Like you, I’ve passed through many difficult moments in my life.  Right now I’m not living any of them.  Life is sweet and joyous, full of wondrous sights and grand conversations.

It’s so easy to forget the tough times.  And to realize that they’ve contributed to the person I am today.  Would I love people as much as I do if my earlier life was simply a series of smooth sailings?  I don’t think so.

Here are a few recollections:

1.  Maybe two months ago, my esophagus problems disappeared.  For probably a year previous, I had trouble swallowing, and I’d go to bed each night with a vague dread.  My doctor assured me that I wouldn’t die in my sleep because the body had a gag reflex … but I still wondered.

2.  Watching my wife Jody slowly die from lung cancer over the course of a year.  Being at her bedside, doing personal care, loving her.

3.  Failing at several jobs.  Being fired, laid off, or not making sales quotas: manager of volunteers at a hospital, life skills teacher at a college, personal development course teacher, life insurance agent, real estate agent, encyclopedia salesman.

4.  Coming close to death four or five times in the Rocky Mountains in my twenties: on a cliff; clinging to a steep snow slope above a cold lake; being struck by lightning; etcetera.

5.  For four years, having weekly swimming classes in the nude with other boys and being the only one who never learned to swim.  I spent my time alone in the shallow end while my classmates did laps.  I don’t remember ever receiving any instruction.

***

The story is a smile

Not “Woe is me”

On to the next adventure

Today …

A.  I forget people’s names.  When I first meet them, I write down their names in my phone, with the vague hope that I’ll study them later.  But I don’t … and then I see them again – now nameless.

B.  I forget the names of objects.  Imagine something that contains other things.  In the moment, when I’m looking at the thing, I can’t locate what’s it’s called.  Is it a box, basket, can, jar, bottle, bin, bowl, carton, bucket … or what?  (I cheated just now.  I Googled “names of containers”.

When I’m in a conversation, and one of those objects is the subject at hand, I usually retreat to “container”, since that’s all my brain creates.

C.  I forget what I’m saying … even in the middle of a sentence.  It just takes a tiny distraction, and the topic at hand disappears.  I’ve shared this with good friends, and they kindly get me back on track, telling me what we were talking about.

***

I’m smiling as I write this.  I’m done with pooping on myself because my body or mind isn’t living up to youthful standards.  It’s an immense waste of energy.  I have better things to do.

Tomorrow will be “Forgetting: Part Two”, a different slant on the subject – a focus on something far more important than forgetting someone’s name.

On September 11, 2001, terrorists flew planes into two towers of the World Trade Center in New York City.  This song is Bruce Springsteen’s tribute to the first responders who saved many lives. 

The words and melody have power.  At the concert in Barcelona, fans in the audience shift from dancing to simply holding one hand high.  Even if we have never been through a trauma like 911, we know … the fear, the sorrow, that often are a part of being a human being.

Here are some words:

I heard you calling me
Then you disappeared into the dust

Up the stairs, into the fire
Yeah, up the stairs, into the fire
I need your kiss
But love and duty called you some place higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire

It was dark, too dark to see
You held me in the light you gave
You lay your hand on me
Then walked into the darkness of your smoky grave

Feel the video

See the firefighters

Know the sadness

Here’s another fine song to sing:

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=OM6lw40VPLg&si=2Q9L8Kr62nJCbZoM

In the words of American baseball, life keeps throwing curve balls at us.  It seemed like we saw the path clearly … but then the ball changed direction.  Swing and a miss!

Or … it’s a fast ball, straight as a laser beam, right over the middle of the plate.  We swing.  The ball meets the sweet spot of the bat … and soars into the blue.  Way over the outfield fence.  Homerun!

All these words!

What if you don’t know baseball?

Oh well.  Life will work out

What I’m building up to is this: We win and we lose.  Triumphs and disasters.  But what if …

“The good stuff” and “the bad stuff” of our days are just flows of energy, not to be grabbed onto or pushed away?  That peace can live within the strikeout as well as the homerun.

