Tag Archives: Joy

Dancing

Long ago I ruptured a tendon in my right ankle and ended up on crutches for 17 weeks.  Jody and I went to a New Year’s Eve party that year and after dinner I sat watching couples swing and sway on the dance floor.  I love dancing.  Jody loves dancing.  It was hard.

SunFest started last night.  It’s the world music festival in London that’s expected to draw 250,000 people to Victoria Park.  Soon after I arrived, I wandered over to the beer garden, where a group from Colombia was moving and grooving.  So were about a hundred dancers in front of the stage.  I stood just outside the fence and watched.  Most of them were young but certainly not all.  Pockets of friends grooved together.  A fellow in his 70’s dipped and dived to his wife, who moved a bit and smiled a lot.  One young woman near me gyrated in a delightfully sexual way, her purse on the ground in front of her.  The wild abandon and the sensible caution … sounds like a human being.

The leader of the band told the group to “Get down!” and 200 legs obliged.  Then it was hands to the sky.  So wonderful to see all those upraised arms – full self-expression.  I stood there fascinated.  All that energy.  All those smiles.  What life should be about.

After the Colombian folks were done, I meandered down the paths of crafts booths, knowing that I would make my appearance on the dance floor a bit later.  One of the kiosks held some marvelous creations from Bali, Indonesia.  And there it hung on a wall … a wooden plaque hand-painted, revealing a human being in full lotus meditation posture, one leg tucked into the other.  And in vibrant colours were the seven chakras, or energy centres, in the body.  Actually, the crown chakra is above the head.  I just stared, and brought out my MasterCard.  My heart danced.

Speaking of which, it was time to head back to the beer garden, and to the music of Five Alarm Funk, nine guys from Vancouver sporting a drum set, three guitars, bongo drums, saxophone, trumpet and trombone.  Hmm … guess I missed somebody.  The music was loud, raucous and so very danceable.  So we did.  I found myself next to a young woman and her boyfriend.  I heard “Hi, Mr.Kerr.”  Ten years ago, she was an elementary student at the school where I taught a blind child.  It was weird and yet wonderful to dance my heart out next to her.  Little kids grow up.

For awhile I threw my arms everywhere, but as the folks packed in tighter, my movements became vertical.  I tried moving my feet in a spastic sort of way but I had to stare at them to keep from crushing someone else’s foot.  When I mustered up the energy, I bounced for a bit, arms flopping at my sides.  Finally, my bodily organs told me to calm down or my days on the planet might be numbered.  Come to think of it, my days are numbered, bouncing or not.

I sweated and strained and joyed in living.  The folks around me were mostly young and radiant, but there were two fellow grey hairs off to my right.  Thank you, God.  Thank you, Jody.  Thank you, O powers of the universe, for letting me dance again.  It’s such a part of me.  And hey, maybe during SunFest 2035, it’ll be me and my walker showing those young’uns a step or two!

Symbol of Life

Just so you know, groundhogs are members in good standing of the rodent family.  They average about 20 inches long and live throughout much of North America in grassy lowlands.  They’re mostly vegetarian (smart critters, I’d say) but sometimes they have insects for dessert.

Jody and I moved from Lethbridge, Alberta to London, Ontario in 1990.  After three years of Occupational Therapy studies at Western University, Jody was hired by Parkwood Hospital.  In 1994, we moved to Union, creating a 35-minute drive to work.  Our route took us past a huge grassy area near Parkwood, grounds that belonged to Victoria Hospital.

So began my love affair with groundhogs.  They were all over that meadow, poking their hairy little heads out of their burrows.  It wasn’t just an empty field full of long grass … there was life!  Every morning, I looked forward to waddling brown beings.  And most times they obliged, putting in an appearance before their adoring public.  I was happy.

And then one day, one year, they were gone.  And they never came back.  Not in 1998.  Not in 2008.  Never.  I was sad about losing my friends without even a goodbye.  The rumour was that they were poisoned.  I suppose the rumour was true.

Not once have I seen a groundhog since the disappearance.  Until today.  And it wasn’t at Parkwood.  I was driving along Highbury Avenue north of London, on my way to St. Patrick’s School near Lucan.  Off to my right was a rough lawn, with some bumps on it.  And a groundhog was skittering along from one burrow to the next!  Oh my.  Thank you, Lord.  Soon I was past the scene but I held that brown guy in my heart all the way to St. Pat’s, a little smile on my face.

Life wins.

