Monthly Archives: January 2016

Loving Still

Jody and I still talk a lot, 14 months after her death.  A lot of love passes between us.

My dear wife tells me, “We will be together again in this physical life.”  And I sit open to this possibility, even when my rational brain is poo-pooing the idea.  I so much want to hold Jodiette again.

I heard Jane Lewis in concert a couple of nights ago.  She wrote a song called “Tend Me Like A Garden” and I’ve cried every time I’ve played it in the car.

Tend me, tend me like a garden
Love me, love me like the rain
I will give you all that you can harvest
‘Til the first frost steals me away

The coldness of death has indeed stolen my love away.  I’m lonely without my wife.  She loved me like the rain, and still does.

I will love you through all of the seasons
I’ll weather what the fall and summer bring
I may lay fallow in the winter
But I swear that I’ll remember you in spring

“Remember me, Jodiette, until we meet again.”

“I certainly will, Brucio … with great love.”

Would You Like A Cup Of Coffee?

So I heard as I sat in my pedorthist’s office this morning as I waited to have my orthotics adjusted.  Such a simple gesture of friendliness, and yet so profound.  It was as if I was blessed with these words:

Is there something I can do to lighten your load?

May I bring a touch of coziness into your life?

May I serve you?

I said yes to the coffee, not really needing the beverage, but seeing the moment in front of me, and wanting to allow the completion of the giving.  I was presented with a smile, and with a grey china mug full of the hot stuff.  I wrapped my hands around it and felt the warmth from cup and human being.  This point in time was sufficient.

Long ago, I walked into a Woodstock, Ontario elementary school for the first time, to visit a visually impaired student.  An educational assistant came up to me in the hallway.  I didn’t know her.  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”  The same welcoming, the same honouring, the same inclusion.  How lovely across the years.

May I have the eyes to see the things people do to show me I matter
And may I return the favour

Creating Happiness

 

A few days ago, I went to a London Lightning basketball game with two friends.  Last night, I was at a London Knights hockey game on my own.  I didn’t like either game.

I’ve always loved seeing sports events but clearly “always” no longer fits.  It’s more of the same internal conversation that I’ve been having with myself since coming back from the meditation retreat – “Bruce is …” > “Actually no, he isn’t.”

There weren’t many people at the basketball game.  “That’s it.  I feed off the crowd’s energy.  No wonder I was flat.”  But there were 9000 souls in Budweiser Gardens last night.  Lots of crowd noise.  Except for the guy sitting in Section 303, Row H, Seat 6.

“I need to share the experience with someone.”  Jody and I went to lots of Knights games and had a good time.  Well, my friends were right beside me at the basketball game but none of us “entered the excitement”.

Last night, I was way up high in the arena.  It was a good view, but the players looked really small.  “Okay then, I need to be close to the action, to feel the thrill of Mitch Marner exploding down the ice and blasting a shot into the net.”  However, we sat only ten rows from the court at the basketball game.

Well, Bruce.  You know this.  Happiness is an inside job.  You can keep adding marvelous events to your life, and there’s nothing wrong with that.  Actually that’s exactly what you’re doing in the next few months … Toronto; Cuba; Haida Gwaii; Cambridge, Ontario.  But what will you bring forth in those strings of moments?  That’s up to you.  It appears that team sports no longer draw you, even though you enjoy the sports section of the newspaper.  But the experiences that currently animate your life – lovely friends, concerts, beaches, tall ships and golf tournaments – are all on the outside.  Bring forth you.

Still The Same

Such a wonderful face, their mother’s.  As a younger woman she’d been beautiful, far more beautiful than Laurel, more so than any of her daughters, with the possible exception of Daphne.  She certainly wouldn’t have had directors pushing her towards character roles.  But one thing you could bank on was that beauty – the sort that came with youth – didn’t last, and their mother had grown old.  Her skin had sagged, spots had appeared, along with mysterious puckers and discolorations.  Her bones had seemed to subside as the rest of her shrank and her hair frayed to nothing.  But still that face remained, every aspect bright with mischief, even now.  Her eyes, though tired, had the glint of one who never stopped expecting to be amused, and her mouth turned up at the corners as if she’d just remembered a joke.  It was the sort of face that drew strangers, that enchanted them and made them want to know her better.  The way she had of making you feel, with a slight twitch of the jaw, that she too had suffered as you did, that everything would be better now simply for having come within her orbit.  That was her real beauty – her presence, her joy, her magnetism.  That, and her splendid appetite for make-believe.

