Tag Archives: Life

Thou Shalt Not Kill

A hapless clumsy spider tripped and fallen in the sink?  Everything stops.  Down slides a paper towel spidey-ladder to the rescue, and when the creature steps aboard, it’s lifted outside and set gently in the garden, tucked away with soothing words and soft warnings that sinks are not safe places for spiders to play.

Would that I were always this type of person.  Most of the time, I am.  I have copyrighted a method for depositing spiders, bees and other Godly creatures safely outdoors.  On the top shelf of a closet just off the kitchen sits a small margarine tub (empty) and a manilla file folder.  If the wee timorous beastie is clinging to a window screen or sunbathing on the kitchen counter, I sneak up, tub in hand, and move to hovering position about six inches from said bug.  Then, with the reflexes of a World Series pitcher, I attach tub to surface in one swell foop.  The other hand has been holding the file folder, which I then slip behind the tub.  Grabbing the edge of the folder and keeping a firm grip on the container, I lift off.  And voila – I march resolutely to the front door (pre-opened, which you could say presents more opportunities for bug rescue), walk outside, and throw my arms into the air, sending tub and folder flying along with my winged friend.  If the momentary prisoner is a spider, I’m far more gentle.  Either way, the bottom line is that the visitor lives.

One time, when I was on a silent retreat at the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts, I had a chance to reveal my skills to the world.  One hundred of us retreatants were having lunch, when I noticed a wasp high up on one of the big windows, frantically seeking escape.  No margarine tub in sight, nor a file folder.  There was worry, however, about what my fellow yogis would think of my probable action.  No thought of them thinking well of me for saving a life, just afraid of their criticism.  (Sigh)  I stewed only for a minute or so.  “Just do it, Bruce.  It’s a living being who needs your help.”  So I got up, went to the foyer where I remembered seeing a large laminated card listing instructions about something or other, grabbed the card, plucked a small bowl from its pile, marched back to my table, got up on a chair … and hovered, trying to push aside my fear of the stinger.  “But bowl against glass is going to make an awful noise!” …  “Good grief, please be quiet.”  Plunk.  Slide.  Grab hold with both hands.  Down from the chair.  Hip open the door.  Fly!

Then serenely back to my spot, eyes down to avoid likely stares, sit down, and resume my enjoyment of vegetarian lasagna.  And a deeper enjoyment as well.

So I’m pretty good with spiders and bees.  But then there are flies.  Those little so-and-so’s are too fast for my tub/folder trick.  So I’ve most often used a weapon of destruction – the fly swatter.  I have killed, many times.  All to avoid the buzzing, the alighting, the darned inconvenience!  Today, I vow to never again raise that long-handled piece of yellow rubber.  I vow to flick the little ones away, but not to crush the life out of them.  Thinking practically, flies don’t live long.  Thinking spiritually, I will let them be.  I promise you.

People Passing By

I love watching people.  And one of the best places to do it is in the seating area by the snack bar at Costco.  A steady stream of consumers roll their carts by me on the way to the exit.  Yesterday I plunked myself down with representatives from three of Canada’s major food groups – hot dog, Diet Coke, and later, a chocolate waffle cone.

I watched my judgments come up as they walked by, and was happy to see the negativity quickly fade.  There really was no one better and no one worse.  The whole topic was irrelevant.  The shoppers were all human beings, each with their hidden story, each worthy of my love.  Here’s a sampling:

1.  A woman in her thirties with a bad patch of acne on her left cheek.  Two little girls, both yammering away, sat in the cart, sticking their legs out at mom.  (I though of my horrible acne in Grade 9, and looks of disgust from a few.)

2.  A young guy with closely cropped hair, shades perched on top of his head, a bouquet of lilies in his left hand, a bag of fertilizer slung over his right shoulder, no cart.  (I never had a girl to bring flowers to when I was his age.)

3.  A former Costco cashier came over to talk.  In his 60s.  Retired in June because he couldn’t stand for his 7.5 hour shifts anymore.  Loves coming back to chat with members and fellow employees.  Thanked me for giving him a hard time at the checkout.  (Gosh, I’m retired too.  Does this mean that we’re both getting O-L-D?)

4.  Three women walking with their almost empty cart, probably in their 70s, small smiles to each other, polyester wardrobes, happy.  (I never go out with the guys.  Doesn’t feel like I have any guys to go out with.)