Disclaimer:  I’m not talking about huge things, such as not having food and shelter, being physically and emotionally assaulted by someone, experiencing excruciating physical pain.  But I don’t know … is peace possible there too?

I subscribe to a Buddhist magazine called Tricycle.  So many marvelous writers asking me to consider anew.  Myozan Ian Kilroy recently wrote about contentment.  I liked it.  I hope you do too.

I have known many content people in my life.  To be clear, they were not people in dire poverty, whose wants of food, housing, security and other basic needs were not met … These people were not highly successful people either.  They were not the people who chased after high achievement and status.  They were not usually people in positions of power.  They were ordinary people, living ordinary and decent lives.  They were people with little ego and few cares in the world.  They were free within the boundaries of their own life. 

Often, they had a quiet faith in things, believing that the flow of life would take care of itself and work out.  In that sense, they were in harmony with their surroundings, whatever those surroundings were.

They were people who gardened in the neighborhood where I grew up, finding silent pleasure in planting and tending vegetables or flowers.  Or they were old fellows sitting quietly in country pubs, unconcerned with the busyness of the world, meditatively sitting near an open fire.  What was common among them was their centered presence.  Their full being was right there in the situation they were in. 

For me, these words ring true.  I’m the guy in the pub, drinking cappuccino rather than beer.  I’m also the one with the quiet faith that all will be well.  Or in the words of Patricia Albere … Basic Trust.  I too live an ordinary and decent life.

***

I feel the peace

May you do as well

The world needs what flows from our hearts

Robert Redford died a week ago.  He was an acclaimed actor, a devoted philanthropist and an all-round lovely human being.

Robert is being mourned by millions.  Other Hollywood actors have expressed their sorrow:

Bob was charismatic, intelligent, intense, always interesting – and one of the finest actors ever.  He was one of a kind and I’m so grateful to have had the opportunity to work with him.  (Barbra Streisand)

I can’t stop crying.  He meant a lot to me and was a beautiful person in every way.  He stood for an America we have to keep fighting for.  (Jane Fonda)

[Robert was] that rare person where what you see is what you get.  The decency he projected in his movies was genuine.  (Dustin Hoffman)

Beyond the world of fame, others expressed their grief.  Todd Sherrod, in his response to a Facebook post about Robert, spoke for the ages.  Listen to the spirit within the words …

Redford was a true artist, great actor, and a truly remarkable human being.  He was about something, and didn’t seem to get caught up in all the Hollywood nonsense.  He’s what they call a dying breed. 

My friends and I grew up in a time when the pictures were transformative, edgy, daring and brutally honest (1970’s).  That whole class of actors … Pacino, Nicholson, De Niro, Fonda, Redgrave, Beatty, Hoffman, Caine, Streep, Eastwood, Duvall.  It’s sometimes hard to believe that most of the guys we watched on the big screen in those days are now in their upper 80’s, and in some case 90’s.  Where did all the time go, I often ask.

But the memories are resplendent, echoing the times of our youth, simply sitting in a darkened theater and being captivated by such tremendous performances from these great actors .  I’ll never forget the times and the excitement placed upon our hearts, and the influences they had on me.  It was powerful, and I am forever grateful to have come along during those times!

RIP Mr. Redford!

***

Todd speaks … I listen

You speak … I listen

I speak … you listen

May it always be so

I did something a few days ago that I’ve hesitated to tell you.  It smacks of “Look at me.  See how spontaneous I am!”  And I don’t want that to be me.

Still … it was awfully fun what I did.  So why suppress the telling?  Is there ego involved?  Yep.  Is there joy involved?  Yep.

So just say it!

As I leave my apartment each morning, roaming towards breakfast, I usually say hi to folks I know who work at various businesses.  My first stop is the Soup Lounge.  I know Glenn and Maxim.

Typically I show up around 9:00 am, an hour before they open.  Their door is ajar as they prepare for the day.

This particular morning I slept in.  So I approached the land of soup around 10:00.