Soirée

It means “party” in French.  And I was at one yesterday afternoon.  Vicki is a teacher at St. Patrick School in Woodstock, Ontario, and she’s retiring after decades of teaching.  The whole school was sitting on the gym floor as her kindergarten class came to the front and sang to their beloved teacher.  Vicki beamed.

Then there was the video.  We saw the star of the show as a young kid, as a teen, as a new teacher.  Years of class photos shone from the screen.  Plus a few vintage staff photos.  Lots of smiles and laughs from the audience.  Each of Vicki’s current students stood in front of the camera and told us what they liked about their teacher.  Most of them were shy, and I guess a bit scared, but one young man just belted out his message, mouth wide open.  What fun.  St. Patrick’s has students ranging from kindergarten to Grade 8.  On video, each class said thanks, complete with lots of waving.

And let’s not forget the massages.  For years, Vicki has given her colleagues a neck rub at the end of a stressful day.  So here’s staff member number one, a woman, sitting in a chair facing left.  From the right edge of the screen appear two hands and forearms, descending gently onto her shoulders.  After a few seconds of good rubbing, the “Oohs” and “Ahhs” emerge.  This scenario was repeated about 20 times … teachers, educational assistants, custodian, secretary, principal.  All felt the healing touch.  What a community I was sitting with!

For the big finale, all of us lined the hallways, each carrying a little flag.  Mine was pink.  From my spot in the L-shaped corridor, I could hear cheering growing louder.  And then barreling around the corner was Vicki, running and waving as a torrent of joy and flying flags carried her along.  I even got a high five from the golden girl.

Whew.  What a spectacle.  The three R’s are important, but to Rejoice together is the best.

The Concert!

I’ve never looked forward to a concert so much.  I drove to Toronto yesterday to hear Jackie Evancho, a 14-year-old girl with a celestial voice.  During Jody’s funeral luncheon, and at her Celebration of Life, I showed the video of Jackie singing “In The Arms Of An Angel”, which is where Jody is.  And to hear Jackie sing “Nessum Dorma”, an operatic piece usually performed by men, is to be transported into a heavenly realm.  This girl is far more than her voice, though.  She has an astonishing presence on stage.  I think she’s an old soul, reborn on Earth to bring joy and spread love.

I lived in Toronto for the first 21 years of my life.  Yesterday, I had a vague memory of a cheap parking garage near the Sony Centre downtown.  I knew what exit to take off the freeway, and after a few twists and turns, there was the garage.  Plus it was only $5.00 to park for hours and hours.  Yay!

An hour-and-a-half before showtime.  I thought a beer would be in order.  Right outside the garage, on a street called The Esplanade, sat an Irish pub.  Inside was dark wood, a seat at the bar, large screen TV sports, and a Barking Squirrel lager.  Oh, bliss is mine!  I talked to two of the servers, and they were both genuinely happy that I was about to hear one of the most beautiful voices in the world.  My soul was flying high, not to mention the rest of me with the beer.

7:15.  The show would start at 8:00 so it was time to mosey.  As I was walking out of the pub, one of my new friends smiled and said, “Enjoy the concert.”  Indeed.  It was only two blocks to the Sony Centre and my cells were singing.  As I rounded the corner, I wondered if the doors would be open yet.  Then I saw a fellow going inside.  Good.  I’ll just hang out in my seat (only ten rows from the stage!) and drink in the theatre.

Off the sidewalk now and approaching all those glass doors.  A corner of my mind noticed five 8 1/2 x 11 sheets of paper on the windows, but who cares?  Hand reaching for the door.  Eyes lifting to check out the sign.

JACKIE EVANCHO
IS CANCELLED

(Standing still)  (Staring)  (Gulping)

Struggling

I bet it’s been five days since I’ve written a post, by far a record for me, unless I was away somewhere.  Illness is so humbling.  A few posts back, I was feeling poorly but I still wrote my daily thoughts.  Later, things changed.

I’ve had bronchitis for 13 days now, and the coughing has worn me out, plus my ribs have been getting awfully sore.  Whenever I ate, coughing would start.  And the worst has been the vague nausea I’ve felt after eating.  Didn’t even seem to matter what type of food.

Gosh, I don’t want to sink into “poor me”.  But it’s been quite the experience.  I’ve been worlds away from putting fingertips to keys.  So dull in the head.  Sometimes I’ve felt guilty for not writing, but I’ve usually been able to let that go.  Thank God.  I see my need for rest.

