Category: life

Re: Miracle

The miracle of birth is a wonder of creation. There have been many circumstances labelled miraculous throughout world history. We don’t need to be religious thinkers to put weight on things that amaze us. Awe is everywhere.

Survival stories of car crashes, natural disasters or medical recoveries are often cited as miracles. My mom was a local track star in her early teens, following the sport into her adulthood. In August, 1954, a ‘Miracle Mile’ was run by Roger Bannister, beating the unimaginable time of four minutes. Stories of that Vancouver, Commonwealth Games record event were still being printed in Canadian newspapers when I immigrated to Canada later that fall.

I believe in miracles when I feel deserving or hopeful, yet everyday miracles may be just happenstance that end up making a great story that we can tell others as we age. I can’t quite get my head around the idea of finding a life long romantic partner. Mutual love is unfathomable. Is it fated when we find a soulmate? Couples will gasp, “It’s a miracle that we found each other!” Even that character Rick of Casablanca seemed awestruck,”Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.” Barry Manilow wrote a song about the wonder of it all. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wc-2F3VDs2w

On the day my mother died I lost my wedding ring. The death had been coming for a while, the loss made a bad day worse. After my wife and I got the call from the nursing home, we raced there to watch as she took her last breath. The nurse was notified, procedures ensued. The attendants couldn’t get her ring off, so I managed the job with a dab of cream. It was then I noticed that my ring wasn’t on my finger. A search began that alerted all staff, covering the whole building, including refuse bins, and outside all around the parking lot. I had to come back the next day to sign certificates and such and the search continued. I checked the car, my house, my clothing: No luck. Was this a weird cosmic thing where rings are traded in an alternate universe? Was there something here requiring a return to psychotherapy? Was it a lesson in grief? Was this someone’s idea of a joke? About a week later I went to pick up my mom’s ashes. I put the container on a shelf in my shed and decided to do a small clean-up. I repositioned things and moved my recycling boxes so I could sweep the floor. The broom made its swishing sound as it found leaves, bits of string, plastic bottle tops, then something heavier. I knew instantly what it was. I picked up my lost wedding ring and held it tightly in total disbelief. I called my wife. We cried with the miracle of it all.

Sometimes it’s a struggle to get up in the morning: Bones creak, muscles are stiff, phlegm must be cleared. Life is a miracle.

Re: Stress

Trump is back in the regular news cycle and that has me stressed. I’m not alone. That man! Even his name produces stress in many folk. When the 45th President of the United States was on the last election hunt, I asked my doctor for some psychiatric help. The specialist he referred me to asked why I felt anxious. He looked stunned when I named The Donald at the top of my list. History has born me out. Meanwhile I’ve now got the mental health support I need to weather the next storm.

We humans are elastic for the most part. We like to think that we can accommodate, collaborate or compensate but there are times when it becomes mighty hard to even tolerate a person, a group or a situation. Our capacity for stretching can be based on individual temperament which may be grounded by our genes, our upbringing or our experiences. It’s complicated. So complicated that we must never suggest to another to “Just get over it.” People, like cars, have been known to have breakdowns. Even steel bridges snap under pressure.

I was a career elementary school teacher; a profession often ranked high among stressful occupations. My colleagues and I were taught how to see challenges as eustress: a sunny, positive label that encouraged us to master our own fate. Natural body chemicals like adrenaline or dopamine can help. Caffeine helps others. Many turn to jogging, yoga, alcohol or drugs. Back then we didn’t talk much about mental health. Stress leave was stigmatized but prevalent. Going to the psychiatrist was considered a failure in character.

Studies in animal behaviour have suggested that stress produces a fight or flight response in almost all creatures. I’ve discovered that I can mimic those two reactions very quickly in my head, however society frowns on me acting out with a punch, push, slap, or a hasty flight down the stairs and out the back door while shouting obscenities. (Ahem) Besides that, I have found that other F responses have worked for me in tense situations. For example, I’ve been known to faint. My favourite bird example, in stress management, is a Killdeer, who fakes a broken wing to save her nestlings. Sometimes I will ingratiate myself by fawning. Flailing about saying nonsensical things  can confuse an aggressor. I may distract my opponent by fucking, flaunting or feigning my way through a predicament. Or, I can put on a brave front, but it may not last long before I beg for forgiveness.

Identifying my stressors has taken me a while to pin down, yet it has been an essential starting point to create a sense of inner peace. To most people I appear calm and obliging (It’s magic!). However, I’ve become aware and confident enough that I can say to myself and/or others; “This is stressing me out.” I try to avoid the triggers that make me want to shout those words. I’m not afraid to ask for professional help. My brain, after all, is just another body part that needs love and attention.

