Tag Archives: Happiness

Dancing Eyes

My friend Eleanor told me about a local “Dancing With The Stars” competition three weeks ago.  It was to be held in a historic railway station in St. Thomas, Ontario, built in the 1870’s to the tune of 354 feet long and 36 feet wide.  It was fascinating to hear that the seven couples had no ballroom experience but were getting two months of instruction from a skilled teacher.

And then I forgot about the whole thing.

A week ago, I saw Eleanor again and discovered that the show was sold out.  “Strike while the iron is hot” – so said someone from my deep dark past.  No striking from this guy.

For the past few days, I’ve had three folks trying to score me a ticket for last night’s performance.  I phoned the first two and they weren’t successful in their quest.  “Oh well, I don’t need any particular life experience to be happy,” chirped my little Buddhist soul.  But I sure wanted to go!

Thursday evening, just before the big hockey game on TV, here comes a phone call.  Eleanor’s sister-in-law was to go with a friend, but that person’s husband was ill, so she had to cancel.  “Do you know anyone who needs a ticket, Eleanor?”  “Well, I do know this guy named Bruce.”

And so I got to go, plus I got to sit in the second row, perfect for checking out flying feet.  Thank you, universe, for aligning the CASO Station and me.

Here are my personal highlights:

1.  I sat next to Lora and we laughed all night, ending up with a marriage ceremony planned for next Tuesday at 2:00.

2.  I talked to Bonnie, an old friend from the Port Stanley Community Choir.  I got to renew my zest for sopranos, altos, tenors and basses.  Maybe I’ll have a future back there.

3.  I watched one of the couples swirl across the dance floor with great love in their eyes.  Their bodies moved beautifully but it was the eyes that held me.  Afterwards, I told them how vividly their love shone.

4.  With another couple, the woman’s face was so darn alive.  I didn’t think skin could do all that.  I told her later about the joy I saw.

5.  Another pair were the driving force behind the St. Thomas Performing Arts Series – many years of concerts in a sublime circular sanctuary.  At the end, I thanked him for bringing the Barra MacNeils and many other artists to a small city.

6.  The last dancers included a woman I know well.  She was Jody’s nurse practitioner as my dear wife fell towards death.  I hadn’t seen her since Jodiette went to the hospital for the last few days of her life.  On a break, I walked up to Laura.  We smiled, we hugged, and I thanked her for taking such good care of Jody.

***

Eleanor was the coach for one of the dancing pairs and they won the People’s Choice Award.  She bounced up and down and presented us all with a huge smile.  In the audience, I was smiling pretty widely too.  Lots to be happy about.

Up In The Air

It’s quite possible that I’m a strange person.  For instance, I keep testing gravity.

I was lifting weights at Wellington Fitness yesterday.  My dear friend Karisa works there and today her boyfriend Nick was working out.  She’s so much in love with her man and today I got to meet him.  He seems like a fine fellow.  Later, I told Karisa that I hope their love continues to blossom and that they grow old together.

I was standing at the front desk, so very happy that she’s happy.  I was drinking my protein powder from a shaker cup.  Without apparent thought, I threw the cup way high into the air, close to the ceiling.  The toss wasn’t as straight up as I’d hoped, and I rushed forward to make the catch.  It was a glancing blow and then a smash on the floor.  Vanilla goo flowed freely.

For a bit I just stared.  Did I really do that?  Apparently so.  The puddle was immense and Karisa found me some paper towels.  I soaked and wiped and soaked some more.  And then Brandon showed up with a mop.  I was happy, not embarrassed or guilty.  Nothing in my cognitive system had planned it out.  I just … threw.

Many years ago, when I was teaching at St. Mary Choir School, I must have been similarly happy.  I was standing in the staff room talking with Marg, after consuming a precious liquid in my favourite mug.  Same story.  The mug soared.  The mug broke.  I stared.  And somehow it was all okay.

Then there was the time in Costco when I was also flying high.  I was slurping my chocolate waffle cone while talking to a couple of employees in the vision department.  Up went the cone, sadly nowhere near the store’s high ceiling.  It did a flip in the air.  I reached out my right hand.  Plop … ice cream end down.  It should have been on the Plays of the Week.  Oh, what a good boy was I.

Guess my eye-hand co-ordination has faded over the years.  But it’s okay.  I was volunteering yesterday afternoon at South Dorchester School and Tiffany asked me if I would like a water bottle.  She had one extra.  And it has a holey insert for shaking.  Nice.

Expression

I wanted to put energy out into the world today.  I wanted to do things, with no concern about how people would react.  So I did.

1. I watched an erotic video.  It was so cool.  Clearly the couple loved each other very much.

2. I walked to the Belmont Diner.  I could have driven.  Three minutes compared to twenty.  I love to walk, seeing the world unfold before me.

