I received a call from my daughter Chaya yesterday asking me to look over her fundraiser letter which she then forwarded by email. I forwarded Chaya’s “Light the Night” fundraiser letter to all on my email list. Here is the text:
Hello,
On October 13th I will be walking 5 k in the Vancouver Light the Night fundraiser. This is a very special event to me as the goal of Light the Night is to raise money for better treatment, support and awareness of people living with blood cancer.
Last year on October 13th I finished my 8 months of treatment for Hodgkin's Lymphoma, a type of blood cancer, and the day after my last treatment I was able to do this same 5 k walk. This year feels very momentous as it signifies the one year mark of my health and new life.
My team's name is Chaya's Angels and our team goal is to raise $5000 for this event.
Please visit the link below to sponsor my team for this worthy cause. Any donation made over $10 will automatically be sent a tax receipt.
Thanks for your support,
Chaya
http://www.active.com/donate/ltnvan/2103_ckatrenskyLTN
Since both of us along with my oldest son have been diagnosed with this type of cancer, it was a no-brainer to do more than check the text. I clicked on the link to make my donation.
To my surprise, everything worked like clockwork. Usually when I try these things there is some sort of hang up or delays in the system and I can’t complete the form or I get an error message.
So that’s a good sign and I am rooting for my daughter’s team to make their quota.
Go Chaya’s Angels!
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
A Typical Tuesday
Today was a typical Tuesday...slated for chores.
I woke late and decided that before I started my chores, I would go for a haircut. It seemed to be the perfect morning, rainy and cool. My intuition was right on as I was the only customer in the store and so didn't have to wait.
I was served by a new gal, one who didn't seem to know what to do, even after I explained it to her. So I talked her through it and came away mostly unscathed. She kept running the clippers into my ears, until I quipped, "Are my ears getting in the way?" That seemed to focus her, although the end result left a lot to be desired.
After this I went for a blood pressure test at the drug store and sure enough it was up again...haircut stress-related no doubt.
I went home to finish my chores, make some coffee, do laundry, check email. The usual. I planned a mid-afternoon movie at the Paramount, but by the time I got there I realized that I had better not sit through a thriller, but walk off some of my stress.
My stress is not unrelated to the decision I made last week.
I stopped taking my blood pressure meds, as they don't seem to be agreeing with me. I braced myself for the dizziness, the headache, and the upset stomach I was sure would follow. It did, along with about a 15 point jump in the BP levels but I promised to give myself a week to see what would happen. Astra Zeneca labs haven't kept me alive most of my life, and I didn't expect to keel over once I stopped.
The end result is that my BP is about 12-15 points higher than it was on the meds...but even on meds it never came down to normal.
So I walked over to the food court in the Pacific Mall and ordered a fresh apple/carrot/beet juice zinger with a jolt of ginger. I walked with that through the downtown core to Caper's to restock my walnut supply, which along with banana and orange juice is my usual breakfast menu.
Once home I was quite tired and so lay down for a nap. While I napped the temperature dropped and it poured rain.
I woke about 6 p.m. and decided to go out shopping for a bite to eat. I have been making loud noises at work lately to some of my team mates about craving a hot Montreal-style corned beef on rye sandwich, the kind that I used to be able to get in Winnipeg.
I passed a small European deli and did a u-turn a few paces past it as the words Montreal-Style settled into my conscious mind. There it was...a chance to relive my dream and satisfy my hunger.
I walked in and ordered, but to my dismay they told me there was no rye bread, and asked if I would settle for multigrain. I said no thanks, as this was not my vision of a Montreal style sandwich, but the owner said "No problem," and pointed to a fresh loaf of rye that was marked for sale and they cut that to prepare my sandwich.
I immediately realized this was not going to be a dream realized, as they kept asking me how to prepare it. Did I want lettuce, cucumber, tomato...did I want the meat hot or cold? They didn't even include a pickle.
This was like my haircut revisited, and I had to talk them through it. The end result as with the haircut was far from perfect, but it was a passable sandwich, and because I felt guilty that they had to cut a fresh loaf for me, I bought the rest of the loaf to take home.
It was a worthy purchase, as I found when I passed a young woman standing on Davie with the cardboard sign...no food, no money...no job.
The expression of delight on her face when I handed her the loaf was palpable and made up for any shortfalls in my day.
"Good food", she exclaimed in a tone of voice that said everything that needed to be said.
I then headed down to the rainwashed seawall, to watch the vestiges of golden sunset and misty clouds over the rippling waters of the Bay, breathing in the cool, fresh air.
I woke late and decided that before I started my chores, I would go for a haircut. It seemed to be the perfect morning, rainy and cool. My intuition was right on as I was the only customer in the store and so didn't have to wait.
I was served by a new gal, one who didn't seem to know what to do, even after I explained it to her. So I talked her through it and came away mostly unscathed. She kept running the clippers into my ears, until I quipped, "Are my ears getting in the way?" That seemed to focus her, although the end result left a lot to be desired.
After this I went for a blood pressure test at the drug store and sure enough it was up again...haircut stress-related no doubt.
I went home to finish my chores, make some coffee, do laundry, check email. The usual. I planned a mid-afternoon movie at the Paramount, but by the time I got there I realized that I had better not sit through a thriller, but walk off some of my stress.
My stress is not unrelated to the decision I made last week.
I stopped taking my blood pressure meds, as they don't seem to be agreeing with me. I braced myself for the dizziness, the headache, and the upset stomach I was sure would follow. It did, along with about a 15 point jump in the BP levels but I promised to give myself a week to see what would happen. Astra Zeneca labs haven't kept me alive most of my life, and I didn't expect to keel over once I stopped.
The end result is that my BP is about 12-15 points higher than it was on the meds...but even on meds it never came down to normal.
So I walked over to the food court in the Pacific Mall and ordered a fresh apple/carrot/beet juice zinger with a jolt of ginger. I walked with that through the downtown core to Caper's to restock my walnut supply, which along with banana and orange juice is my usual breakfast menu.
Once home I was quite tired and so lay down for a nap. While I napped the temperature dropped and it poured rain.
I woke about 6 p.m. and decided to go out shopping for a bite to eat. I have been making loud noises at work lately to some of my team mates about craving a hot Montreal-style corned beef on rye sandwich, the kind that I used to be able to get in Winnipeg.
I passed a small European deli and did a u-turn a few paces past it as the words Montreal-Style settled into my conscious mind. There it was...a chance to relive my dream and satisfy my hunger.
I walked in and ordered, but to my dismay they told me there was no rye bread, and asked if I would settle for multigrain. I said no thanks, as this was not my vision of a Montreal style sandwich, but the owner said "No problem," and pointed to a fresh loaf of rye that was marked for sale and they cut that to prepare my sandwich.
I immediately realized this was not going to be a dream realized, as they kept asking me how to prepare it. Did I want lettuce, cucumber, tomato...did I want the meat hot or cold? They didn't even include a pickle.
This was like my haircut revisited, and I had to talk them through it. The end result as with the haircut was far from perfect, but it was a passable sandwich, and because I felt guilty that they had to cut a fresh loaf for me, I bought the rest of the loaf to take home.
It was a worthy purchase, as I found when I passed a young woman standing on Davie with the cardboard sign...no food, no money...no job.
The expression of delight on her face when I handed her the loaf was palpable and made up for any shortfalls in my day.
"Good food", she exclaimed in a tone of voice that said everything that needed to be said.
I then headed down to the rainwashed seawall, to watch the vestiges of golden sunset and misty clouds over the rippling waters of the Bay, breathing in the cool, fresh air.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
The Spirit of Peter Pan
This came to me this morning, when thinking about the James Barrie quote on Nika’s birthday card:
Wishing is like fishing,
you have to be prepared
and go down to where the fish are biting.
A little folksy wisdom which I may or may not inscribe in her card!
I didn’t need any folksy wisdom as a child to fall under the spell of Peter Pan and Tinker Bell. To this day I am still under the spell of the story as it unfolded on the big screen that summer night in Winnipeg before the eyes of an 8 year old boy on the occasion of his birthday.
My mother had roused me shortly after I went to bed to tell me that her friend a few streets away was taking her son Bruce to see the film as a birthday present and that we were going to join them. I don’t remember the journey downtown, but we would have had to take the streetcar, as that was the route along the Henderson Highway from East Kildonan in the early 50’s. If I have my facts right, it would have been the summer of 1954.
