Tag Archives: Love

Day Twenty … Love Lives On

On Sunday morning, I set off on a journey of reunion.  To Vancouver International Airport.  Seeking out international flights, of the arrivals variety.  I got a coffee, sat down and watched folks travel up the ribboned tunnel of carpet … from Japan, Singapore, and finally England.  A very special passenger would soon be smiling at me … my former wife Rita.  We were married in Barons, Alberta in 1988 and were divorced seven years later.  Two people going in different directions.  One of our lawyers said that it was the most amicable divorce she had ever seen.

***

Interlude

I’m sitting on Beryl’s couch in Yakima, Washington.  She’s Rita’s sister.  Sadie, her little fluffy white dog, has just leapt up onto the couch to be with me.  She pokes her head my way.  I lift my fingers from the keyboard and place one hand on each side of her face.  I do believe I saw a smile.

***

I’m blabbing away to a couple when a woman stops past the ribbon, smiles and says “Bruce”.  I don’t recognize her.  I even forget where I am.  Seconds later … “Rita” and I’m hurrying to intercept her.  We hug.

Rita took me out to a lovely fish and chip restaurant that hangs over the water at the Steveston Marina.  It’s a little neighbourhood within Greater Vancouver, the perfect size for human beings.  A window table.  We laugh.  And the smile across the table was the same one that I saw in a young woman 40 years before as we snuggled on a single bed in the residence of the University of Lethbridge.  Rita has made her mark in art education, has travelled to 64 countries and has often been treated as a queen during her speaking engagements.  And that’s all wonderful.  But as I gleefully consumed my salmon fish and chips, we were “just folks”, talking about life past and present and enjoying each other’s company.  The Superman suit she sewed for me way back when.  Two months ago, at a bike ride for Heart and Stroke, I wore the shirt with the stylized “S” and the brilliant red cape.  (The red shorts gave out years ago.)  I introduced her to Vancouver, a place where she’s now lived for 25 years or so.  Marrying Dave four years ago.  Jody being ill and dying last November.  Topics past and present.  All infused with smiles.

Life is such a mystery.  Love doesn’t die.  We make mistakes.  We carry on.  We do our best.  We remember fun times.  We smile.

Day Nineteen … People Whose Eyes Shine

I stayed overnight Friday in Delta with Rhonda, Jody’s cousin.  We had never met … and we talked for six hours.  How lovely.  And it was big talk.  The journeys each of us had taken in life.  Memories of Jody.  How her husband Todd is “the bomb”.  What the heck does that mean, I thought.  Well, Rhonda was smiling so much that I figured it had to be something darn good.  We were old friends who were in each other’s presence for the first time.

Rhonda and I had trouble connecting with each other before my visit.  She never responded to any of my e-mails.  I was sad about that.  I just didn’t know what that meant.  Why wouldn’t she want to see me?  I had never done anything bad to her.  And then I heard from her that all my messages had ended up in her Spam folder.  Oh, Bruce.  Don’t assume stuff about people.  Silly goose.  Rhonda and I will definitely meet again and continue the conversation.

Next in my pilgrimage towards great souls was my old friend Joel.  We hadn’t seen each other for 29 years.  Joel was (and still is) a personal development seminar leader and I was one of his associates.  I led some seminars too, with the benefit of Joel’s coaching.  We were also friends who loved each other very much.  And still do.  One more time on my westward journey picking up with someone from where we left off decades ago.

Joel showed me around his community – White Rock – as we floated over the land in his convertible.  Then we sat on a bench by the ocean, for an hour or more.  Over the water were islands.  I saw people sleeping.  He saw turtles.  No right or wrong.  Joel told me of leading seminars on A Course In Miracles, spiritual books written by an unknown author.  I remember reading most of the Course.  My favourite quote from it?  “Is it an evil to be punished or a mistake to be corrected?”  For others and for me, I vote for the latter.  Joel sat on the bench being happy.  His work touches his fellow man.  He and his wife Marim love each other unconditionally.  And he lives in paradise.