5.  An elderly gentleman, thinning grey hair slicked back with some goo, more polyester, leaning heavily on his cart as he moves it forward slowly.  (Reminds me of my dad in his last years – the family grocery shopper, determined to be independent, had lost a step or two.)

6.  Middle-aged guy, baseball cap, short grey beard, t-shirt and shorts, driving his cart way too fast.  Has to slam on the brakes as the line slows near the exit.  (I remember the tension I felt as an itinerant teacher of the visually impaired.  Sometimes I raced down the hallway to the next kid.  Too much to do.)

7.  A 20-something hulk of a fellow, really motoring, sunglasses riding high, muscle shirt showing off arms as big as my legs, oriental tattoos on his upper arms and calves.  (I remember being scared of big guys like that.  When I was 15.  Or was it just last year?  Okay, both.)

8.  Two women, perhaps from India, strolling out of the store, garbed in black saris, with colorful scarves covering their heads.  Would you believe another pair of sunglasses adorning another head?  (What would my life be like now if I had been born a Hindu, Muslim or Buddhist in an Asian country?)

9.  A very tall teenager, hair up in a bun (sort of), wearing a black sleeveless top, with a black and golden sparkled purse on her shoulder, arms that didn’t seem to have any biceps, looking calm.  (I love seeing muscle definition in the upper arm, but this woman’s arm was just a straight line.  I wondered what her life was like, and why she felt the need to be so thin.)

10.  A hugely overweight woman in her 30s, bum jiggling in green pants as she pushes her cart, hair shaved close at the back of her neck, and poofing out on top, almost like a nest.  (What must it be like to be so fat?  Wouldn’t every little task cause troubled breathing?  Thank God I don’t have to cope with all this.)

***

All of us
No one left out
The same brightness behind the eyes

Applying For Jobs

In November, 1993, I had just failed as a life insurance agent and was grasping at the straws of my future life.  Twenty years later, I’m a retired teacher.  Last week, I came across some letters I’d written to employers at the time, seeking that elusive foot in the door.  Here are excerpts from three of those letters, plus one I wrote to an author of a book on selling skills.  The results that came back to me from these efforts was zero.  No one replied.  I don’t want to analyze the paragraphs for what went wrong.  I’m more interested in seeing if the person I am today was peeking out from letters back then that were meant to get me hired.

In the employment positions I have had, I’ve always wanted the person I was meeting
with, whether it was a client, a volunteer, a patient, a student or a fellow staff member, to leave the interaction feeling better, rather than worse.  I’m convinced that the road to company success starts and ends with seeing the other person as a human being, listening to their needs, and finding solutions for them, all within the context of both caring and assertiveness.

Did the employer care if the customer felt better after talking to me?  I don’t know.  I sure did.  As a 45-year-old, that was already important to me.  Also, what are the other person’s needs, and how can I contribute to their life?  Guess I threw in “assertiveness” to make myself more marketable but actually it wasn’t important to me.

I know that I have the ability to inspire the people around me – in this case the employees I supervise.  People working with the public must have energy and must like other human beings.  I certainly see myself as having these attributes.  I can select quality employees in the first place, and help them keep in touch with the “people values” that are essential for any successful retail operation.

Today I’ve come to realize that I’ve inspired some of the people in my life.  Looks like I had an inkling of that many years ago.  Then and now, I did and do like other humans – in fact I love them for doing their best in this life of joys and woes.

The number one thing I offer is my ability to build trusting relationships with teens.  I do this through being a good listener, giving the kids positive feedback whenever it’s earned, and implementing a “keep your word” classroom management program, delivering effective consequences within a context of caring.

This letter was from 1997 as I tried to get myself back into the classroom.  Then and now, I trust people.  I’ve been ripped off a few times as a result of being naive, but actually I really like the word.  I also enjoy “innocent” and “silly”.  And I do keep my word to people, sometimes with a little delay, but I get the job done.

I’ve been an agent for 21 months and am struggling to make enough sales to stay in the career.  I don’t have much money to spend right now on training programs, but I want to get coaching on how to apply your ideas to the life insurance industry.

I see myself as coachable, open to learning from the life experiences, thoughts and behaviour of others.  In some sense, those folks aren’t on the outside, looking in at me.  They’re already inside.  I’m also willing to admit what’s true in my life.  Many a time I do struggle, and not just financially.  Being willing to be vulnerable with people who have the power to benefit me has been my way for a long time.

***

So, that was from the 90’s.  Maybe I should now head back to 1954, and see what my kindergarten finger paintings had to say about Bruce in 2014.  Doubt if they’re hanging around in the basement, though.  I’ll just have to pretend.

