Home In The Arena

I made it to Erie, Pennsylvania in just under five hours.  The US customs guy told me to enjoy the game.  Just what I was planning.

After a brewski and sandwich at the Erie Ale House, I walked towards the arena.  Just like in London, fans were streaming in from the side streets.  People were excited.  I sure was.  I couldn’t wait to sit beside Erie fanatics and tell them I was from London.

And that’s what happened.  I sat beside John and Sharon from Jamestown, New York.  Just in front of me was Sondra, a cowbell-ringing season ticket holder who was taking in the game with her husband.  All four of them were decked out in bright Erie Otters jerseys – red, yellow and white.

I told my cross-border friends about Canadians singing the American national anthem on Friday.  Her response?  “We always sing ‘O Canada’ at the games.”  (Almost all of the teams are Canadian.)  So I decided to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” two nights in a row.  An awesome quartet led us in the songs but we five gave ‘er too.  Great fun.

My companions razzed me about the London Knights always getting favorable calls from referees.  I told them I was deeply sorry that Erie would be relegated to second place after London whipped them.  Back and forth with the banter.  Most importantly, back and forth with the smiles.  When Erie was struggling in their own zone, Sondra would yell “Get it out!”  Naturally I countered with “Keep it in!”  Oh we laughed.

Erie scored the first goal.  All around me Erieites leapt to their feet and poured out the contents of their lungs.  I sat and gave a good pout and in return was offered a high five … which I accepted.

Then London scored!  I too was up like a shot, cheering and waving.  I looked around at my neighbours.  Most were smiling at me.  I didn’t want to be an ugly Canadian but I did want to celebrate.

Erie’s arena seats 6500, smaller than London but at least equal in energy.  How they love their team.  The Otters beat the Knights 4-2 last night, scoring an empty net goal in the last few seconds.  Erie Insurance Arena erupted in an orgasm of delight.  I just loved being there.  Human beings caught in the throes of joy, at least about 6480 of them.

This afternoon, I drive those same five hours back home.  Am I disappointed we lost the game?  Yes.  Does it matter?  No.  People matter and I met some great ones yesterday.

Adventure

I was driving into the big city yesterday to work out at the gym when I realized that our local junior hockey team, the London Knights, was playing in the evening.  These young players, ages 16 to 20, were battling the Erie Otters for all the marbles.  The two teams were tied at the top of the Ontario Hockey League standings with only two games left – last night in London and today in Erie, Pennsylvania.

“Go to the game, Bruce.”  Okay, who am I to argue?  Except that I figured all 9000 tickets would be gone.  I’m so glad that, even though my pessimistic voice has its time, I usually don’t agree.  So … I found a parking space within a block of Budweiser Gardens (Magic!) and strode towards the box office.  My hostess, after conferring with her computer screen, said, “We have one ticket left, sir.”  Oh my goodness!  I took it with considerable glee.

Hours later, there I sat in the arena heavens, not caring at all that I was miles from the action.  I was in the building and that was enough.  I wanted to experience  all those folks cheering for the home side.  I wanted to feel the energy, win or lose.

Before the opening faceoff, a gaggle of little kids trooped onto the ice for the national anthems.  As their leader swept into conducting, the children started “The Star-Spangled Banner.”  Off key and loveable.  And then … the voices stopped.  The young’uns either got too nervous, forgot the words, or something.  Silence.  But only for a few seconds.  What happened next will stay with me for the rest of my life.  I would say that a few thousand of us Canadians picked up the melody and ran with it.  We sang our neighbours’ song.  No Canada/US good/bad silliness.  Just kind people who didn’t want to leave the kids hanging.  Truly a wow.

The game was stunning.  And London won!  I sprang from my seat at every London goal.  Joy flooded the arena.  Ahh.

And now there’s one final game, tonight in Erie.  If the Knights win, we’re league champions.  If we lose in overtime, we’re still champions.  If Erie wins in regulation time, they’re the top of the hill.

As I drove back to Union, my mind exploded.  “Go to Erie tomorrow, Bruce.”  But there won’t be any tickets left.  (Sounds familiar.)  “Drive the five hours there.  Get a hotel.  Go to the game!”  I bet you can see where this is leading.  There were a few single tickets left.  Check.  The Albion Hotel, just a few blocks away from the Erie Insurance Arena, will welcome me.  Check.  I’m all gassed up.  Check.

