Tag Archives: Relationship

Lunch with Jody

Dear inspiring ones,

It’s been 13 days since I’ve probed my laptop keyboard with these digits … Wow.  First sentence and it feels like I just don’t have it.  But one of my joys in life is to communicate, so I will keep going.

Since Jody’s death, my life has been covered with crying, flatness, a pinched nerve in my neck, pain often about 6 or 7 out of 10, and the dullness that the pain meds have given me.  More importantly, this little life of mine has received a huge flow of love … face to face, on the phone, and in my Inbox.  Thank you for loving me.

Twenty-six of us shared a meal last Saturday.  Twenty-five told Jody stories, animated with great love.  The 26th human being cried a lot and couldn’t bring words forward into the group.  So … all of us let our inner heart shine.

At one point, I stood up and started singing “Annie’s Song”, a piece that I sung to Jody for 20 years or more.  A few words into the singing, my grief blanketed the phrases.  But people heard, and many of them continued the song.  “Like a night in the forest.  Like the mountains in springtime.”  I’ve always added a special verse, but after “May the road rise to meet you”, everything tightened again.  And once more, kind souls held me with their singing.  How blessed I am to receive such love.

Julie, our family doctor, spoke of how well prepared Jody was for her appointments, armed with pertinent questions about her medical well-being. Many folks reflected on Jody’s smile, and on how she brightened their day.  It was family around the dinner table.

I played a YouTube video of Cyndi Lauper singing “True Colors”, one of Jody’s favourites.  She loved singing it with the SingStar microphone poised by her lips.  I see the song as a request from Jody to all who loved, and love, her.  “Of course you have tears for me.  May your smile return soon.  I love you because you show me what’s true for you.  You speak and act as an expression of the great soul you are.  I’m so glad you do that.”

Wow. I’m all drugged up.  I sure wouldn’t want this to be my daily life.  I think I’ve had enough writing for today.  But it is a blessing for me to speak with you again.

Oh, one more thing.  I said in my last e-mail that I’d respond to all of the messages I received after Jody went back into the hospital.  There’s about 300 of them, and I’ve said hi to 25.  I expect that I’ll get a few e-mails saying “Don’t bother.  Take care of yourself.”  The thing is, though, talking to you is taking care of myself.  So I will write to all of you who wrote me.  Just not right now.  Is answering an e-mail a month after I got it too weird?  Oh well.

Second more thing. I’m going to Cuba for two weeks, from December 5 till December 19.  I’m going alone.  Haven’t gone on a vacation by myself since my 20s.  The hotel didn’t even charge me a single supplement.  Yay!  I’ll be staying at the Memories Paraiso Azul Beach Resort, on Cayo Santa Maria, an island just off the northern coast of Cuba.  For part of my time there, I will be silent.  A lovely meditation retreat on the beach, on the jungle paths, in the dining room.  For another part of the time, I will be anything but silent.  I love talking, and I’m going to gab with all sorts of folks from all sorts of Canada, Cuba and the world.  Jody thinks it’s a great idea.  Me too.

And the third more thing.  Jody’s Celebration of Life will be held at 11:00 am on Saturday, January 31, 2015, at the Bellamere Winery in the northwest corner of London.  For all of you within easy travel, I hope you’ll come, and perhaps speak of my lovely wife.  Our room has beams and panels of vibrantly brown wood, with a vaulted ceiling animated by tiny chandeliers.  A good space for honouring Jodiette.

I will talk to you soon.  Travel well.

I love you all,

Bruce

People Floating Into My Life

Whatever joy there is in this world
All comes from desiring others to be happy
And whatever suffering there is in this world
All comes from wanting pleasure for myself

I was pretty worn out this morning, watching Jody decline, and sensing that I’m losing the love of my life, at least on this physical plane.  I needed to get her some meds, plus we were low on groceries, so I headed off to Costco.

First, though, was Shoppers Home Health Care.  I was looking for absorbent underwear that held liquid better than the generic brand we’d tried.  As I trundled in, a woman greeted me with an all encompassing smile.  “I can tell a happy person the moment they open the door,” she said.  “Well,” I replied, smiling, “Maybe I’d better come in again.”  So I walked out and I walked in, putting on the grumpiest face I could find.  “I want service!”  “Doesn’t work, guy.  Your eyes give you away.”

