Joyce, Oscar and Life Cycle Reality

Today is the yarzheit (memorial) of my dear friend Joyce. I look at her picture and I feel close…. so close.

Joyce was a wild woman! She laughed hysterically at times, and at other times settled into serious, sad conversations. She smoked cigarettes, drank a lot of alcohol, revelled in good food, good drink and just loved being with people she cared about. She cared about so many. Family was the most important part of her life, and so many people felt like ‘family’.

Joyce Daniels was my good friend. I met her while travelling in Trinidad in 1985.  I was there as a gift from another friend as payment for helping him get his resort established there. I did all the hiring for the resort from Toronto. The resort didn’t last very long. It was one of those places that looked spectacular from the pictures, and when you arrived it was actually a run down, cockroach infested place, with dirty swimming pools and not enough food at the buffet (all you can eat) kitchen.

Joyce chose that ‘all inclusive’ resort for herself and her family: Richard, her partner, and 3 kids, two daughters from her first marriage and one son from Richard’s. Though they had loads of money, Joyce was always open for a bargain, and as a travel agent and avid traveller she chose Trinidad as an adventure for that winter break. It was a big mistake from a comfort point of view, but I think we both agreed, we found each other via that experience. It was worth it.

At the time, Joyce and Rich were living together, not yet married. They were in the midst of the challenges of blending a family of children from previous marriages. They did so consciously and mindfully. They had money, which made travel and general living just a bit easier. Prior to meeting Richard, Joyce struggled to make ends meet. She was a teacher like I, working in the inner city schools in special needs, and immersing herself in the life issues of so many youth. I was a beginner teacher at the time, learning how to engage and still stay balanced.

I was a single parent of two young teen aged boys at the time, struggling with money, trying to keep my head above the proverbial waters, and still maintaining some sort of comfortable life for my boys.

She was smart too, delving into areas of realization that few others in my life would dare to go. Conversations about sex, childrearing, money challenges ... Joyce listened to me through my divorce, change of jobs, and varying ventures in my own life. She counselled, advised, encouraged and loved me unconditionally, and was there to share the love I eventually attained in my own life. My life, not so coincidentally, in many ways mirrored her life. Blending family, travelling extensively, absorbed in teaching, living alternatively, I feel the soul connection deeply.

Joyce was fun! Her laissez faire attitude towards life kept her smoking a pack of cigarettes a day and supported her desire to experiment and explore. With a conniving twinkle in her eye she would say, “Come on. Let’s just try this once.” She played hard that girl.

And, in her harsh, rough voice she would yell out “Asshole! What the fuck do you want from me?” She was crass and loud and involved and aware. She was curious and involved and, in a special way exhibited her New York self-absorbed attitude.

I flew to New York from Toronto to attend Joyce’s funeral, say good-bye to my dear friend and to comfort and be comforted by other friends and family there. It was an important time for me to connect with others who loved Joyce as I did. She has so many dear friends and an exceptionally closely-knit family. On my way home, while waiting to board my plane back to Toronto, my grandson Oscar was born.  How beautiful, I thought. My grandson enters this world as my loving and cherished friend leaves it. Oscar…may you have the depth of character, joy for life, and love for people that Joyce experienced in her life. May you dance, laugh, sing, work hard and play. May you love unconditionally, feel deeply, learn and explore as intensely. And, too, dear Oscar, may you have the love of life that my dear friend, Joyce Daniel left with us. Happy Birthday!

Halloween 2012

 I am grateful to my friend, Leita for informing me about the Celtic origins of Halloween. I have generally believed that Halloween is a meaningless and flippant holiday; one that I avoided. It is the cause of jokes now that our children have grown up totally scarred because they were never allowed to go out trick or treating or engage in Halloween activities. The fact is…. in our house…. Halloween didn’t exist. I suppose that caused some issues for our kids.