Re: Tree

During the time I have spent in a fifth floor apartment in the midst of suburbia, I have come to appreciate a maple tree outside my window. From my balcony perspective I am living at the level of the tree’s canopy. I have now gone an annual cycle with this tree; through the four seasons of change. My time began here as leaves turned colourful, then brittle enough to escape with the breeze. Winter branches crackled with frost and sleet. I was close enough to watch the buds burst in spring, while birds built their nests. As summer leaves widened, branches moaned in the wind. Now the tree and I have come full circle. I mourn a little as my tree returns to its dormant state. I have more waiting to do.

It’s hard not to be a forest activist when your permanent home is in British Columbia. While I’m away from the towering firs and cedars I’ve been reading about trees. There are some wonderful recent books on the subject. I’ve joined several authors in their revery of dendrology. I devoured the description of the passionate arboreal warriors in The Overstory by Richard Powers. I found a kinship concerning the science behind The Arbornaut by Meg Lowman and Finding the Mother Tree by Suzanne Simard. Call me sappy, but I rewatched the film Avatar for its tree hugging sentimentality.

Canadians are blessed with opportunities to experience trees in nature. Cutting down your own Christmas tree is part of our culture. Most folks know how to use an axe to chop wood into fire sized chunks. I’d be surprised if I met someone who hadn’t climbed up into a tree’s branches as a child, testing themselves while finding a fresh perspective. My son often carries a hammock in his hiker’s bag so he can rest between two trees, gently swinging. His brothers and I have planted many a tree sapling while sharing hopes for future groves, bringing environmental health and integrity.

Trees are great metaphors for many aspects of life. My first wife was a genealogist. She spent much time researching family trees, revealing fascinating ancestral connections. She traced some branches back to early North American colonial settlements. She discovered heroes, black sheep, soldiers and farmers and many quirky characters who enlivened our understanding of our genetic predispositions. During my church years, my Sunday school students would move in close when I told them about the Garden of Eden and the Tree of Life. They all agreed that Eve did the right thing to show Adam the wonders of that Apple of Knowledge. “How else would we learn!” Exclaimed one girl.

I’ve been lucky to see trees from several continents. I’ve watched my Mississauga maple for four seasons now. From its canopy to its strong trunk, I have gazed the middle distance into its structure searching for the meaning to my present uprootedness. There is more knowledge yet to be imparted These branches wave back to me offering reassurance that another season is yet to come. Time to be patient.

Re: Dream

Rare is the night that I don’t dream while I’m asleep. Lately, I’m absorbing the world’s troubles and processing them somehow while in bed. Problem is, come morning, the result of all this subconscious mind spin is not resolution but exhaustion.

Dreaming holds a fascination. In my twenties I picked up lots of books on dream interpretation. Anything by Sigmund Freud I leapt on. Horoscopes held an amusing fascination. Texts didn’t have to be scientific in their approach to questions of a neural nature. I had the classic youthful dreams: going to school in underwear, being chased, escaping a locked room, peeking into a closet, running up an endless inclined plane, flying amongst the clouds. A recurring nightmare through my grade ten year had me staring at a dot in the distance, it got bigger as it approached, gained texture and, just before I identified it as a massive Brillo pad dripping with sticky honey, I woke shouting and in a sweat. I disturbed the household often enough that my mom considered taking me for therapy. To this day if someone asks me how I think I might die, I answer reflexively, “With a blow to my head.”

More positively, I believe I am a dreamer by nature. I love the way the word Dream appears in the songs I’m most fond of humming: Imagine, Dream Weaver, Rainbow Connection, I Dreamed a Dream. In this regard, here’s Rita Wilson singing one of my favourites.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Cm7U9SCFPk

I love to project my thoughts of a better future while daydreaming. I’m looking forward to spending long stretches of time with my grandkids exploring clouds and watching dragonflies. Dream Boards were popular for a while. Cutouts arranged in a collage for the wall or a private journal are made with intention, while dreaming of better days ahead. Wishing is a close cousin to Dreaming; it’s a projection of all that stuff going on in your headspace. Hopefully the wish can be made manifest in order to keep hope alive.

Our grey matter is a marvel. At times I feel may brain is like a massive parabolic antenna , picking up ideas, messages, multiple conscious musings from countless souls. I long to be tuned to the right channel. It could be a super power like Charles Xavier has as Professor X. I could tap into others’ thoughts not to interlope but to understand my own convoluted self just a little bit better.