Thank you, my new friend.  I’m so sorry that I can’t remember your name. I’ll find out next time.

So on to Costco.  As I sat by the snack bar, eating my decadent turkey and provolone sandwich, a familiar face was pushing her cart past me.  She looked.  I looked.  She smiled.  I smiled.  It was Julia, our hairstylist.  There hasn’t been any haircutting in the Kerr family for the past ten months, and I was so glad to see Julia.  We gave each other a gentle hug.  “I miss Jody so much, and I love both of you,” the words having trouble making their way past the tears.

Thank you, my old friend.  Someday you’ll be cutting my hair again.

Watching this was Joanne, a woman who sits at a kiosk, trying to sell furnaces.  I walked over and she came towards me with a hug posted special delivery.  “I read all of your e-mails and I think of you and Jody a lot.”  And we talked about how my lovely wife is doing.

Thank you, o standing-on-your-feet-at-all-times saleswoman who cares so much about a woman she’s never met.

The e-mails that Joanne mentioned are weekly updates about Jody.  I’ve been writing them since November, 2013 and there are about 300 addresses who receive them.  I figure that over seven hundred human beings are praying for a miracle.  So lovely.

I was just about to get up post-sandwich when Pen, one of the Costco employees, walks by me, touches my shoulder, and says “Hi, you.”  And hi back to you, Pen.

So many people to love

All Beings Near and Far

In metta, or lovingkindness meditation, I wish wellness for myself and other beings.  Here are the forms of the Buddha’s phrases that I use:

May you be free from danger
May you be happy
May you be healthy
May you live with ease

But who is the “you” of which I speak?  The Buddha suggested several pairings of people, and the one that resonates most deeply with me is “all beings near and far”.

Among the human beings whom I know and love, most are close by – in the London area.  Of those, some I see a lot, some rarely.  Even if they don’t come within my sight for weeks on end, I know they’re nearby.  And that comforts me.

Some of my loved ones are far away … Alberta, Connecticut, Nova Scotia, … But still they are near.  They truly live in my heart, and I carry that fine organ around with me every day.  Physical proximity is merely a part of communion, and totally optional.

Some beings whom I love are dead in this reality but still so intensely real to me.  Friends, mentors, family – all still companions on the way.

And what is far?  I guess that’s folks whom I’ve never met, whether they live around the block or around the globe.  I have no sense of them as individuals.  And yet how could they possibly be different in essence from those whose lives I’ve shared?  Do I somehow know them?

Readers from 35 countries have tuned in to my WordPress blog.  Places that are indeed foreign to me, such as Uruguay, the Philippines and Russia.  But the folks who have read my words are certainly not foreign.  I do know them. And they know me. It’s just not important that we’ll likely never meet in this lifetime.

Hey, maybe you’re all near to me.  I think so.  And I wish you well.

Flower

Seeing beauty in a flower could awaken humans, however briefly, to the beauty that is an essential part of their own innermost being, their true nature … Flowers would become for us an expression in form of that which is most high, most sacred, and ultimately formless within ourselves.  Flowers, more fleeting, more ethereal, and more delicate than the plants out of which they emerged, would become like messengers from another realm, like a bridge between the world of physical forms and the formless.  They not only had a scent that was delicate and pleasing to humans, but also brought a fragrance from the realm of spirit.

So well said.

A lovely pink orchid sits on the computer desk facing Jody’s bed. Its stem arches in a question mark and the blossom bows to the earth.  It’s a blossom whose time is nearly done but it has given us joy for months.  Soon it will fall, in its own time.

In the mountains of long ago, three flowers beckoned me.  When I arrived in Waterton Lakes National Park each June, the meadows glistened with beargrass.  Tall stalks supported a glorious head of countless tiny white flowers.  They waved in the wind, greeting me as I emerged from the woods.

In Rowe Meadow, as the snows receded, glacier lilies popped through the drifts.  Like Jody’s lily, these precious yellow beings lowered their petals toward the ground.

Later in the summer, on the ridge of Mount Lineham, I found tiny clumps of alpine forget-me-nots.  Only a couple of inches high, these blue ones beckoned me to kneel down and gaze into the centre of it all … some hearts of yellow, some pink.

Now, as winter approaches, blooms are still with me.  I have a program called “Flower” on my PlayStation 3.  Closed buds open graciously as I swoop the controller low over the land.  And I am happy.

