Category Archives: Uncategorized

Near the End

Dear loving ones,

Since Jody went into hospital on Saturday night, she has been declining. The infection in her lungs has spread.  She was having pain with a deep cough on Sunday but a medication has helped to dry up her secretions.  Jody is mostly non-responsive verbally but she is with me as I hold her hand.

Jody’s doctor says that she may only live a day or two more. I know your prayers and love are there for my dear wife.  Please keep them coming.

As I sat with Jody yesterday afternoon, we had a conversation, a silent one. I know deeply that this was not just me talking to myself.  This was Jody and me.  I let go of her hand and wrote it down.

Jody: I’m going to fly.

Bruce: Travel well, my love.  We will be together again.  I will always be with you.

Jody: I’m ready, my husband.  I will have a doggie.

Bruce: Thank you for loving me so much.

Jody: I’m tired of this shit.

Bruce: You don’t deserve this shit.

Jody: You are my husband.

Bruce: I love you, Jodiette.

Jody: Take my hand, husband.

Bruce: May the road rise to meet you, loved one.  Oh darling wife.

Jody: Enjoy your life, Bruce.  Find someone else.  Be happy.  I know you will.

Bruce: You’re safe, Jodiette.

***

 Except for a few quiet “yeses”, Jody’s last word to me, as of right now, was “Bruce”, said in a tone of voice that told me “I’m glad you’re here.”

Later yesterday, as I sat alone with Jody in the room, I looked around … and we were certainly not alone. There were at least one hundred of you crammed into the large private room.  I could feel you there.  Jody’s bed is near the window, with her left side parallel to it.  Some of you were standing on the window ledge.  On the wall above Jody’s head, two fluorescent lights stuck out.  Several of you were sitting up there.  During the last few weeks, Jody’s head has leaned to the right.  On the left side of the bed, a line of you came to Jody, each of you planting a kiss on her left cheek.  The rest of the room, including a hide-a-bed and two chairs, was full to overflowing with you souls.  All of you were smiling.  All of you had your arms stretched straight ahead at eye level, forming a huge parasol of care over my lovely wife … and over me, I later realized.  Thank you.

On we go.

I love you all,

Bruce

People Floating Into My Life

Whatever joy there is in this world
All comes from desiring others to be happy
And whatever suffering there is in this world
All comes from wanting pleasure for myself

I was pretty worn out this morning, watching Jody decline, and sensing that I’m losing the love of my life, at least on this physical plane.  I needed to get her some meds, plus we were low on groceries, so I headed off to Costco.

First, though, was Shoppers Home Health Care.  I was looking for absorbent underwear that held liquid better than the generic brand we’d tried.  As I trundled in, a woman greeted me with an all encompassing smile.  “I can tell a happy person the moment they open the door,” she said.  “Well,” I replied, smiling, “Maybe I’d better come in again.”  So I walked out and I walked in, putting on the grumpiest face I could find.  “I want service!”  “Doesn’t work, guy.  Your eyes give you away.”

Thank you, my new friend.  I’m so sorry that I can’t remember your name. I’ll find out next time.

So on to Costco.  As I sat by the snack bar, eating my decadent turkey and provolone sandwich, a familiar face was pushing her cart past me.  She looked.  I looked.  She smiled.  I smiled.  It was Julia, our hairstylist.  There hasn’t been any haircutting in the Kerr family for the past ten months, and I was so glad to see Julia.  We gave each other a gentle hug.  “I miss Jody so much, and I love both of you,” the words having trouble making their way past the tears.

Thank you, my old friend.  Someday you’ll be cutting my hair again.

Watching this was Joanne, a woman who sits at a kiosk, trying to sell furnaces.  I walked over and she came towards me with a hug posted special delivery.  “I read all of your e-mails and I think of you and Jody a lot.”  And we talked about how my lovely wife is doing.

Thank you, o standing-on-your-feet-at-all-times saleswoman who cares so much about a woman she’s never met.

The e-mails that Joanne mentioned are weekly updates about Jody.  I’ve been writing them since November, 2013 and there are about 300 addresses who receive them.  I figure that over seven hundred human beings are praying for a miracle.  So lovely.

I was just about to get up post-sandwich when Pen, one of the Costco employees, walks by me, touches my shoulder, and says “Hi, you.”  And hi back to you, Pen.

So many people to love

Moe Norman

How about reflecting on those of us who don’t fit in?  Many in society look at them and sneer.  They don’t talk right.  They don’t dress right.  They make some of us very uncomfortable.