In the evening, I was off to see Jake again.  Have I ever mentioned to you how much I want to act?  If not, let me spell it out.  I want to be Jake!   I was back in Bellingham, Washington again.  Sitting in the front row again, this time for the closing performance of Jake’s Women.  The actors hit it hard this time.  The energy onstage was huge!  Nobody talked louder or moved more dramatically than last time.  The whole cast was just “there”.  Present.  Living the moment.  So many 1-1 interactions were spot on … eye contact, touching, real.  The actor who played Jake just glowed.  As the actors left the stage after their bows, the actress who played Molly at age 12 smiled at me.  Thank you, young lady.

Wow.  So many humans … and I’m one of them.  It’s a good planet to hang out on.  A good journey that Scarlet and I are feeling.  A good life.

Day Fifteen … Loved Ones

So it was off to the ferry for me, with Georgia Strait and Victoria beckoning.  When I arrived at the terminal, I saw that I wouldn’t make the next voyage.  It would be an hour-and-a-half wait, which was fine.  That would give me a chance to write a blog post.

I thought that Starbucks would get the creative juices flowing, so I joined the line.  There was hardly anywhere to move since half of Vancouver was surely wanting to go to Victoria.  I turned to the two women behind me and said, “Is the terminal always this busy?”  And so began a journey to fast friendship.  During our conversation, I mentioned Jody and soon Kitty and Kathy were saying yes to sharing a copy of our book.  I got one out of Scarlet and told them that I’d see them on the ferry.

Retiring to a pocket of shade, I discovered that I didn’t have any Internet.  No matter.  I’d compose in Word and send it off to whoever’s out there in the evening.  So I tapped and slurped and yapped to a young couple at the same table.

Done.  (Actually, it doesn’t happen quite that fast!)  I decided to find my new friends.  As I approached their car, I saw that Kitty was reading Jody’s book, and she was crying.  Oh my.  It was time to load so I got back in Scarlet.  As our lane was given the go ahead, I looked in the rear view mirror to see a car on my ass, revving his motor.  Good heavens … tailgated on a ferry ramp.

Kathy, Kitty, her husband Craig and I sat together outside on the deck at the back of the ship.  I looked around at the Pacific Ocean and the layers of islands that stretched away forever.  “Do you think that some local people don’t see this beauty anymore?”  “Yes.”  So sad.

We talked about this, that and the other thing.  I mentioned that I had arrived with a bag of Costco’s Almond Clusters so that I could feed the hovering seagulls off the stern of the ferry.  Except that there were no seagulls.  (Sigh)  I have great decades-old memories of throwing food in the air and having the gulls swoop down to catch it in their beaks.  But not today.  At one point, I leaned over the railing and tossed a symbolic cluster up high.  Nobody came by.  The ocean swallowed it.  Thuwup.  (My best guess about cluster-sucking water)

And here comes a pretty young woman to talk to all of us.  She’s a naturalist and has lots of things to say about marine flora and fauna.  She knew her stuff, even that glass sponges (an animal) exist.  But worlds beyond that, she glowed with joy.  Her face was a symphony of expressions and her body extended, twisted and danced as she spoke.  I was blown away.  It’s nice that she was pretty, but that physical beauty was animated by her soul.  I went up to her afterwards and said, “You have such joie de vivre.  And you are a teacher, far beyond your subject matter.  A role model for us all.  Please don’t lose that.  When you’re 40, may you still show such spirit.”   She cried a wee bit and said thank you.

Kathy, Kitty and Craig laughed at my stories and shared some of their own.  It was fun.  I hugged the two women upon farewell.  And that’s it, really … “Fare thee well.”