There’s a Lot In-Store

I was out doing errands this afternoon and two of the stores I visited hit me hard.  Jody needed a small piece of foam to provide cushioning between sores on her chin and chest.  Our VON nurse Henry suggested the dollar store.  So I walked into Dollar Tree shortly after noon.  It had been years since I’d been in such a place and I was eager to see what’s what.

The overhead lights were really bright.  Oh well.  Lots of stores are like that. Then I started down an aisle.  I intended to scan all the offerings on either side, looking for foam or sponge or something that would give my dear wife relief.  Instead I stopped halfway down.  I felt assaulted by neon bags everywhere, hanging on hooks to a height of seven feet or so, screaming their brilliant rainbow selves at me.  I expelled some air in a ghastly cloud of revulsion.  And any spiritual energy that was bubbling inside me leaked out too.

Shoulders slumped and soul depleted, I wandered down corridor after corridor, trying to see what was in those bags.  Eventually, eight sponges of the genus red, blue and yellow drew my eye, if nothing else.  “That’ll do,” I muttered.  And $1.25 plus tax later, I escaped.  Exhausted.

“Just a little sensitive are you, big boy?” a voice inside intoned. Well, I guess I am.

Farther along on my travels, I needed to go to OK Tire to have Scarlet’s lugnuts tightened after the switch to winter tires a couple of days ago.  I opened the door onto a lower light situation.  No shouting bags, just some tire posters plus a few stackable chairs beside a serviceable coffee table.  But then there was Brian standing behind the counter.  A huge smile lit his face, and it got even bigger when I shared “I’m here to have my nuts tightened.”

I first came into OK Tire a few months ago, with a nail problem. Brian greeted me like royalty.  Glad to see me, whether the bill ended up being $20.00 or 980.  Brian is just folks.  I had been a Costco Tire Centre customer up until then, and those service reps were fine, but none of them shone like Brian does.  It is so worth it to me to spend maybe 10% more at OK, as long as I get Brian’s chuckles and soul.

Sort of a yin and yang afternoon.  There’s certainly a place for both shops, but only one feels like home.

Coming, Joining, Going

In July, 2013, I spent a week at the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts, on a silent retreat.  Every afternoon, we had  a long enough break for me to walk a three-mile loop road from the centre.

Early in the week, I found myself really attracted to a woman named Karen. She and I were in the same small group interviews with each of the teachers. The way those interviews were set up, you only talked to the teacher.  So I hadn’t said a word to Karen.

One day, as I was setting out on my walk from the front door of the centre, doing my usual right-to-left loop route, I noticed Karen starting to walk down the circular driveway, heading to the left.  I wondered if she was going to do the loop.  If so, we’d meet about halfway.

I wasn’t very mindful as I passed fields and woodlots, unless you’d include being mindful of Karen’s (!) possible approach.  During the middle of the walk, there’s a long straight stretch. As I curved left to start that section, I looked way ahead.  A tiny figure was on the road, hundreds of yards away. And then a little less tiny.  And then someone definitely wearing a wide-brimmed hat, like I had seen on Karen’s head at the beginning.

Closer still .. and that was Karen.  One hundred yards.  Finally, as we approached each other, I brought my palms together in front of my chest, smiled, made eye contact, and bowed.  She smiled back and bowed to me. And then … poof!  We were gone our separate ways.

At the end of the retreat, we spoke for a few minutes.  Neither of us mentioned our moment of contact.  She told me about the summer program at the Omega Institute in New York State and said that, who knows, we might see each other there someday.  I agreed.

And that was it.  No last names.  No e-mail addresses.  Probably no ever again.  But we touched each other’s lives.  That I know.  The bow was enough.

Just For Fun

I went to Costco today to pick up some meds for Jody, grab some groceries, and have my traditional hot dog and Diet Coke.  Only $1.60!  At the snack bar, I’m used to lining up on the left, telling one employee what I want, and then receiving the goods at the right end of the counter.  Well, that’s okay, but how about shaking things up a bit?  For a second, there was no lineup.  I entered on the right and gave my order to the staff person at the till, and then proceeded leftward.  I handed my ten dollar bill over a high display case to a woman who was preparing a baked prosciutto sandwich.  She vaguely reached out her hand to me before realizing that this was all wrong.  I moved to the far left end of the counter, waiting for someone to take my money. Meanwhile, two women wanted to start a line but were blocked by my stationariness.  Big smiles from them – they knew what was happening.  I scanned the employees’ faces and there was no shortage of smiles there either.  Boy, that was fun.