Moe Norman was a Canadian professional golfer.  His constant chatter was punctuated with repeated phrases, such as “Not bad!  Not bad!”  At the same time, he was overwhelmingly shy in social situations.  His clothes were old and ragged.  He sometimes smelled bad.  He often slept in his car.  He stood on the tee with feet that looked impossibly far apart, and swung straight back and straight through – no classic turning of the body.  He’d walk up to his ball on the fairway or green, and just hit it – no waggle of the club, no studying the line of the putt.

Moe never made it to the big bucks of the PGA Tour.  During his few tournaments on the Tour, he was ostrasized by some of his competitors.  Moe went home.

And yet … golfers such as Tiger Woods say that he was one of the purest strikers of the golf ball who ever lived.  Moe hit it straight and true – over and over again.

Here are a few stories:

At an exhibition in Toronto, Sam Snead warned Norman that he couldn’t carry the creek 240 yards from the tee.  “I’m not trying to,” said Norman, who calmly stroked his drive across the walking bridge to the far side of the hazard.

Leading by three shots on the final hole of a tournament, safely on the green in regulation, Norman putted deliberately into a bunker, just to make things interesting. He got up and down to win by a stroke.

Norman died a week before the 2004 Canadian Open.  He’d had bypass surgery several years before, and upon waking from anaesthesia, he was asked if he knew where he was.  On the third green, he said, at the London Hunt and Golf Club.  Doctors were concerned, but in fact the hospital where he lay was built on the former site of that club.  The building that held his room was located where the third green used to be.

I need a world that makes room for Moe Norman, in fact a world that embraces him, and those who follow him down the streets and fairways of life.

Altruism

“An attitude or way of behaving marked by unselfish concern for the welfare of others”

T.S. was at a London Monarch baseball game in Ontario with his 8-year-old son.  A foul ball was hit into the crowd.  It bounced and landed right in T.S.’s hands.  His son was thrilled when T.S. handed him the ball, but they heard a little girl crying, and realized that the ball had bounced off her foot.  The son asked his father to give the ball to the girl.  “I gave him a hug and told him that was a really nice thing to do.”

And more:

1.  A man walks around downtown London with a bunch of quarters in his pocket.  He plugs parking meters that are about to expire.

2.  A young girl tells her parents that she dropped a ceramic mug on the floor, to protect the person really responsible – her little brother.

3.  A 9-year-old boy looking for help after his mother crashed their van in the southern Arizona desert was rescued by a man entering the U.S. illegally, who stayed with him until help arrived the next day.

4.  We learned that 38 men – blacksmiths, professors, construction workers, students – can co-exist day after day in a 3-metre-by-10-metre cell with grace and humour and kindness.

5.  A man had made an impulsive purchase of a home entertainment system. He soon realized that it was a bad decision and tried to sell it on the Internet. He got a few offers, but they were all really low.  The man was getting depressed.  A friend of his offered to give him $2500 to top up the latest offer.  The system was sold.

6.  On an outdoor education trip in the Rockies, one member of the group developed hypothermia.  Her three friends took turns crawling into a sleeping bag with her.  Her temperature rose.  She survived.

7.  A 14-year-old boy had horrible acne.  Most of his friends retreated.  One girl moved towards him, always looking him in the eye, and including him in activities.

8.  A personal support worker who serves a cancer patient, upon hearing that she has been taken to a hospital, immediately phones the woman’s husband, wanting to visit.

9.  At parties, a woman always looks for anyone who seems left out, and goes over to spend time with them, in an expression of relationship, not pity.

10.  Despite the suffering and atrocities that his people have been and are subjected to, the Dalai Lama holds no anger toward the Chinese, believing they are “misguided people”.  Ingram describes the Dalai Lama’s attitude as “one of incredible kindness, even toward the Chinese Government, who would like him dead”.  He describes the Chinese as “my friends, the enemy”.

Hearts Opening All Around Me

Jody was having trouble breathing last night.  I called 911 and the paramedics arrived quickly.  Once she had the oxygen mask on for a few minutes, Jody felt better.  She decided not to go to Emergency.

What a moment in time for me, to stay silent in response to Jody’s decision, while yearning to have her fully checked out in the hospital.  In the words of Shantideva, an ancient Buddhist sage, “It’s then that like a log you should remain.”  Jody gets to choose.