Notes from the Golf Course

I don’t get out much because Jody’s been so sick.  Today was my day.  I went to the women’s professional golf tournament in London.  Here’s what I noticed:

1.  Even before I hit the links, I hit the restaurant.  At 6:00 am I strolled into Harry’s with my sports section, prepared to savour bacon, poached eggs, hash browns and whole wheat toast.  I know it sounds ordinary but for me it was a delicious celebration of normality.  During two-and-a-half cups of coffee, I read about the Canadian golfers I’d be following for eighteen holes.  How easy it’s been for me to forget the usual rhythms of life.

2.  On the course, I was surrounded by people who were walking.  Big crowds.  At home, it’s been Jody in bed or a wheelchair, with one of our PSWs and me.  In malls with Jody, I haven’t paid much attention to how people walk, but out there on the grass today I sure did.  Many folks, old and young and in between, moved gracefully, sort of caressing the grass.  Some limped.  Some walked very tentatively.  And many took off like a bat out of hell to get ahead of their favorite player and see all the shots.  “Let’s give ‘er!” some guy yelled, and he and his friends started running.  I noticed times when I too was trying to catch all the action, speeding up to an unnatural pace.  Finally I noticed what I was doing, and settled back again.

3.  I don’t need to pile up the spectacular golfing moments and count them at the end of the day.  A few instants of grace will do nicely, such as watching a golfer’s face as she holds the follow through of the swing – a timeless image.  Or registering the smile between competitors when one of them makes a spectacular shot.

4.  At one point, I was talking to a marshal about the number of great young Canadian golfers who were doing well these days.  She was just inside the ropes and I was outside.  We paused our conversation while a golfer hit her ball.  Then I turned back to her … and she was gone.  Sigh.  We had been together for a minute of two, and then she ended it.  Without a goodbye.

5.  I watched the relationship between golfers and caddies, such as the player who handed the club she had just used to her caddie without even looking at him.  One caddie, probably the golfer’s father, was on her just about all the time, with opinions and proddings.  He even stopped her once while she was waggling her club pre-shot.  Other caddies seemed to offer advice only when asked, but did give lots of encouragement.

6.  Just before a player hit her ball, marshals held up white paddle-type signs which said “Quiet, eh?” a fun reference to our Canadian lingo.  The message was gentle, certainly not “Quiet!”, which would have brought back childhood memories of Saturday matinees at the Park Theatre, where a matronly-looking woman patrolled the aisles, snarling “Less noise!”

7.  I sauntered up hills and dales, feeling light on my feet for awhile, positively youthful.  This compared to a tournament a couple of years ago, when my ballooning leg had me going slower and slower … until I gave up after walking just eight holes.  I was very sad back then.  Happy today.

8.  Humidity.  It rolled over us in a cumulative way.  And eventually I started feeling some of that old fragility.  Too much sun.  Too tired.  Time to go home after watching my Canadian gals finish their round.  And that was okay.  Quite human, I’d say.

Life … Golf
Golf … Life

This Old Guitar

A few weeks ago, I started playing my acoustic guitar again, and singing to Jody.  It’s been many months, if not a year or two.  I learned the basics during group lessons in Ottawa in 1972.  You could say that I’ve never gone beyond that, sticking with a few chords and a flat pick.  I’ve imagined myself as one of the virtuosos I often see on DVDs, playing cool melody lines while I fingerpick away.  Not in this lifetime, I believe.

I’ve also fantasized about being Canada’s next great singer-songwriter, in the tradition of Stan Rogers, David Francey and James Keelaghan.  Touching people with lyrics that speak of our human condition.  I’ve even written a few songs but they’re  not very good.  I don’t seem to have an anthem akin to John Lennon’s “Imagine” sitting on the tip of my tongue.

Number three in my “wish fors” has been to form a folk group – say two men and three women, guitar, fiddle, mandolin, double bass and keyboard.  Exquisite vocal harmonies that take the listener away.  Playing for audiences – large or small -bowing to the applause, contributing.  Nothing happening on that front at the moment.

