason, but we knew little of the circumstances of his struggle to survive and support a family of 8 children.
He was a gifted violinist and when we were younger he would often play at home, but when I was about 12 he pawned his violin and we never heard him play again, except once when he was admitted to Deer Lodge Hospital and astounded the whole family by playing the piano in the lounge. None of us knew he could play as we never had a piano at home and he didn’t bother to tell us.
What happened in those few years on the European front, that slowly took the peace and happiness from my father’s heart and replaced it with bitterness and deep regret? I will never know for sure, but I feel it is directly connected with what my father experienced during those war years.
I had just got up to get ready for work but stood transfixed as I listened to the complete piece, which probably lasted no more than 3 minutes. I remembered driving my sons and my brother Ken back to Winnipeg in 2003 to attend mom’s funeral, and taking the boys to visit the military graves where my father’s headstone stands. The inscription says he was a gunner in the army but when I was a boy, he told me he was in the signals corps.
He said that he and friend got drunk one night in Toronto, and when they woke up the next morning, they were in the army.
He refused to talk about the war, other than to say his nickname was “Flash”, because when the bombing started, he was the first one to flash behind a rock. Occasionally and after a few drinks he would gross us out by turning up sharp fragments of what he told us were bullets under the skin of his arm. I am not sure to this day what they were, but most likely bone or cartilage.
Like many veterans, my father seemed to be haunted by the past, and as we children grew older, he turned to drinking and was drunk more often than not. Along with drinking came the anger, and he was not a pleasant person to be around when he was angry. As children, all we could see was that he was getting angry for no reason, but we knew little of the circumstances of his struggle to survive and support a family of 8 children.
He was a gifted violinist and when we were younger he would often play at home, but when I was about 12 he pawned his violin and we never heard him play again, except once when he was admitted to Deer Lodge Hospital and astounded the whole family by playing the piano in the lounge. None of us knew he could play as we never had a piano at home and he didn’t bother to tell us.
What happened in those few years on the European front, that slowly took the peace and happiness from my father’s heart and replaced it with bitterness and deep regret? I will never know for sure, but I feel it is directly connected with what my father experienced during those war years.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
A Short Autumn Adventure
As I had planned, I went to an early matinee of Marie Antoinette yesterday at Tinseltown.
They are supposed to be the only film crew ever allowed to film on the grounds of Versailles. And what a sumptuous feast for the eyes the movie is! I guess the movie put me in the mood for an afternoon adventure.
By the time I got home, the mid morning rain had stopped, the sun had reappeared and there was an amazing wind that had turned the rain soaked leaves into a glittering light show with accompanying sound track, and so I had to head out and down to the waterfront to view the full spectrum.
The ocean was a steely blue flecked with big whitecaps and crashing up over the rocks, and the wind was roaring through the tall Lombardy poplars at Sunset Beach. A slim, dark haired girl in a turquoise jumpsuit was climbing the rocks with her young son or brother, as he brandished a long stick and tested the force of the waves and the depths of the water.
They were the only two brave ones out on the beach, though there were a few hardy souls walking the seawall like myself. As they passed me, the boy looked at me and quickly sizing me up with one cute but penetrating look, turned his back on me and drove his wooden spear into the waves.
I felt I had tuned momentarily into their adventure story and as they walked away down the beach I felt washed in the wake of the mystery of it. And a longing that reminded me of my own childhood.
They are supposed to be the only film crew ever allowed to film on the grounds of Versailles. And what a sumptuous feast for the eyes the movie is! I guess the movie put me in the mood for an afternoon adventure.
By the time I got home, the mid morning rain had stopped, the sun had reappeared and there was an amazing wind that had turned the rain soaked leaves into a glittering light show with accompanying sound track, and so I had to head out and down to the waterfront to view the full spectrum.