During my first year of university I went on a date to see a student production of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. On the walk back to residence, the girl commented that I seemed like the main character to her.  I thought she was teasing, but I recognized that I had a brooding sort of personality. When we parted at her dormitory door, as if to make up for a potential slight, she kissed me on the cheek and called me a dreamboat. What a night! I strolled off to my room reviewing the words of the Danish Prince; “To sleep, perchance to dream!”

Re: Spectacle

Being a follower of the philosophy of awesomeness I’m naturally drawn to anything spectacular. Occurrences in the sky can make me gasp with pleasure. I love double rainbows. A bright full moon with a three dimensional texture will knock my socks off. While travelling on the prairies I’ve been awed by the spectacle of distant cloud formations slowly approaching my position then dropping rain in great curtains, quenching the arid landscape.

I can be gobsmacked by human feats of invention. I love a grand fireworks display as though I’m seeing it for the first time. Uniformed marching members of parades don’t turn me on like they did when I was a kid. Back then my mom would warn me not to make a spectacle of myself. Her admonishments made me shy, but maybe I’m just naturally introverted so I mustn’t blame her for my lack of desire to seek the spotlight. I had to get a pair of glasses (horrible cheap black rimmed ones) in grade eight which caused me a bit of teen angst. You could say I felt a spectacle due to my spectacles!

In adult situations, I prefer to be a shadow assistant or second-in-command. Once, a Chairperson of a Board, on which I served, called me a ‘stealth director’ which underscored my wish to be seen and not heard. I like to be judged by my actions. I am surprisingly happy when I find out someone has been talking about me. Some have said it is better to be gossiped about, rather than being the one to spread rumours. Balcony seats in opera houses were designed to show off patrons, much as scandal sheets, like the National Enquirer, serve the purpose of getting celebrities the notice desired. Can you be humble and not wish to attract attention, all at the same time? I seriously don’t recall an occasion when I’ve purposefully made a spectacle of myself. Whether that is because I’m not very daring in social situations or that I’m just not easily embarrassed, I haven’t figured that out yet.

A spectacle can draw us together. The lustre of pomp and ceremony has somewhat dimmed for me as I age. Staged events, particularly political ones, can make me feel less than impressed when I think the money could be better spent elsewhere. However, I still feel attached to the culture surrounding the Olympics: the intent to showcase human excellence, the effort to break down borders and barriers through sport is inspiring to witness. It’s a reminder of how far we have come from the days of the Roman Colosseum where human life was treated with such disregard.

We see what we want to see. We hear what pleases us. I confess to filtering life through rose coloured glasses when the landscape surrounding me presents discord. It can be a matter of survival to change focus when my emotional resources are low. But I do have a special pair of spectacles for when it’s important to see as clearly and as far ahead as possible.

Re: Accessible

I’ve wondered what it means to be personally accessible. Throughout my varied relationships with others I have striven to provide access even though I have a reticent personality. I resist the pronouncement, “My door is always open.” Because in truth it isn’t. Just because I consider myself a good listener doesn’t mean I’ll always hear what you say. My spirit has access points. I’ve discovered I’m more open to someone who poses thoughtful questions. The way to my heart is not through my stomach but by accessing my sensitivity to truth, justice and inclusivity.

When my wife and I were looking for a place to live after retirement I thought up an ABC list for a potential location. The A stood for Access, the B for Beauty and the C for Cost (an obvious bottom line in any list). At the time, our accessibility needs were few since we were both retired and healthy. So there was no need to be near work, a hospital or a school since our family days were well behind us. We desired to be near to city services, cultural amenities and community gathering spots all preferably accessed by foot. Victoria B.C. provided on the first two so we had to adjust our budget and expectations to fulfill our dream. I stuffed my desire to curse the cost.

Like other white middle class males I have felt the urge to get huffy when my access is denied. As a teen, at a beach resort I once fumed for several minutes after I showed up bare chested to a ‘No Shirt/No Service’ restaurant and was turned away. “How dare they!” I railed against the authorities. My friends covered me, literally, by finding me a Tee to wear. When you get used to doors opening for you, it’s easier to be shocked when access is denied. We all get a little testy when internet service goes down or water gets shut off in our apartment. I can make myself feel outrage when something appears unjust. I’ll go to lengths to advocate for myself and those I love. The squeaky wheel does get greased.

Some folk strive for access: to the executive washroom, to the halls of power, to the information highway, to the happening concert, to the next big thing. I’ve never been ambitious enough to barge in front of people, yet I have coveted what others have excluded from me. The child in me wants to point and shout, “But how come she has one and I don’t?” In my perfect world no one needs to fight an urge to bud in line, because there is no line. In this world we shape laws that focus on inclusivity. Technology is used to further the goals of accessibility rather than being commodified for the rich. Here, we are taught that our resources are plentiful and not restricted to a pie shape. As a matter of justice, we all have equal access to food, shelter, education, healthcare, employment and recreation. Here, truth opens all doors.