I finally see that all of those supposed deficits are okay.  I just want to sing beautiful songs to my beautiful wife.  I don’t care who wrote it, or that I didn’t.  Here’s John Denver’s ode to music shared:

This old guitar taught me to sing a love song
It showed me how to laugh and how to cry
It introduced me to some friends of mine
And brightened up some days
It helped me make it through some lonely nights
Oh, what a friend to have on a cold and lonely night

I’ve sure laughed – try “Dropkick Me Jesus Through the Goal Posts of Life”, for example.  And I’ve cried.  “Song for the Mira” comes to mind, with a man reliving his youth and contemplating his death.  I’ve sung songs in the dark of English Bay Beach in Vancouver, in my dorm room at the Prince of Wales Hotel, and at sunset while hitchhiking through Northern Ontario, with no ride in sight.

This old guitar gave me my lovely lady
It opened up her eyes and ears to me
It brought us close together
And I guess it broke her heart
It opened up the space for us to be
What a lovely place and a lovely space to be

When Jody and I first met in the 1980s, I favoured her with a few tunes that brought a smile to her face: “Annie’s Song” (You Fill Up My Senses), “How Can I Tell You That I Love You”, “Mr. Bojangles” and “Free in the Harbour”, the story of whales swimming untroubled in the waters of Hermitage Bay.  I struggled to express my own words of love but the songs said it so well.  And still do.

This old guitar gave me my life, my living
All the things you know I love to do
To serenade the stars that shine
From a sunny mountainside
Most of all to sing my songs for you
I love to sing my songs for you
Yes I do, you know, I love to sing my songs for you

Okay, not exactly my living.  I’ve easily been able to keep my amateur status.  But I’ve serenaded a few stars with songs such as “Poems, Prayers and Promises” and “Be Not Afraid”.  And moonlit asphalt has been my companion as my thumb and I let “The Long and Winding Road” surround us.

But it’s into your eyes, Jodiette, that the melodies and the chords truly find their way.  And our hearts vibrate in response.

 

The Big Three

Once upon a time, I was a super thin teenager, with a face full of acne and a farmer’s tan.  Clearasil didn’t seem to help and the Instatan goop left me with little lines of brown on the top edges of my toes, bordered by lily whiteness.  Eventually, I started wearing longsleeved turtleneck shirts all summer, to the amusement (and no doubt disdain) of many.

My self-esteem was rock bottom, and I let my woes focus on three facts:  I couldn’t swim.  I couldn’t skate.  I couldn’t ride a bike.  My conclusion?  I couldn’t have a good life.

Let’s take swimming first.  When I was 6, my parents sent me to a hotel pool for lessons.  At one point, the instructor told us fledglings to line up on the edge of the deep end.  He yelled “Jump!” at us one by one, and if the person didn’t, the hairy-chested so-and-so pushed.  I remember flailing away … and then later waking up on the side of the pool after receiving artificial respiration.  “Yuck!” said my very young mind.

Then there was high school.  Happily for some, Lawrence Park Collegiate Institute in Toronto had a pool, and there were twice a week swimming periods from the beginning of Grade 9 to the end of Grade 12.  Quadruple yuck.  It seemed like I spent my entire high school career floundering around in the shallow end while the guys did laps.  And all of us were nude.

How did I ever recover from all this?

On to skating.  My parents meant well but my skates were ill-fitting and I guess there was no money for fancy new ones.  Flop went the ankles and down went the bod, again and again and again.  My friends were playing hockey.  I was going to skating parties, running on my skates in a hopeless effort to stay vertical and grabbing on to chain link fences.  Friends did loops around me and occasionally came to a professional stop, showering me with ice crystals.  “How’s it goin’, Bruce?”  The girls were more discreet.  They just stayed away.

How did I ever recover from all this?

For dessert, there was riding a bicycle.  Except I didn’t know how.  I was too terrified of falling and smooshing my muscles and bones to even ask Mom and Dad for a bike.  Once more, friends rolled away to destinations (and adventures) unknown.  At least unknown to me.

When I was 17, I got my first job – flipping hamburgers at a stand on Toronto Island, a lovely stretch of lawns and trees.  My spot was at Hanlon’s Point.  Refreshment was also available at Centre Island and Ward’s Island.  One day, my boss came up to me and said “Bruce, take this box of burgers over to Centre.  They need it right away.  There’s a bike at the back.”  Oh … gulp big time.  I took the frozen burgers, walked to the back of the building and spied the sinister two-wheeled job.  Arghh!  I tried to do what I’d seen so many people do – get on the bike.  Didn’t have a clue, and the result was predictable … splat! on the asphalt.  Picking myself up, I glanced around like a fugitive and saw that no one had witnessed this escapade.  Twenty yards away was a grove of bushes.  I ran the bike over there and shoved it in.  After making sure the beast was totally concealed, I ran like hell to Centre Island with my thawing patties.  Sigh.

