Happy Now Year

The last two notes celebrated the future and the past. This one is about the easily overlooked bit in between where things happen.

What's done is done. What's new is now,
and now is all there is,
and all the joy God will allow
lives in this moment's kiss.

That's a fragment of a verse I wrote so long ago I don't remember the rest. What brought it to mind is two TV shows we watched one evening recently.

The first, a romance, had a wise secretary offering some advice to her young colleague who was obsessing over a deal gone wrong: "Take time to enjoy Christmas. Today is a gift. That's why it's called the present."

The next story was a mystery in which an aging private investigator quotes Horace: "Seize the day, and put the least possible trust in tomorrow". 

We have this interesting paradox: two random stories advising us to live in the moment yet taking me back to the past when I noticed being in the moment and used that moment to write a reminder for a future when I might forget. 

And here I am in that future-become-present
writing about that moment past
when I discovered
that joy can be experienced
only in a fleeting now...
and only if we aren't too engrossed
in the past or future to notice. 

Excuse me. I need to collect a kiss.

Happy Now Year.

About the Past

The last week of the year is a time for looking back. Memories are useful, but you can't trust them because they are biased. We best remember events that were surprising, stressful, emotional, painful: that time I put sugar in the salt shaker at a restaurant to impress (?) my date who didn't appreciate the joke at all (!), the first kiss and those that followed!!!  (don't know what she saw in me), recording our new baby's babble sounds to play back for the secretaries at school, the 180 we did in the slush on highway 27 one Christmas, years later being wheeled into the operating room to have some bits removed. I have vivid memories of those events, but I am not often so mischievous, adventurous, passionate, or afraid. Mostly, life happens, I deal with it and forget about it. That memorable guy in the rearview mirror was always into things, in trouble, in love, in extremis, in character as Super Jerk, not much like the guy in the mirror this morning who has made a career of avoiding trouble and suppressing emotion. Take a deep breath. Count to ten. Be reasonable. Safe. Forgettable. Boring. 

People don't want boring. People want to hear stories about Super Jerk. 

Therefore, when I retired from teaching, June 1997, I gave a Super Jerk speech to the whole school in an assembly.

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Fellow students (?!), the last time I spoke in an assembly was 1958 in Niagara Falls. Mr. Rutledge, our grade 12 English teacher, said I should enter the public speaking contest sponsored by the Lions Club. I had no interest in doing that, but Mr. Rutledge was very persuasive so I signed up for the ordeal against my better judgment. 

I don't remember my prepared speech at all. It must have been OK, but quite forgettable. The extemporaneous speech was another matter. Topics were assigned by lottery. I got "Public Speaking, My Impressions." We were ushered to a classroom and given some time to gather our thoughts. For most of that time, I had one thought: "Run, you fool. You don't belong here. Just run." Then I remembered what my Dad told me: "If you don't know what to say, tell the truth. Don't worry if it makes you look bad. Nobody will believe you anyway."

When it came my turn, I began, "Fellow students, the topic I was assigned is Public Speaking, My Impressions." Then I began to describe in detail the state of my physiology, racing pulse, vasoconstriction of the extremities, complaining bladder, distressed alimentary canal starting with dry mouth, sick stomach, pyloric spasm, and heading on down to the nether regions. The audience didn't believe me. They thought I was joking and were having a good laugh. Mr. Rutledge had been paying attention with growing alarm, and he believed me. He realized I had said enough and the story was going to end with another orifice having the last word. So he rang the bell and said, "Time's up, Dennis. Out that door and down the hall there is a washroom. I suggest you run."

When I got back, I found out I had won the contest. The prize was that I got to do it all again at the Lions Club meeting the following week.

That was just the beginning. The rest of my life was the same story over and over. I became a teacher and stood in front of people most days telling the truth and running to the washroom between classes. Until now. 

I imagine if Mr. Rutledge were here, he would be saying, "Time's up, Dennis. Out that door and down the hall there is...you know. You better run."

I would say, "It's OK, Sir. Over the years I have learned to come prepared."  (At that point, I pull spare underwear out of my pocket and hold it up for all to see. Much laughter from the audience surprised to learn how Super Jerk saves the day. Then I continue.)

Mr. Rutledge might say, "Ahh, Calvin Klein. Good choice. It seems you have been quite successful."

And I would say, "I guess I have. But, if it's OK with you, I'm going to retire now."