The ocean was a steely blue flecked with big whitecaps and crashing up over the rocks, and the wind was roaring through the tall Lombardy poplars at Sunset Beach. A slim, dark haired girl in a turquoise jumpsuit was climbing the rocks with her young son or brother, as he brandished a long stick and tested the force of the waves and the depths of the water.
They were the only two brave ones out on the beach, though there were a few hardy souls walking the seawall like myself. As they passed me, the boy looked at me and quickly sizing me up with one cute but penetrating look, turned his back on me and drove his wooden spear into the waves.
I felt I had tuned momentarily into their adventure story and as they walked away down the beach I felt washed in the wake of the mystery of it. And a longing that reminded me of my own childhood.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Water Wings
My daughter Chaya has always loved the water.
When we lived on Vancouver Island from about 1984 she was out all summer sun tanning on a big beach towel at the ages of 3 and 4, and before I knew what had happened was swimming. As far as I know she never needed water wings, she had invisible ones.
When we moved back to Vancouver in 1992, she was 11 years old. She came over with me on the ferry first to find a place to live and we found a basement suite in Kits and the family followed.
That summer, her mother took her daughters to the Aquatic Centre to swim, and I watched from the gallery in amazement as my daughter, who had never dived from a high board before, followed her mom off the 7.5 meter board without an ounce of hesitation or fear. They went up and off, just like that. I was reminded of a mother duck with her duckling following behind.
She, her sister Nika and brother Ky had all been home-schooled on the island, but when we came to Vancouver, she made the decision to go to school and the others followed suit. She started off in grade 5, always excelled and never looked back. She was the honor roll all the years at Kits High School. She crafted braided and beaded friendship bracelets, and made me a new one every few months.
In her last year of high school, our family friend and the kids’ godfather Herb loaned her money for enrollment in a lifeguard course, and in very short order, she was suited up in red and on the job at Kits Beach.
It seems that red was Chaya’s lucky color as I have an equally vivid memory of her walking down 4th Avenue in her new Safeway cashier’s uniform, and me the proud papa going to meet her.
It didn’t take long for the manager at Safeway to recognize her potential and he began counseling her and mentoring her for management training. At the age of 22, she was Safeway’s youngest assistant manager.
She soon found her own apartment, had a spiffy red sports car, and was on top of the world. Then early this year she developed a bad cough that would not go away. It went on for a month or more until one day it got so bad she left work to go to a walk-in clinic. They took an x-ray. She was diagnosed with cancer.
When she started her chemo, one of the first things she said to me was, “I was so looking forward to swimming this summer, and now I won’t be able to.” During the course of the chemo, I went through a period of depression and wondered if she would make it. Maybe she would never be able to swim again, and we would lose her?
Today, she went for her first swim this year since finishing chemo last week, and I went to the Aquatic Centre to watch, and sat in almost the same place where I first watched her jump off the high board. The memories flooded back.
She is a strong swimmer and when she took a break, she came over to talk to me and I said, “You look like a natural in there!” She replied, “I feel like I never missed a beat.”
As I walked home along the seawall, I was making the connection between her strength in swimming, her survival instincts and the constant presence in her life of those invisible water wings!
When we lived on Vancouver Island from about 1984 she was out all summer sun tanning on a big beach towel at the ages of 3 and 4, and before I knew what had happened was swimming. As far as I know she never needed water wings, she had invisible ones.
When we moved back to Vancouver in 1992, she was 11 years old. She came over with me on the ferry first to find a place to live and we found a basement suite in Kits and the family followed.
That summer, her mother took her daughters to the Aquatic Centre to swim, and I watched from the gallery in amazement as my daughter, who had never dived from a high board before, followed her mom off the 7.5 meter board without an ounce of hesitation or fear. They went up and off, just like that. I was reminded of a mother duck with her duckling following behind.
She, her sister Nika and brother Ky had all been home-schooled on the island, but when we came to Vancouver, she made the decision to go to school and the others followed suit. She started off in grade 5, always excelled and never looked back. She was the honor roll all the years at Kits High School. She crafted braided and beaded friendship bracelets, and made me a new one every few months.