And now – Ta Da! – my girlfriend.  I fell in love with her maybe 40 years ago and I haven’t seen her since.  We’ve never written.  I don’t even know her name.  And she’s not even human.  My love is a statue in Butchart Gardens north of Victoria.  The truth is that the main reason I came to Vancouver Island was to see her.  (I know I kid around a lot but this is not that.)  Decades ago, I read a book called Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse.  I was enthralled to hear of Goldmund’s love of sculpting … the chance to catch the glory of life in stone or wood.  Ever since, I’ve kept my sculpting mind hidden from everyone I know.  But it’s still there … the need to create an image that captures the soul.  When , oh when, Bruce, will you start that journey?

It took a while, but I found my girlfriend in the sunken garden.  I sat near her for nearly an hour.  She appears to be a teenager.  She crosses her hands over her chest as she looks skyward.  I thinks she’s missed me.  I know I’ve missed her.  There wasn’t much to say.  We just sat together.  Afterwards, I looked up to the towering arbutus trees in the evening sun.  Their reddish bark glowed.  Me too.  Then I went to the bandshell and watched about fifteen couples dance the waltz and fox trot to a live band.  I could smell flowers.  Most of the folks were in their 50’s, 60’s or 70’s and they all moved so gracefully.  I smiled.

Quite the day.  Here’s to many more of them.  Salut.

Day Thirteen … A Family of Love

Sunday I spent lots of good time with the Chamness family near Barriere, BC.  Luana and Larry hold hands.  Hey, maybe that’s all you need to know about them!  Luana is a poet and homemaker and Larry is very mechanical.  He’s an expert on installing septic tanks and is working on his own design for a 70-foot floating irrigation pump.  Farmers have trouble with pumps that aren’t on the water and Larry’s prototype could make a big difference for them.  Waydago, Larry!  It wasn’t important that I didn’t understand a lot of what he was talking about.  I got him – the human being.

Brady is Luana and Larry’s 16-year-old son.  Like any kid, school is not a bed of roses.  He talked though about an English teacher that he really liked.  She listened to him and was always ready to help when he had a question.  Yay for teachers.

Ron is the older son, 30 or so.  He’s a whiz with engines and is a good big brother to Brady.  Like the whole clan, Ron is willing to get his hands dirty, diving into his mechanical problem-solving with gusto.

Tashina is Brady’s girlfriend.  She loves having fun with him on their longboards (really big skateboards, for the uninitiated).  They seem very happy together.  I gave a few of Jody’s books away to the family and I was thrilled that Tashina dove into it right away.

Jackie is the 19-year-old daughter.  She too has Brady’s back and helps her mom and dad a lot.  Jackie is off to Chilliwack, BC in January for nursing studies.  She’ll be a good one.

These folks are so close, forged in part by some experiences they’ve had on the land.  Once Brady, Tashina and Ron were hiking and she slipped down a slope, grabbing on to a tree to break her fall.  Ron scrambled down and somehow pulled Tashina up to safety.  It must have taken incredible strength.  Can you imagine the bond created between them?  Wonderful.

Another time, Luana was determined to reach a waterfall high up on their property.  She has some balance issues but kept going, on her own.  Brady noticed that mom had been gone a long time and went looking for her.  There was a very happy ending, which included falling water.

While I was there, Brady, Tashina and Ron headed off on a trip to the BC coast

***

Wait a minute … interlude time.  I’m sitting in the lobby of the Delta Town and Country Inn in Delta, BC, tapping away, and a mite bit concerned that I’m writing about events which happened two days ago.  How am I going to ketchup?  When what to my wondering ears should appear but a group of folks singing “O Canada” in a meeting room.  So cool.  I’ve decided to take on as a personal project to have every Canadian sing their anthem.  I think I’ll start with maternity wards and branch out from there.

***

Okay, where was I?  Oh yeah.

… for some kayaking.  As they piled into Herbie, their Volkswagen bug, Brady made sure he said “Love you” before his mom could get the words out.  And a few minutes later, he said the same to Jackie.  It’s truly what makes the world go round.

On Sunday evening, Luana wanted to show me the path that led up through their property, so we went.  She pointed out berry bushes, now past their prime, and the creek was roaring downhill beside us.  Plus all those tall cedar trees.  Wow.  I got a photo of Luana and Larry holding hands as they climbed.