3.  At the Diner, I met a woman and told her my name was George.  Jean was sitting beside her, and laughed.  She knew my name was really Oscar.

4.  I had pancake and sausages.  Pretty fatty, Bruce.  Too bad, Bruce.

5.  I waxed poetic with a fellow at the lunch counter about Tarandowah, the golf course I love.  I talked about the beauty of the course, rather than scores and swings.  He was willing to share his favourite hole (13) as I shared mine (14).

6.  Back at home, I tried to figure out a grommet kit I’d bought, so I could line up my funky new shower curtain with the separately purchased liner.  Couldn’t make head or tail of the instructions.  Knocked on two neighbours’ doors for grommet relief.  Borot sat on my porch and showed me what to do.  Now I’m perfectly aligned with the universe.

7.  It was cold.  I drove to Tarandowah.  I walked some fairways.  I moseyed over to the farmer’s field beside the fifth fairway and searched for golf balls.  I found ten.  Yay!

8.  I walked the fescue mounds by the 14th fairway.  I found the highest spot on the course and drank in the 360° view.  Then I sauntered over to a mound behind the 6th tee.  From there I gazed out on eleven holes in the gathering gloom.

8.  Back to the clubhouse at twilight.  Nobody home.  I sat on the patio in the dark and ate the second half of my Subway sub from yesterday.  Cold cuts.  I wanted to donate my balls to the club but I couldn’t find a bucket.  Laid all seventeen on the patio by the front door.  The pro will find them tomorrow morning.

9.  Drove to Costco in  London.  My new sunglasses were ready.  Was thrilled to put them on my nose but they weren’t much good in the dark.

10.  I remembered my favourite Costco meal – $1.50 for a hot dog and drink.  Too fatty.  Ate it anyway.

11.  Drove downtown to the Cuckoo’s Nest Folk Club.  Sat entranced for two hours in the presence of a harpist from Ireland and a guitarist from England.  How they traded melodies back and forth!

12.  At the break between sets, I contemplated having a pint of Delirium Tremens beer (the best I’ve ever tasted).  Decided no … too fatty.  Had the DTs anyway.

***

Now I’m home, tap-tapping on the keys.  You may be liking what I’m writing or maybe not.  It doesn’t matter.  I’m doing stuff.  Stuff I want to do.  Throwing myself into my local universe.  Makes me happy.

Kids Again

Earlier today, I was sitting comfy-like in the Belmont Library, a happy ten minute walk from my condo.  How marvelous that I can walk to all these places – the Belmont Town Restaurant, the Dairystore convenience store, my massage therapist, Jody’s bench at the post office, the Belmont Diner, the gorgeous village park with pond and fountain, and the Barking Cat pub.  Wow!

But today was the library.  I wrote a blog post and was tickled pink to send it into the cyber universe.  As I revelled in my deed, a boy walked in, seeking a book on hold.  I looked at him.  I thought he was young enough to be going to South Dorchester Elementary School, where I’m hoping to volunteer.

Do I leave him alone or ask him the question?  Feeling fairly intrusive, I asked if he went to South Dorchester.  Yes.  “Do you like your school?”  Yes again.  And the conversation evolved.  Just him and me talking level – nothing about adult and child.  He told me there were no men at the school and that he hoped I’ll show up there.  Me too.

The young man communicated beautifully, and my love of conversation with kids flooded back.  He spoke with soul, so wondrous coming from a young person.  One of his comments, however, sounded like a stereotype and I mentioned that.  In response, he didn’t grump – he listened.  So fine.

I’m happy.  I get to be with kids again.  Maybe I can set up a floor hockey league.  Maybe I can help them with their reading and math.  But the content doesn’t matter.  The context does.

Be with

 

 

 

Becoming Home

I went to the site of my condo today.  Two days ago, the cement foundation was all there was to see.  As I walked towards 12-132 Robin Ridge Drive in Belmont, there was wood!  The base floor was laid and one of the walls of the garage was up.  Oh, Lordy.  I’m just a bit excited.

As I rounded my neighbours’ home, there sat the crew, enjoying a lunch break in the shade.  I asked if I might join them and was welcomed in.  Five young men, happy to talk and happy to share my newspaper.  We were just folks, playing differing roles in the erection of my home, but all needing some respite from the power of the sun.

Soon it was time for them to get back to work and for me to resume gazing upon my emerging kingdom.  Except that the sun’s rays had found their way to our sanctuary.  I looked across the street at a condo that was for sale.  The porch was in shade, and soon my lawn chair and I were too.

The guys had arranged a bunch of 2×4’s on the floor and were soon power stapling to beat the band.  My home … appearing before my eyes.  Those young men were working hard for me in the heat.  Thank you, gentlemen.