In her last year of high school, our family friend and the kids’ godfather Herb loaned her money for enrollment in a lifeguard course, and in very short order, she was suited up in red and on the job at Kits Beach.
It seems that red was Chaya’s lucky color as I have an equally vivid memory of her walking down 4th Avenue in her new Safeway cashier’s uniform, and me the proud papa going to meet her.
It didn’t take long for the manager at Safeway to recognize her potential and he began counseling her and mentoring her for management training. At the age of 22, she was Safeway’s youngest assistant manager.
She soon found her own apartment, had a spiffy red sports car, and was on top of the world. Then early this year she developed a bad cough that would not go away. It went on for a month or more until one day it got so bad she left work to go to a walk-in clinic. They took an x-ray. She was diagnosed with cancer.
When she started her chemo, one of the first things she said to me was, “I was so looking forward to swimming this summer, and now I won’t be able to.” During the course of the chemo, I went through a period of depression and wondered if she would make it. Maybe she would never be able to swim again, and we would lose her?
Today, she went for her first swim this year since finishing chemo last week, and I went to the Aquatic Centre to watch, and sat in almost the same place where I first watched her jump off the high board. The memories flooded back.
She is a strong swimmer and when she took a break, she came over to talk to me and I said, “You look like a natural in there!” She replied, “I feel like I never missed a beat.”
As I walked home along the seawall, I was making the connection between her strength in swimming, her survival instincts and the constant presence in her life of those invisible water wings!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
A Boxer "Short"
Who wants to pay $18 for a pair of boxers, or $22 or more, just because the waistline reads Joe Boxer or something else? That’s over 2 hours pay for many people!
I wear boxers to bed instead of pajamas, which are too constricting for me. During the day, I wear men's briefs.They are easier to wash, cheaper to buy, and last as long or longer than boxers. I can usually get a package of 3 for around $6. Most of the time these are Fruit of the Looms, usually manufactured in Central America by workers making pennies an hour.
Fruit of the Loom made an excellent low price boxer which used to be easy to find but is now becoming more and more difficult to find, due to people who like me, refuse to pay $18 or more for a single pair of boxer shorts.
Would it be more politically correct to buy Joe Boxer boxers…wearing a proud Maple Leaf but assembled in Thailand for the same pennies per hour wage? It is the branding that sticks over the waistline of the jeans worn slung low by those who care “whas up?” and the advertising that makes them a hot item, a must-have.
Also, if you are taking off your pants in front of Penelope Cruz, you want to have something cool on down there, because you can be sure she will!
Today I headed down to Army & Navy but there were no bargains on boxers.
You never know where a bargain might be found. I found 2 Mantles 100% cotton boxers on my walk back from Chinatown at The Bay. They were made in China and on SALE…2 pair for $4.99! You have to look carefully for these things, as they were the only Medium size left in a huge rack of X-Larges!
The sales clerk, a young woman in her 30’s gave them a cursory glance and quipped, “Looks like you got a freebee here.”
If it was Penelope saying this, I might have felt deflated!
I wear boxers to bed instead of pajamas, which are too constricting for me. During the day, I wear men's briefs.They are easier to wash, cheaper to buy, and last as long or longer than boxers. I can usually get a package of 3 for around $6. Most of the time these are Fruit of the Looms, usually manufactured in Central America by workers making pennies an hour.
Fruit of the Loom made an excellent low price boxer which used to be easy to find but is now becoming more and more difficult to find, due to people who like me, refuse to pay $18 or more for a single pair of boxer shorts.
Would it be more politically correct to buy Joe Boxer boxers…wearing a proud Maple Leaf but assembled in Thailand for the same pennies per hour wage? It is the branding that sticks over the waistline of the jeans worn slung low by those who care “whas up?” and the advertising that makes them a hot item, a must-have.