I can’t remember any other occasion where I was taken by either parent to a movie, although mom took me one summer to see a gala outdoor production of The King and I at Rainbow Stage.
We didn’t have television in those days, and I don’t remember ever having seen a movie before. If I did, the impact was nothing compared to the impact this had on me. The whole experience was like waking up in a Technicolor dream and staying awake afterwards.
The impish spirit of Peter entered into my child’s body and I became him. In the days to follow I mimicked his sword play with Hook using a wooden stick, leapt from the bed and from the garden fence rail intent on levitating and flying around.
I had fallen in love with Tinker Bell and I was determined never to grow up and grow old.
The spirit of Peter still lives strong in me and as I look back over my life, I see now he did succeed in teaching me how to fly.
I could never have imagined such an adventure!
Wishing is like fishing,
you have to be prepared
and go down to where the fish are biting.
A little folksy wisdom which I may or may not inscribe in her card!
I didn’t need any folksy wisdom as a child to fall under the spell of Peter Pan and Tinker Bell. To this day I am still under the spell of the story as it unfolded on the big screen that summer night in Winnipeg before the eyes of an 8 year old boy on the occasion of his birthday.
My mother had roused me shortly after I went to bed to tell me that her friend a few streets away was taking her son Bruce to see the film as a birthday present and that we were going to join them. I don’t remember the journey downtown, but we would have had to take the streetcar, as that was the route along the Henderson Highway from East Kildonan in the early 50’s. If I have my facts right, it would have been the summer of 1954.
I can’t remember any other occasion where I was taken by either parent to a movie, although mom took me one summer to see a gala outdoor production of The King and I at Rainbow Stage.
We didn’t have television in those days, and I don’t remember ever having seen a movie before. If I did, the impact was nothing compared to the impact this had on me. The whole experience was like waking up in a Technicolor dream and staying awake afterwards.
The impish spirit of Peter entered into my child’s body and I became him. In the days to follow I mimicked his sword play with Hook using a wooden stick, leapt from the bed and from the garden fence rail intent on levitating and flying around.
I had fallen in love with Tinker Bell and I was determined never to grow up and grow old.
The spirit of Peter still lives strong in me and as I look back over my life, I see now he did succeed in teaching me how to fly.
I could never have imagined such an adventure!
Friday, August 24, 2007
Alice Meets Wile E. Coyote
Yesterday, as pre-arranged I headed off to Zefferellis on Robson for a birthday lunch with our CEO and the other August B-Day buddies I work with.
I was supposed to meet the group at 12:30 at the restaurant but arrived about 10 minutes early.
I climbed the steep flight of stairs leading to the second story and walked into the restaurant for the first time, quickly scanning the tables for my co-workers. They had not arrived yet and so I took a quick trip down the corridor behind the bar to the men’s washroom.
When I came out, I had made up my mind that if they weren't there yet I would go downstairs and meet everyone in the bright sunshine on the street and that we would all walk up together.
The Exit sign glowed above the doorway on my left and while fixing that in mind and turning towards it I scanned the restaurant tables once more. Unfortunately, I took the wrong turn.
I thought I was taking a shortcut behind a counter and I found myself stepping into empty space and hurtling Alice in Wonderland style down a rabbit hole. It was a stairwell leading down to the Cactus Club restaurant below, but it was unlit and because I was not paying close attention there was no way to see there was not a floor behind the counter.
I picture myself in freefall and a lot of things occurred simultaneously.
One was panic and a kind of horror that I had not seen this coming. The other was the sudden realization that I was falling into a stairwell as my vision adjusted to the shadows. There was also a distinct sensation that time had slowed down or stopped all together. Another was that there was a banister rail within my grasp but my body was quickly turning backwards and upside down and so I grabbed for it wildly, certain that I would miss.
I did not miss. Although I was suddenly head first into the stairwell, my feet pointing toward the light, my grip on the banister broke the momentum of my freefall.
Up at the top of the stairs I could hear the waiters’ gasps of “Oh no,” and “Oh my God”.
By the time their faces appeared, I was pulling myself out of the darkness and surfacing. I was feeling a mixed burn of embarrassment and foolishness as I came up, and immediately thought of that unfortunate cartoon coyote, Wile E. I must have had a similar look on my face.
Outside of a few bruises and scrapes I was fine and told them so. I was still intending to go downstairs but they quickly ushered me to my table and sat me down. I could almost hear them thinking "Sit him down before something else happens." It was not until I was sitting that I realized how badly my body was shaking.
When my co-workers arrived I was at no loss for words. Everyone expressed immediate concern and sympathy, even shock as a man my age falling down stairs could easily be a disaster.
I am grateful that I have kept up my morning routine of exercise as I am no worse for it this morning, other than a bit of stiffness in my right arm, the one that grabbed for safety.
Once again this appears to be another mysterious case of Angels to the rescue!
I was supposed to meet the group at 12:30 at the restaurant but arrived about 10 minutes early.
I climbed the steep flight of stairs leading to the second story and walked into the restaurant for the first time, quickly scanning the tables for my co-workers. They had not arrived yet and so I took a quick trip down the corridor behind the bar to the men’s washroom.
When I came out, I had made up my mind that if they weren't there yet I would go downstairs and meet everyone in the bright sunshine on the street and that we would all walk up together.
The Exit sign glowed above the doorway on my left and while fixing that in mind and turning towards it I scanned the restaurant tables once more. Unfortunately, I took the wrong turn.
I thought I was taking a shortcut behind a counter and I found myself stepping into empty space and hurtling Alice in Wonderland style down a rabbit hole. It was a stairwell leading down to the Cactus Club restaurant below, but it was unlit and because I was not paying close attention there was no way to see there was not a floor behind the counter.
I picture myself in freefall and a lot of things occurred simultaneously.
One was panic and a kind of horror that I had not seen this coming. The other was the sudden realization that I was falling into a stairwell as my vision adjusted to the shadows. There was also a distinct sensation that time had slowed down or stopped all together. Another was that there was a banister rail within my grasp but my body was quickly turning backwards and upside down and so I grabbed for it wildly, certain that I would miss.
I did not miss. Although I was suddenly head first into the stairwell, my feet pointing toward the light, my grip on the banister broke the momentum of my freefall.
Up at the top of the stairs I could hear the waiters’ gasps of “Oh no,” and “Oh my God”.
By the time their faces appeared, I was pulling myself out of the darkness and surfacing. I was feeling a mixed burn of embarrassment and foolishness as I came up, and immediately thought of that unfortunate cartoon coyote, Wile E. I must have had a similar look on my face.
Outside of a few bruises and scrapes I was fine and told them so. I was still intending to go downstairs but they quickly ushered me to my table and sat me down. I could almost hear them thinking "Sit him down before something else happens." It was not until I was sitting that I realized how badly my body was shaking.
When my co-workers arrived I was at no loss for words. Everyone expressed immediate concern and sympathy, even shock as a man my age falling down stairs could easily be a disaster.
I am grateful that I have kept up my morning routine of exercise as I am no worse for it this morning, other than a bit of stiffness in my right arm, the one that grabbed for safety.
Once again this appears to be another mysterious case of Angels to the rescue!
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
A Child's Prayer
The other day a dear friend of mine forwarded me an email with the subject line: International Angel Day. In it was a picture of an angel and a quote from Leonard Cohen:
If we forget to pray for the angels, the angels forget to pray for us.
This morning as I said my prayers, I pictured myself as that young school boy in church or kneeling by my bedside, saying my prayers, my heart full of expectancy and hope.
As a boy I put my heart and soul into prayers and it is no wonder that prayer has such a healing influence on me these days, as it brings back some of the strength and passion of my youth.
I remember when we were living on MacDonald Street (about 14 years ago now) in the house where Kadir was born, I ran into a stranger at Kits Neighborhood House one day. He was a middle aged man with a French Canadian accent, searching for a place to live and scouring the notice boards there. He asked if I knew of any places for rent.
“Not off the top of my head”, I replied.
“Well what about around the sides of your head, or at the back here?” He demonstrated by touching his scalp at the spots he described.
I was not sure what to make of the person or of this challenge, but we got into a conversation and soon he became an infrequent visitor to the family home. Eventually we found him temporary accommodation at the home of a friend nearby.