In the back of my agitated head has been the fear that this is not really bronchitis.  It’s lung cancer … exactly what took my lovely wife away from me.  Today, my doctor Julie had me get a chest X-ray, to rule out the really bad stuff.  If I don’t hear back from her by Tuesday, I’m fine.  And she thinks I’m fine.  I thought my meditation practice would prevent terror from seeping through, but good luck with that thought.  Fear has overwhelmed me at times over the past few days.

It’s so amazing not to be me, not to kibitz with folks I meet each day, not to move my body and sweat, not to love deeply.  Just blahness, fear and an overcoat of nausea.

I had bought a ticket for a concert that was held in London last night – a marvelous folk duo from Newfoundland called “The Fortunate Ones”.  Turns out that Catherine and Andrew were recently engaged.  They were so happy on stage.

I sat in the front row, trying not to cough.  A lot of little wheezes.  A couple of times, they asked the audience to sing along … and I couldn’t.  Again such a strangeness for me.  I love belting out the melodies, and sometimes the harmonies.  It’s okay, Bruce.  Your body doesn’t have it right now.

My aliveness returned in the moments when Catherine and Andrew sang to each other, and when each rocked forward towards the loved one, her caressing the accordion and him picking out the melody on his guitar.  It was like they were making love as they leaned in.  So beautiful to see.  And Catherine’s voice especially touched the heavens.

The coughing continued, and the nausea, but the world was a lighter place.  Thank you.

There.  I’ve actually written a post.  Hallelujah.  Hopefully, I’ll talk to you again tomorrow.

Bookish Moments

11:30 am today

I got home from a chiropractic appointment to find a rectangular object wrapped in corrugated cardboard sitting on the dining room table.  My friend Neal had received it from a UPS delivery guy.  The proof of Jody’s book has arrived.  And I ran away … to the next room.  “First, I need to write a blog post about last night’s Bryan Adams concert.”  As I started tapping the keys, fear descended in the moments between the writing.  “What if it doesn’t look good?  Jody’s photo on the front cover and the painting of the tree on the back – what if they’re blurry?  What if the print on the back of the page shows through the one I’m looking at?  What if the blacks aren’t really black?  What if there are typos?  Arghh!”

1:00 pm

The post about Bryan Adams is done and published.  I like it.  What to do now?  Well, stay out of the dining room.  It’s too scary to open the package and really look.  Have some lunch.  Read the paper.  So I did.  And the hot tub repair guy is coming at 2:00.  Have to talk to him.

2:15 pm

Hadn’t you better start the post about Jody’s book, Bruce?  Okay, I’ll do that.  So I’ve just written what you see above.  And discussed tub problems.

2:38 pm

My repair friend just left.  I’ve brought the cardboard rectangle to my man chair, accompanied by an Exacto knife.  Okay, that’s progress.  Shouldn’t you read what’s on the outside?  Yes, of course.  It says that the book itself only weighs one pound.  Shouldn’t it be more?  And the box looks pretty skinny.  It was supposed to be 193 pages.  The whole thing feels pretty light.  (Sigh)

Oh my goodness, I just started taking the plastic cover off the cardboard.  Then I stopped.  C’mon, Bruce.  Get the plastic off.  (Doing so)  All right.  I’ve removed a pouch with folded sheets of paper inside – “Shipping Documentation”.  Better read that.  (Reading)

Oh, look.  Blurb sent it “UPS Expedited”, as in fast.  It was shipped from Pennsylvania on February 23, and it’s here with me on February 25.  Awesomely fast.  Okay, that’s enough reading .. of the sheets, I mean.  (Sigh)

2:50 pm

(Box in hand)  Open it, Bruce!   But just peek at the front cover.  (Opening)  Oh my God!  First view is of the white spine, with black print.  It says “Jodiette:  My Lovely Wife” on the left end, and “Bruce Kerr” on the right.  That’s me!  Breathe, Bruce, breathe.  (Opening the cardboard flaps)

2:55 pm

Jody’s eyes!  So beautiful.  Looking deeply into mine, and into those of future readers.  Oh, loved wife … you’re so pretty.  (Crying)  The photo isn’t quite as sharp as I would have liked it, but such are the limits of jpeg files, I guess.  My wife shines.  Ah … the front cover is gorgeous.

And the back?  (Flip)  Oh my God again.  Kym Brundritt’s painting of a “Cosmic Tree” just glows.  It fills the space with love.  But … its background is orange, without the vibrant yellow of the original.  Maybe Blurb can shift the colour.  But even if they can’t, it’s lovely.  Thank you, Kym.