Also, if you are taking off your pants in front of Penelope Cruz, you want to have something cool on down there, because you can be sure she will!
Today I headed down to Army & Navy but there were no bargains on boxers.
You never know where a bargain might be found. I found 2 Mantles 100% cotton boxers on my walk back from Chinatown at The Bay. They were made in China and on SALE…2 pair for $4.99! You have to look carefully for these things, as they were the only Medium size left in a huge rack of X-Larges!
The sales clerk, a young woman in her 30’s gave them a cursory glance and quipped, “Looks like you got a freebee here.”
If it was Penelope saying this, I might have felt deflated!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Great News on a Great Day
How could there be anything else than good news on a day like today?
It is another stunning autumn day, the air crisp and cool, and the sun bathing the colored leaves in rich light. There is something energizing too about wearing freshly laundered jeans and sweater, which puts a little more spring into each step.
I have been waiting for today for over 2 months. This is the day I met with the hematologist to receive the results of my blood tests and CT Scan.
It has been a long time coming, but I have been in no hurry. No hurry to receive more punishing tests, that's for sure. Yet today, I found myself strangely excited and optimistic.
My appointment was for 2 p.m. but I was early, as usual by about 15 minutes. But to my surprise at 2 p.m. sharp my doctor called me in.
First she asked me how I felt and I told her that I felt great! I have been working on my diet, as explained in previous blogs and so I seem to have a lot more energy than I did a month ago.
She explained that the type of cancer I have been diagnosed with, Mantle Cell Lymphoma, when discovered in men my age, is usually more advanced. It is a type of blood cancer and they did the bone marrow biopsy to see how far it has progressed. The result was that although some evidence of cancer has been found in the bone marrow, it is minimal, and that in her opinion treatment at this time is unnecessary.
The cancer appears to be indolent, sleeping in other words.
She advised that this cancer can become aggressive very quickly though, and that they must monitor me for the next few months.
She asked me what I had been doing and I explained about change of diet, meditation, prayer, visualization and she encouraged me to keep doing what I am doing as it appears to be working.
She said there is still a "blip" in her diagnosis in that she must take my results before a panel at the BC Cancer Society and get their opinion but said she wouldn't call me unless there was a change of approach needed, in their opinion.
Other than this, I go back to see her for blood tests and appointment in early January 2007.
A perfect conclusion to an otherwise perfect day, and as I write this I am preparing my supper of salad, brown rice and beans with a little chicken thrown into the mix!
What great news to share with my family and friends!
Over the past couple of months, your prayers, comments, suggestions and support have meant so much to me.
If I have learned anything from this, it is I am not alone!
It is another stunning autumn day, the air crisp and cool, and the sun bathing the colored leaves in rich light. There is something energizing too about wearing freshly laundered jeans and sweater, which puts a little more spring into each step.
I have been waiting for today for over 2 months. This is the day I met with the hematologist to receive the results of my blood tests and CT Scan.
It has been a long time coming, but I have been in no hurry. No hurry to receive more punishing tests, that's for sure. Yet today, I found myself strangely excited and optimistic.
My appointment was for 2 p.m. but I was early, as usual by about 15 minutes. But to my surprise at 2 p.m. sharp my doctor called me in.
First she asked me how I felt and I told her that I felt great! I have been working on my diet, as explained in previous blogs and so I seem to have a lot more energy than I did a month ago.
She explained that the type of cancer I have been diagnosed with, Mantle Cell Lymphoma, when discovered in men my age, is usually more advanced. It is a type of blood cancer and they did the bone marrow biopsy to see how far it has progressed. The result was that although some evidence of cancer has been found in the bone marrow, it is minimal, and that in her opinion treatment at this time is unnecessary.
The cancer appears to be indolent, sleeping in other words.
She advised that this cancer can become aggressive very quickly though, and that they must monitor me for the next few months.
She asked me what I had been doing and I explained about change of diet, meditation, prayer, visualization and she encouraged me to keep doing what I am doing as it appears to be working.