To thank us, he appeared at the house one day and summoned me outside.
“I have something I would like to give to your children, but I wanted to ask your permission first”, he said. He opened the trunk of his car and inside were two boxes containing new roller blades.
As we were unloading them, he reminded me of something I knew as a child. He asked if I had ever heard of the “Angel of God” prayer.
I had not thought about this prayer for a long time, but my mother taught it to me and as a child I always said it.
Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love entrusts me here, ever this day/night be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide, Amen.
He told me that he always said this prayer and that he felt it had tremendous power and suggested I teach it to my children.
I had taught my children this prayer when they were small, but had forgotten about it over the past few years and never really recited it myself as an adult.
He also gave me a book on the subject of spirituality although I can’t recall the name and title of it but I do remember that I started saying this prayer again as we had to move and could not find a place to live that we could afford.
The angels must have listened!
To this day I still say the Guardian Angel prayer every morning and at the end of it, add the names of family, friends and anyone that I think is in need of healing or divine protection.
If we forget to pray for the angels, the angels forget to pray for us.
This morning as I said my prayers, I pictured myself as that young school boy in church or kneeling by my bedside, saying my prayers, my heart full of expectancy and hope.
As a boy I put my heart and soul into prayers and it is no wonder that prayer has such a healing influence on me these days, as it brings back some of the strength and passion of my youth.
I remember when we were living on MacDonald Street (about 14 years ago now) in the house where Kadir was born, I ran into a stranger at Kits Neighborhood House one day. He was a middle aged man with a French Canadian accent, searching for a place to live and scouring the notice boards there. He asked if I knew of any places for rent.
“Not off the top of my head”, I replied.
“Well what about around the sides of your head, or at the back here?” He demonstrated by touching his scalp at the spots he described.
I was not sure what to make of the person or of this challenge, but we got into a conversation and soon he became an infrequent visitor to the family home. Eventually we found him temporary accommodation at the home of a friend nearby.
To thank us, he appeared at the house one day and summoned me outside.
“I have something I would like to give to your children, but I wanted to ask your permission first”, he said. He opened the trunk of his car and inside were two boxes containing new roller blades.
As we were unloading them, he reminded me of something I knew as a child. He asked if I had ever heard of the “Angel of God” prayer.
I had not thought about this prayer for a long time, but my mother taught it to me and as a child I always said it.
Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love entrusts me here, ever this day/night be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide, Amen.
He told me that he always said this prayer and that he felt it had tremendous power and suggested I teach it to my children.
I had taught my children this prayer when they were small, but had forgotten about it over the past few years and never really recited it myself as an adult.
He also gave me a book on the subject of spirituality although I can’t recall the name and title of it but I do remember that I started saying this prayer again as we had to move and could not find a place to live that we could afford.
The angels must have listened!
To this day I still say the Guardian Angel prayer every morning and at the end of it, add the names of family, friends and anyone that I think is in need of healing or divine protection.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Positive Changes
Thursday morning and the sun is wrestling with the clouds for its place in the blue sky!
I am preparing for my workweek and since rain is forecast for this afternoon, my umbrella is hanging on the door handle. But I have been lucky with days off and the last two were no exception. Both of them brilliantly sunny and hot!
Tuesday I had my scheduled appointment with my doc to check blood pressure and to my dismay he suggested another med called Zocor to work on the cholesterol levels.
How long do I have to take it for? I asked. I should have known better. His stock answer, "Forever" popped up like the No Sale sign in an old fashioned cash register.
I asked him to write out the prescription so I could find out how much the meds are going to cost and also to research it. Once again the price was not a problem as long as I am working and receiving medical benefits but what about after?
After researching it on the internet I made my decision. Why would I want to take another medication that breastfeeding mothers should stay away from and with the added possible side effects cautionary: known to increase the risk of cancerous tumors in mice and could cause muscular breakdown?
So I am going to live with my normal/high BP diagnosis for another month and see if the Plendil brings it down a bit more. Taking this one medication is enough of a bullet for me to bite right now.
Wednesday morning I felt much better having taken this stand and so was up for lunch with youngest son Kadir and his mom. We walked down to English Bay for a bite and to toss around recent happenings.
Kadir is now a couple of inches taller than his mom and going strong to compete with his big brother and oldest sister for height. It is hard to process just how quickly he is changing. He will be going into grade 9 this year!
But like all things in life we are wading through the stream of changes as they go rushing past us, and we try to determine our place in them, find our balance.
I am praying for lots of positive changes for us all in the coming year!
I am preparing for my workweek and since rain is forecast for this afternoon, my umbrella is hanging on the door handle. But I have been lucky with days off and the last two were no exception. Both of them brilliantly sunny and hot!
Tuesday I had my scheduled appointment with my doc to check blood pressure and to my dismay he suggested another med called Zocor to work on the cholesterol levels.
How long do I have to take it for? I asked. I should have known better. His stock answer, "Forever" popped up like the No Sale sign in an old fashioned cash register.
I asked him to write out the prescription so I could find out how much the meds are going to cost and also to research it. Once again the price was not a problem as long as I am working and receiving medical benefits but what about after?
After researching it on the internet I made my decision. Why would I want to take another medication that breastfeeding mothers should stay away from and with the added possible side effects cautionary: known to increase the risk of cancerous tumors in mice and could cause muscular breakdown?
So I am going to live with my normal/high BP diagnosis for another month and see if the Plendil brings it down a bit more. Taking this one medication is enough of a bullet for me to bite right now.
Wednesday morning I felt much better having taken this stand and so was up for lunch with youngest son Kadir and his mom. We walked down to English Bay for a bite and to toss around recent happenings.
Kadir is now a couple of inches taller than his mom and going strong to compete with his big brother and oldest sister for height. It is hard to process just how quickly he is changing. He will be going into grade 9 this year!
But like all things in life we are wading through the stream of changes as they go rushing past us, and we try to determine our place in them, find our balance.
I am praying for lots of positive changes for us all in the coming year!
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
How long do you want to keep your computer?
How long do you want to keep your computer?
This was the question asked by the young sales rep at Future Shop when I traded in my recent birthday present for an upgrade. He was trying to sell me a 2-year warranty which would ensure repairs if something went wrong.
But the question threw me.
Forever, I answered, which drew a huge grin from the young man.
This was my first ever laptop, a recent birthday present that made me feel like a 16 year old again, but when I had tried to burn a backup disc following the instructions, the Acer Inspire write-failed. With this model, you only got one shot. I took it into the shop and they explained that this happens sometimes and asked if I would like a replacement model.
I immediately decided not to replace a model that malfunctioned before I had even had a chance to use it, and so I upgraded to a Toshiba Satellite, a more powerful computer at a higher price. They also threw in Microsoft Office 2007, a non-commercial version at a greatly reduced price.
The young man looked at me with some sympathy and told me that in a couple of years or more this computer could already be obsolete. I preferred to look at it as a fine violin, one that would age gracefully and be even more functional, though I kept this thought to myself.
The original present had come with a 2-year warranty and so we agreed on that. I also agreed to let the experts at the shop set it up for me and burn the backup discs so I would not have to return.
They told me it would be ready in about 5 hours. So I wandered leisurely over to Canada Place and strolled along the promenade with the tourists, looking at the plaques that describe the early beginnings of the BC travel and communications industry.
The hours flowed like molasses and it seemed that the appointed time would never arrive, so I returned to Future Shop an hour early, hoping that my machine would be ready. Nope! I had to return in another hour and so more window shopping followed.
By the time my computer was ready, I was exhausted but I relished the thought that my troubles were now over, and I could go home and get started with learning how to use it.
At home, I eagerly unpacked my computer and plugged it in. I was surprised that when I tried to open the Office Suite, it asked for my Product Key, a long series of numbers and letters that is included on sticker in the box. I thought the setup people at the shop had already done this.
So I entered it in carefully, but received the error message that it was incorrect. I tried this several times, with the same result. Then I thought eureka, I will try using the product ID, a different series of numbers which were also incorrect. Finally, after about an hour I realized that whatever I tried was not going to work. I assumed they had returned my disc in the wrong box.
Not only was I exhausted by now, but totally stressed out by the futile efforts and the long wait of the earlier day.