I walked into the restaurant.  On the right, there stood Glenn behind the counter.  Straight ahead and to the left there stood empty tables and chairs.

I stepped forward and took in the audience …

Welcome to the Soup Lounge.  I appreciate you taking the time to include us in your day.

You’ve entered a hallowed hall, where the nourishment spans far beyond soup and a bun and an apple.  I hope you feel the energy that’s here and the opportunity to connect with the folks at the next table.

Any questions so far?  (A few hands up)

Yes, you in the back.

“Are you from their head office?  Why are you talking to us?”

No, I’m not an employee or manager of the Soup Lounge.  I’m a long time customer who knows a good thing when he sees it, and wants others to know.

Another hand, right in front of me …

“Why should I eat here, rather than at the other soup place down the street?”

Well, the other place doesn’t have … Glenn (gesturing to the counter).  Look at that face.  Look at his welcome.

A severe looking fellow in suit and tie …

“Are you usually mentally unbalanced or is this a momentary condition?”

Sadly (or happily) it’s chronic.  And I don’t mind at all.

Etcetera

I glanced to the right.  Glenn is busting a gut laughing.  A little further to the right, in my peripheral vision, something was moving.  Someone.  Someones.

I stretched my neck towards the entrance.  There stood seven or eight customers, beholding my speech.  Two women smiled at me.  The rest stared.

Yes, Bruce, it’s 10:00 am, not 9:00

The Soup Lounge is open to the world

And the world is curious

I was having breakfast yesterday at Pain Quotidien on the Korenmarkt.  As I savoured the last few bites, a young server came up and asked “How was everything?”

I have some stock answers to questions I’m asked, designed to make people laugh.  I keep meeting new people, so I keep using the same old lines.  Such as …

I wish I was younger

The server had a moment of confusion and then she smiled.  Of course she was asking about the food and not my life but I love going in a different direction.

And then my mind paused.  Was my answer really true?  Did I want to return to teenaged acne?  Or revisit my low self-esteem as a vision teacher, the feeling that I was an imposter?

The response came swiftly: No.

The woman and I talked about our common teen agony – a face that resembled a pizza.  Her skin is now fine.  So is mine.  But the memories!  Especially some female friends leaving.  (Sigh)

Then she asked “What was your favourite age?”

The answer blasted through > 76 … Now.

Everything stopped

We were silent

And then she was off to another table

***

Hmm.  So is right now really the best?  The body is less fast and less agile than fifty years ago.  But the heart is wide open.

I smile

Continuing my current obsession with Blu-ray concerts, a new disc arrived today:  A Musicares Tribute to Bruce Springsteen.  About 25 musicians covering Bruce’s songs.

The photo shows Emmylou Harris singing one of my favourites: My Hometown.  Here are some of the lines:

Now Main Street’s whitewashed windows
And vacant stores
Seems like there ain’t nobody
Wants to come down here no more
They’re closing down the textile mill
Across the railroad tracks
Foreman says “These jobs are going, boys
And they ain’t coming back
To your hometown”

I haven’t seen the Blu-ray yet, but one article talked about Bruce being on the edge of tears as Emmylou sang.

How marvelous to have your work appreciated.  Your passion, your commitment to humanity.  Bruce, and all of us, deserve life’s blessings.

I was sitting here reading the liner notes of the Blu-ray, and I came upon this:

Many people to thank.  I began reading the names.

And then I stopped.  I got what I was doing – looking for people I recognized, and ignoring the rest.  I’d heard the name “Jon Landau”.  He’s a record producer.  But the next human being?  “Marilyn Laverty” is a mystery.  And all the way down to “Cindy Zaplachinski”.  Unknown to me … and subtly dismissed in favour of fame.

How sad.  Marilyn and Cindy deserve my respect and love as much as Jon.

It’s time to wake up some more, Bruce.

***

Bruce Springsteen

Bruce Kerr

Marilyn Laverty

Cindy Zaplachinski

Us

I’m a strange duck.  Maybe we all are.  I often get caught in defining something as important, and then obsessing about having that thing.