I’d like to say it was the first time I’d done something weird like this, but that would be an untruth.  In 1986, I was a waiter at Fiddler’s, a high end restaurant in Lethbridge, Alberta.  One Sunday afternoon, at a staff party, we decided to have a slow pitch game in a local park.  My turn at bat.  Just for fun, I hit the ball to the outfield and ran like hell to third base.  Seeing the left fielder still chasing the ball, I turned the corner and sprinted for second. Now the fielder was up and throwing.  Faster than a speeding bullet, I motored to first base and slid under the tag of my astonished opponent.  I stood up, brushed myself off, and grinned.  Some of my teammates were laughing.  The more competitive types were glaring.  But heck, it’s called a “game”, isn’t it?

Eleven years later, I got a part-time teaching job at an elementary school.  As well as my main duties, I had to cover a Grade 1 class for one period a week. Usually I read the kids a story.  They’d fan out in front of me on the carpet, and I’d rock contentedly in the teacher’s chair.  One day, I picked a book whose story I knew well.  I turned the book upside down and started “reading”, flipping the pages with authority.  Most kids looked pretty blank. But a young boy named Paul in the front row started pointing at the book. “No, no, Mr. Kerr.  The book is upside down!”  “That’s okay,” I replied, and kept on with the story.  Poor Paul.  Some week later, I branched out.  I opened the book to the last page, and read sentence by sentence from back to front.  Totally incomprehensible, but such a good time.  Even Paul, who stood up, pointed and protested, eventually enjoyed the show.

Is there some deep meaning in what I did?  Probably not.  But why are my memories of these three moments so rich and indelible?

Donna and Pete

During the summer of 2012, Jody and I spent two weeks visiting her brother Lance, our sister-in-law Nona, and their three boys – Jaxon, Jagger and Jace. They live in the village of Longview, Alberta, in the foothills of the Rockies southwest of Calgary.

We had a great time, camping in the Kananaskis, hiking in the mountains, sitting around watching TV, and talking at exquisite length to people we love.  I wanted to spend some time on my own as well, and so dipsydoodled around Longview to see what’s what and who’s where.

I wandered into a gift shop on Main St., and was thoroughly welcomed by the woman behind the counter.  She was Donna.  We just fell into conversation as if we’d been bosom buddies since the beginning of time.  We talked Alberta and we talked art, since she was selling originals and prints done by a local artist, Bernie Brown.  I ended up buying a drawing that showed a medicine man in mid-dance, but that wasn’t the important thing.  Donna was important.  She glowed.  It didn’t matter the topic – she breathed life into every word, and the wrinkles by her eyes got a workout.  Other folks came into the store and she lighted up with them as well, drawing out their humanity and humour with ease.  Then she’d chat with me some more. Ahhh.  I went back to visit her two more times.  Such a pleasure.

One day, Jody and I were walking along a residential street when along comes a gentleman dressed up cowboy, complete with a ten-gallon hat.  He was smiling at us from way back.  And then we to him.  He was Pete.  As we got near each other, I noticed that he had a large pink price tag on the toe of one boot.  After a few minutes of good-natured Easterner razzing on Pete’s part (and a similar repartee from Jody and me), I decided to broach the footwear topic.  “Oh, that.  Still haven’t decided if I want to keep these boots so I left the sticker right where it was, for an easy return if need be.”  We laughed. He laughed.  Pete became an instant friend.

Later in the week, I was sitting on the front deck of a bar on Main St., having an orange juice (or some reasonable facsimile), when I spied Pete strolling along on the sidewalk across the street.  He spotted me too, and started waving madly.  I naturally waved back, and yelled “Hi, Pete”.  Neither he nor I was remotely troubled by the looks we received from the other sunning patrons.  Truly, who cares?

The following week, having found out where Pete lived, I knocked on his front door.  How did he respond to the unscheduled visitor?  “Come on in.” (Big smile)  He was preparing supper and listening to the day’s rodeo on the radio.  Sure, he wanted to hear the results of the bull riding and the bronco busting, but he kept me and our conversation front and centre in his brain. So very much like himself.

So .. friends around every corner?  I think so.  Just gotta say “Hi”.