I was out of bed at 8:30 the next morning and at Future Shop by 9 with my product boxed and bagged, only to see that they didn’t open until 10. I waited in front of the immense industry style unrolling metal gate that closes after hours like a medieval drawbridge until finally, a man with a key appeared and unlocked and raised it.
I was the first customer to get to the repair desk and the technician listened to my problem, tried to enter the key, and then discerned that they hadn’t done they job right in the first place. The computer came bundled with a trial version of Office Professional and they had neglected to uninstall that. So while I waited the sales rep who had originally sold me the package and his department manager came over to apologize and they threw in a nice laptop case for my trouble.
This was a fair settlement as far as I am concerned, as after my two trips to the store with my computer in a box, I knew that I would have to find a more convenient way of transporting it. (The briefcase I originally thought I could use was too small.)
There was yet a 3rd trip to the repair shop, as I was convinced the keyboard was malfunctioning, but the young techie who assisted me pointed out very politely that using the keyboard was a learning curve. As I demonstrated my problem he saw that my thumb was dropping on the mouse pad sending conflicting signals. It seems I have to teach myself to type in a whole new way.
So how long am I going to keep my computer? As long as it takes!
And I still prefer the fine violin scenario!
This was the question asked by the young sales rep at Future Shop when I traded in my recent birthday present for an upgrade. He was trying to sell me a 2-year warranty which would ensure repairs if something went wrong.
But the question threw me.
Forever, I answered, which drew a huge grin from the young man.
This was my first ever laptop, a recent birthday present that made me feel like a 16 year old again, but when I had tried to burn a backup disc following the instructions, the Acer Inspire write-failed. With this model, you only got one shot. I took it into the shop and they explained that this happens sometimes and asked if I would like a replacement model.
I immediately decided not to replace a model that malfunctioned before I had even had a chance to use it, and so I upgraded to a Toshiba Satellite, a more powerful computer at a higher price. They also threw in Microsoft Office 2007, a non-commercial version at a greatly reduced price.
The young man looked at me with some sympathy and told me that in a couple of years or more this computer could already be obsolete. I preferred to look at it as a fine violin, one that would age gracefully and be even more functional, though I kept this thought to myself.
The original present had come with a 2-year warranty and so we agreed on that. I also agreed to let the experts at the shop set it up for me and burn the backup discs so I would not have to return.
They told me it would be ready in about 5 hours. So I wandered leisurely over to Canada Place and strolled along the promenade with the tourists, looking at the plaques that describe the early beginnings of the BC travel and communications industry.
The hours flowed like molasses and it seemed that the appointed time would never arrive, so I returned to Future Shop an hour early, hoping that my machine would be ready. Nope! I had to return in another hour and so more window shopping followed.
By the time my computer was ready, I was exhausted but I relished the thought that my troubles were now over, and I could go home and get started with learning how to use it.
At home, I eagerly unpacked my computer and plugged it in. I was surprised that when I tried to open the Office Suite, it asked for my Product Key, a long series of numbers and letters that is included on sticker in the box. I thought the setup people at the shop had already done this.
So I entered it in carefully, but received the error message that it was incorrect. I tried this several times, with the same result. Then I thought eureka, I will try using the product ID, a different series of numbers which were also incorrect. Finally, after about an hour I realized that whatever I tried was not going to work. I assumed they had returned my disc in the wrong box.
Not only was I exhausted by now, but totally stressed out by the futile efforts and the long wait of the earlier day.
I was out of bed at 8:30 the next morning and at Future Shop by 9 with my product boxed and bagged, only to see that they didn’t open until 10. I waited in front of the immense industry style unrolling metal gate that closes after hours like a medieval drawbridge until finally, a man with a key appeared and unlocked and raised it.
I was the first customer to get to the repair desk and the technician listened to my problem, tried to enter the key, and then discerned that they hadn’t done they job right in the first place. The computer came bundled with a trial version of Office Professional and they had neglected to uninstall that. So while I waited the sales rep who had originally sold me the package and his department manager came over to apologize and they threw in a nice laptop case for my trouble.
This was a fair settlement as far as I am concerned, as after my two trips to the store with my computer in a box, I knew that I would have to find a more convenient way of transporting it. (The briefcase I originally thought I could use was too small.)
There was yet a 3rd trip to the repair shop, as I was convinced the keyboard was malfunctioning, but the young techie who assisted me pointed out very politely that using the keyboard was a learning curve. As I demonstrated my problem he saw that my thumb was dropping on the mouse pad sending conflicting signals. It seems I have to teach myself to type in a whole new way.
So how long am I going to keep my computer? As long as it takes!
And I still prefer the fine violin scenario!
Monday, July 23, 2007
...but you can't go back.
The morning I was leaving the Zendo at Haiku in 1978, a senior student advised me to say goodbye to our roshi.
I surprised him in his quarters, while he was putting on his robes and he did a magnificent kind of bullfighter’s twist to swirl the robe around him and tie the sash, dismissing my embarrassment at catching him in his underwear.
“I hear you are leaving today,” he said, “what are your plans?”
I was completely broke and had nothing other than my backpack, my guitar and a return ticket to Honolulu but I didn’t reveal my predicament.
“I guess I am going to continue playing my guitar,” I replied. I had been in this kind of a position more than a few times; I was young and full of energy and avoided my uncertain future by not trying to look into it.
His parting words to me were: “Remember…you can surf to the left, and you can surf to the right…180 degrees…but you can’t go back.”
I surprised him in his quarters, while he was putting on his robes and he did a magnificent kind of bullfighter’s twist to swirl the robe around him and tie the sash, dismissing my embarrassment at catching him in his underwear.
“I hear you are leaving today,” he said, “what are your plans?”
I was completely broke and had nothing other than my backpack, my guitar and a return ticket to Honolulu but I didn’t reveal my predicament.
“I guess I am going to continue playing my guitar,” I replied. I had been in this kind of a position more than a few times; I was young and full of energy and avoided my uncertain future by not trying to look into it.
His parting words to me were: “Remember…you can surf to the left, and you can surf to the right…180 degrees…but you can’t go back.”
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Dream Dancing & Healing
I had another beautiful healing dream in the wee hours.
Karen and I were living in a big, old wood frame house and Paul Reps had come to visit us. For some reason, I didn’t come to meet him right away, as I was dressed in a business suit and at the same time still in bed in another room. I hoped he would not be offended when I finally appeared, but when I did, I saw that he too had been sleeping.
He came out of the room where he had been resting into a spacious living room where about a dozen people had already gathered to meet him. I didn’t recognize any of them, and in the next few minutes, the waiting group grew in size to a small crowd. Reps commented that these were his brothers and sisters of the various faiths and religions, but it seemed that the greater majority were of the Jewish faith as I could tell by the turn of the clothing they wore.
Many were dressed in the garb of religious students, like in the Barbara Streisand movie "Yentl".
No sooner had Reps started speaking than a great swell of emotion rose in the group and they began to move into a circle to begin singing and dancing. It happened so suddenly that at first it seemed awkward or out place but as the group formed into two concentric circles, dancing in opposite directions and I was swept into the movement it seemed the most natural and beautiful thing. Then all the dancing gradually stopped and the crowd went silent.
It became apparent that another type of dancing was now taking place, an erotic one, danced by rotund, nearly nude pink cartoon women. There were some cries of outrage and many in the group seemed offended. Others countered with “No, this is not pornography, it is art.” But the women in the group were not buying it.
Then a young woman, very plain and proper looking dressed in almost Amish garb, came over to me and took my hand, asking me to dance. I was confused but accepted and we were the only two dancing in the now deserted circle that had been filled moments before. And what a dancer she was!
She let me lead but spun and twirled and made me look as though I knew what I was doing. I began to lose my self-consciousness and started to experience a kind of euphoria to be in the presence of this way of praising and celebrating life.
I woke feeling relaxed, healed, joyful and completely at peace.
Karen and I were living in a big, old wood frame house and Paul Reps had come to visit us. For some reason, I didn’t come to meet him right away, as I was dressed in a business suit and at the same time still in bed in another room. I hoped he would not be offended when I finally appeared, but when I did, I saw that he too had been sleeping.
He came out of the room where he had been resting into a spacious living room where about a dozen people had already gathered to meet him. I didn’t recognize any of them, and in the next few minutes, the waiting group grew in size to a small crowd. Reps commented that these were his brothers and sisters of the various faiths and religions, but it seemed that the greater majority were of the Jewish faith as I could tell by the turn of the clothing they wore.
