Five hundred more copies of Jody’s book arrived on my doorstop this afternoon.  And this e-mail from Chapters South in London showed up in my Inbox:

“I am very interested in having you in the store to do a signing or two.”

Assorted thoughts now proceed from my brain:

1.  Get a grip, Bruce.  You’re not going to become famous.  You’re just going to sign a few books.

2.  Fame sounds like a pain in the ass.  You’d have no life.

3.  I want our story to reach the hearts of people far and wide.  How exactly do I do that?

4.  There’s no time for book signings.  On July 21, I’m heading off on a six-week road trip to Western Canada.  Then home for a week, followed by a very long meditation retreat in Massachusetts.  See?  No time.

5.  Think of all the folks I could meet in the store.  I love talking to people.

6.  What if nobody came?  What would that do to me?

7.  It’s not like Jodiette: My Lovely Wife is a novel or anything.  I just wrote a lot of e-mails and blog posts and strung them together into a book.

8.  But it’s a good story, of two human beings who love each other deeply, who suffered and joyed together.

9.  I don’t want this to be about ego.  It’s not “Oh, what a good boy am I.”

10.  Jody touched so many people in her life – friends, family, patients, colleagues.  Now she’s opening the hearts of readers after her death.

11.  What exactly am I going to do with the rest of my life?  Whatever it is, I’ll be with people.

12.  Will a publisher pick up our book so that readers across the globe can be nudged a little closer to their loved ones?

13.  What are you blathering on about?  Pick some other topic for today’s post.

14.  On the front cover, Jody is looking deep into the soul of whomever’s holding the book.

15.  Stay on topic, Bruce.  Corral your thoughts into some coherent whole.

16.  Who am I?

17.  One woman told me that she read our book and now her mom has started it.  And her daughter is waiting in line.

18.  It’s just a book … 190 pages of large type.  No photos.  It’s ordinary.

19.  Me, sitting at a table, watching a line of book holders approach?  (No, no.  There won’t be a line.)

20.  Why don’t I just meditate for awhile?  You know, the silent stuff.

21.  Whew, sigh, hmm, and other short expressions of the unknown


Tomorrow I’m going to write about golf

Now, and Again Now

Here I sit in my man chair.  Will I lean forward, hoping for a fine result in the next moment?  Will I turn away from current pain, not wanting it to continue?  Or will I just sit, letting whatever’s here be here?  I like that last choice.  So let’s see where the moments take me.

1.  I’m looking at Jody’s face on the cover of the third proof of her book.  I’m happy.  She looks great.

2.  I’m listening to my breath.  No wheeze.  No coughing.  On one level, that’s good.  On another, it’s just breathing.

3.  I’m closing my eyes.  My belt is tight against my stomach.  Some discomfort.

4.  I’m closing my eyes again.  Eyelids very heavy.  Thinking of my bed.

5.  Hard for me to type with my eyes closed, me not being an ace touch typist.

6.  I hear the oven doing its groinks, as the chicken works its way towards edibility.

7.  I look at the poster of Jody on the wall, her in her wedding dress, beaming.  I smile.

8.  I think of Thursday, when I’ll get into Hugo and set off for Massachusetts, and a nine-day meditation retreat.  Another smile.

9.  Oven timer goes off.  Excuse me, I’ll be right back.

10.  Can’t smell the chicken because of the cold.  Sure looks good.

11.  I made myself a cup of tea – Cinnamon Spice.  The cup overflowed.  Sipped it down a bit.  Hot on the lips.  Wiped up the spill.

12.  The house is silent.  So am I.

13.  I feel my breath catch.  I recognize it as the body showing me a pre-cough.

14.  Breathing smoothly again.  Happy.

15.  I ask myself, “Will I be well by Thursday?”  Strangely, I see that I’m fine with both a “yes” and a “no”.

16.  I notice the PVR humming softly.  I notice that I don’t like the sound.  Oh well.

17.  I think about whether I will ever again have a partner in life.  I hope so.  But I know it’ll be okay if I don’t.

18.  I rub the rough patch on my forehead, and smile when I see that I want my body to be perfectly smooth.  Good luck on that, guy.

19.  I look at the statue of the Buddha that sits on the hassock nearby, facing me.  A companion for the last three years.  Feel bad (a little) that I can’t sit that way.  Happy that he’s here.

20.  I miss Jody, and my eyes dampen.  Oh, my dear wife.

21.  I realize that Jody’s coming to Massachusetts with me.  My eyes are still wet.  Thank you, my dear.  “You’re very welcome, husband.  You and me.”

22.  No sign of a cough.  So thankful for that.

23.  I remember that I haven’t saved any of this post yet.  Do so.  No judgment.

24.  I worry about not writing a post every day.  And I just watch the worry.  It’s okay.

25.  25 seems like a nice round number, don’t you think?


That was about half an hour of thoughts bubbling to the surface.  I’m so pleased that I didn’t get stuck ramping up the goods and bads into fullfledged drama.  But “so pleased” sounds like a pretty high energy “good”.  Guess I’ll continue to watch my thinkings with good humour.  A lovely thing to do on a sunny Saturday afternoon.