We saw some great movies on Halloween night when the boys were young. It was my only way to help them get through the Halloween excitement without engaging in the activities. We didn’t have a lot of money in those days. I remember consciously saving enough to take them out for the evening and avoid the trick or treaters knocking on our apartment door begging for candy. I, for one, looked forward to having that night away from the antics of the holiday and together, creating alternative experiences with my kids.

My children grew up in a Jewish home. Wearing costumes and pretending to be someone else happens on a holiday called Purim when the intention is to dress up like the characters of the story of Purim. Wearing costumes on Halloween had no particular cultural significance. And going from house to house, begging for candy, dressed in monster costumes or Batman, simply went against every idea about healthy eating and nutrition that I tried to model.

Halloween is a very scary time for some youth. I realized that when I was a middle school teacher in the inner city of Toronto. In the students’ journals, as Halloween approached, expressions of stress and worries about ‘being mugged’ or ‘attacked’ for candy became a common topic of note. Many of these youth came from other countries, wanting to fit in to the Canadian way. In adolescence they want nothing more than to be accepted in the social mores of the environment. For many, Halloween made no sense in their country of origin, and complying with the practice just became easier than fighting the mainstream.

In addition, Halloween became opportunity for danger. Stories of razor blades and poison in distributed food led to the termination of homemade, interesting desserts to share with neighbours. The holiday became, for many, opportunity for violence and horror! Even movies depicting frightening faces of vampires and monsters intended to scare and haunt the child psyche. Desensitization to murder, carnage and gore brutality becomes desirable and amusing. There’s something wrong with this picture! Especially in a world that struggles with war, urban violence, prejudice and teen bullying, we want to promote and model positive activities. We need to be way more loving and compassionate and kind. Those are the behaviours we want to model and highlight.

We were definitely the exception in our community in Toronto. Most people completely bought into the practices of Halloween. Making (or buying) costumes, purchasing bags and bags of Hershey’s or Cadbury to distribute, getting involved with Halloween parties, all became a part of the days leading up to October 31^st.

In my own classroom the challenge was to acknowledge the holiday and still respect the various cultures and religions that were represented in our learning environment. To represent the day, we would have a potluck lunch. Everybody had to bring food that was black or orange. Recently I have learned some interesting information about Halloween that opens me up to make more sense of this holiday.

A Pagan holiday in origin, it is said that October 31 is considered to be the identification of the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter or the 'darker half' of the year. The separation of the seasons is a time for change, ‘house cleaning’, preparation and inner reflection. It is time when many believe the ‘door’ to the otherworld opens allowing the souls of the dead to appear. It reminds me a bit about saying Yizkor and connecting to the loved ones in our lives who have passed. The Celtic holy day of Halloween is actually called Samhain (pronounced sow in). During the festivities people wore costumes to disguise themselves so they are unrecognizable from the evil spirits that could appear. Jack-o-lanterns, originally made from turnips, were carved and lit along the pathways for light and protection from the spirits. This was the last chance for these souls to seek vengeance on Earth before they were permanently settled in heaven. The trick or treating practice originated from the desire to distribute food to poor people who came to one’s house. Doing good and helping others, people believed, would save their souls.  Like Yom Kippur, it represents your ‘last chance’ for redemption.

There is also a Christian connection to Halloween, which many of us know as ‘All Hallows Eve’. Like the Celtics, it too is assumed that those spirits, who have not yet passed in to the Other World, use their last chance to make a presence in this world before they are moved on to Heaven.

I wish I had known more about Halloween while I was growing up and growing up my children. I’m not sure if it would have influenced me to practice the rituals for the holidays, but I do think I would have been much more forgiving of those who did.

Happy Halloween to all those who care…

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was more than two weeks ago already and I still feel in a place of thankfulness.

I feel it when one of my four daughters calls in the morning to say “Hi mom. I just want to let you know I’ve arrived home safely. How was your weekend?”