Many were dressed in the garb of religious students, like in the Barbara Streisand movie "Yentl".
No sooner had Reps started speaking than a great swell of emotion rose in the group and they began to move into a circle to begin singing and dancing. It happened so suddenly that at first it seemed awkward or out place but as the group formed into two concentric circles, dancing in opposite directions and I was swept into the movement it seemed the most natural and beautiful thing. Then all the dancing gradually stopped and the crowd went silent.
It became apparent that another type of dancing was now taking place, an erotic one, danced by rotund, nearly nude pink cartoon women. There were some cries of outrage and many in the group seemed offended. Others countered with “No, this is not pornography, it is art.” But the women in the group were not buying it.
Then a young woman, very plain and proper looking dressed in almost Amish garb, came over to me and took my hand, asking me to dance. I was confused but accepted and we were the only two dancing in the now deserted circle that had been filled moments before. And what a dancer she was!
She let me lead but spun and twirled and made me look as though I knew what I was doing. I began to lose my self-consciousness and started to experience a kind of euphoria to be in the presence of this way of praising and celebrating life.
I woke feeling relaxed, healed, joyful and completely at peace.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Thanks to the Angels
The angels continue to watch over me.
Yesterday on my usual visit to IGA for lunch, I was waiting to cross the street at Burrard and Robson. The folks in the curbside crowd were chatting and not paying attention so when I saw the walk sign and nobody moved, I stepped out into the street.
There was an enormous, deafening screech of brakes to my left, and a collective “oooohhh” from the crowd behind me. The car had stopped a couple of inches from me, and a harried and very nervous looking woman sat behind the wheel, her hand to her head, avoiding my eyes.
I felt a strange instant mixture of indignation and anger, and I could feel the heat of the crowd focused on her as well. She had run a red light in her rush to get across before the crowd. But instead of giving her the finger or swearing, (and I was surely feeling the urge to react in some way), I gave her a thumbs up and proceeded.
As I walked away still shaken, I was not sure what confused mix of emotions prompted me to do that.
In retrospect, I guess her hitting the brakes in an exquisitely timely fashion deserved that. I don’t think she was looking though.
I could have been a dead man in seconds. I immediately thanked my angels, and said a short prayer as I walked on.
This kind of close call has happened to me far too many times to count. It was another wake up call for me to be more mindful and alert, and not to take anything for granted.
One never knows what's waiting just around the corner.
Thanks yet again, angels!
Yesterday on my usual visit to IGA for lunch, I was waiting to cross the street at Burrard and Robson. The folks in the curbside crowd were chatting and not paying attention so when I saw the walk sign and nobody moved, I stepped out into the street.
There was an enormous, deafening screech of brakes to my left, and a collective “oooohhh” from the crowd behind me. The car had stopped a couple of inches from me, and a harried and very nervous looking woman sat behind the wheel, her hand to her head, avoiding my eyes.
I felt a strange instant mixture of indignation and anger, and I could feel the heat of the crowd focused on her as well. She had run a red light in her rush to get across before the crowd. But instead of giving her the finger or swearing, (and I was surely feeling the urge to react in some way), I gave her a thumbs up and proceeded.
As I walked away still shaken, I was not sure what confused mix of emotions prompted me to do that.
In retrospect, I guess her hitting the brakes in an exquisitely timely fashion deserved that. I don’t think she was looking though.
I could have been a dead man in seconds. I immediately thanked my angels, and said a short prayer as I walked on.
This kind of close call has happened to me far too many times to count. It was another wake up call for me to be more mindful and alert, and not to take anything for granted.
One never knows what's waiting just around the corner.
Thanks yet again, angels!
Sunday, July 08, 2007
A Peaceful Sunday Morning
It is a peaceful Sunday morning, and I am almost ready to leave for work.
I have been getting up about an hour earlier in the mornings, so that I have more time to do my own thing before heading off to my day job.
I began this morning with a prayer of thanks for the quiet silence that surrounds me today, after a hectic two or three weeks of domestic roller coaster riding.
Family problems . . . they sometimes seem never ending!
But a couple of days ago the penny dropped (as it has on other occasions and at other times) and I asked myself, "What about you? What is your relationship with yourself these days? Never mind everybody else's problems. Are you happy?"
The answer at that moment was "No, I am not happy. I am stressed."
"Well then, get happy", I told myself! (Somewhere in the far distance, Stevie Wonder's singing "Have a little talk with God...")
I guess I must have listened.
My thoughts are clear this morning.
I can hear my computer breathing, the click of the keyboard as I key in these words, and there is no peripheral background noise distracting me physically or mentally.
I love days like this!
Here's to many more!
I have been getting up about an hour earlier in the mornings, so that I have more time to do my own thing before heading off to my day job.
I began this morning with a prayer of thanks for the quiet silence that surrounds me today, after a hectic two or three weeks of domestic roller coaster riding.
Family problems . . . they sometimes seem never ending!
But a couple of days ago the penny dropped (as it has on other occasions and at other times) and I asked myself, "What about you? What is your relationship with yourself these days? Never mind everybody else's problems. Are you happy?"
The answer at that moment was "No, I am not happy. I am stressed."
"Well then, get happy", I told myself! (Somewhere in the far distance, Stevie Wonder's singing "Have a little talk with God...")
I guess I must have listened.
My thoughts are clear this morning.
I can hear my computer breathing, the click of the keyboard as I key in these words, and there is no peripheral background noise distracting me physically or mentally.
I love days like this!
Here's to many more!
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Just Call Me Ulysses...
The July long weekend is over, the sun has found its way through the rainforest cloud cover and we seem to be getting our first real taste of summer.
My two days off were fairly relaxing. I visited a family member who is recuperating in St. Paul’s Hospital and who seems to be doing nicely.
I tried to visit my own doctor too, but wound up waiting nearly an hour in front of a locked office door, along with a horde of other confused patients.
As pre-arranged, my son Ky showed up there to meet me and through the technical wizardry of a cell phone solved the problem for us all. There had been some scheduling mess up, and now we all knew that the doctor would not be in that day.
On my 2nd day off, I was luckier. My doctor was there and after checking blood pressure advised, “It’s almost normal, I can live with it for now.” And he wrote out another mysterious pink Sanskrit message to the Pharmacist, re-ordering 50 more 10mg Plendil tablets for me and telling me that I could wait a month this time until my next visit.
He also removed a huge blockage from my right ear using what appeared to be miniature inquisition torture instruments, which had me squirming in pain for a few moments until he extracted the wax logjam. Then out came the familiar metal syringe filled with tepid water and he flushed out even more stuff from both ears.
I have had to have this done once every couple of years for quite a few now…but until now, never the tongs!
My hearing now restored to pristine levels of clarity, I made my way down to the seawall to enjoy the blistering sun and the play of diamond light over the water. I wasn't wearing sunscreen though, and the unfiltered rays on my skin at the back of my neck soon cut my walk short.
Afterwards I wandered into the computer shop at London Drugs and imagined myself purchasing a new DVD burner, a 19” flat screen monitor, a new suite of MS Office, a new keyboard, and a 7 mega pixel digital camera.
Then I shuffled back out into the street, empty handed but very satisfied with my imaginary purchases.
Now . . . what's next?
Just call me Ulysses . . . (a nod to James Joyce)!
My two days off were fairly relaxing. I visited a family member who is recuperating in St. Paul’s Hospital and who seems to be doing nicely.
I tried to visit my own doctor too, but wound up waiting nearly an hour in front of a locked office door, along with a horde of other confused patients.
As pre-arranged, my son Ky showed up there to meet me and through the technical wizardry of a cell phone solved the problem for us all. There had been some scheduling mess up, and now we all knew that the doctor would not be in that day.
On my 2nd day off, I was luckier. My doctor was there and after checking blood pressure advised, “It’s almost normal, I can live with it for now.” And he wrote out another mysterious pink Sanskrit message to the Pharmacist, re-ordering 50 more 10mg Plendil tablets for me and telling me that I could wait a month this time until my next visit.
He also removed a huge blockage from my right ear using what appeared to be miniature inquisition torture instruments, which had me squirming in pain for a few moments until he extracted the wax logjam. Then out came the familiar metal syringe filled with tepid water and he flushed out even more stuff from both ears.