Yesterday morning, I hugged Luana, Larry and Jackie before I left for Vancouver.  We all waved.  And they were still looking at me in the rearview mirror as I drove down their dirt road towards the highway.  Then I cried.  It’s hard to say goodbye to natural people.

Day Nine … Resonating In My Heart

My day began with slight miscalculations.  I’m staying near Kamloops, BC on August 1 and 2.  Since Kamloops is directly west of Edmonton, I figured I’d spend the night of July 31 in Alberta’s capital.  I could sit in the West Edmonton Mall for a few hours and drink in the aura of rampant commercialism.  However, truth be told, Kamloops is directly west of Calgary.  So skip the mall and revel in the beauty of the Icefield Parkway between Banff and Jasper … gorgeous mountains on all sides, complete with a few glaciers.  I can’t wait.

Laundry time yesterday morning.  Real showed me the washer and everything looked straightforward.  So around went the clothes.  Then the drier.  As I reached for a Bounce sheet, I had the niggly feeling that I hadn’t put anything of a similar nature into the washer, such as detergent.  Sadly, I was correct.  My T-shirts  and shorts were very wet and still stinky.  So back into the washer they went.

I like my brain, even when I forget stuff, like standing in the basement wondering why I’m there.  I mean, who wants a totally efficient mind?  If I was focused all the time, there wouldn’t be any room to contemplate life, death and the universe.

In the afternoon, I went to see Taiko drummers at the Japanese Garden in Lethbridge – eleven women and one man who smashed the heck out of the skins atop two-foot-high wooden drums which looked like giant teacups without the handles.  The fellow especially gave it his all.  His whole body moved to the rhythms of his sticks.  Wide stance, trance-like facial expressions, small Japanese words slipping out of his mouth.  I couldn’t take my eyes off him.  The women were in their 40’s to 60’s, I’d say, and you could see the exhaustion on their faces at the end of a piece.  All sorts of rhythms from the different drummers.  Quiet tappings that grew into thrusts of power and back again.  I was gone into the music.  Thank you, Taiko folks.

And then there was the peace of the garden.  Gently curving paths. Gently curving grassy slopes.  A reflection pond hosting pagoda statues.  A four-foot-high copper gong that I rang with an oiled horizontal post.  Then I held the gong for a couple of minutes until the vibration died.  Sweet.

A family of five came towards me on the path.  I’d guess they were from India.  I asked them If they’d like me to take their picture.  “Of course.  Thank you.”  After I had done the deed, the girl of about ten smiled at me .. so fully, so lovingly, so much beyond the usual contact we have with each other.  Like the drumming, the outside flooded the inside.  Thank you, young lady.

I had a nice talk with the hostess at the visitor centre.  When I was about to leave, she asked if she could hug me.  So we did … for a long time.  Just holding – no tapping or crushing.  Lovely.

Veronica, Real and I went out to dinner at Luigi’s Pizza and Steak House in Lethbridge.  Our server was a nervous young man.  He tried describing the daily special but all he could manage was “chicken filet”.  Veronica told him, “Luigi’s has such a big menu.  It must be hard to keep track of it all.”  When he walked away from the table, I gave her the thumbs up.  That’s just what the world needs: compassion.

Back home again, Veronica and I sat for a bit on the deck.  We talked of the last hours of her mom Joan and my Jody.  Of letting go.  Of telling them that it was okay to go.  Wanting to be alone with our loved one as she died.  Four moist eyes embraced our loves in the dark of the evening.

Then it was time with Real and Veronica’s two dogs.  Luigi, a furry little white thing, lay in my lap, purring with my petting.  Riggs, a British bulldog, occupied my other hand with rubs.  So here and so now.

Today, I’m visiting my sister-in-law Nona’s dad Gordon in a nursing home before Scarlet guides me to Calgary.  I’m staying with my friend Isabelle and her husband … Bruce.  I don’t know.  Two Bruces in one house?  Could be trouble.