(I wrote this down more than a year ago, but I can’t remember the author.)

***

Old French Lane

Seven jewels lie in the channel
South of England’s shores
Where you and I once walked together
Where I’ll walk no more

Hand in hand we would go
In the sun and in the rain
Through the streets of St. Helier
Down the Old French Lane

With Jersey sunshine falling on your hair
Shines in strands of red and gold
And eyes of green like the emerald sheen
Of your ancestral home

That was so long ago
Red and gold turn silver now
But eyes of green will never change
In my memory somehow

***

“She’s an attractive woman.”  So said a friend about another friend, who’s in her 50’s.  Yes, our faces are no longer as smooth and upright as a 20-year-old’s.  Under the chin, the skin dangles.  But the eyes still shine.  The smile appears at the flimsiest excuse.  And the soul so often comes to the surface for all to see.

Lifesaving

Just south of me is the village of Port Stanley, Ontario, on the north shore of Lake Erie.  Jackson’s Fish Market is a local landmark, and one of its exterior walls is graced by a large mural – about 20 feet long and 10 feet high.  It depicts a rowboat heading out in wild seas to a stricken ship offshore.  Here is the inscription:

On October 29, 1902, in a savage Lake Erie gale, the three-masted American schooner Mineral State went aground and started to break up off the high clay bluffs east of the Port Stanley harbour.  The gallant Port Stanley lifesaving crew, watched by a large crowd of Port Stanley residents, braved the towering waves and rescued the entire crew of the schooner just as dusk was falling.  In recognition of their bravery, the lifesaving crew all received gold medals from US President Theodore Roosevelt.

I studied the painting.  The gold of sunset lit up the waves and the sky, as well as the faces of adults and kids who were watching the rescue.  The wind blew back their hair.  In the rowboat, a helmsman urged on the six rowers, who were cranking on their oars and straining in their faces.  On the horizon, the schooner’s masts were tilted at a 45 degree angle.

Oh, the fear that must have coursed through those men!  Was this the end?  Would their names be added to the list of fatalities?  How would their families carry on?

As I sat in my cosy car, I wondered how I’d react in an emergency.  I’ve never saved anyone’s life.  In the moment, would I have the courage to do that?  Or would I fold my tent and slink away, comforting myself with thoughts about the people in this world who needed me to stay alive?

Right now, I yearn for the chance to save someone.  And in the next breath, I hope never to face such a crisis, such a call for action.

And when the moment comes …?

 

First Yoga Class

On my meditation retreat last fall, we had weekly yoga sessions.  All new to me.  And I did some basic stretches nearly every day.  They sure helped me deal with the back realities of my yogi job – potwashing.

Now back in the world of Southern Ontario, I decided to take an introductory yoga class.  It started last night.

There were about fifteen of us – mostly women, mostly folks in their 20’s and 30’s.  Old memories of not liking my body and being un-fit dropped in to say hi throughout the evening.  I decided to say hi back and let them be.

I’ve sure made some silly conclusions in my life:

I can’t squat
I have bad knees
If I do certain stretches, I’ll end up incapacitated for life

One of the first moves we did was simply standing on the mat, feet touching at the front and the back, pressing down with the balls and the heels, spreading the toes and then lifting them.  How can that be hard?  But it was.  And here came my train of negative thoughts.  “Hello again.”

Then there was standing with my left side to the wall, hand touching, grabbing my right ankle and bringing it up high on my left thigh, and then pressing everything inwards to keep the foot in position.  Right hand eventually on my right thigh.  “O wondrous imperfect one that you are, Bruce!”  Thank goodness I could laugh at myself.