I have had to have this done once every couple of years for quite a few now…but until now, never the tongs!
My hearing now restored to pristine levels of clarity, I made my way down to the seawall to enjoy the blistering sun and the play of diamond light over the water. I wasn't wearing sunscreen though, and the unfiltered rays on my skin at the back of my neck soon cut my walk short.
Afterwards I wandered into the computer shop at London Drugs and imagined myself purchasing a new DVD burner, a 19” flat screen monitor, a new suite of MS Office, a new keyboard, and a 7 mega pixel digital camera.
Then I shuffled back out into the street, empty handed but very satisfied with my imaginary purchases.
Now . . . what's next?
Just call me Ulysses . . . (a nod to James Joyce)!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
for Nika
I love you
for who you are
not for this, that
or the other thing.
You are my 2nd born
daughter, the one
with the rebel yell.
You never liked
to be scared, not like
your sister who screamed
with delight, when daddy
turned into a cartoon ogre.
You kept seeing ghosts
in the hallway of our house
on Allenby Road
so we placed garlic
behind the pictures there.
You pushed fear away
from you, sometimes
violently . . . threatening
the clear and gentle
blossoming of your aura.
Now it's your turn
to learn . . .
to let down your guard,
to breathe in the Sun
to let that radiant light
nurture and and protect
you, my darling
Lotus blossom.
for who you are
not for this, that
or the other thing.
You are my 2nd born
daughter, the one
with the rebel yell.
You never liked
to be scared, not like
your sister who screamed
with delight, when daddy
turned into a cartoon ogre.
You kept seeing ghosts
in the hallway of our house
on Allenby Road
so we placed garlic
behind the pictures there.
You pushed fear away
from you, sometimes
violently . . . threatening
the clear and gentle
blossoming of your aura.
Now it's your turn
to learn . . .
to let down your guard,
to breathe in the Sun
to let that radiant light
nurture and and protect
you, my darling
Lotus blossom.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Wild Mind
This morning I am dealing with my “wild mind” after a night of recurring bad dreams.
Wild mind is my metaphor for the mind that runs away from me, dreaming up possibilities that will probably never exist.
There have recently been several crises in a row in my family and my immediate family, and my tendency is to expect the worst, to begin to worry.
Worry, as I know all too well, despite being the worst thing I could do for high blood pressure, is a tendency I fall into with a stunning and deliberate ease.
And then I double the anxiety by planning avenues of attack and/or escape from the still un-manifested scenarios arising in thought, by dealing with them mentally and exhausting myself in the process.
Confusing? Yes!
This morning was one such morning and it was only when I reached the part of my morning routine that is exercise and prayer that I realized what I was doing. These disciplines, aside from being crucial to my physical wellness help me focus.
The focus is then not on the thoughts, but on the physical movement, the words of the prayers and the breath.
Breathing is the one touchstone that is common in the prayers and meditations of every world religion, just as it is in music.
By breathing, I don’t mean some sort of artificial pattern imposed on the breath like 7-in, 4-out but rather the awareness of the rising and the falling of the breath, the natural in and out flow of it.
Keeping the attention on this is at the heart of Zen meditation.
As my friend Paul Reps used to say, “Don’t breathe...be breathed”.
If I do this mindfully, there is no time to follow my wild mind into the flowery canyons of fantasy, euphoria or horror.
I am so very thankful for this teaching. It has helped keep me sane.
Wild mind is my metaphor for the mind that runs away from me, dreaming up possibilities that will probably never exist.
There have recently been several crises in a row in my family and my immediate family, and my tendency is to expect the worst, to begin to worry.
Worry, as I know all too well, despite being the worst thing I could do for high blood pressure, is a tendency I fall into with a stunning and deliberate ease.
And then I double the anxiety by planning avenues of attack and/or escape from the still un-manifested scenarios arising in thought, by dealing with them mentally and exhausting myself in the process.
Confusing? Yes!
This morning was one such morning and it was only when I reached the part of my morning routine that is exercise and prayer that I realized what I was doing. These disciplines, aside from being crucial to my physical wellness help me focus.
The focus is then not on the thoughts, but on the physical movement, the words of the prayers and the breath.
Breathing is the one touchstone that is common in the prayers and meditations of every world religion, just as it is in music.
By breathing, I don’t mean some sort of artificial pattern imposed on the breath like 7-in, 4-out but rather the awareness of the rising and the falling of the breath, the natural in and out flow of it.
Keeping the attention on this is at the heart of Zen meditation.
As my friend Paul Reps used to say, “Don’t breathe...be breathed”.
If I do this mindfully, there is no time to follow my wild mind into the flowery canyons of fantasy, euphoria or horror.
I am so very thankful for this teaching. It has helped keep me sane.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
A Few Notes
Those who read my blog may wonder what happened to me this month!
It's not that I haven't wanted to post something, but I like to be upbeat and this month I have been dealing with the health and mental health issues of a dear family member who is recovering from a serious surgery in St. Paul's Hospital.
This has put a serious dent in my "up-beatness" and left me feeling depleted.
A couple of my co-workers have teased me good-naturedly, asking if I am grumpy today or mimicking my facial expressions.
So those of you at work, if you sometimes see a rather grim faced co-worker sitting there staring off into space, know that this is not vacant staring but me trying to gather the strength and energy I need through a form of simple breathing meditation.
I have practised this for over 40 years now, but in times of stress, the focus is sometimes a little more obvious.
Enough said about this for now!
I am so very grateful for the return of the warmer weather, and have been lucky to have sunshine on my recent days off.
It is Saturday morning, mid-week for me, and as I sit at my computer, sip my self-alloted cup and half of brewed coffee and chew on my walnut-halves and banana daily energy snack, I give thanks for the prayers, comments and support of my family and friends.
I also give thanks for the staff and support at St. Paul's Hospital...what a loss to this neighborhood it would be if that hospital were to close.
Just the other day now, they saved the life of someone I love.
It's not that I haven't wanted to post something, but I like to be upbeat and this month I have been dealing with the health and mental health issues of a dear family member who is recovering from a serious surgery in St. Paul's Hospital.
This has put a serious dent in my "up-beatness" and left me feeling depleted.
A couple of my co-workers have teased me good-naturedly, asking if I am grumpy today or mimicking my facial expressions.
So those of you at work, if you sometimes see a rather grim faced co-worker sitting there staring off into space, know that this is not vacant staring but me trying to gather the strength and energy I need through a form of simple breathing meditation.
I have practised this for over 40 years now, but in times of stress, the focus is sometimes a little more obvious.
Enough said about this for now!
I am so very grateful for the return of the warmer weather, and have been lucky to have sunshine on my recent days off.
It is Saturday morning, mid-week for me, and as I sit at my computer, sip my self-alloted cup and half of brewed coffee and chew on my walnut-halves and banana daily energy snack, I give thanks for the prayers, comments and support of my family and friends.
I also give thanks for the staff and support at St. Paul's Hospital...what a loss to this neighborhood it would be if that hospital were to close.
Just the other day now, they saved the life of someone I love.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Two Healing Dreams
I have been in the habit of watching late night TV after my work shifts but have noticed the past few nights, I've been more tired than usual. Last night, just after midnight, I decided to turn in early and was rewarded for this by two healing dreams.
Most of my dreams in the past year have been far from pleasant and so this is a pleasant shift in visual imagery from many of the others.
In the first dream I was a child in a large playground and across the lot I could see a young, blond girl who I once knew in my youth and to whom I was attracted but in the dream I was too shy to go over and talk to her.
There was a thin rail, not a fence but more like one of those skateboarders rails which went all the way across the playground and I began walking along it. I was thinking "I am too old to do this", as I was also me and my own age at the same time.
I was wearing sneakers in the dream, very lightweight, white low rise ones and was able to balance all the way across the field toward the young girl who stood waiting. I was surprised that I didn't fall off and more surprised that I didn't have to initiate any conversation as we were suddenly talking in the most natural way.
After a bit, I saw a 6 or 7 year old Kadir who seemed to be not my son, but my younger brother. He was standing at the other end of the rail watching us.
I asked the girl to invite him over, as I thought he might not come if I did. She called to him, and he too hopped up on the rail and balanced over. By the time he arrived, he had become a playful cute young puppy who stood up and put his paws on my leg so that I could pet him.