How I met Isabelle is another story.  Tomorrow.

Day Seven … 1975 and 1324

I roamed around Lethbridge yesterday in Scarlet.  Many of my musings were about my first wife Rita.  We were married for seven years and divorced in 1985.  And on August 9, I’ll be visiting her and her husband Dave near Vancouver.  I’m so glad that we’re still friends.

I think it was for two years (1975-1977) that Rita and I slept on a single bed in a residence room at the University of Lethbridge.  Now that’s true love!  We worked hard, training to be teachers, and laughed a lot.  We had great friends in the residence and out.  I remember setting up a table and having meals on a stairwell landing.  I remember shooting the breeze in the cafeteria, and sometimes having profs sit down to chat.

I roamed University Hall yesterday and reminisced.  The U of L is a long, dramatic building set into the coulees – hills that slope down from the prairie to the Old Man River 300 feet below.  In the winter, with a dusting of snow, the coulees past the far shore looked like people sleeping under blankets.  Cool.  I remember Rita and I sometimes not leaving the university for a month or more when it was super cold outside.

I descended from the main level 6 down a stairwell that held the ghosts of dinners, and pulled on the door to section D4, our old sleeping place.  Locked.  Protected from intruders and my memories.  I went into a lecture hall … yes, I remember.  And sat in what’s left of the cafeteria.  Hi, Rita.

Where to next, Bruce?  How about the home that Rita and I bought in 1978 (for $48,000!)  It was a lovely two bedroom sanctuary with white metal siding and a great shade tree in the backyard.  1324 7th Ave. South.  I held my breath as I rounded the corner a block away.  And there was my old friend, now adorned with a bright red front door, which looked great.  I parked on the street by the side of my no-longer-home, just like I did every night 35 years ago.

***

Another pleasant interlude.  Ray just came in from the yard and we got talking.  For some reason, he referred to himself as “nonchalant”.  Being the shy type, I thought of not sharing the following, but the imp in me couldn’t resist.  “Have you ever thought, Ray, about what a chalant person is like?  I’ve roamed the world and never come across one yet.”  (Smile from Jody’s uncle)  Okay, enough said, which will definitely be my stance on September 12 when I begin that long silent meditation retreat.  But I regress …

***

I walked up the front sidewalk and knocked on that red door.  Dad and I had installed it long ago.  I had attached the big wooden 1 3 2 4 numbers that adorned the siding to the left of the door.  Oh, what a handy fellow I was!

A young man opened the door.  I smiled and told him my story.  He smiled back and invited me in.  I met his wife and went on about Mom and Dad visiting Rita and me from Ontario, and Dad and I building the cedar fence to enclose the backyard.  Dad was the brains and I was the brawn.  Hmm … or maybe Dad was both the brains and brawn, and I hammered a few nails.  I recollected Rita and I sitting in the cozy living room.  I told the young folks that I had planted the Russian olive trees that graced the side yard … trees which now showed personal growth from 3 feet to 20.  I loved the few minutes in my old home.

I walked outside and strolled towards our fence.  I put my hand on a board and remembered my father.  “You did a good job, Dad.  Thank you for being here with me.”  Some tears.  I was a pretty good son to Mom and Dad but I could have been a lot better.  “So forgive yourself, Bruce.”  Yes.

Quite the journey …these lives of ours.  I’m glad I’m along for the ride.

Day Five … R and R

Scarlet, I hope you enjoyed your day off yesterday.  You looked so content, sitting in front of Henry and Louise’s place all day.  And don’t worry about me – I had a great time, which for me means that I was with people.  Henry and Louise are golden.  The bodies look older and a little more uncooperative but the bigness of heart is right there for all to see.

In 1972, Henry was quite the joker.  Me too.  We were great roommates.  In 2015, Henry still has a surprise or two up his sleeve:

“Bruce, are you a swinger?”