Re: Current

I’ve struggled against the current in my life. I’ve also gone with the flow. Several visits to water parks have provided metaphors for life: The exhilarating turbulent plunge from a great height down an almost vertical chute, The spinning disorienting journey through endless coloured pipes, The zen like perch on an inflated plastic donut floating down the lazy river. The flow of water continues to symbolize baptism, renewal as well as resignation. Currents can act as an instrument of fate or provide a jolt to the senses. I’m alive!

Surrendering to a current can be freeing. I remember feeling exalted when I got accepted into Teacher’s college. Previously, I’d been swimming away from my comfort zone in an attempt to realize a childhood dream. Changing direction gave me a different view. I got swept away by the promise of a year of purposeful study. I dove in to find this new course setting refreshing. I felt charged by the electrical current of fresh ideas. I put my compass in my pocket and trusted in the guidance of others to show me the way. I learned to value alternatives.

Changing one vowel in this theme word can create a whole other memory of nasty bits in cake. I hated currants whenever my mom added them to her Christmas fruit cake. The tiny black bits got between my teeth and didn’t marry well with the sweetness of the candied peel. They were bitter, gritty and totally spoiled the experience of this yuletide treat. Thankfully she would make two versions; a light and a dark. The light one was my favourite with plump raisins and an abundance of green and red cherries.

When I was an elementary school student, our teacher gave us daily current event assignments. We were to listen to a special news broadcast and answer questions about the items reported. This grade four experience inspired me and gave me my first feeling of success with school work. My current mother-in-law likes to stay up-to-date with her radio news. I like to debate with her 93 year old brain about the election coming up in her province. We talk about the candidates and the issues that are important to her. She generally likes to stay midstream whereas I sometimes argue that we need to totally change the course, speed and direction of the flow. Many times it becomes clear that we aren’t even in the same boat.

Currently I am in an eddy of time, slowly drifting without control. I’m becalmed in a sea of routine. It’s a familiar place. I know how to patiently wait until my craft finds the benefits of a Gulf Stream to alter my course and send me to new ways of being. Keeping thoughts current is a challenge when you’d rather be somewhere else. News of the world these days can make anyone feel as though they are swimming against the times. I’ll remember to value the stillness and enjoy some cherry cake until something better comes along.

Re: Fate

In the apartment building where I’m currently residing we learned of a fatality. The news rippled quickly regarding the circumstances of this fateful night when the living were shockingly presented with the reality of death. Rumours circulated. In the hallways, lobby and elevators, strangers with lowered heads talked to other strangers seeking solace, consolation or reassurance. Those who knew the deceased sheltered in place. Mortality strikes fear in us all.

In conversation with my mother-in-law, we shared a phrase, ‘there but for the grace of God go I’ as if to count ourselves lucky. I thought about the word Fate, all of that day and the next. I thought of the ways in which we tempt fate, by being reckless, careless or selfish. I wondered how this fit within the context of Covid vaccinations. I mused over ways we wish for things to come true and then, when they do, how we might profit from those wishes. A belief in Fate can be a form of wish making. Taken in a positive way Fate can be a nice idea, as long as you don’t mind giving up free will. Fatalists may convince themselves that Fate is on their side, at least until it’s not. Gamblers hold on to Fate’s hand, tightly.

When my first wife was dying of cancer, I never wanted her to die, yet I wished for an end to the suffering. I could never say that Fate dealt her a bad hand nor could I weaken her significance in my life by suggesting that shit happens. Sometimes the wishes we make will be granted to us in a form we hadn’t expected. Hence we have the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’. Long ago, when my mom spoke those words I felt menaced as if she might know something I didn’t about my future. Several years ago the book ‘Secret’ popularized the notion that you could manifest your destiny. All a person needed was a vision board, or some such graphic depiction, for Fate to be firmly in your control. Fatalism tamed.

People often talk about being fated: being in the right place and at the right time. It is the most dramatic way to describe the meeting of a true love, from across a crowded room, we just happened upon each other. It was kismet. Fortune shone on us.  Love came along and tapped us on the shoulder on a beautiful starlit night. Could it be magic?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7mugNlqtdk

Shakespeare wrote much about Fate: “Men at some time are masters of their fates.” As did the writers for the Star Wars films giving us the meme, ‘may the Force be with you’. As much as we’d like to, we cannot know what the fates will allow. Our destiny awaits, yet it is impossible to understand it as Fate, until it happens. I have wished for fame, fortune, happiness (the big three) only to discover them in smaller measure. Yet I feel as fortunate as a king.