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Believe it or not, that story is mostly true, and also misleading because my past is mostly boring. That's how memory works. Don't trust it. What we remember is not exactly who we are. We are defined largely by the things we did not do: emotions controlled, trouble avoided, being reasonable, forgettable, boring.

Remember this: no students died in my chemistry lab. That's why most of the chemistry I taught has been successfully forgotten. I guess I was successfully boring.

But Is It Real?

Many Christmas stories raise the question of otherworldly belief: in the Christ Child born in a stable, in angels and a guiding star and wise men, in Santa Claus squeezing down the chimney with a bag full of presents that are just what we want as if Santa had read our letter. In fact, nobody believes that fiction except kids who are too young to understand that grownups like to pretend while they wait for spring.

If we are conflicted about believing what isn't real, it may be that we think of reality and imagination as separate things. They are not. Imagination is an emergent and evolved feature of reality, with real implications that we cannot avoid. For better or worse, imagination has transformed empires and nations, grasslands and forests, lakes and oceans, deserts and polar ice, the atmosphere, outer space even to the moon and beyond.

If children have visions of sugar plums, someone will make them so children can have sugar plums. Without imagination we are stuck in a reality without sugar plums. Through imagination we participate in turning What-Is-Now into What-May-Be. Along the way, we will get some things wrong as the ancestors often did. Right or wrong, our story will inform the dreams of our children and their children so they can do better than we have done. That is what's really real, imagining a better reality and making it happen.

And that is my story for a holy winter night.
Merry Christmas.

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Thanks to JG for pointing my imagination in this direction.

Merry Questmas to the Grumps

I was ready for bed last night before I remembered that the garbage bins had to go out for pickup. I had to get dressed again and head out into the cold. Wouldn't it be nice if a thought aimed at the north pole would bring Santa's elves to do the job so I could just snuggle in and go to sleep.

It doesn't work that way. Correction. It doesn't always work that way. Sometimes there are tasks that get done before we ask, and people cheerfully lend a hand when they can. There are neighbours who shovel our snow because they know my back is weak, and friends who taxi us around because I can't see well enough to drive. The best part of the self is an inner elf who enjoys helping. Christmas is about rousing that elf so even grumps like Scrooge and the Grinch get to join in the fun.

Merry Christmas to those who need help.
Joy to the elves who do the helping.
Merry Questmas to the grumps.

Merry Questmas

Nine sleeps. Then Santa comes.

Question: what will we be celebrating at Christmas?

Maybe it's about a break from school, or bright decorations cheering up the dark winter, or joy, hope, love, and peace, or getting presents, or time off work, or good food, or being with family and friends, or the birthday of Jesus, or the spirit of giving, or all of that and much more. If we have settled on an answer, we might question that answer, and question again, and again. Christmas can keep us busy for an entire lifetime probing the mystery of how to live well. Along the way, in spite of our good intentions, we will sometimes, like Scrooge and Marley, get the answer wrong. Then, if we don't insist we are right, we can make amends and be forgiven while we continue the quest. 

Christmas is a question forever in search of better answers.

Merry Questmas

Splashing Through the ... Snow?

Keeping Up With Climate Change

December 2022 and The arctic is warming 4 times faster than the world. We're in trouble. My last post about this was While Heaven Thaws, January 24, 2022. Except for the revised increase in temperature, in the past year there are no surprises at the North Pole. We knew we were in trouble. Santa will soon need a change of wardrobe. Just have a think about that.

Here at our house, we take the future seriously; our grandkids live there. That means asking questions, making changes and spending money. We haven't yet invested in real estate on Baffin Island; but here are some things we have done over 20 years with approximate costs if I remember them:

old house's new furnace: $ spent lots
old house's new insulated siding: $ lots
old house's new windows $ lots

a new well-insulated house:  $ lots & lots

replacing incandescent lights with LEDs: $500

rooftop solar array: $30,000

electric vehicle: $40,000

heat pump and efficient furnace: $9,000

letters to politicians at every level: $ 000
turning off lights when not needed: $ saved a bit
wearing more and turning down the heat: $ saved
the other way around in summer: $ saved
reducing, recycling, reusing: $ saved

nagging friends about climate justice:    $ 000

Compare this to

the cost of doing nothing: EVERYTHING

I give you this list because I have nothing else to brag about, and also as a reminder that everyone can help fix this whatever their circumstances. We can work on this at every level: personal, family, municipal, corporate, regional, national, global. 

So what shall we do this year?