(Gulp)

“Let’s go swing.”

Henry leads me around a corner of a building in his backyard, carrying two photo albums.  And … Voilà! … There sits a big wooden swing that could rock four people comfortably.  We sit down beside each other and start looking at my friends’ wedding photos.  Louise and Henry look radiant.  I point out the ones I like, and the ones I don’t, composition-wise.  There’s a shot of Henry and Louise, his arm around her waist, in front of candles and their wedding cake, smiling at someone to the photographer’s right.  There’s a yellow curtain behind Henry’s head and the photographer made sure that the top edge of the curtain isn’t in line with the top of his head.  I’m proud of that picture.  I was the photographer.  A little bit of pride never hurt anyone, I figure.

The three of us spent a couple of hours leafing through albums.  What fun.  There’s a photo of me at a 60’s party in 1972 in Ottawa, dancing with my friend Glenda.  My hair is brown (pretty much like it is today), long and very curly.  I’m wearing hornrimmed glasses.  My tongue has emerged from its cave.  Oh my God, that’s me!

Another pic shows a lovely young girl of about 10, flowing black hair, lipstick, a long sleeveless dark blue dress, and strings of white pearls.  So pretty.  Except it was a boy.  Adam, my friends’ grandson, had dressed up for a school costume party.  Adam’s mom Paulette was apparently thrilled with his disguise and the school principal didn’t bat an eye.  I like it.

In the afternoon, Henry and I went out and about in his Dodge Ram, supposedly to pick up some garlic bread for supper, but really to talk and have him show me the homes he’s built in Weyburn, and other sights.  They included the mental hospital that recently was torn down, in favour of more community-based care.  The site was now the beginnings of a new subdivision but somehow I felt the presence of ghosts … a lot of anguished human beings.

At the grocery store, the cashier had an accent, and Henry prodded gently for her origin, a big smile covering his face.  At first the woman resisted his advances (“Your total is …”) but soon they were talking in French and she was sharing her German heritage.  Gosh, Henry is a lot like me in the grocery lineup.

Back at home, Henry saw his neighbour in the driveway, so we went over to shoot the breeze.  Nice guy, with a story to tell.  He had been driving near Weyburn when a tornado touched down.  He and his truck were on the edge of it and the two of them were buffetted pretty good.  “I was scared.”  Afterwards, this fellow saw a house that had been invaded by plywood.  Sheets of it had been thrown by the wind through a wall, the edges cutting like a knife through butter.  Gulp again.

***

It’s 8:00 am and I’m sitting in the living room tapping with my digits.  Louise is yawning towards me.  It’s drizzling outside.  “Henry’s out watering the garden again.”  He always says that to her during a rain.  So funny.

***

Last evening we had a delicious dinner of chicken, potatoes and beans, two of which were from Louise’s garden.  Plus excellent garlic bread that someone had no doubt spent hours preparing.  Not to mention two ice cream cones offered to the visitor from Ontario.  Who am I to refuse such hospitality?

It was family time.

Love Floats By

In the late 80’s, I was a waiter at a fancy restaurant in Lethbridge, Alberta.  I was engaged to Jody and loved her very much.  But I loved another woman as well, not sexually but as friends.  Marianne worked at the restaurant too.  One night a group of us went out dancing after our shift.  And I got to dance to “The Lady In Red” with Marianne.  We were quiet together, just holding each other.  It was tender.

It’s been at least ten years since I’ve seen Marianne.  She’s married and happy in Lethbridge.  I phoned her a few months ago to tell her that I’m coming west this summer and that I’d love to see her.  Answering machine.  And in the weeks that stretched away … no response.  So I phoned again.  Answering machine.  No response.  And that scenario has repeated itself several times.

Do I let Marianne go or show up at her door?  The Buddhist in me says to let her go.  She’s on her path and it looks like it’s not going to intersect with mine again.  But then there’s the part of me that wants to thank her for being kind to me all those years ago, and wants to hang out again.  I don’t know what to do.  I’ll be in her neighbourhood for four days.  How strange it would feel to not even try.