Re: Trouble

Trouble is one of those words that pops up frequently. We don’t go looking for it, but it has a way of finding us. “You’re in big trouble mister!” was a sentence I was afraid of hearing as a young boy. Luckily I didn’t hear it very often. I got caught swearing. I once told a kid with big ears that he had big ears. I stole a magnet. That’s about all the trouble I put my parents through. Troublesome, I was not. That was my little sister’s job.

There is a lot of trouble in the world. I don’t know for certain if present times are more troubling than times of yore, but it sure feels like it (make your own list of woes here). I wonder if much of it is our own making. We can look for others to blame or consider ourselves as victims of circumstance I suppose. We can be conned into a fearful state. Here, The Music Man quickly convinces the townsfolk that trouble was just around the corner, all because of a Pool Hall in River City. Well, I’ll be hornswoggled!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LI_Oe-jtgdI

Laughing through our times of trouble can be helpful when the fix is easy. Authors create characters who might conjure trouble over a bubbling pot or use television comedy to resolve the conflict on screen. Laugh tracks can help assure us that problems won’t last and, really, everything is all in good fun. Captain Kirk tried to be serious during his trouble with Tribbles but in the end even Spock feigned amusement. Song writers can use melody to bring us out of our funk or they may convince us with words that we need not worry, just be happy. One of the films of my childhood starred an actor named Norman Wisdom. ‘Trouble in Store’ was about a charming goof of a man who’s heart was always in the right place even when his brain wasn’t fully engaged.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpMRnN5-Bpw

Sometimes the difference between pain and suffering is a matter of time as much as perspective. The Troubles of Northern Ireland lasted decades before there was any sort of peaceful resolution. Children grew up in this God forsaken corner of the world knowing all measure of hostility. Religion as a cause would be any easy excuse while to me, watching from the outside, it seemed more about bitterness, intractable positions, poverty and blind stupidity.

Trouble Shooting sounds like an oxymoron yet it can be helpful to gather as a group to solve a problem or set a new direction. I normally like to keep to myself, yet put me in a room with some newsprint on a flip chart and I can lead a bunch of willing wanderers out of their confusion. “Remember folks, there are no wrong answers.” I’ll announce as I clutch my set of non toxic coloured markers. Word to the wise: I’ve learned to set up the ‘breakout’ groups before workshop participants consider a mutiny.

Re: Understand

I took a two hour road trip with someone several years ago. Please understand that I zone out after a few minutes as a passenger in any vehicle. I’m not much better at conversation if I’m driving the car. Then I put myself on auto pilot as my mind numbs to anything but safety on the highway. On this particular trip though, the time sped by because we were dissecting the phrase, “I can dig it.” 

We both got the reference to the sixties, back when the phrase was popularized. We were of a similar age to appreciate the context behind ‘getting it’ but wondered if there was a difference between relating and understanding. Today when we say,”I can relate” after a friend has told us a story we want to convey that we understand as well as feel empathy. While in the car, that division between mind and heart kept us alert as we gave examples of understanding someone’s point of view while not necessarily relating to their situation.

For example, I understand why a person may choose to own a pet. I confess that I don’t prefer animals in the home, even though I have shared space with dogs, cats, a rabbit, a lizard and tropical fish at various times in my life. My sister and her daughter have both been pet lovers. When my niece said goodbye to her latest dog I asked if she would get another animal. She knows I would have a hard time relating to her decision if she did. Perhaps we can relate to our next of kin or loved ones because it is easier to empathize. They are relatives after all, so understanding their behaviour is not always conditional for our love. 

If I want to understand something or someone I take steps to evaluate the information provided. I’ll listen, observe, compare and contrast in a genuine effort to see the facts. This is head space work, scientific even. I don’t relate to the desire to go jogging. I understand the joy of fresh air, wind in my hair and using physical, not fossilized, energy. But would I make going for a daily run a lifestyle choice? Nope!

Back in the Trump days it was understandable to me how his brand could be seen as commercially appealing. I also ‘got’ the hatred for Hillary. And yet I could not relate to those who chose to vote for someone with so many obvious flaws. The division I see amongst the population of the United States today is a result of one side ignoring the work that is required to understand. In interviews these folks will actually be heard saying, “I don’t need to know.” 

Understanding certainly helps you to ‘get’ another person. When I am in conversation with someone, I like it when they check in with a phrase or comment which suggests they want to confirm what they just heard. They may not ‘dig’ my point of view but it’s wonderful to find out that they want to understand me.