All Along

I'm no scientist, but I've long known there's an abundance of lessons (and solace) among the trees. Only recently though did I learn that leaves don't really change colours as Autumn progresses; more accurately, they unveil themselves. 

We all likely learned some of this in elementary school: in Spring and Summer, abundant sunlight and heat enables leaves to create the nutrients trees need to survive and thrive. Leaves absorb the light for photosynthesis to occur in cells containing green-pigmented chlorophyll...but did you know that this pigment masks other pigments already within leaves?

During Autumn, daylight decreases and temperatures drop, signaling plants to form a kind of cork between leaf and stem and as leaves die, chlorophyll breaks down, the green pigment disappears, and other pigments are revealed: yellow, orange and red—those beguiling Fall colors.

Think about that: the colours were there all along. 

There's something altogether reassuring about this. Perhaps there's much more within us humans too? More resilience? Untapped hidden potential? Some of the answers we seek elsewhere? I'd like to think more likely than not. 

Poet Mary Oliver also felt more likely than not. In her poem, "When I am Among the Trees," she describes herself returning to the forest, her sun-dappled and comforting first love, just listening. And although she feels "distant from the hope of myself," the surrounding trees invite her to "stay a while." They say," “It’s simple...you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.”

Dear friends, if you too are preoccupied with life's seasons or some other matters and needed a boost today, I hope something helpful is revealed here. If not, go to the forest. 

Small

A big thank you to London, Scotland, and Ireland for accommodating us Canadian tourists; I hope we left behind small footprints and a positive impression. Now one last excursion to share....

Just north of Dublin is a peninsula (once a small island) with a fishing community (about 8,000 folks) called Howth (rhymes with oath), a quick train ride from the city.  

This was our second visit. We had something to finish: the cliff walk. Last time it was raining, so we cut the walk short, but this time? Perfect weather. 

About a week before we visited Ireland the first time (2023), we met someone at a wedding—he was studying medicine in Ireland and told us Howth was his favourite place. We asked, why? He couldn't find the words but his body language said much. We are fans of serendipity and places people get emotional about, so we visited and it became a favourite too. Now my turn...how to describe? 

  🤔Let this good man's clip show you what words can't.

  🤔It's a cleansing breath of a place. 

  🤔It's a retreat, a haven, a resting place; I suspect Dubliners request their ashes be spread in Howth.

  🤔Think of a place that has almost everything: (in this case) incredible views, friendly folks, fresh seafood, street markets with huge brownies, colourful boats bobbing in blue coastline waters, rocky beaches with cold water where people swim anyway, playful otters, ice-cream shops, flowers that grow in cracks along rock walls, unexpected palm trees, a castle, and maybe one busker. Note that I said, almost. Why? Some places have too much, their abundance overwhelms and they don't feel...snug. Plus, setting is a relationship—we must bring something to our most cherished places—an impulse to attach to the stream of life.   

  🤔Like all words sometimes, my words are inadequate, so I will offer this final idea about Howth: my heart just endorses this place.

Quick research reveals that a teen-aged W. B. Yeats lived in Howth. He wrote fondly about it, sharing that he snuck out at night (classic teen move even in the 1880s), and also felt his first unrequited love there. Perhaps his famous poem The Lake Isle of Innisfree has clues to Howth? The poem expresses a longing to escape the urban confines and return to nature, build a cabin, plant a garden, live in "a bee-loud glade," seek peace next to the "water lapping with low sounds by the shore" and then even while stuck in the city hear this cherished place in the "deep heart's core." 

Dear friends, our hearts are small, and some places fill them so well. Whether travel is required or not, I hope you get plenty of time in places your heart endorses.

Big

Click for a recent news report about Nessie. ;)

Thanks to its impressive depth, Loch Ness happens to hold more fresh water than all lakes in England and Wales combined. That's big. And hmm... what might possibly be hiding in those depths? 😜

As a kid growing up on the Canadian prairies, I recall being rapt reading about the Loch Ness monster. Before (and after) I understood myth and folklore and tourism marketing, I hoped to one day visit this famous Scottish lake.

I'm so glad I did. It's just sooooo beautiful there. 

Did we spot Nessie? Nope. Other than Steve, the genial amateur cryptozoologist (?) parked on the beach, I completely forgot about the legend. Click this link to watch a short video about Steve; he has an inspiring message for the inner child within us all. 