There won’t be a resolution in my mind tonight.  I’ll just let the discomfort and uncertainty sit there … all the way to Lethbridge.  There’s no right answer to this.  My love for Marianne is still there.  Maybe her response is not important.  Maybe what goes out from me is all that matters.  What comes back is through the grace of God.

High Five

I went to the celebration of Canada’s birthday yesterday, in a leafy and meadowy riverside park in London.  Here were my highlights:

1.  As I sat in front of the stage grooving to a 13-year-old girl belting out the tunes of Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra, along came a white version of Star Wars’ Darth Vader.  He was on a unicycle, pushing his young son in a stroller.  A tall post came up from the vehicle, with our Canadian flag flapping madly as the pair of them zoomed by.  Then they returned to listen to the young diva.  I was awestruck.  He had such presence, such a shining light among thousands of spectators in their lawn chairs.  The gentleman was creating vivid memories for the boy.  Well done.

2.  As the next act came onstage, with their high-energy beat, up walked a skinny guy wearing baggy bluejeans, T-shirt and a glittery green hat, complete with flashing lights.  He wasn’t a handsome man.  But oh, could he dance!  Didn’t give a hoot about being the only dancer or about the huge glom of onlookers.  The big smile on his face said it all.  And that’s what makes people beautiful, I’d say.  Well done.

3.  A muscular man in a white T-shirt rushed towards Cheryl Lescom, the last act of the night.  They talked briefly.  His little boy was lost.  And the pain was everywhere on his face.  Red-shirted volunteers sprang into action as Cheryl announced the disappearance.  Five minutes later,  a young woman in red appeared near the stage, holding Dalton on her hip.  She bounced him gently and talked to the young missing one.  Soon dad was sprinting to the front for a reunion.  Tears hung nearby.  Well done, everyone.

4.  Cheryl Lescom, a blues and rock singer, blasted out her songs for a good hour.  It was great to see someone move her body all around as she sang – a woman probably in her 50s with some meat on her bones and a passion for great lyrics and the power of the voice.  “Proud Mary”, “Me and Bobby McGee” and “The Hippy, Hippy Shake” rocked the park indeed.  Well done.

5.  10:00 pm.  Fireworks that took my breath away.  Huge circular explosions of colour, twisty ones heading diagonally into the heavens, and an rip-roaring finale created thousands of clapping hands.  Jody was beside me, oohing and ahhing with her husband.  “Oh Bruce, they’re so beautiful.  Thank you for bringing me.”  “You’re most welcome, Jodiette.”  I cried.

Five to remember

Another Celebration of Life

In January, I hosted a Celebration of Life for my dear Jodiette at the Bellamere Winery in London.  It was a sweet couple of hours … chairs set up theatre-style, people coming to the front to talk about my loved one, music videos, a light buffet lunch afterwards.  Love filled the room.

This afternoon, I went to another Celebration of Life, at the International Hotel in Leamington, Ontario.  Jim Brundritt was a mailman, a jokester, and a rollicking good friend and dad.  His daughter Kym knew that a local bar was the perfect place for Jim’s celebration because he loved to party.  And the Jody Raffoul Band was rockin’ at the front of the room.

There I was, bellied up to the bar, playing table piano as Jody did his vocals.  I loved it.  Never missed a note.  And all around me were big smiles and multi-hugs.  Jim’s friends and family were out in force, and the biggest smile, I’m sure, belonged to the guest of honour.  Often Jody (of the he, not my darling she) would mention Jim, and the beer bottles were hoisted high.  Clink!  The wardrobe was mostly T-shirts and ball caps rather than the more formal dress at Jodiette’s day, but it was all the same … love and remembrance of a great human being.

I hugged Kym.  I drank beer.  And I played the keyboard until my fingers dropped off.  Here’s to you, Jim.  And here’s to my dear wife.  Maybe the two of them are jiving on that upper dance floor.