I feel it as I move about our outside living space and marvel at the choices I’ve made in my life. Our outside composting toilet naturally feeds our trees and flowers. I am blessed with the presence of Nature and I feel the joy of my surroundings that feed me.

I feel thankful as I walk towards the ferry on my way into town to get passport photos taken. Living on an island sometimes means making extra effort to acquire simple things. I feel separated from and also connected to the rest of the world.  On my way down the road I see a sign “Live Music Thursday”. I am grateful.

I feel it as I teach Yoga to the people who come to our weekly soup social. We talk sometimes in between our intentional breathing. We move and stretch and balance and focus within, and sometimes in between asanas, we share stories and tears and laughter. And always there is thanksgiving.

I feel it when I am able to share my gifts, further developing literacy skills with adults, helping high school dropouts acquire secondary school certification. I feel it when these people begin to talk about university and future learning options that previously were deemed insurmountable. I feel it when a local resident, destitute and addicted to drugs, rises from his dank, dark and densely smelly trailer with a smile on his face as I bring him healthy and fresh food from our local food bank.

I feel so grateful when Paul turns over in bed, wraps me in his arms and warm body and helps me settle down to a calm and better place for sleep.

I am grateful for the chance to love my 87-year-old mother. She used to be an angry, hurtful and jealous parent when I was growing up. She has reached a place of peacefulness and acceptance. I think of it as being in a mental place of Yoga and meditation. She loves me now. I know that, and most importantly, she knows it. I’m thankful that she gets to feel that love before she dies. And I am thankful for the love I feel for her.

 

I am grateful for the rain, and the cool winds as autumn shows her presence. God’s colours are changing now. The red leaves, once so green, are dropping from the now tired branches. They are mingling with the yellows and oranges and golds from other trees creating a warm blanket for the earth.

I give thanks for the many friends and neighbours here, on Gabriola who stop and talk with me on my way to the mailbox, or at the village market where I go to buy milk. And to Michelle in the produce department, who stops me to say, “What are you looking for, Amy?” as she observes my confused expression and realizes that I have completely forgotten why I came into the store in the first place.

The other day, I read something on one of my friend’s Face book pages. She wrote, “Why can’t I just feel good all the time?” When that happens to me, I say….”Let me find something good in  my world.” and then I remember! I am even thankful to that friend for the reminder!

Home

“Where is home?” I often get asked as I travel through the world.

Home is the quiet of my soul. The place I go to when I feel lost and untethered. I find strength and comfort when I allow myself to go inside, meditate and sit quietly. I find home in my own being.

Home is the deafening sound of the quiet in the woods on our land. Or the growl of the wind as it passes from sea to sea. Home is the hum of the ferry liner cruising past Gabriola as it makes its way to the mainland.

Home is the warmth of the rocks on the shore at Drumbeg  Park. The eagles soaring above my head. It is the gentleness of the rain pattering on the canvas roof of our yurt in the afternoon. It is the crackle that comes from the wood stove.

Home is the dazzling contrast of God’s colours everywhere I look…blue sky, green leaves, brown bark from the trees…simple and profound.

Home is the comfort I feel as I look into my love’s face. It is the simple conversations that we have. It is the politics, literature, money issues, joys, dreams and fears that we get to share together. It is believing that we can always be together.

Home is making simple meals and lighting candles and drinking cheap red wine that we make ourselves for $3.00 bottle. Home is anywhere in the world, and everywhere in the world. With Paul I am home.

Home is actively sharing love with my children. It is knowing that, as we grow older, our relationship deepens, and we open up to understand each other more. Home is being with them, through all aspects of our lives, sharing laughter, tears, music, grief and joy. Home is having them near me, where ever we are on this planet.

Home is knowing that what I do in the world is helpful to others and that I make difference in their lives.

Home is teaching and the gift of being able to help others become more aware…of life…of their universe…. of themselves.

Home is learning. Travelling and reading and talking to others helps me expand my opinions and my perspectives. Learning is listening with my eyes and ears and an open heart… without judgement and the need to form an opinion. Learning is accepting every point of view before I feel confident enough to form my own opinion. Home is being able to say, “I don’t know.”