We spent the morning hiking through the forest along the still loch water looking to the mountains on the horizon. Quiet and calm and cool and sun-dappled with greens, it's mossy and rocky and fresh... and let's be honest—I need a poet to help me say it better. Maybe Rilke and his love for the trees? 

Speaking of love, I know from family records that Loch Ness is not far from where my maternal great-grandparents held their marriage ceremony. I now know why. And maybe I know them a little better now too? As poet Mary Oliver said about how to go into the woods: "if you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much." 

18/31

Links to 17/31 &
the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

My oldest grandson turns three today. He loves diggers and blue, so I hope he enjoys this watercolour I painted for him. 

The subject certainly suits him: he's endlessly curious and also quite mighty, a bit of an immovable force—it's challenging for him to change directions sometimes. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

He has incredible language skills, can sing Bridge Over Troubled Water (!), and drops the best malapropisms like, "For Pete's Egg" and the "finish lion" (plus this favourite, lol). 

He once said to my wife, "Nannie, I love you with all of my blue blue heart." He's a a bit of a budding poet (after my own heart) so I love introducing him to new words; sometimes this has unexpected outcomes including a recent FaceTime call—he spotted me and said, "Hi Hossenfeffer [sic]!" If you're a Bugs Bunny fan, you might appreciate this reference. 😅

I love being his Pops, and am thankful for the opportunity to be a better mentor to all my grandkids than I was for my kids. Raising my daughter and son, I made 13065+ mistakes but the biggest one was perhaps thinking I was protecting them from what I experienced by pressuring them to be better than me. Children are who they are; they will be who they'll be. 

I didn't comprehend then that my vibe was more judgmental than constructive or curious. But now? I just accept my grandkids as they are and encourage them to lift their hearts as they dig into life and marvel at this one awesome extraordinary opportunity to be. 

15/31

Links to 14/31 &
the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Probably similar to most bibliophiles, I have several bookends including my favourite, a pair of elephants my daughter gave me. But THE ones in this photo are pretty special too, definitely vibrant things. 

I am a sucker for any art that incorporates or emphasizes text—if done subtly, it invites curiosity or boosts the interpretation, or as with these bookends, it invites playfulness. 

Fun fact: the word THE is the most common word in the English language. It does a lot of language heavy lifting: it typically announces nouns in sentences, positioning those nouns either before or after the modifying information, such as those revealed in this famous quote from poet Robert Frost, "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." 

It seems to me that because it can position persons, places, things and ideas either before or after, the word THE essentially acts as a bookend itself. Whoa, eh? Insert mind-blown emoji here.

If you're also a dork who adores words, you might appreciate this YouTuber, Robwords. 

April is Poetry Month

I adore this strange poem. It disturbs, yet... uplifts too?  

One of my earliest memories is standing (rapt and terrified) next to a cow in bloat. Maybe four or five years old, I longed to run but I couldn't move. A medical emergency, bloat occurs when a cow overeats, the ingested feed ferments and excessive gas expands internally; it must be released or the cow will die quickly. But the men in that field that day (including my father) just paced and grimaced and stared. They seemed to be trying to decide something. I didn't know it at the time, but a veterinarian was on his way. What I recall most clearly was the cow's suffering—its frantic and unrelenting bawling—and although childhood me couldn't fully grasp the procedure and its intensity, finally, finally, finally someone arrived and I witnessed a puncturing and heard the gas release like a balloon deflating. The bawling ceased. The cow stood up.

I apologize for these images which are especially potent for animal-lovers, also for the poem which may be upsetting. But I share these words and this story, because no doubt this experience helped me learn compassion and empathy, key factors in shaping my neurobiology, my emotional intelligence...but something more too, something dark I continue to confront.... 

This formative event thrust me into a degree of discomfort I'd never experienced before and one I never wanted to experience again. Already an anxious and stressed child, this incident reinforced avoidance.  Childhood me longed to ESCAPE and quite frankly, it became my default. I'm not proud of it, but I only have enough capacity to remain in the north field with those closest to me. I soooo admire people, those nurses, and doctors, and counsellors, the firefighters, the death doulas...but I am not a rescuer.  