Number 12 was no longer just a flat expanse of grey concrete.  That one vertical wall would soon be joined by another.  I decided to record this on my laptop in real time but even in the shade I couldn’t see the screen.  So I got up from my throne, left it sitting there, and drove to … here – the library.  Soon I’ll return to the scene of the action and will no doubt resume my state of ownership bliss.  I’ve never had a new home.  I’ve never seen it take shape.  And I’ve never been a Belmontonian.  Soon.

Sold!

This was going to be a post about Haida Gwaii but sometimes life intrudes.  Today is the end of a six week process in getting my home ready for sale.  Jody’s and my sanctuary was listed on Friday and tonight a young couple bought it for $360,000.  That’s $10,000 above the asking price!

I’m too tired to think and write.  And oh so happy.  I will indeed talk to you tomorrow.

Geekly Walking

There was Bruce in 1966 and then there’s Bruce in 2016.  For as long as I can remember, I’ve enjoyed attending golf tournaments.  I love standing behind the tee and watching the top pros hit the ball high and far.  Sometimes it feels like it will never come down.  Then, as the golfers head down the fairway, I motor down the rough, either pausing where their balls stopped or stepping up the pace towards the green to watch the approach shots.

Back in 1966, I’d walk 36 holes every day, following one group in the morning and another in the afternoon.  Feeling my oats.  In 2016, however, my feet are saying no to such heroics.  I saw 27 holes on Thursday, about 23 on Friday, and 18 yesterday.  But so what?  I was out there seeing Brooke Henderson hit the ball.  My feet were really sore at the end of the day.  But my soul was singing.

I love the journey of golf.  I’m not the type to plunk myself down by a green and watch 50 golfers parade through.  There are the agonies and ecstasies of 18 holes, and I want to see them.  A well placed cushioning pad on my left foot diminished the pain and allowed me to be there to see Brooke fall and rise.

I developed blood clots a few years ago in my left leg.  They’re now dissolved, thanks to the medication I’ll be taking for the rest of my life.  But the leg really swells up on long car trips or lengthy ambles over the green grass … if left unattended.  Attention means wearing compression stockings – long black fellows that come almost to the knee.  In winter, I don’t give a hoot, but warm weather produces a t-shirt and shorts on my bod, so my stockings are in full view.  There have been times in the last two years when I’ve been too embarrassed to wear them, and I’ve paid the price.  This week, my black legs are on display.  People stare a bit.  Maybe it doesn’t make sense to them to see an “old” fellow boogieing down the rough in search of golf shots.  Oh well.  It makes great sense to me.

There will come a time when I won’t be able to walk near Brooke for a full round.  I’ll be sitting beside that green holding a cold one.  But that time is not now.  In two hours, I’ll be standing near the first tee as she hits her initial shot of the day.  I’ll be all decked out in designer black, ready to ramble.  It makes me happy.

 

Day One: Letting It Be

1. I have pictures in my head of the way things should be … in Cuba, for instance.  I shouldn’t be sick (but my cold continues on its merry way).  I should be on the beach working on my tan and just hanging loose (but the heat is getting to me and so I’ve been showing up on the sand an hour or two before sunset).  I should be talking to all sorts of people (but mostly I want to be alone).  How come life has its own ideas about my life?

2. Friday night’s show at the theatre was so much fun.  Last night’s focused on the MC’s booming voice.  Too much amplified bluster for me.  But the night before was golden.  Even before the curtains parted, there were moments to behold.  A young girl, maybe 12, was kneeling in front of the stage, tossing a beach ball to a far younger girl, about 5.  The older child was so patient, hanging in with her partner for at least five minutes, smiling all the while.  I figured they were sisters but when the music started, they went their separate ways.

A fellow dressed in black came onto the stage, wearing a white clown face on the back of his head.  He turned away from us and began to dance.  His arms and legs flipped and flopped as his new face scanned the audience.  Those limbs bent opposite to us normal human beings.  It was an unearthly flow of life.  Very cool.

Michael Jackson put in an appearance, telling us all about Billie Jean and snarling out “Thriller”.  We erupted when his moon walk slipped him backwards.  Add it all up and it was a great evening.

3. I met a couple by the currency exchange office on Friday and we said we’d sit down together sometime soon and have a good talk.  It happened yesterday afternoon on the beach.  After twenty minutes, I was feeling overwhelmed by the husband’s dominance.  Not only did he spew forth an incredible volume of speech, but most of it was in lecture mode.  I mentioned that I’m a Buddhist and he came back with an analysis of several schools of Buddhism.  Ouch.  Should I just smile and accept what life is giving me in the moment or should I speak up?  I chose the latter:

“Please stop.  Too many words.  I can’t process what you’re saying.”  >  Silence

The two of them walked on shortly thereafter.  There were pleasant goodbyes but I don’t believe they’ll be seeking me out any time soon.  And I’m fine with what I did.  I had no antagonism towards them.  I just wanted the noise to stop.  It’s becoming clearer to me that I need to exit myself from noxious stimuli.  And I will continue to do so.