Within half an hour, I’ll be on the road.  I love it.  Tomorrow morning, I’ll tell you more about my epic quest.  Much fun.

Jody’s Clothes

My dear wife died in November, 2014.  That December, I walked into our closet with the finest intention of getting her clothes out of the house.  I lasted half an hour.  I kept finding articles of clothing that I loved seeing Jody wear, many tops and pants that I’d washed with tender loving care.  So I walked out of that closet.

Then there were fifteen months of co-existing with Jody’s clothes, trying to block their presence from my mind.  That didn’t work.  A glimpse here, a glimpse there … a memory here, a memory there.

A few days ago, and again today, I began again.  Still a few tears but it was easier.  I slowly folded each of Jody’s things and laid them in large transparent bags.  They gazed at me from within.

Jody loved colour.  Right now I’m looking at a pair of funky pants in a jungle motif.  The greenest of leaves and the reddest of orchids interspersed with lions, tigers and leopards – all looking quite fierce.  Jodiette was in her element wearing this explosion of energy.  And here are soft flannel jammies, adorned with sheep brimming with wool against a pastel blue background.  Even when she was sleeping my beloved was a fashion statement!  Finally for your inspection is a vibrant top that looks like a patchwork quilt.  No pastels here.  Instead there are deep shades of purple, pink and green, with strands of material standing up beyond the surface of the garment, highlighting gay flowers.  Oh my wife.  That’s so you.

This afternoon I took five full bags to Goodwill.  It makes me smile to imagine the expressions on women’s faces when they find Jody’s treasures.  They’ll wear them well.  My dear one is happy.

Beyond The North American Norm

I sat in a theatre this afternoon watching Michael Moore’s latest film Where To Invade Next.  It wasn’t about war and keeping the world safe for the American way of life.  Instead Michael visited Italy, France, Finland, Slovenia, Portugal, Iceland, Norway, Germany and Tunisia in search of best practices – things that those countries are doing well.

Often, when Michael was sitting with a business leader, government official, educator or just plain folks, he’s tell them how things are often done in the USA.  In those moments, the movie was a study in astonishment.  I very much enjoyed looking at the quizzical facial expressions.

Here are some highlights:

Italy – Employees get eight weeks of paid vacation plus generous wages, and work fewer hours than we do.  When the owners of a factory were asked why they don’t keep more of the money for themselves, one of them replied, “Why would we want to be richer?”  They were committed to the happiness, and thus productivity, of their workers, who typically go home at noon for a two-hour lunch.

France – Elementary students eat three-course meals in the cafeteria.  When Michael showed a few of them photos of a typical American school lunch, their pained expressions said it all.  Plus no Coca-Cola, thank you.  The kids were happy with their water.  Lunch takes an hour and is also an opportunity for teaching the value of balanced nutrition.

Finland – There’s virtually no homework in the schools, no standardized testing, and a commitment from staff members to teach the children how to be happy.  School days are relatively short, with the students encouraged to explore interests and socialize with their peers.

Slovenia – University is free, even for foreign students.

Portugal – Drugs have been decriminalized and the focus is on rehabilitation for the users.  Police officers talked about the importance of human dignity.

Norway – In one prison, inmates live in cottages and wear their own clothes.  In a maximum security facility, the culture promotes caring about each other.  Prisoners working in the kitchen have access to knives, and no one seems concerned.  Guards don’t wear guns.  “Talk is our weapon.”

Iceland – Women are well represented among government and business leaders.  In the aftermath of the country’s economic collapse in 2008, the bankers whose actions precipitated the crisis were convicted of crimes.  No bailouts.  Many jail terms.

Germany – The Holocaust is remembered, not swept under the rug.  Public art includes replicas of notice boards with anti-Jewish messages, such as requiring Jewish folks to sit only on the yellow public benches.  Discussions are held in classrooms, acknowledging inhumane Nazi actions.

And … in one of the countries, the young people receive sex education focused on relationship, giving and receiving pleasure, and on effective birth control.  Michael suggested the possibility of abstinence.  The female teacher didn’t see the value of that choice.