Home is writing. Paper, computer, dictation into my IPhone allows me to express what goes on in my heart and soul. It is that form of expression that connects me with others. It is the pathway that I create to make sense of myself in this world. Letting stuff out makes more room for finding space at ‘home’.

My life is full! At 57 years old I have lived in many places of the world. I have been born into and created family where personalities have incubated and flourished. I have studied, taught, sacrificed, danced, laughed, mourned, and sown myself carefully into this universe. I continue to do all that. I am here, now. I am home!

Time of Change- Rosh Hashana

Just Thinkin'

Paul and I just celebrated the Jewish High Holy Days with our beloved spiritual community in Toronto. The ‘Days of Awe’ were truly awesome as I focussed on those special gathering times and concentrated on prayer and introspection and holiness. It is a time to reconsider, re-settle and re-establish in anticipation for a year a head. It is a time of transition and adjustment. It is evidenced everywhere.

Full moon drumming

I notice it in the autumn moon as it has moved into a different place across the night sky. Shifting its way further north, in its fullness I need no lantern as I wonder outside. It is an unfamiliar stream of light for me, now shining on the back of our yurt. In the middle of the night the air is still cool, not cold, and the quiet of the woods fools me into believing it could actually be summer.

The morning brings change too. The Japanese maple tree on our neighbour’s drive has completely changed into a bright red, the leaves reacting to the coming cold. The fallen leaves create a colourful blanket on the bicycle path I ride each day.

The coffee brews and I am excited about the day! The potatoes in our garden need to be dug up. Potatoes don’t get ‘picked’ like other vegetables. They are like gold, hiding themselves under and between. I’m going to find them today in preparation for meals for the next few days.

A place of beauty

I am putting the garden to sleep. I pull finished plants and mix the soil with manure from the island horse farms. When I still lived in Toronto I learned how to ‘lasagne’ the garden by placing cardboard and newspaper over the entire ground. That allows it to decompose into the soil. Our garden on Whalley Road will benefit from that too.

Nature provides space for change. As I prepare for the winter months I notice the absence of birds and the increase of squirrel activity. We too are readying ourselves for the change of temperature and the coming of rain. “We can do this,” I think to myself.

The rains are pouring. It is our first autumn on Gabriola living in a yurt. How wonderful to have this beautiful structure to rest in. It’s warm, thanks to the blazing fire we maintain in the wood stove. We have no shortage of fine wood to contribute to the fire. And the round frame of our abode is solid and secure.

The rain pounds on the canvas. At times it is thunderous…a gentle thunder that reminds me how lucky we are to have this protection.

Feeling 'ready'

Sunday morning brings a calm to my life. Coffee, Yoga, chatting with friends and family. I am still connected to the outside world! And I reflect upon the strong connection I have with self. The change, for me, is noticeable.

The slugs occupy my toothbrush holder in our washing basin again. Spiders carefully construct their webs under our hand-made roofs, providing more protection than would have been available before. I carefully remove my sugar bowl from the shelf to avoid destroying the intricate web.

Change is good. The New Year comes upon me with wonder and a rejuvenated anticipation of what lies ahead. It certainly feels like a Shana Tova!

Co-Existence

Night Visitors

I am settled comfortably in our tent. The night is quiet and calm. There is not a sound around me. I am thinking about the idea of coexistence. Our outside kitchen not far from where our tent, is where we make delicious meals right here on our land. Unlike before, we no longer have to go out to restaurants to satisfy our hunger. Built solidly between two trees, the kitchen is supported on the backside with strong shelves that hold jars and containers full of bulk foods. Grains, legumes, cereals and sauces are carefully packaged in raccoon safe containers. Mice just love our outside kitchen. It’s a challenge to keep it absolutely clean. Inevitably there are a few crumbs from morning breakfast stuck under the rim of the sink. Or leftover juices from our last meal still present on the counter top.