How did I ever recover from all this?

Forty-eight years later, I’m a happy adult.  As for the big three, here is my score:

Swimming – still can’t
Skating – still can’t
Riding a bicycle – learned when I was 47 years old

Something good must have happened to me along the way

 

 

Life’s Ads

I was looking through The London Free Press this morning.  I’ve learned to ignore the ads but something made me glance at them this time.  Here are some choice enticements and my reflections on them:

***

Best Value

What exactly does that mean?  Is it the lowest price, the longevity of the product, or the admiration I’ll receive from others for making such a good consumer choice?  How important is it that I get the best one?  Won’t pretty darn good be good enough?  Plus I’m a regular guy.  I think a regular price will do.

Massive Blowout Sale

Sounds like a battlefield to me.  And the sale is best if it’s really big.  But do I want everything in my life to be Super Sized?  Do I need all of my experiences to blow me away, so that I can create for myself orgasm after orgasm of excitement?

Bring This Coupon!

If I don’t bring it, I’ll lose out.  My life won’t be as good if I don’t find every single advantage on the horizon.  One coupon is good.  Think about how happy I’d be if I threw myself into daily frenzies of coupon cutting.  Or just let it all go.

Undeniably Better Value Than Any Big Box Store

It’s crucial that I compare everything and everyone in my life.  Perhaps list the pros and cons of each choice.  Not to rest until I find the best.  Does that mean that I can’t just look at a fellow human being and see both their uniqueness and their universality, with no reference to other people?

I Feel So Good in My 100% Cotton PJs, Nighties and Robes

I’ll put something on, sort of like a magic cloak, and be content.  I’ll be sufficient if I obtain the proper set of add-ons.  But doesn’t sufficiency come from a far deeper place?

Prime Lots Are Going Fast!

There simply is no time to dawdle.  Missed opportunities are my lot in life if I don’t ramp up the intensity.  But I really enjoy sauntering, meandering, and getting a bit lost on the journey before finding myself again.

Satisfying Your Every Need

Maybe a new home, maybe a husband or wife.  I need this person so I can be happy.  I can fulfill myself only through them.  If they act in perfectly loving ways all of the time, I’ll be okay.

Find It Today!

I want what I want and I want to have it right now.  Delayed gratification is just not where it’s at.  But what about sensing my life as a journey, complete with its ups and downs, and letting it “unfold as it should”?  Can I embrace some struggle, some “on the way to”, some slow emerging from the cocoon?

Radiant Crossover

They were talking about a car but I believe radiance emerges by grace.  You can’t push for it.  It comes along naturally beside love.

***

I am sufficient
I am whole
I am complete

Driving (Part Two)

Since 1994, Jody and I have driven to work north from Union, Ontario through St. Thomas to London.  The speed limit on the two-lane road is 80 kilometres per hour (50 mph).  For the first year or two, I zipped along at 85 – nice and peaceful.  One day though, I noticed that a car was tailgating me for part of the way.  Days later, someone else did the same thing.  Then it was every day.  Where, oh where, did my little peace go?

At some point, I decided to up my speed to 90.  Ahhh.  Back to a gentle experience of driving.  Maybe around 2000, however, the space to my rear started filling up again with bumper after bumper.  And so it continued.  I’ve valiantly resisted the temptation to push things to 100.  Instead, I get to feel the press of society most days on Wellington Road South, and to let the feelings waft over me … minutes of frustration, pings of anger, and eventually a recurring sadness.  Who have we become?  Where are we going?  And why is it better to get there fast?

I see the good and the bad on the roads.  People allowing the first car coming out of a hospital parking lot at rush hour to merge into the traffic flow.  Letting a left-turning driver facing you complete the move, releasing them and the pent-up parade of cars behind to go on their way.  Waving to a kind motorist after a good deed performed.  All of these actions gladden my heart.  We take care of each other.

And then again, what about the speedster who roars past me on the shoulder when I’m turning left?  Or the oblivious one who blocks an intersection?  Or the sudden lane changer who makes me exercise my braking ability?  I contract.  I sweat.  It’s a “you or me” world.