For example, a sharp screen resolution on my TV.  I yearn to see the details of things, especially faces.  Last week I bought a Blu-ray player and a few discs.

One of my three favourite movies is Whale Rider, the story of a young Maori girl becoming a leader in her village.  I put the disc in the player last night and … Wow!  1080p clarity.  Faces.  The intricacies of carved wood.  And therefore my happiness.  I vote for better.  720p or 480p is definitely worse.

Or so says my mind. 

I make up stuff about good and bad.  I suppose you do too.  Things that I say are true. 

Back in Canada I used to own a great music video on DVD – Bruce Springsteen Live In Barcelona.  In an ecstasy of letting go, I gave it away.

Last week I bought it again.  My memory is that the screen resolution of the Bruce concert was poor – maybe 480p.  And then there was last night …

My new Blu-ray player can boost the sharpness of an old DVD, or so says the advertising.  I slipped Barcelona into the disc tray.  And there was Bruce and the E Street Band in 720p at least.  My mouth dropped open.  No, it wasn’t the quality of a Blu-ray disc … but it was better!

For the last three years, my only contact with the Springsteen DVD was a song from the concert that I found on YouTube – Badlands, which is one of my favourites.  The audience goes crazy … many of them jumping up and down, their hands high.

But last night I watched the flow of the concert: the fast songs, the slow ones, the bouncing people, the chanting people, the people lulled by ballads such as Empty Sky.

It was … better.  One song alone, without the context, is worse.

And so flows my life.  Most likely my betters and worses aren’t yours.  You have others.

So be it

When I realized that I had destroyed my turquoise water bottle with bleach, I went searching on the Internet for a new one.

The Contigo brand is very cool, and I wanted to stay loyal to the company.  What came up on Amazon was not the 1 litre size I had, but 1.2 litres.  With appropriate obsession, I found the dimensions of the bottle, including the width of the base – 10 centimetres.

And then the mind unravelled …

Will this bottle fit in the cup holder on the elliptical cardio machine?

Will this bottle fit in the smaller cup holders on the strength training machines?

Will it fit under the spout of the flavoured water dispenser in the gym?

So my brow furrowed and my skewed research began.

I hoped to find the image of a tape measure on my phone so I could guess the width of the cup holder in the photo.  All I found were apps that took pictures of things.  Then I Googled “dimensions of an S25 Samsung phone”.  Thus fortified, I went over to a strength training cup holder and held my phone over the opening.  Then on to the cup holder of the elliptical.

Conclusions:

1. If I buy this lovely-looking blue water bottle, it’ll fit in the elliptical cup holder.

2.  If I buy this lovely-looking blue water bottle, it probably won’t fit in the strength machine cup holder.

3.  I really like the blue!

Feeling the angst of an expenditure that may or may not produce success, I bought the bottle.

It arrived the next day.  I took it to the gym and walked towards the elliptical.  I stood meditatively in front of the cup holder.  I sighed.  I moved my hand forward … and the bottle slipped into the hole.  Yes!

On to a strength training machine.  I stood meditatively in front of the cup holder.  I sighed.  I moved my hand forward … and the base of the bottle was too big for the hole.  (Oi!)

And then to the flavoured water dispenser.  I slid the bottle forward.  It banged into the spout of the machine.  Not enough room.

So … I worked out on the strength training machines, placing the bottle on the floor each time.  The blue shone so nicely!

I later discovered that if I tilted the bottle a wee bit at the water dispenser, and then straightened it, there was just enough room for it to sit straight under the spout.  Yay!

I asked Kimberly, a gym staff member, to walk around with me as I re-created my bottle adventures.  She even seemed interested!

See the photo?  As I bemoaned the bloated base of my bottle, she pointed at something.  “What’s that beside the cup holder?”  I looked.  And lo and behold, there was a … hook.  “No need for the floor.”

***

Another humbling of Bruce

And the blue is so pretty!