This morning, she once again was struggling for air.  And Jody chose ambulance.  I wondered as we headed down the road for the St. Thomas-Elgin Hospital if she would ever come home again.

It turned out that Jody has a lung infection with some fluid buildup.  Not the re-emergence of blood clots nor the spectre of imminent death.  Now she’s sleeping soundly beside me at home, with an antibiotic coursing through her, and nasal prongs delivering oxygen.  (Sigh)  Perhaps Jody’s time on Earth is short but this is not the day of leaving.

I am so blessed to have people stroll into my life, happy to be in my world. Today’s angels included:

1.  Two young paramedics, a man and a woman, both with big smiles, kind words, and funny words.  “The unbearable lightness of being”, as one movie was aptly titled.

2.  The resident doctor who smiled so fully at Jody and me.  She sparkled. And her words were wise, coming from a place far beyond her years.

3.  The emergency doc who first saw Jody a year ago, and both compassionately and assertively suggested that she may have cancer.  He was “with her” both then and today, showing me how the contact of the moment outstrips the content.

4.  The pharmacy technician who saw that I needed the antibiotic in a hurry, who saw in my fear the deep love I have for my wife, and who pulled strings to get me what I needed quickly.  Our eyes truly met when I said thank you.

5.  The respiratory therapist who saw Jody briefly in hospital and then came to our place tonight to comfort her with air and love, and who patiently showed me how to operate the equipment, returning to a task when she saw I was confused.  She realized that I was “gone”, and allowed her caring to flow.

***

Out of the woodwork they come
Out of their phone booths
Out of their skin

Hitching Part 2

Yesterday I told you about my first experience with hitchhiking, travelling with friends eastward across lots of Canada in 1969. That was the first of five trips I made between Waterton, Alberta and Toronto, Ontario.  On the others I was alone.  Me and my little green tent and my junk food.

Looking back, I’m amazed that my parents didn’t give me grief about these thumbings.  They must have loved me a heck of a lot, and wanted me to drink deep from life’s stream.

I remember dad letting me off near the on-ramp of Highway 400, heading north from Toronto.  We were not a hugging family but his smile told me everything I needed to know.

With a few rides under my belt, I was feeling the freedom.  Nobody except the driver and me knew where on Earth I was at the moment.  So cool.  I usually had some good conversations with my benefactors.  Working at the Prince of Wales Hotel the previous summer had cured my shyness, I believe. This 21-year-old guy was feeling his oats as he talked to folks far older than him, and with much different life experiences.  Plus they seemed to like me.

One evening towards sunset, I was walking on a curvy road in Northern Ontario.  I know that walking doesn’t make much sense when you’re traversing four provinces, but it did ease the problem of “stationary thumb”. I was singing “The Long and Winding Road”, and not under my breath either. I’m pretty sure that the roadside creatures enjoyed the serenade.  I look back at that moment with great fondness.

I got to be quite good at picking a place to pitch my wee tent, usually in a little grove of trees or bushes, with headlights scanning the scene but not finding me.  Oh, I loved that feeling!  My very own hero, so I fantasized.

I think that my longest wait for a ride was nine hours.  Such a humbling experience.  I tried to look friendly and “together” to oncoming drivers, without coming across as goofy, but sometimes that just didn’t work.  I was left with myself, a few snacks, and often aching feet.  I liked who I was and it didn’t matter if my journey lengthened by a day, or even a few.

Only once on that trip was I scared.  Two drunk guys picked me up near Moosomin, Saskatchewan.  I didn’t think they’d hurt me but the car was all over the road.  I wondered if my short and increasingly eventful life was coming to an abrupt halt.  Happily, I convinced the bleary fellows that my destination was Regina, about 125 miles down the road.  Open door.  Walk on.

Somewhere west of Medicine Hat, Alberta, my windshield view began to include little bumps on the horizon.  I was so excited. After a winter in Toronto, I was aching for the mountains.  And perhaps they were aching for me.  My last ride dropped me off in front of the dormitories of the PW, my spiritual home.  Journey’s end.  And a happy young man.

 

 

Hitching Part 1

It was just after Labour Day in 1969.  The Prince of Wales Hotel in Waterton Lakes National Park, Alberta was closing for the winter and we employees were scattering to the far reaches of Canada.  Six of us looked at each other and decided that it was time for an adventure.  We lived in Calgary, Alberta; Saskatoon, Saskatchewan (two of us); Regina, Saskatchewan; Carman, Manitoba; and Toronto, Ontario (me!).  “Why don’t we hitchhike together?” someone bubbled.  So we did – in pairs.  After success on the road, we found the others in our destination city, stayed for a day or two in the home of whoever lived there, said goodbye to that person, and headed off towards someone else’s home.