***

It was a jolt of a film, dissing various forms of ethnocentrism in favour of people-centrism.  A you and me world.  I like it.

 

 

Singing Voices

I went to a concert last night featuring Judy Collins and Garnet Rogers.  Judy was a folk music icon in the 60s and Garnet sang beside his brother Stan on many a stage in the 70s.  Both have thrived as performers ever since.

Garnet opened the evening with several songs, great stories all.  That’s what I usually glom onto but yesterday it was the voice.  Garnet has a deep baritone. The Aeolian Hall has renowned acoustics.  And the sound guy was brilliant.  The result was my mouth opening in wonder as Garnet sang.  The vibrations coursed through me.

Soon it was Judy’s turn and she picked up right where he left off.  Her glorious soprano reached towards the vaulted ceiling.  And her face was so soft as she sang.  Once more my whole body was silent as the melodies enveloped me. Time stood still.  I stood still.

The grand finale was a duet … Garnet and Judy singing Stan’s “Northwest Passage”.  Such an anthem of exploring northern Canada and the interior spaces of a human being.  Stillness squared.

Thank you for the music.

Not Too Bad

I study words.  I study the way people speak.  It’s a strange hobby but I like it.  In the spirit of glasses being half full or half empty, I look for how I want to express myself face-to-face or on the computer screen.  Life has its share of suffering for all of us but I wonder if our words can uplift the world.  Of course they can.  We simply have to choose.  Even in the heat of the moment we can enhance or diminish.

Today I’m reflecting on phrases that are termed double negatives.  Not just one deficit thought aimed at our fellow man, but two.  Let’s take “No problem”.  That phrase is meant to be a positive but there’s something subtly sinister hiding under the surface, I think.  How about “Good” as an alternative?  That feels better.

Here are some other word groupings that can invade our psyches:

1. Not insignificant
2. I do not disagree.
3. I can’t hardly believe …
4. Less unhealthy cigarettes
5. There is hardly no worse challenge.
6. I am not, no way, ever going to help her.
7. Congress decided not to refuse to delay the vote …
8. I’m not saying he isn’t honest.
9. I choose to not allow negativity to seep away at my soul.

Am I just talking the rules of grammar here?  No.  I choose to put positive energy into the world and therefore I’m vigilant about the words I use.  May I never be hypnotized by convention.

Waiting

In an hour, I’ll walk into a restaurant for my second date with a lovely woman.  We had great fun the first time and no doubt tonight’s conversation will be well punctuated with laughs and smiles.  That’s certainly what I want in life.

Here I sit, bathing in uncertainty.  That little smile comes back to my lips again.  Perhaps we’ll become a couple, perhaps not.  Both are fine.  It’s possible that she’ll come to Cuba with me in three weeks – possible but unlikely.  But hope springs eternal.  I’ll have a wonderful time down south whether I’m alone or walking beside a companion.

This feeling in the moment is sublime, actually quite sweet.  I’m just sitting with the unknown, open to whatever the universe will provide.  There’s big space inside me.  My taps on the keys are slow and gentle, sort of a caress.  I’m in the library, sitting across from a young couple who are speaking in a language I don’t know.  They’re tender with each other, in tone of voice and facial expression.  It fits well with my reverie.

How come I’m not nervous?  I don’t know but it works for me.  Whatever happens tonight, I’m back in the game of relationship.  I’m moving towards a future of being with, doing stuff together, holding hands.  It’s time.

Jody is right here, cheering for me.  Thank you, Jodiette.  Life truly goes on.

Two Men

I was having breakfast at a restaurant this morning and the TV monitor on the wall facing me showed Washington, DC.  There were uniforms, a band, fluttering flags … one of which was Canadian.  Our Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau, was visiting Barack Obama.

The two of them strode to the podium.  They stood still, not speaking.  The sound was off but I knew what was happening: the band was playing our national anthems.  I was moved.

First of all, it was just two human beings who stood before me.  Each doing their best in life to be happy.   Then it was two men, not puffing out their chests and uttering a Tarzan call, but instead being in the moment.  Then it was the leaders of two nations, with all the responsibility and heartaches that this entails.