Regularly during the night I am awakened by the tap tapping of mice feet scampering past my head right outside the tent. I am not scared. If these mice were running past my head in my house in Toronto, I would be freaking out.

Sometimes racoons check out our kitchen supply. They are cunning and agile. Sneaking up quietly in the middle of the night (actually they’re quite cute) opening jars with their skinny hands and tossing aside what they don’t want to eat. From the opening of our tent we groggily throw stones trying to scare them away. Although I do like these animals in a way, I don’t like them eating our food, disturbing our kitchen and waking us up. So we build a cabinet with a door for our shelves! We string bungee chords around our refrigerator, in case the racoons figure out how to open the fridge. We’re not going to let them eat our food!

Mouse hide-away

Our outhouse presents yet another perspective. Recently I was surprised to find a mouse in the pail of our composting toilet. Though lately I have learned to check the toilet before I sit, I’ll never forget that first time! How does a mouse get in there in the first place? And how do they ever expect to get out? Our toilet seat is completely closed on top of a removable 5-gallon pail. The mouse somehow squeezes under the seat and falls far down into the pail, then struggles to climb up again. Imagine falling into a well! The pail is emptied regularly onto a compost heap next to the outhouse. Sometimes we need to empty it specifically in order to release the mouse.

A Spider's 'home'

A spider has spun a web in the corner of our outside washing room and seems to live there comfortably. She seems to know she is safe. Paul and I lean carefully around the glistening perfect web the spider has woven to reach our electric toothbrush handle. Once I almost destroyed the web, forgetting about our little friend. But I immediately felt the sticky threads on my hands and pulled back. I even heard myself say “Oooops. I’m so sorry!” out loud. To a spider!!!!! As if she was upset with me.

This year there was sighting of a bear on Gabriola. Generally there are no bears here. It is difficult for bears to swim from Vancouver Island and because Gabriola is so small, it’s probably not worth it for them. When the bear was sighted last spring, Gabriolans were informed about how to keep the bear away. “Put all food away. Clean out bird feeders. Wash your barbeque before going inside. Avoid putting out garbage too early.” Although the bear was found on the other side of the island, Paul and I took precautions. We also figured, if the bear were just a little bit smart, he would definitely visit us since we live outside and it would be easiest for him/her to find food. We never saw the bear. We think he’s gone now.

Slug(ish)

When it rains the slugs come out. Thick, rubbery, slow moving, they slither verrrry slowly across the land trailing a sticky slime as they move. I don’t like slugs! I avoid any contact with them. I definitely don’t want to step on one. My foot might become buried in slime and I can’t even imagine what that would feel like. And yet my stepson Josh and I joke often about barbequing some of them for our next non-vegetarian meal. Co-existing!

The many deer on Gabriola are beautiful, and they remind me to drive carefully. The deer look sweet and gentle. They seem to take such good care of their babies. They prance gracefully through the forest, and are not afraid of people. And… they destroy our gardens! On Gabriola there is no point to plant a garden unless you protect that garden first with a deer-proof fence. The deer are beautiful! They’re precious. I wouldn’t hurt one for anything! And I do everything I can to keep them away from our garden!

Sometimes, co-existing means setting boundaries and taking the steps necessary to make those boundaries understood! We can learn to live in the wild, and, to some degree, we can help the wild learn to live with us.  That's co-existing!

Circles

There’s a circle ‘round the moon

It settles through the night

The stars are serenaded

And illuminates with light.

Circles are thus holy

With beginnings all around

The endings are invisible

The timelessness profound.

The centre of the circles

Warm me from within

I’m hugged by my surroundings

And feel the calm settle in

There’s a circle ‘round the moon tonight

A reflection of our lives

The journey that we sail upon

Epitomize our times

There’s a circle round the moon tonight

It cradles me with love

As I think about our lives tonight

I thank the stars above