Give Santa a break in 2023.
Make a plan.
Do something to brag about next December.

EIEIO.

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Permafrost Rapidly Thawing: CBC News, December 12, 2022

Arctic Warming: Just Have a Think

In Appreciation

 I was happy to be asked to speak for my friend, Ray Millard at his funeral yesterday. Our friendship goes back so far that it is lost in my dimming memory. We knew each other back when we actually polished our shoes. Things have moved on. My last pair of shoes got thrown out before I remembered to polish them. I forget details, but I will always remember Ray's last hug.

I asked Dorothy, to help me out with some specific recollections so I would have a story to tell about Ray. She was there in Port Elgin when Ray was baptized in Lake Huron. She recalls how the experience so affected him that he was shining as he came out of the water. Shining. Dorothy found the right word. I've seen Ray shining. That shine was always there on his face.

I expect those who lived with Ray would have seen him tired, discouraged, sad, angry, but he didn't let things hold him down. He wouldn't talk about his pain unless you asked. I asked once, and he said, as I remember, that the pain was a separate thing from who he was. He turned his attention elsewhere and kept on shining.

Ray shone in his singing. Way back when, John Black called up some of his friends and invited them to form a gospel quartet. John sang bass, I sang tenor, Don Richardson was in the middle, and Ray sang lead with his strong, dramatic voice lending conviction to inspiring words. As I remember, it was Ray who suggested we call ourselves The Interpreters.

The Interpreters, 1986
Don, Ray, Dennis, John

We met weekly for years and sang in church services and other events once a month. It wasn't all singing. There was a lot of joking and gab during our rehearsals. We became an extended family, including spouses, kids and other singers and players. We were a community of shining friends.

John arranged a recording session so we would remember the group at our prime. I'm glad he did. I listened to it again this week. When I say Ray shone in his singing, maybe some of you remember and would agree that shone is the right word. We sang and we shone.

We sang:
He Touched me, and made me whole
Something beautiful
I Will Serve Thee because I Love Thee
Steal away to Jesus
We are so blessed
Dozens of songs, still there in memory.
I know the words. I feel my voice reaching up for the tenor part even though there isn't much voice left. I hear us shining together.

Ray was slow to tell others what he thought or what they should think. He was rather a mentor. I often found myself the object of his attention. He would ask questions and listen to the answers like they mattered to him. Maybe he did that with you too. It was like he trusted us to think things through and make something out of life without any hint what that might be except that he cared. He was always a few steps ahead, encouraging us to take the next step but leaving the direction up to us.

Of course Ray wasn't alone in this. Ray and Nan were a team, conspiring to get us to be our best selves. And not just us. They engaged with waiters, cashier clerks, everybody.

In later years, when we were retired from singing, Dorothy and I met with Nan and Ray once a month for lunch; well, actually, for conversation with a side order of lunch. Dorothy recalls their story of canoeing in Algonquin Park, a holiday gift from the family. I imagine Ray shining as he risked getting his old bones into a tippy canoe to spend time with his lady in the wilderness on the water. He was at home in the wilderness. He knew he was so blessed.

How fortunate we are to have such friends as mentors, helping us grow out of self-absorption and obsession with suffering into compassion for others. I haven't forgotten the words or the music. There is a groove in my fading memory where Ray is still singing the lead with passion and conviction at a tempo that calms the pulse and makes us shine.

"We are so blessed by the gifts from your hand.
I just can't understand why you loved us so much.
We are so blessed, I just can't find a way,
or the words that can say,
'Thank you lord for your touch.'
When we're empty you fill us till we overflow.
When we're hungry you feed us and cause us to know we are so blessed.
Take what we have to bring,
take it all, everything.
For we love you so much." (Gaither Vocal Band)

We are so blessed to have shared time and space with Ray. He generously passed on his best to us. He did that intentionally. We can do that too. Personally, I am inclined to dwell on bad news, inflation, the pandemic, partisan politics, war, famine, drought, floods, the world falling apart. We should be aware of all of that so we do what we can to make things better; but then we can set it aside to pay attention to what is probably the most beautiful planet in the universe and the amazing creatures and friends with whom we share it.

We can share the joy. Ray and Nan, conspirators in joy, had the habit of saying goodbye with a hug, so you know you are thoroughly loved, and go home shining.

Thank you lord
that you touched Ray, 
and that he touches us.
In the name of Jesus, mentor of mentors,
Amen.