Late in our session, there I was – left foot against the baseboard, right foot flat on the mat at an “impossibly” long distance from the other.  Hips pointing straight ahead, but moving my right toes outward at a 45 degree angle, then moving my heel in so that the foot was perpendicular to the left one, foot and knee pointing down the length of the mat.  One of the assistants came by to help me with the alignment.

I looked at my twisted body in wonder.  After all, “I have bad knees.”  Or do I?

During the next eight weeks, I’ll be exploring what this body of mine is really about.  Hmm … an adventure.  I’m all for having lots of those.

Nothing To Say

 

I can’t think of a thing.  What would happen if I just sat here and waited?  Guess I’ll find out.

***

I’m just watching my thoughts … the words that bubble to the surface.  I’ll write them down.

***

“Where in the world am I going?”  February 26-29 – Toronto.  April 1-15 – Cuba.  June 7-10 – Vancouver.  June 11-19 – Haida Gwaii.

***

“Why am I going there?”  To meet people, maybe to meet that very special love.  To watch people, in their infinite variety.  To talk to people, to learn about their lives and what makes them “fly”.  To love people, and then let them go.

***

“What kind of person am I?”  Curious, caring, open, determined, sad, happy.

***

“What’s important?”  People, including me.

***

“Will I live a long time?”  I don’t know.  I hope so.  So many moments to sit in.  But maybe I’ll die tomorrow.  It’s been a great life and I know I could happily let go of it (but even more happily enjoy the continuing ride).

***

“Do I want to be with a woman … to give love and receive love?”  Yes.

***

“Is that relationship near or far away?”  I don’t know, but it’s coming.  In its own sweet time.

***

“How come I was never a sports hero?  Or a singing hero?  Or an acting hero?”  I don’t know.  Perhaps none of that is important.  I still want to act but celebrity is not the way I want to contribute.

***

“Okay.  How exactly do I want to contribute?”  It doesn’t feel like a doing.  It feels like a momentary thing … over and over again.  Just show up in people’s lives and stand there … with love.

***

“Do I want to keep talking?”  Actually no.  I can’t think of anything to say.

Smoke Alarm Blues

It bleated away this morning, waking me up.  It’s supposed to chirp intermittently when the battery is dying but this was a continual blast on the eardrums.  Smoke?  No.  Fire?  Not at all.  I pressed the Reset button and it stopped, only to resume ten minutes later.

Okay, Bruce.  The alarm is in your hand, having been twisted off from its ceiling mount.  Look for instructions on opening the thing up so you can switch batteries.  No instructions.  Very well.  Hold the bottom part and twist the top part.  Tight as a drum.  No problem.  There seems to be a thumb hole on the side of the apparatus.  Get your digit in there and pull the top off.  Tight as two drums.  All right.  Stare at the alarm for awhile.  Nothing magically opens.  After more staring, I realize that I have no clue about how to get to the battery.  And I feel incompetent.  How can this beast be consumer-proof?  I must be missing something.  No, I’m not.  I’m a smart person.  But the top persists in remaining unopened.  (Sigh)

I considered taking the alarm to Home Hardware and asking one of the employees for help.  But here comes Renato.  I’ll let him have a go.  My friend picks up the circular warning machine, glances at it for a few seconds, puts his thumb in the hole … and pulls outward, like opening a drawer.  And there revealed was a D battery.  More staring, accompanied by gulping.

Renato smiled.  I sort of did.  Inside, it was more like dying.  What does it mean that my university-educated brain couldn’t figure this out?  That this human being overflowing with Buddhist insights was incapable of uncovering a battery.

I thought about this on and off all day.  Am I a stupid person?  No.  Am I a bad person?  Certainly not.  Am I an imperfect person, complete with this deficiency and that?  Yes.

And so I sit in my man chair, humbled by a gadget.  What’s happening right now?  Sadness.  A wee bit of shame.  And a little chuckle.