I love driving.  I love placing my hands on the wheel just as I have for five decades – left hand lower than the right.  That feels so comfy, and is a tradition that I hope to carry into my 80s.  I love the slow acceleration from a new green light, feeling the engine, sensing the “rightness” of the transition.  I love the smooth flow of Hugo or Scarlet on a curve.  I love saying hi to the horses and cows lounging in the roadside fields.  I love coming upon license plates that I recognize on my commutes.  It’s like I know the occupants of those vehicles.  I love being with Hugo in London, Bayfield, Toronto, Nova Scotia and Massachusetts, returning to a parking lot and finding my old friend there.

Sitting, walking and lying down meditation are all lovely.  So, I’ve found, is driving meditation.  Can I be present as the rest of the motorized world seems to be creeping up to that red light?  How about when the gentleman or lady ahead is going 20 kph below the speed limit on a sunny July day?  Or a Costco customer has taken up two parking spaces with his singular conveyance?  All grist for the mill.  Go, my dear Hugo, go.  It’s a wonderful world.

All Beings Everywhere

Like you, I had to choose a user name when I joined WordPress.  I tried “Brucio” but that was already taken.  Maybe I would have to go with”Brucio47″ to get the name accepted.  And I sure didn’t want that.  Part of the reason I started writing was to express ever more parts of what is both uniquely me and also inherent in all of us -47 made me cringe.

So … what word or words sing to me, I asked.  For a few minutes nothing came, and I was strangely okay with that.  I’ve learned to trust myself that ideas will be revealed.  And on June 15 or so, they did.  “All beings everywhere.”  May I honour them all – human, animal, insect.  And beyond that.  The Buddha described people in various ways.  Pairs of words that pointed to the beauty of us all.  I’d like to share his ideas with you, and see what bubbles up from me, so I may embrace each of God’s creatures.  Here goes:

All beings near and far

All beings known and unknown

All beings born and unborn

All beings from the north, south, east and west

All beings happy and unhappy

All beings enlightened and unenlightened

All beings male and female

All beings young and old

All beings physical and non-physical

All beings well and infirm

All beings “attractive” and “unattractive”

All beings here and there

All beings wealthy and poor

All beings of the land, air and water

All beings of the universe

All beings warm-blooded and cold

All beings strong and weak

All beings timid and brave

All beings assertive and withdrawn

All beings calm and anxious

All beings fashionable and unfashionable

All beings cool and nerdy

All beings fast and slow

All beings eloquent and tongue-tied

All beings sensitive and insensitive

All beings kind and cruel

All beings comfortable and in pain

All beings white, brown and black

All beings industrious and lazy

All beings intelligent and a little slow

All beings spontaneous and reticent

All beings able and disabled

All beings sighted and blind

All beings free and enslaved

All beings living in houses, apartments, group homes, and on the street

All beings worldly and local

All beings cold and warm

All beings fit and unfit

All beings fat and thin

All beings with hair black, brown, red, and none at all

All beings mobile and immobile

All beings generous and hoarding

All beings right-handed and left-handed

All beings who dance and those who don’t

All beings well fed and hungry

All beings included and excluded

All beings who say “yes” and those who say “no”

All beings who deserve love

All beings who want to be happy

All beings who suffer

All beings

 

 

 

 

 

 

Symphony

Perhaps it’s all music to the ears

A cellist playing the sublime melody of “The Swan”

The squeal of tires at the Monaco Grand Prix

Birdsong at dawn

A soloist singing “Amazing Grace” at a funeral Mass

The patter of raindrops on a tin roof

The moans of a mother during childbirth

Springsteen belting out “Badlands” in Barcelona to thousands of jumping up fans

Foster Hewitt shouting “He shoots, he scores!” after every goal at Toronto Maple Leaf hockey games in the 60s

The roar of an avalanche sweeping across a glacier near Lake Louise, Alberta

The whisper of “I love you” from one dear one to the other

The frenzy of three accordion players in Quebec City (definitely not “oom pah pah”)

Thousands of Brazilian fans singing their national anthem at the World Cup

The whistle of a steam locomotive crossing the far field of grandpa’s farm

The asthma patient’s wheezing as she climbs the stairs of her home

The song of crickets at twilight

The pitter patter of little feet on the hardwood

Jackie Evancho silencing the Christmas shoppers in Chicago with “O Holy Night”

The agonized scream of stitches coming out too late

The rustle of turning pages as a Constant Reader devours a Stephen King novel

Steaks sizzling on a barbeque

The soft whump of a volleyball lofted into the air for a teammate

The mutter of a jet engine passing 30,000 feet above me

The wind singing through the pines around a Canadian Rockies campfire

“F___ off!”

The tinkle of a coin dropped into a beggar’s cup

Silence