This is why I appreciate this poem—despite featuring a seemingly imminent death—Gilpin focuses on an alternative perspective, a less sober and severe inevitability—albeit temporary. The poem features no rescuer, just a cow and her calf in a cloudless field, alive. In this poem, I am not the farm boys seeking notoriety, nor the cow or her calf, but instead I relate to the poet.    

Dear friends, I can't save you, and I'm sorry for that, but I will always want you to notice the stars. 

Let's be honest:

A good friend's husband died earlier this month, an absolute blindside.
Still thinking about these wise words: painful, hopeful, honest.
Also thinking about others I'm missing. No doubt, you too?
For whatever might be ailing you today, I hope these words find you. 

Medicine

(ground) chicken soup

     Thanks to a good friend, my daughter, and my wife—and their kitchen fearlessness—I can now make a delicious chicken soup. It's pretty easy: I think the secret is the right combo of garlic and ginger. 

     So why was I intimidated? Probably because chicken soup has a legendary reputation: it's basically medicine, right? And we all need some medicine occasionally, especially at this time of the year. As winter here redraws the landscape white and shades the sky grey most days, we must find our medicines where we can, in the kitchen and otherwise. 

     Poet e.e. cummings described Winter as a "murderer" standing over a "snowstopped silent world." Yikes. There might not be enough chicken soup in the world for that mindset. As a Canadian in the North, I can appreciate, even respect Winter, but sometimes it messes with my mindset: ongoing darkness, roadway stress, vague dis-ease. 

     Yet my worrisome Winter mindset is just that: one perspective. It's reframe-able. It's the difference between distress and eustress. I find this language helpful. As you know, distress is longer-term stress with negative impacts, like a break-up, financial problems, or work-demands; but eustress is short-term and beneficial stress, like moving to a new community, or flying for the first time, or learning something new—it helps motivate us, builds character, inspires growth.

     If only the words themselves made it that easy, eh? Although the distinction provides perspective, too much snow can be less of an opportunity to go sledding down a steep hill and more of just much too much snow. Sigh. 

     Dear friends, I encourage you to consider how you react to the snow, (inevitable struggle) and to make, or find your medicine where you can.

I tell myself

source

It's snowing here. More snow is forecast. I tell myself Spring will come.

I have never felt a more empty nest in our home. Sentimental, I remind myself we are fortunate, that everyone is currently separated in some form, all for the common good. But I continue to wonder about my grown children's safety, and our own. I continue to wonder about the elderly, the sick, medical staff, grocery-store employees, the babies not yet held by their grandparents. Others. I remind myself to be grateful. For my health. For my job. Many have lost theirs, including some of my colleagues, callously informed via Twitter/Facebook this weekend, promised the opposite only days ago. I wonder how parents are coping, and their children, their mental health. Then I notice through the window two neighbourhood kids wrapped in colourful snowsuits playing in their backyard, simultaneously climbing and sinking into a snow-hill, and I tell myself, they are strong.

I tell myself I can learn a lot from children—an educator, they have been my constant teachers. Buoyed by their inspiring ability to adapt, I tell myself to get focused, get creative, seize opportunities, persist, and learn everything I can from this. Meaning is more found in the bad times, right? I'm reading Sapiens: a Brief History of Mankind. Confident and wise, Yuval Noah Harari attempts to answer life's biggest questions. Couldn't we all use some answers right now? I wonder if Harari's answers still resonate with him, in this new season of history, weighty and charged with us all thinking the same questions. And it continues to snow.

Yet I know for sure that the writers—the storytellers, the philosophers, the filmmakers, the poets—they have all asked these questions before, and so I tell myself Rilke's words: "Let everything happen to you, beauty and terror, just keep going: no feeling is final."

Fave Reads 2017

Working on another degree, I do a lot of reading. I love what I'm learning and it's rewiring my brain. But it's hard work. So it means I savour taking time away from academics just to read a few stories and inhabit some spaces that catch my eye. These are the ones I loved this year.

Terrific graphic novel.
This author loves words
and their many meanings.
Also goldfish.
And how deep a
well pain can be. 

Devoured this. Felt
stronger & more
hopeful. Felt like
resistance &
persistence. Everyone
should read this.

Illustrated philosophy.
A humble artist's voice
about how to be just
"half a shade braver."

Merricat is memorable.
And it's a little scary
to let her into your head.
She lingers, both heroic
and heinous. 

Scenes in this book
still resonate with me.
Dogs' inner narratives
reveal humanity. 