In a second dream I seem to be involved in a pursuit. I was a knight but had no armour, and was being chased by more knights who then morphed into modern day soldiers in full battle dress.
I and two others with me jumped into a compact yellow sports vehicle with black trim and tried to speed away but the car was trapped from behind in some sort of mechanical jaws that began to crush and eat the metal, threatening to crush us with it. I saw that if I didn’t open the door now, I would not be able to and so I got out just in the nick of time and raised my hands in surrender.
The two others in the car were doing the same thing on the opposite side, where it seems the pursuers had also gathered. I was alone on my side of the car. Where the car had been there was now a kind of covered open space into which a young woman whirled like a dervish.
Her hair was short, curly and reddish brown, she was very pretty and she was wearing a rust-colored costume on the breast of which was emblazoned a swirling sun-like crest. She spun face to face with me and put her upraised palms against the palms of my surrendering hands in a kind of salute.
Then to her left, a young blond haired girl of maybe 8 years old appeared and the two of them began to dance for me, bringing me to tears. I felt like my heart was breaking with joy and sadness at the same time. After all, I was expecting to be shot!
This morning, in the aftermath of these positive dream images, I am feeling full of life and energy.
Most of my dreams in the past year have been far from pleasant and so this is a pleasant shift in visual imagery from many of the others.
In the first dream I was a child in a large playground and across the lot I could see a young, blond girl who I once knew in my youth and to whom I was attracted but in the dream I was too shy to go over and talk to her.
There was a thin rail, not a fence but more like one of those skateboarders rails which went all the way across the playground and I began walking along it. I was thinking "I am too old to do this", as I was also me and my own age at the same time.
I was wearing sneakers in the dream, very lightweight, white low rise ones and was able to balance all the way across the field toward the young girl who stood waiting. I was surprised that I didn't fall off and more surprised that I didn't have to initiate any conversation as we were suddenly talking in the most natural way.
After a bit, I saw a 6 or 7 year old Kadir who seemed to be not my son, but my younger brother. He was standing at the other end of the rail watching us.
I asked the girl to invite him over, as I thought he might not come if I did. She called to him, and he too hopped up on the rail and balanced over. By the time he arrived, he had become a playful cute young puppy who stood up and put his paws on my leg so that I could pet him.
In a second dream I seem to be involved in a pursuit. I was a knight but had no armour, and was being chased by more knights who then morphed into modern day soldiers in full battle dress.
I and two others with me jumped into a compact yellow sports vehicle with black trim and tried to speed away but the car was trapped from behind in some sort of mechanical jaws that began to crush and eat the metal, threatening to crush us with it. I saw that if I didn’t open the door now, I would not be able to and so I got out just in the nick of time and raised my hands in surrender.
The two others in the car were doing the same thing on the opposite side, where it seems the pursuers had also gathered. I was alone on my side of the car. Where the car had been there was now a kind of covered open space into which a young woman whirled like a dervish.
Her hair was short, curly and reddish brown, she was very pretty and she was wearing a rust-colored costume on the breast of which was emblazoned a swirling sun-like crest. She spun face to face with me and put her upraised palms against the palms of my surrendering hands in a kind of salute.
Then to her left, a young blond haired girl of maybe 8 years old appeared and the two of them began to dance for me, bringing me to tears. I felt like my heart was breaking with joy and sadness at the same time. After all, I was expecting to be shot!
This morning, in the aftermath of these positive dream images, I am feeling full of life and energy.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Low Powered Adjustments
Paul Reps once told me, “Watch a cat or a child make low power adjustments to conserve and boost energy.”
This morning, the second of my days off I woke to face the litany of tasks that I had promised myself to finish and after several trips out and back home, I was starting to feel pretty tired.
I had already walked several miles, slowly, methodically doing my self-appointed errands and finally, walked back up to Shopper’s to check my blood pressure. Yep! There it was again, despite almost completing the course of my current meds, still over the top and in the red zone.
I had been feeling very shaky and tired all morning and just wanted to go home and lie down, but once there, dragging myself in the door, I recalled that line by Reps.
It was not a beautiful sunshiny summery day, but it was pleasantly cool and slightly cloudy and it was only just coming up to 3 p.m.
So I put on my jacket and headed back down to the seawall, intent on one more walk but it would not be a leisurely stroll today. I needed a boost and so I was going to pick up the pace. Just slightly!
The moment I walked outside I consciously put that extra ounce of oomph into my step and posture, swinging my arms and walking just close to quickly, but not really quickly.
The first 10 minutes was rough going, as I wanted to turn around and go back home but I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and within 20 minutes, I was headed east along the seawall, then back again under the Burrard Street Bridge to 2nd Beach, half way there, and with a pleasant tingling sensation in my body and a smile lighting up my face.
There is a local resident I pass on a regular basis who usually has a scowl on his face when I say hello, and grudgingly returns my greeting. (He returns a kind of grunt, giving me the impression that he is fed up with my greetings.)
But today, I saw him coming my way and instead of avoiding eye contact I threw out a hearty, “How are ya?” from a fair distance and to my shock, he looked at me, our eyes met briefly and the beginnings of a smile flickered over his face as he responded, “Fine, and you?”
“Good”, I replied and felt good as I passed him thinking wonders will never cease.
By the time I got home, my jacket was around my waist and I was sweating a bit and feeling lots of energy.
The intent, or so it seems, is everything!
This morning, the second of my days off I woke to face the litany of tasks that I had promised myself to finish and after several trips out and back home, I was starting to feel pretty tired.
I had already walked several miles, slowly, methodically doing my self-appointed errands and finally, walked back up to Shopper’s to check my blood pressure. Yep! There it was again, despite almost completing the course of my current meds, still over the top and in the red zone.
I had been feeling very shaky and tired all morning and just wanted to go home and lie down, but once there, dragging myself in the door, I recalled that line by Reps.
It was not a beautiful sunshiny summery day, but it was pleasantly cool and slightly cloudy and it was only just coming up to 3 p.m.
So I put on my jacket and headed back down to the seawall, intent on one more walk but it would not be a leisurely stroll today. I needed a boost and so I was going to pick up the pace. Just slightly!
The moment I walked outside I consciously put that extra ounce of oomph into my step and posture, swinging my arms and walking just close to quickly, but not really quickly.
The first 10 minutes was rough going, as I wanted to turn around and go back home but I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and within 20 minutes, I was headed east along the seawall, then back again under the Burrard Street Bridge to 2nd Beach, half way there, and with a pleasant tingling sensation in my body and a smile lighting up my face.
There is a local resident I pass on a regular basis who usually has a scowl on his face when I say hello, and grudgingly returns my greeting. (He returns a kind of grunt, giving me the impression that he is fed up with my greetings.)
But today, I saw him coming my way and instead of avoiding eye contact I threw out a hearty, “How are ya?” from a fair distance and to my shock, he looked at me, our eyes met briefly and the beginnings of a smile flickered over his face as he responded, “Fine, and you?”
“Good”, I replied and felt good as I passed him thinking wonders will never cease.
By the time I got home, my jacket was around my waist and I was sweating a bit and feeling lots of energy.
The intent, or so it seems, is everything!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
The Book of Knowledge
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
I sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley,
Of thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
Amd half a hundred bridges....
And out again, I curve and flow,
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
Mom told me that dad bought an encyclopedia
called The Book of Knowledge (circa 1946)
and that while I was still a babe
in my crib, he would sit by my bedside,
and while I fell asleep,
would read to me from this book
such things as this poem by Tennyson,
along with other more scientific passages.
This story, was one of the things I can remember,
which helped me heal my relationship with my dad...
For as I got older , I can still remember him
sitting at the kitchen table
with more than a few beers under his belt reciting:
I come from hooten scooten skern...
Never realising the hours he spent by my bedside,
years earlier, after a long day at work,
in an effort to help his son become a wiser,
more knowledgeable human being.
This is one of the things being a parent,
gives some perspective on.
A few years ago, at a yard sale,
I stumbled on a copy of the encyclopedia,
Volume I (Copyright 1926-1931 by The Grolier Society, The Amalgamated Press [Ltd] 1922.)
Maybe the only volume dad acquired
as a perk to purchase the entire set of volumes...
But what a host of memories it brought back to me. I recalled many of the passages and chapters in intimate detail, as the book remained in our house as we grew older, and I would dip into it from time to time.