She said there is still a "blip" in her diagnosis in that she must take my results before a panel at the BC Cancer Society and get their opinion but said she wouldn't call me unless there was a change of approach needed, in their opinion.
Other than this, I go back to see her for blood tests and appointment in early January 2007.
A perfect conclusion to an otherwise perfect day, and as I write this I am preparing my supper of salad, brown rice and beans with a little chicken thrown into the mix!
What great news to share with my family and friends!
Over the past couple of months, your prayers, comments, suggestions and support have meant so much to me.
If I have learned anything from this, it is I am not alone!
Saturday, September 30, 2006
The Fate of Shangri La
It is already the last day of September. How quickly this month has passed!
When I left for work around noon today, it was drizzling rain, just a very little, like a fine mist, and I didn't even have to open my umbrella.
I was munching a Gala apple (reported to be a great antioxidant) as I walked and breathing in the cool air. I have tried to re-introduce as many fresh vegetables and fruits as I can into my diet, after having lost the taste for them over the last few years of too many fast food meals.
I had talked to my daughter Chaya earlier and she was feeling the effects of yesterday’s chemo treatment (her 2nd to last) and so I breathed a few silent prayers in her direction as I walked.
I looked forward to walking into the office, as weekends are casual dress and the mood is also more casual, and I usually spent the first hour laughing, gossiping and joking with everyone (when they are not on the phones), which is a great mood booster and sets me up for a great shift.
The day went quickly, the pace was fairly steady and at 9:30 p.m. I left the office for the day, and began my walk home.
They are building a huge high rise called Shangri La next to the building I work in, and it is supposed to become one of the tallest structures in the city, combining condos, hotel facilities and luxurious never-before-seen amenities for those who can afford them.
The construction site zone however, has become a haven for squeegee kids struggling to survive and also the covered walkway along the Georgia corridor is the bedroom of a young man who sleeps there every night.
I pass him on my walk home and he has been there most recent nights.
He has laid out a cardboard box for his mattress, one of those waterproofed kinds that are used by fruit and vegetable wholesalers, and it is usually lying there in wait for him on my way into work.
When I left work tonight and passed him, he was rolled up in his blue sleeping bag and sleeping, but most nights he has a book open and is reading.
It is extraordinary to see him there completely relaxed, as though he is lounging in his apartment, and deep into a book. He never has a paper cup or hat out for spare change, but is simply there.
The fall chill has started to hit the streets, and it is far from cozy on a cold cement sidewalk but he doesn’t look up from his book as I pass, and I sense that the world of the book has taken him from the world of the street, completely and utterly. He is never stoned or drunk but always reading, as far as I can see.
Behind the wooden barrier erected by the constuction crew, the future of this city block lies dormant, waiting to be summoned into existence by sorcerers in hardhats, armed with hammers and calculators.
But in my mind, this sleeping youth is the sage who will ultimately decide the fate of Shangri La.
Such things are possible!
When I left for work around noon today, it was drizzling rain, just a very little, like a fine mist, and I didn't even have to open my umbrella.
I was munching a Gala apple (reported to be a great antioxidant) as I walked and breathing in the cool air. I have tried to re-introduce as many fresh vegetables and fruits as I can into my diet, after having lost the taste for them over the last few years of too many fast food meals.
I had talked to my daughter Chaya earlier and she was feeling the effects of yesterday’s chemo treatment (her 2nd to last) and so I breathed a few silent prayers in her direction as I walked.
I looked forward to walking into the office, as weekends are casual dress and the mood is also more casual, and I usually spent the first hour laughing, gossiping and joking with everyone (when they are not on the phones), which is a great mood booster and sets me up for a great shift.
The day went quickly, the pace was fairly steady and at 9:30 p.m. I left the office for the day, and began my walk home.