A Good Look

The Firth of Forth, out toward the North Sea,
North Berwick, Scotland

My wife and I spent ten days in Scotland this summer (and one weekend in London). What a dream.

I kept a journal. But first, why Scotland? Our anniversary gift to each other. And my heritage. On both sides. Some of my earliest memories are of visiting my maternal great-grandparents in Saskatoon. I couldn't decipher the content of their discussions due to their Scottish accents but they fascinated me. And we ate toast with tea. I always thought they looked a little pissed off and they seemed to be arguing much of the time. While visiting the Edinburgh Fringe comedy festival, a comedienne explained Glasgow face: bitter, brows down accompanied by a gruff voice (translated as 'appy to see yer).  Lightbulb.

Back to the journal. Giddy, with some highlights:

• Scottish breakfasts are massive and amazing, odes to protein, haggis included.
• deep fried fish and chips and mushy peas
• respect for diversity in art and architecture and urban development, and seriously the best Indian food I've ever eaten
• a pop-up library in Glasgow
• Thrift store charity shops all over the UK
• once locals determined we are Canadian they immediately began to trash-talk Trump, "why would they elect that vile, vile man?" Good question. Perhaps the only redeeming thing about Trump: he helps bring people together, bonded in confusion and distaste. 
• taking the train through the highlands, all the waterfalls and rusty-red deer, very Harry Potter
• the Scottish flag painted on a rock high above Ft. William
• pipers on many street corners
• Inverlochy castle
• Arthur's Seat
• Crabbie's Ginger Beer
• JK Rowling's old writing spot, The Elephant Room (apple pie and scotch)
• everything about North Berwick: the beach, Mary Brown, the Lobster Shack, cemetery stories, scones with butter and jam
• climbing the Scott monument
• the closes along the Royal Mile
• finding the home where my great-grandmother and her siblings spent family time together
• Grassmarket in Edinburgh, and the dungeons at Edinburgh castle
• rain and cool weather
• the statue of Winston Churchill in Parliament Square and taking a boat down The Thames
• our airbnb neighbourhood, Islington, London where we had a salted caramel & popcorn milkshake with a shot of whiskey at the Screen on the Green while watching Dunkirk.

All of it, beauty. I must say, it is most pleasing to have a good look at the world. 

Rear or Year?

“You need to have an iron rear to sit upon a cactus, or otherwise, at least a year of very painful practice.” Jack Prelutsky

Agreed, wise poet, agreed. Inevitably, during our lives, we will face many “cactuses” (or “cacti” if you prefer). Some big some small. It might be developing a new skill. Maybe it’s our first year with a new job. Or a complicated relationship. Maybe it’s a matter of health or wealth or something we need to change. Whatever the prickly situation, as a comedian once observed, “cactuses are always sort of flipping us off.” But we must remember this: no one gets stronger and wiser without outsmarting cactuses.

Prelutsky’s poem reveals important perspectives on how to face life’s difficulties. Which is better: the “iron rear” or “the year?” And that, my friend, is the crux. When faced with obstacles and challenges, we must all answer this ourselves. Based on my experience, some tips (pun intended).

1. Determine if it’s really a cactus. Maybe it’s not as thorny as first imagined? 
2. Prioritize your cactuses. Which one first and why?
3. There’s no such thing as an iron rear. Sure, there may be an easy way, maybe cutting corners is possible, but these are often temporary solutions. Remember “no pain, no gain.”
4. Admit defeat and withdraw. Like a fortune cookie once advised me: “Stop procrastinating starting tomorrow.” This is an understandably popular option because there’s no conflict but there are still consequences plus, by giving up, there’s zero personal growth.
5. Suck it up and go for the year. It may be the only way. But remember the key word in Prelutsky’s clever poem: practice. Practice is not just repetition. Don’t practice on autopilot, or like a broken record. Instead, make minor changes each time. Problem solve. It’s all about trial-error-adjust-try again and repeat. Strengthen your assets. Trim the problem down into manageable sections. Expect some pain and increase your tolerance. Invest in Band-Aids if necessary but get comfortable with tearing them off. Persevere. Prove the pricks wrong. Grow. And don’t face cactuses alone. Get encouragement and feedback on your process and progress. Finally, no matter the outcome, share your cactus stories; even the unsuccessful attempts may harbor the words someone else needs to hear. And most importantly, help others navigate through their battles. 