Dad wanted me to become a successful business man, and he was also a World War II Veteran and had a perspective on the trials that I might have to face growing up. I don't believe he wanted me to become a musician given his prior knowledge, but wanted me to have an income, some security, sentiments I now advocate for my own children, knowing what I know now.
He was a gifted musician/violinist recognised by many of his family members. We as children were never told how the family respected him, though he played at home often until I was about 12 years old, at which time he sold his violin for good.
I learned more of the details in later years.
Although he had a terrible temper and disavowed anything other than hard physical or mental labor to me, he would cry at the drop of a hat at any beautiful music, poetry or words.
Is it any wonder he fathered an aspiring poet?
I make a sudden sally,
I sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley,
Of thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
Amd half a hundred bridges....
And out again, I curve and flow,
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
Mom told me that dad bought an encyclopedia
called The Book of Knowledge (circa 1946)
and that while I was still a babe
in my crib, he would sit by my bedside,
and while I fell asleep,
would read to me from this book
such things as this poem by Tennyson,
along with other more scientific passages.
This story, was one of the things I can remember,
which helped me heal my relationship with my dad...
For as I got older , I can still remember him
sitting at the kitchen table
with more than a few beers under his belt reciting:
I come from hooten scooten skern...
Never realising the hours he spent by my bedside,
years earlier, after a long day at work,
in an effort to help his son become a wiser,
more knowledgeable human being.
This is one of the things being a parent,
gives some perspective on.
A few years ago, at a yard sale,
I stumbled on a copy of the encyclopedia,
Volume I (Copyright 1926-1931 by The Grolier Society, The Amalgamated Press [Ltd] 1922.)
Maybe the only volume dad acquired
as a perk to purchase the entire set of volumes...
But what a host of memories it brought back to me. I recalled many of the passages and chapters in intimate detail, as the book remained in our house as we grew older, and I would dip into it from time to time.
Dad wanted me to become a successful business man, and he was also a World War II Veteran and had a perspective on the trials that I might have to face growing up. I don't believe he wanted me to become a musician given his prior knowledge, but wanted me to have an income, some security, sentiments I now advocate for my own children, knowing what I know now.
He was a gifted musician/violinist recognised by many of his family members. We as children were never told how the family respected him, though he played at home often until I was about 12 years old, at which time he sold his violin for good.
I learned more of the details in later years.
Although he had a terrible temper and disavowed anything other than hard physical or mental labor to me, he would cry at the drop of a hat at any beautiful music, poetry or words.
Is it any wonder he fathered an aspiring poet?
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The Blood Pressure Blues
I got them...
blood pressure blues...
from my head...
down to my shoes....
It was back to the doctor this afternoon to see if the new meds were working and as I already knew, just from the feeling in my body, they were not.
A lot of the time it feels like I am plugged into a high tension voltage circuit and even breathing doesn't do much to ease the feeling.
If I wake in the middle of the night, it is an uncomfortable feeling to know you are out of sync with something as basic as your own pulse.
I have been practising a lot of prayer and meditation and a shift in diet but these remedies are not doing the trick.
So the doc says it's out with the Ramipril and in with maximum dosage of Plendil, this one shrink-wrapped by AstraZeneca pharmeceuticals in Canada.
"What happens if I don't take them?" I asked.
"You could have a stroke", he bluntly responded.
He explained that the drug expands the blood vessels thus increasing the blood flow.
"I don't like getting old", I complained.
"It has nothing to do with age", he said, "it's hypertension and it's a disease."
Me: "What causes it, a virus?"
He: "It's not a virus. We don't know what causes it, but it could be inherited."
But the doctors don't know everything and my jury is still out as to whether I will start on the new meds, when I finish the Ramipril, as he suggested.
"How long do I have to take them?"
"For good", he said.
With my medical coverage, they cost $15 but if I don't have work in a few years the same 30 pills cost nearly $50 and how am I gonna pay that?
So for today...I'm singing...
...them BP blues...
from my head...
down to my shoes...
blood pressure blues...
from my head...
down to my shoes....
It was back to the doctor this afternoon to see if the new meds were working and as I already knew, just from the feeling in my body, they were not.
A lot of the time it feels like I am plugged into a high tension voltage circuit and even breathing doesn't do much to ease the feeling.
If I wake in the middle of the night, it is an uncomfortable feeling to know you are out of sync with something as basic as your own pulse.
I have been practising a lot of prayer and meditation and a shift in diet but these remedies are not doing the trick.
So the doc says it's out with the Ramipril and in with maximum dosage of Plendil, this one shrink-wrapped by AstraZeneca pharmeceuticals in Canada.
"What happens if I don't take them?" I asked.
"You could have a stroke", he bluntly responded.
He explained that the drug expands the blood vessels thus increasing the blood flow.
"I don't like getting old", I complained.
"It has nothing to do with age", he said, "it's hypertension and it's a disease."
Me: "What causes it, a virus?"
He: "It's not a virus. We don't know what causes it, but it could be inherited."
But the doctors don't know everything and my jury is still out as to whether I will start on the new meds, when I finish the Ramipril, as he suggested.
"How long do I have to take them?"
"For good", he said.
With my medical coverage, they cost $15 but if I don't have work in a few years the same 30 pills cost nearly $50 and how am I gonna pay that?
So for today...I'm singing...
...them BP blues...
from my head...
down to my shoes...
Friday, May 25, 2007
A Simple Dream
Last night I dreamed a very vivid simple dream.
I was walking towards a plain looking two-story adobe building without any windows lit up by bright sunlight. There was a flight of stairs leading up to a door, quite high up which seemed to be the only entrance. Half way up the stairs stood a man and at the bottom another man. They both appeared to be East Indian but dressed in Western clothing.
I had a strong premonition they might be looking for my Sufi teacher. So I asked if they were looking for him. They didn’t reply directly but the man at the bottom of the stairs motioned for me to follow him.
We proceeded into an adjacent building, again nondescript and while walking I felt impelled to tell him I had been to the dargah. He looked at me blankly as though not understanding. “In Delhi…” I continued but he didn’t respond.
We walked through a door into the building and then through another door into a smaller room, pushing the door open as we entered. “Look behind the door,” the man instructed.
I pushed it open wider so that I could see behind it.
I was looking at sunlight and shadow playing on a blank wall. There was a feeling of complete silence though I thought I could hear the wind blowing lightly outside.
The man accompanying me was standing to my left and facing what appeared to be a closet door, slightly ajar, his back to me. “What do you see?” he asked.
“Nothing”, I replied and as I turned back to look him, I saw his body fading into nothingness against the closet door.
I put up both hands to touch the apparition, my fingers coming up against the door, the contours of the vanishing body surrounding my hands.
Postscript: I guess it was not too surprising to receive an email forwarded by a friend this morning with the subject line "Unconditional Love". But when I opened what I thought was a powerpoint attachment, guess what?
Nothing!
I was walking towards a plain looking two-story adobe building without any windows lit up by bright sunlight. There was a flight of stairs leading up to a door, quite high up which seemed to be the only entrance. Half way up the stairs stood a man and at the bottom another man. They both appeared to be East Indian but dressed in Western clothing.
I had a strong premonition they might be looking for my Sufi teacher. So I asked if they were looking for him. They didn’t reply directly but the man at the bottom of the stairs motioned for me to follow him.
We proceeded into an adjacent building, again nondescript and while walking I felt impelled to tell him I had been to the dargah. He looked at me blankly as though not understanding. “In Delhi…” I continued but he didn’t respond.
We walked through a door into the building and then through another door into a smaller room, pushing the door open as we entered. “Look behind the door,” the man instructed.
I pushed it open wider so that I could see behind it.
I was looking at sunlight and shadow playing on a blank wall. There was a feeling of complete silence though I thought I could hear the wind blowing lightly outside.
The man accompanying me was standing to my left and facing what appeared to be a closet door, slightly ajar, his back to me. “What do you see?” he asked.
“Nothing”, I replied and as I turned back to look him, I saw his body fading into nothingness against the closet door.
I put up both hands to touch the apparition, my fingers coming up against the door, the contours of the vanishing body surrounding my hands.
Postscript: I guess it was not too surprising to receive an email forwarded by a friend this morning with the subject line "Unconditional Love". But when I opened what I thought was a powerpoint attachment, guess what?
Nothing!
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