4.  I went to the gym yesterday.  After all, Bruce goes to the gym.  My cold was there with me but I decided that an hour of cardio in the air conditioning would be a good idea.  They didn’t have an elliptical so I started out on the stationary bicycle.  My rear end started complaining after half an hour.  “Why didn’t you pack your padded shorts, Bruce?”  How shortsighted of me … not about my packing prowess but being so critical.  I can’t expect myself to anticipate all the little details of a Caribbean vacation.  So I let my self-grousing go and moved to the StairMaster.  Not a machine I’ve used before but at least my bum would recover nicely.  I finished the hour on the vertical beast, going far slower than my brain said was okay.  Silly brain.

Then it was yoga time.  I spread my mat out on a nice blue floor and stretched assorted muscles of the back, arms and legs.  They smiled.  I was really tired but my nose was clear.  Yay!

5. As I was discovering how to connect to the Internet and send blog posts on their cyber journey, I also spent time seeing how Brooke Henderson was doing in the first major golf tournament of the year.  I’m obsessed with her.  Brooke is Canadian, pretty, young and highly skilled.  Plus she hits her drives about 270 yards.  She’s climbing rapidly in the world rankings and I’ve imagined an unbroken line of success stretching into an infinite future.  More silliness.  Life doesn’t work that way.  After yesterday’s third round, she was tied for 33rd, 8 strokes behind the leaders.  Not a great week so far.  I watched myself struggle with this fact.  I want to cheer on a hero.

Actually, I felt a sweet sadness as I thought of her.  All of us get a few life birdies along the way, mixed in with our fair share of double bogeys.  May I embrace it all.

***

This is fun.  I’m doing things my way while staying open to the unknown.  More please

Golf Lessons

Yesterday I had my first golf lesson in years.  Today I became a member of Tarandowah Golfers Club in Avon, Ontario.  What did I learn?

1. “Too weak, too inflexible, too old” are just words and need not rule me.

2. Taking the cost of the membership and dividing it by the number of rounds I expect to play in 2016 is an inaccurate way of assessing value.

3.  Old swing thoughts, gleaned from books, have taken up residence in my head.  They may be wrong.  Such as moving farther away from the ball if I’m hitting shots off the toe of the club.

4.  “I belong to a golf club that is stunningly beautiful” is valuable beyond measure.

5.  I can control the swing with my mind.  I can hit off the “sweet spot” of the club without moving my feet back.

6.  I can find other golfers who see the spiritual side of the game, and are willing to talk about it.

7.  “I hit the ball low and to the left” is not a guarantee of the future but rather a description of the past.

8.  Just as I’m surrounded in the gym by well-muscled young men, I will see many excellent golfers at Tarandowah.  Comparisons are irrelevant.

9.  I have the power to put my need for greater distance on the back burner as I focus on the sweep of the grass and the “just right” meeting of club and ball.

10.  I can contribute to the well-being of other members … as a golfer and as a human being.

***

Follow your bliss

Letting Jake Go

Last September I auditioned for the part of Jake in the Neil Simon play Jake’s Women.  The director chose someone else.  I was sad, and that sense of woe has been a frequent visitor in the months since.  I so much wanted to be Jake.

The play is about a writer who lives in his head, working on characters and plot while largely ignoring his wife Maggie.  Jake has conversations (some imaginary and some real) with the women in his life – his current wife, former wife, daughter, sister, therapist and new girlfriend.

Jake’s Women opened a few days ago in St. Thomas, Ontario.  I went last night.  I’ve known for months that I would see the production, rather than staying away from something that represented pain.  The truth is that I love the play.  It has both funny and tender moments.

I got there early and scored a front row seat.  The set was spectacular, especially Jake’s home office at the top of the stairs.  I sat quietly for half an hour, and all sorts of thoughts came my way.  I wanted the theatre to be full (about 150 people).  I wanted the theatre to be virtually empty (How small of you, Bruce).  I wanted the actors to be great, totally inhabiting their roles.  I wanted the actors to stumble over their lines.  I wanted Jake to be superb in his happiness, sadness, anger, giddiness and love – the best Jake ever.  I wanted him to be ordinary so I could think I would have done better.

As the story unfolded, I realized that it was a first class rendition of Simon’s play.  And Jake was brilliant.  Perhaps far better than I would have been.  I enjoyed the evening immensely.

At the end, as the actors were fanned out across the stage for their bows, I stood, clapped and smiled.  They deserved the standing O.  Although I had planned to see Jake’s Women once this week and once the next, I won’t be coming back.  I am complete with Jake.  What’s in him is in me.  On we go.