Feet of clay
Brain of mush
Heart of gold
I’ll take it

Birthday

Yesterday was my 67th birthday.  Mom told me decades ago that I was born at 10:00 am Eastern Time.  So there I sat in Wimpy’s Diner, my cell phone on the table, watching 9:57, and reflecting on 66.  Finally the number flipped to 10:00, and a little smile crossed my face.  “You’re young at heart, Bruce.”  Yes I am.

This may have been the first birthday where no one I’m in face-to-face contact with knows about it.  What a strange feeling.  I knew that I wouldn’t bring it up in conversation.  I’ll just have a quiet celebration … a Boy’s Day Out.  So I did.

I enjoyed being at Wimpy’s for the first time in six months.  And having a real bacon and eggs, homefries and coffee breakfast.  Plus talking to my waitress friend Angie.  And reading the sports and entertainment sections of The London Free Press.  In the realm of “Pleasant, unpleasant or neutral”, it was a pleasant time.

At one point, I heard singing from the next table.  An elderly gentleman was beaming to the strains of “Happy Birthday”.  I smiled at him, borrowing a bit of his celebration.

I was alone, a bit sad, but mostly enjoying the pleasure of my company.  I knew that around some corner of my future,  there’ll be a new loved one, a woman who will be happy to celebrate my birthdays.  But she hasn’t shown up yet, and that’s fine.  The timing of life is unknown.

I decided to go to a movie at my favourite little independent cinema.  It was a love story between a young mom and her five-year-old son.  So beautiful in the many moments of contact.  Both heartrending and ecstatic, vibrant and tender.  Pleasant.

After a quick bite to eat, and further consumption of the newspaper, I just had enough time to drive across London to a cinema complex.  I was off to see a blockbuster that came out while I was on the meditation retreat in Massachusetts.  It was a shoot ’em up and blow ’em up type film, the latest in a series.  Previously I had been engaged with the characters but not this time.  Hmm … unpleasant.  But underneath the surface evaluation was the sweetness of just being there.

In the evening, I went to a concert – about 50 of us in a comfy old home.  Two singer-songwriters were on the bill.  I wasn’t liking the music of the fellow who performed the first set.  I couldn’t locate a good melody and therefore I didn’t listen to the words.  That’s all right.  His family and friends were there, and they were cheering him on.  That was cool.

For set two, you can pretty much reread the paragraph above.  Another guy.  Another family.  Cool again.  Overall … unpleasant music.  But I did have a lovely conversation with the couple who shared my table.

So no fireworks on this 67th birthday.  I was with myself and we had a good time.  Just being out in the world is a privilege.  Someone will be smiling back at me on a birthday some day soon.  That will be fun too.

 

Asking For More

This afternoon I picked up three tickets for the London Lightning basketball game next Thursday at Budweiser Gardens.  The woman at the box office found me some good seats.

The three of us had the opportunity to get better seats than I’ve ever had in my life – probably first row courtside.  Some player leaping for a loose ball would likely have ended up in my lap!  To secure these gems, all it would have taken was a request to a powerful person that one of us knows.  We decided not to do that.

Would I have accepted front row if the gentleman in question had given it to us with no prompting on our part?  Yes.  But the idea of asking for what hasn’t been freely offered makes my stomach turn.

For me, happiness doesn’t come from the accumulation of pleasant experiences, even though I love pleasant experiences.  Happiness shows up when I know I’ve shown integrity, and when I’m present as I enjoy the people who show up in my life.  I’ve discovered that happiness can even be there during times of sadness, as contradictory as that sounds.  When I touch something immense, no matter what the surface emotion, something sweet bubbles up.  It’s a vastness.  Holy.  And infinitely more rewarding than pushing to get courtside seats.

Next Thursday, we’ll be many rows from the action, and yet we’ll feel the ebb and flow of the game.  We’ll come out of our seats at a slam dunk and groan over a missed layup.  We’ll have a great time with each other.  And that’s certainly enough to put a smile on my face.