I was glad to be watching.  I felt a part of it.  I’m no less nor more than the brothers I saw.  And I say “brothers” knowing that the two leaders have policy disagreements, differing personalities and divergent histories.

Justin and Barack walked over to a small crowd of onlookers who stood behind a flimsy barrier.  They walked down the line, shaking hands with young and old.  I smiled.  I also gulped.  My brain created a memory of Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas.  1963.  Smiling faces greeted a smiling president as his motorcade proceeded down Elm Street.  The rest is history.

Many times in my future life, I will stand beside another person.  May I be present for the humanity near me, glimpsing the beauty within, thanking my lucky stars that I am not alone.

What’s True?

On my way into London, I pass two parked semi-trailers, a kilometre apart.  They’re both advertising the same hotel in Ingersoll, Ontario.  The first one announces that you’re only 25 minutes from soft beds, yummy food and the pleasures of a spa.  That time just doesn’t compute in my brain.  The second one says you’re 10 minutes away.  That seems about right.  But there the two of them sit, one truthful and the other clearly lying.

How often do I assume that a sign, a newspaper article, or a radio news item is accurate?  Often.  Seeing or hearing it somehow makes it legitimate in my mind.  I don’t have the energy nor the time to delve deeply and find out if the truth is being spoken.  I just go along.

A celebrity says X, and does so with a convincing tone of voice and facial expression.  Is the truth sometimes Y?  No doubt.

The Canadian history textbook I studied in high school said nary a thing about how white people often treated natives poorly.  All was fine as the dominant culture spread west, apparently quite heroically.

In Canadian politics, the party in opposition invariably is critical of the governing party’s policies.  Rarely do you hear about good ideas being acknowledged as such.

All this leaves me with a healthy skepticism and a commitment to another source of truth … the intuition that lives within us all.

 

Tanning

I’m going to Cuba in three weeks.  My skin is white.  Down in the Caribbean sun, I prefer that it be brown rather than red.  So off to Kokomo’s I went this morning.  I stood up for five minutes in the Monster bed.  I plan on doing the same every two or three days until I step on the plane.

I’m aware of the health issues but I also remember when Jody and I arrived in the Dominican Republic years ago.  Our first day, we walked a long ways on the beach, wearing shorts and T-shirts.  Jody had missed a spot near her bra strap with the sunscreen and she was in agony for the next few days.  I don’t want to go through that.

As a teenager, I didn’t like my body and certainly wouldn’t expose my virgin flesh on Toronto Island’s beach.  I was even afraid to lie out in the backyard with the neighbours’ windows looming.  So white I was, except for my forearms and lower legs.  But then there came an invitation to spend a long weekend at my friend’s cottage.

Rick had a older sister, age 17, who was gorgeous.  Oh my.  She was going to see my overall whiteness.  Something had to be done.  And the 1960s version of Instatan was my answer.  I snuck the tube home from the drugstore and gooped it on liberally in the privacy of my bedroom.  “Gosh, my feet are white.  Get those toes!”

How did I survive that weekend?  My body was orange and streaky.  Each toe had a little ridge of tan surrounded by a deep paleness.  For variety, my face was red, a condition that had nothing to do with the sun’s rays.  I can’t remember Rick’s sister ever making eye contact with me.

From the age of 20 till 27, I spent most of my summers in the Rockies.  By then the tanning lotion had worn off.  I adopted a new strategy to get the girls.  Hide your whiteness with turtleneck shirts.  It didn’t matter how hot it was.  I was up to my neck in fabric.  One time, a girl yanked down my collar to see what was underneath … the whitest of skin.  (Sigh)  I was a scared little adult who yearned for the brown beach muscles I saw in the ads.  But somehow I still had friends.

Two decades later, I was a member of the London Cycling Club.  And lo and behold, the culture there was deeply tanned faces, forearms and calves.  And I’ll leave the rest of the body to your imagination.  I was in the “in” group, finally.

Sadly (or happily) I now have returned to my roots – a longing for darkness.  And I’m going to honour that request.  Cuba will be graced with sleek brown muscles (courtesy of Kokomo’s and strength training), not to mention gaily coloured Speedos.  I tell you … I’m the whole package.  Nobody’s going to kick sand in my face!

And from Jody: “Bruce, you’re so strange.”