I sure didn’t have any thought about us getting robbed or mugged.  Lots of young folks hitched from here to there.  People were good.  We would be safe. And we were.

I remember sitting in Carol’s kitchen in Calgary, absolutely full of myself at what I’d accomplished.  I didn’t know it back then but I loved my companions.  In Stephen King’s words, we were a ka-tet – a group of human beings bound together by destiny (or so I would have thought if I’d read any of his books back then.  Hmm … Stephen didn’t publish Carrie, his first novel, until 1974.  Oh well.)  Anyway, I was 20.  We were on a heroic quest.  And I was actually crossing a big slice of my country under my own power, so to speak.

One evening, our slightly smaller ka-tet was walking down an alley in Saskatoon.  (And a bit of background.  Waterton is a mountain park, and black bears often wandered into the townsite, looking for food.  My friends and I went out some evenings, trying to find bears.  We’d run if we saw one … not such a great idea).  Anyway again, there we were in that nondescript alley on the prairie.  “Why not?” I said to myself.  So I yelled “Bear!” and broke up laughing while my four compadres took off in a sprint.  Such fun.  Well, okay, they didn’t think so.

It’s funny, I don’t remember anything about my time on the road, thumb raised.  Guess my partner and I just breezed through unscathed.  No waiting hours for a ride.  That’s good.

Finally, it was just Marie and I crossing the Saskatchewan-Manitoba border, leaning towards Winnipeg.  Somewhere near Portage la Prairie, I think, we said goodbye.  We were friends, and we were shy with each other.  And I never saw her again.

So I was alone, moving past Winnipeg and through the endless rock and forests of Northern Ontario.  I was okay with being alone.  Besides, I had one more glorious quest.  Before we left Waterton, another friend, Sherri, told me that on a certain date (let’s say September 15) her parents would be driving her from Peterborough, Ontario to Toronto International Airport, where at a certain time (let’s say 2:00 pm), she’d be boarding a flight for Europe.  I told Sherri that I’d meet her at the airport.  And I did.  Hadn’t even got home first.  We smiled a lot at each other.

Whatever I’ve become since, who I am today was molded to some extent by this journey of like souls.  Wherever you are, my friends … peace.

Within

A legend from ancient India tells of a musk deer who, one fresh spring day, detected a mysterious and heavenly fragrance in the air.  It hinted of peace, beauty and love, and like a whisper beckoned him onward.  Compelled to find its source, he set out, determined to search the whole world over.  He climbed forbidding and icy mountain peaks, padded through steamy jungles, trekked across endless desert sands.  Wherever he went, the scent was there, faint yet always detectable.  At the end of his life, exhausted from his relentless search, the deer collapsed.  As he fell, his horn pierced his belly, and suddenly the air was filled with the heavenly scent.  As he lay dying, the musk deer realized that the fragrance had all along been emanating from within himself.

Where should I search?

At a Buddhist meditation centre
By the ocean
On top of a mountain
In a spiritual bookshop
Within the lives of the saints
At Bodh Gaya, India, where the Buddha became enlightened
In a bar
At 911’s ground zero
In Stanley Park, Vancouver
At an all-inclusive Caribbean resort
On a long distance train trip
In front of a stained glass window
In Walmart
Somewhere other than here

When should I search?

Tomorrrow
Now that I’m retired
When I’m older
When I’m wiser
When I’m more spiritually evolved
When I have enough money
When I’m surrounded by people who love me
When I’m alone
When I’m riding my bicycle across Canada
When I’m 70, 75, 80, …
Sometime before I die
Sometime other than now

Why should I search?

Can’t really think of a good reason

All Beings Near and Far

In metta, or lovingkindness meditation, I wish wellness for myself and other beings.  Here are the forms of the Buddha’s phrases that I use:

May you be free from danger
May you be happy
May you be healthy
May you live with ease

But who is the “you” of which I speak?  The Buddha suggested several pairings of people, and the one that resonates most deeply with me is “all beings near and far”.

Among the human beings whom I know and love, most are close by – in the London area.  Of those, some I see a lot, some rarely.  Even if they don’t come within my sight for weeks on end, I know they’re nearby.  And that comforts me.