They are building a huge high rise called Shangri La next to the building I work in, and it is supposed to become one of the tallest structures in the city, combining condos, hotel facilities and luxurious never-before-seen amenities for those who can afford them.
The construction site zone however, has become a haven for squeegee kids struggling to survive and also the covered walkway along the Georgia corridor is the bedroom of a young man who sleeps there every night.
I pass him on my walk home and he has been there most recent nights.
He has laid out a cardboard box for his mattress, one of those waterproofed kinds that are used by fruit and vegetable wholesalers, and it is usually lying there in wait for him on my way into work.
When I left work tonight and passed him, he was rolled up in his blue sleeping bag and sleeping, but most nights he has a book open and is reading.
It is extraordinary to see him there completely relaxed, as though he is lounging in his apartment, and deep into a book. He never has a paper cup or hat out for spare change, but is simply there.
The fall chill has started to hit the streets, and it is far from cozy on a cold cement sidewalk but he doesn’t look up from his book as I pass, and I sense that the world of the book has taken him from the world of the street, completely and utterly. He is never stoned or drunk but always reading, as far as I can see.
Behind the wooden barrier erected by the constuction crew, the future of this city block lies dormant, waiting to be summoned into existence by sorcerers in hardhats, armed with hammers and calculators.
But in my mind, this sleeping youth is the sage who will ultimately decide the fate of Shangri La.
Such things are possible!
Monday, September 25, 2006
In The Blink Of An Eye
The last band I played with in Winnipeg, before I took a train to Toronto to find my fortune was called Friday the 13th.
We were moderately successful and popular by local standards and played all the venues available to us and were even taken under wing of a local radio show host who saw in us a possible next big thing.
This was in the mid-to late 1960's...when rock and roll was many a poor boy's dream of fame and fortune.
When I arrived in Toronto, I was joined by the guitarist of this same Winnipeg group, who we knew as Gord. There we shared some hard times and learned a few more hard lessons about the unforgiving nature of the music business and poverty surrounding it if you don't make your mark.
After a very difficult but eye-opening winter there we went our separate ways and we lost contact through the following years.
But a few years back we regained contact again in Vancouver, after approximately 37 years apart and although we had changed dramatically, we instantly recognized each other, in a pre-arranged meeting in a coffee shop and picked up in approximately the exact same place we left off. No problem!
Within minutes, we were both laughing, joking, sharing stories and unselfconciously comfortable in each others' presence. In the old days, we used to joke that we were two old men and mimic the accents and the use of canes and before too long we were doing the same thing in the coffee shop, except this time we both had gray hair.
Today we met again for lunch at Tim Hortons on Alberni, and immediately the stories, jokes and laughter kicked in. Two hours passed in the blink of an eye.
What's two hours or 40 years to old friends?
We were moderately successful and popular by local standards and played all the venues available to us and were even taken under wing of a local radio show host who saw in us a possible next big thing.
This was in the mid-to late 1960's...when rock and roll was many a poor boy's dream of fame and fortune.
When I arrived in Toronto, I was joined by the guitarist of this same Winnipeg group, who we knew as Gord. There we shared some hard times and learned a few more hard lessons about the unforgiving nature of the music business and poverty surrounding it if you don't make your mark.
After a very difficult but eye-opening winter there we went our separate ways and we lost contact through the following years.
But a few years back we regained contact again in Vancouver, after approximately 37 years apart and although we had changed dramatically, we instantly recognized each other, in a pre-arranged meeting in a coffee shop and picked up in approximately the exact same place we left off. No problem!
Within minutes, we were both laughing, joking, sharing stories and unselfconciously comfortable in each others' presence. In the old days, we used to joke that we were two old men and mimic the accents and the use of canes and before too long we were doing the same thing in the coffee shop, except this time we both had gray hair.
Today we met again for lunch at Tim Hortons on Alberni, and immediately the stories, jokes and laughter kicked in. Two hours passed in the blink of an eye.
What's two hours or 40 years to old friends?
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