3:08 pm

Off to the Blurb website to see the photo of the painting that I submitted.  It has more yellow than orange.  I’ll keep my toes crossed that this can be fixed.  Still afraid to look at the print on the pages … Go for it, guy!  Okay.

Oh, the blacks are beautifully black.  And the Constantia font looks so good.  The white paper isn’t as thick as I’d hoped, so I can see the print on the back of each sheet some.  But that’s okay.  It’s only a bit distracting.  Oh, Jody.  It’s our book and it’s great!  Oh, loved one.  May our story reach waiting eyes.

And now I’m going to read the entire book, to see if there are any glitches.  It’s 3:23.  See you later.

7:30 pm

Well, I didn’t read the whole book.  After all, I had proofread it twice before uploading it, so I know we’re good with spelling and grammar.  I did repeat a title from one page to the next, so Blurbites can fix that.  Also, the print is nicely level at the top of each page but a bit tilted at the bottom.  Go, Blurb, go.

I went out to supper at Braxton’s, a St. Thomas roadhouse, and showed Jody’s book to Leslie, a friend of mine who’s a server there.  She liked it.  Thought the covers were awesome.  Thanks, Leslie.

I read some of the entries before my meal and after.  The book was becoming comfy in my hands, rather than the suspected bomb I worried about when it arrived.  An old friend.  Jody talking to me.  Oh, my dear.  It’s you and me, loved one.

What a precious volume I hold.  May it reach far into people’s lives.

Toronto – Part 4: The Music

Neal and I went to folk music concerts at Hugh’s Room on Thursday, Friday and Saturday evening.  Immersion indeed.

First up was Lillebjorn Nilsen, a singer-songwriter from Norway.  He had come to Toronto to pick up an acoustic guitar made for him by Grit Laskin, a mainstay of a longstanding local group called “The Friends of Fiddler’s Green”.  Lillebjorn was so enthralled with his new instrument.  It was as if he was making love as he played.  Grit was pretty happy too.

Lillebjorn sang in Norwegian, which was fine for the large Scandinavian crowd at Hugh’s but a challenge for me.  Even though he sometimes gave a little description of the song beforehand, I was getting frustrated.  I love lyrics most of all.  At some point, though, I let go.  “Just be with Lillebjorn, Bruce.”  So I did.  The soul of the man flowed out of his mouth and out of his fingers.  He could have been reciting a grocery list.  It didn’t matter.  He loved his country.  He loved people.  He loved making music.

At the end of the evening, he pulled out a Norwegian fiddle … with nine strings.  Oh, how he could make that violin sing!  Sad, joyous, mesmerizing.  Thank you, Lillebjorn.

***

Our encore visit favoured us with the songs of Paul Simon, offered by seven individuals and groups – two pieces for each.  Some of the songs I’d never heard of.  And the best performances came from a trio of musicians – keyboard/vocals, lead guitar and bass guitar.  I’m sitting here trying to remember their songs, and I can’t.  But it doesn’t matter.  The fellows were brilliant together.  I remember the smile on the face of the lead guitarist as he played a long lick … in a trance, it seemed.  One rollicking tune featured the pianist belting out the melody while tickling the ivories with his left hand and banging the keyboard lid against the vertical surface of the piano with his right.  So cool.

Then there was the trio of East Indian descent who gave us “The Sounds of Silence” – an ethereal female voice accompanied by a sitar.  Otherworldly.  Finally, the whole crew went up on stage for a rousing version of “Slip Slidin’ Away”.  We were in love.

***

Day three featured Joanna Chapman-Smith, a Toronto singer-songwriter who had lost her voice during an illness, and had it magically return months later, to our immense benefit.  Joanna was such an original … rich love songs, some unusual melodies, storytelling mixed in with the singing.  The place was packed in celebration of her aliveness and virtuosity.  I struggled with the long stories and with some of the dissonant melody lines but I marvelled at her humanity.  Such a glowing face.

The biggest revelation for me was during the break between sets.  I listened to the one hundred of us talk.  It was a symphony of voices that seemed to get louder as the minutes passed.  First, I resisted.  After all, I’m a nice little Buddhist guy that needs his large doses of silence.  But then I started smiling.  It was music.  It was we humans embracing our fellows.  It was sweet.

***

Sing me a melody, please
Make it last long inside me
Sing me a melody, please
Give me a good vibration