Some of my loved ones are far away … Alberta, Connecticut, Nova Scotia, … But still they are near.  They truly live in my heart, and I carry that fine organ around with me every day.  Physical proximity is merely a part of communion, and totally optional.

Some beings whom I love are dead in this reality but still so intensely real to me.  Friends, mentors, family – all still companions on the way.

And what is far?  I guess that’s folks whom I’ve never met, whether they live around the block or around the globe.  I have no sense of them as individuals.  And yet how could they possibly be different in essence from those whose lives I’ve shared?  Do I somehow know them?

Readers from 35 countries have tuned in to my WordPress blog.  Places that are indeed foreign to me, such as Uruguay, the Philippines and Russia.  But the folks who have read my words are certainly not foreign.  I do know them. And they know me. It’s just not important that we’ll likely never meet in this lifetime.

Hey, maybe you’re all near to me.  I think so.  And I wish you well.

Feeling Flat

I’ve ridden a road bike for years.  You know, the ones with skinny tires that go zoom on asphalt and go splat on gravel.  I’ve always been a slow rider but friends and colleagues don’t know that. They think of me as a cyclist/athlete.

They also don’t know that I’ve never really figured out how to change a flat tire.  Two days ago, I felt ta-pocketa’s back tire before heading out on the roads … and it was indeed flat.  (Fear)  With a moderate lack of intelligence, I pumped up the tire to 110 psi and took off.  I told myself that there was an intersection about a kilometre away and I’d stop there and check the pressure again. Which I did.  Soft.  Amazed at my avoidance of reality, I turned around and went home.  (I’ll fix it tomorrow)

Tomorrow came and went and I stayed away from my bicycle. (Fear)

This afternoon, I reasoned that if I didn’t handle my distress about this, I’d turn into an indoor-type guy.  So I sidled up to ta-pocketa and felt her rear tire.  Flat.  (I don’t know what to do)

Tire levers.  Find the little plastic things that pry the tire off the rim.  Check. Dig into the bike box and grab a new inner tube.  Check.  (I don’t know what to do, and I should know what to do)

I did remember to put on nitrile gloves so my hands wouldn’t get gooped with oil when taking the rear wheel off.  (Maybe I’m an okay person after all) Fumbled around for ten minutes trying to extricate the wheel from ta-pocketa.  (Why can’t you remember this stuff?)  Finally done.

I grappled and groaned with the levers until the tire was off the rim, exposing the inner tube.  (Surely you didn’t have to take the tire completely off the rim.  Aren’t you just supposed to peel one side all the way around? Geez – what would a real cyclist think of you?)

Used my floor pump to inflate the inner tube.  (I can’t find any leak.  There should be a leak)  Remembered a friend telling me to submerge the tube in water and look for bubbles.  (You shouldn’t have to rely on a friend for basic information like that)  Bubbles.  Definitely a tiny leak.

I inserted the valve stem of a new inner tube into the rim and tried to reattach the tire, cramming the tube inside.  (This can’t be right.  What are you forgetting?  And why are you so stupid?)

Now half an hour into the job and about a century away from completion. (Pushing blindly ahead doesn’t work.  Do something different)  So I went back inside and watched two YouTube videos on the subject.  (Okay, that was a pretty good idea)

“Make sure you inflate the new inner tube a little, until it’s round.  Makes it easier to work with.”  (Oh)  “When you’re seating the tire back on the rim, start at the valve stem, pushing with your thumbs all the way around, using the lever at the end if the last section is really tight.”  (Oh.  You should already know this stuff, Bruce)

Fifteen minutes later … done.  (Really?  I did that?)  Lifted the derailleur just so and lowered the wheel into its slots, except that it wouldn’t go all the way in.  (Now what did you miss?)  Removed the wheel from the bike and took a look at how the tire was sitting on the rim.  There was a bulge right near the valve stem.  (Are you blind or what?)  Used the lever to take one side of the tire off the rim.  Took the inner tube right out.  Reinflated it a bit.  Stuck it back in with more care than before.  Started pressing with my thumbs to reseat the tire, this time starting at the valve stem.  Slowly.  Reassessed after a few inches.  No bulge.  Tire firmly seated all around the rim.  Pumped it up. Still good.  Delicately replaced it on ta-pocketa.  Really done.  (What a good boy am I)

***

Okay, this constant self-evaluation is exhausting.  For one thing, it creates far too many brackets in print.  What the heck happened to my Buddhism, my equanimity, my lovingkindness directed within?  I don’t know.  Guess they got lost along the way.

Mañana.