And then Autumn.

Go ahead Autumn:
fall.

Slip, flutter, plummet, tumble, dive.
Whichever.

Let leaves leave.

I choose adapt. I choose cope. I choose thanks. Because a starting over is still a starting.

Bring wind. Bring calm. Bring change. Replace past with present. (But let me miss the past a little while too.)

And then Autumn:
rise.

Swim it out.

Do this. It rocks. 

What builds muscle mass and improves endurance? What protects us from joint stress and strain? What helps alleviate arthritis? What improves cardio-respiratory fitness and burns calories almost as efficiently as cycling? What works almost all our muscles? What is effective when we're old or injured? What cools the body (and the mind)?

Ice cream (especially root-beer floats).

I wish. Actually, if you were thinking eating of any kind (instead of swimming), sadly that is incorrect, but I like the way you think.

This year, one of the hottest I can recall, I have gone swimming in

a.       a pool.

b.      the ocean.

c.      with a bear, literally (thankful he kept to his own side of the river and left fairly quickly).

d.      in that shimmery-shade-of-sugary-blue glacial water.

This was weird. I seldom swim. For me, clothing is rarely optional and water and I haven’t always been in a trustworthy relationship. Yet, in that water whether it was salty or freezing or a little too populated, I couldn’t help but unwind. And it made me wonder:

1.      Maybe flying is actually floating.

2.      Maybe swimming washes away more than we realize.

3.      Maybe swimming resets perspective.

4.      Where else can you pee your pants in public?

5.      Maybe swimming makes us young again.

6.      Maybe it’s impossible to be unhappy in the water.

“For whatever we lose (like a you or a me), it’s always our self we find in the sea.” –e.e. cummings

Go swim. 

Things one should never outgrow:

up.

Wake up.
Get up.
Rise up.
Stand up.
Look up.
Think up.
Chin up.
Open up.
Wise up.
Give up.
End up
Up.

Things one should never outgrow:

lame puns.

(Can't stop loving them.)

Things one should never outgrow:

Ron, Hermione and Harry.

Things one should never outgrow:

honesty.

A few genuine original voices:
1. e.e. cummings
2. Cormac McCarthy
3. William Golding
4. Shirley Jackson
5. T.S. Eliot
6. Margaret Atwood
7. Emily Dickinson
8. Shel Silverstein
9. Chris Van Allsburg

Things one should never outgrow:

an occasional tug-of-war.

#barbaricyawp
#howtobeaScot
#literallyfigurativelyboth

Lingering

A balloon let go.

Maybe it's all the 9/11 tributes?

Because they keep punching me in the stomach.

So I can't stop thinking about broken hearts. And broken people.

My heart's been broken three times. None were romantic relationships. I've never talked about the first one. It was like being a balloon on a string. Someone let go. That made me the man I am, but not the man I chose to be. Still, that old lingering scar makes me wistful sometimes. But as the saying goes, "courage strengthens at the wound."

The second time my heart broke wasn't any easier. It hurt more. Way more. And it was my biggest mistake. But I was young. Time has helped me see that experience with clarity. I realize now that if her death broke my heart, it smashed her mother's heart, her father's heart, her sister's. I had my whole life ahead of me to heal.

And I did heal. Thanks to friends. But more thanks to my wife.

Yet it still lingers too. And that's the rub: the lingering. There's a poem I love:

A heart that has been broken
by Maureen Owen
A heart that has been broken
has a tiny hinge
And when it happens a
second or third time
it just
swings open & shut
like a gate

I know I'm not to harden my heart. I mustn't lock the gate. But I sure slam it shut sometimes for fear of everything deflating.

And the third broken heart? It hurts most of all. I can't imagine it being worse.

But I've eyes in my head. I know life could be worse. And when that sounds like bullshit even to me (and it certainly seems that way right now), it's what I keep on loop in my head to help me forgive. Mostly myself.

Yes, things could be much worse. In my life, even as a Canadian far far from ground zero, 9/11 trumps all the suffering. Devastated, I watched it live before I went to work that morning. Then I steeled myself to do my job. And now, I steel myself again. And yet try to remain open-hearted too. It's just so damn hard.

I would never compare my struggle with anything the 9/11 families and New Yorkers have endured. But I do find solace in their stories. Their rising up. Their survival.