 

Many Over the Land

I was driving back from south London’s Costco this afternoon, having accumulated a good share of groceries and meds for Jody.  After rounding the Glanworth Curve, I saw some dots of white far up on the right.  As I got closer, I saw that the dots were seagulls, feeding on the dark brown of a farmer’s field.  Perhaps a thousand of them.  I was struck by the beauty, by the white and brown contrast, and by something else.  Something unspoken but so clearly present in the moment.  All these beings on God’s brown earth.

Five minutes later, far up on the left, was an orange stippling of the ground. Soon I could see that pumpkins protected part of another field.  The contrast this time was orange on brown, but no less lovely.  The gourds were another type of being, resting gently on the soil, waiting for pies and Jack O’ Lanterns.  Struck again.

Why did these displays draw me so?  And why did they happen one after the other?

My brain transported me back to 1992.  October.  The sixth game of the World Series, between the Atlanta Braves and my beloved Toronto Blue Jays.  I and 47,000 other faithful showed up at the SkyDome to watch the festivities. Except there was no baseball in Toronto that day, nothing happening on the field.  The game was in Atlanta, and we were watching it on the JumboTron.  I spent a lot of time looking at my fellow parishioners, worshipping at the shrine of the slider and the long ball.  Look at all of us, watching TV!  I loved them a bit.  They were my family of the evening.  And the moving sway of multicoloured dots filled nearly every seat.

As Mike Timlin threw the ball to first for the final out, we rose as one body, cheering and high fiving … the Blue Jays had won their first ever World Series.  Minutes later, maybe 20,000 of us were walking noisily up Yonge St. Such a flow.  Such joy.  And no looting, no overturned cars.  I walked north for the seven miles it took to get home, feeling the loss of the folks who turned left here and turned right there.  Family.

During the summer of 2008, Jody and I took the train to Quebec City to help celebrate the city’s 400th anniversary.  We decided to go see an evening concert on the Plains of Abraham, the site where the British defeated the French in 1759.  “Simple Plan” was playing.  We started up the trail which left the boardwalk by the Chateau Frontenac Hotel.  As we climbed higher, we could hear the band above us.  Finally it felt like the next rise would be our last … and it was.  As we reached the peak, we gazed down at a tiny stage very far away.  Between us and the band sat and stood and danced 100,000 people. So said the paper the next day.  Knolls of folks.  Meadows of folks.  A rolling blanket of humanity scattered on the plain.  I was struck dumb.  The music was fine but the spirit among us was … big.  So infinitely big.  I rocked and rolled inside my soul for hours.

Seagulls, pumpkins, baseball fans and concertgoers – spreading out to cover the planet.

The Five Precepts

The Buddha had some pretty good ideas about how to lead a life.  Much of his wisdom focused on what he called the five precepts.  Here they are:

Do no harm to anyone
Take nothing that is not freely given
Speak truthfully and helpfully
Use my sexual energy wisely
And keep my mind clear

Can my happiness really be as simple as this?   Maybe I don’t have to read 1000-page texts written centuries ago.  Maybe I don’t have to dedicate an hour or more a day to formal sitting meditation practice.  Maybe I don’t have to remember a single phrase of liberated understanding.  How about if I just do five little things?

***

Don’t hurt anyone or anything.  Not even an insect.  Not even someone who talks rudely to me.  Not even someone who sees me as a “thing” to be ignored or brushed past.  Don’t get angry.  Don’t get even.  Love the transgressor as the victim they are.

Don’t misuse other people’s property or time.  Allow them to come towards me if they choose, and to stay away if that better meets their needs.  If they love someone else far more than loving me, even if I deeply desire that love, have that be okay.

Let go of the words of anger (antagonism, outrage, hatred, impatience, resentment, …) and deception (falsehood, hypocrisy, trickery, craftiness, guile, …) and embrace the words of love (tenderness, appreciation, fondness, cherishing, friendship, …) and kindness (altruism, sweetness, good will, gentleness, benevolence, …).

Let my erotica be I-Thou, you more than me, companions, making love, connection, transparency, without boundary, pleasuring, enfolding, caressing, allowing, joining and giving.

No Coors Light, no Cabernet Merlot, no Mai Tai, no shot glasses, no pitchers, no carafes, no woozy, no tipsy, no plastered.

***

Smart guy