One Less Vice

Any committee that is the slightest use is composed of people who are too busy to want to sit on it for a second longer than they have to. ~Katharine Whitehorn

I'm often amazed how a normal day can end in such a different way than it started. I'm not talking about how life can be turned upside down by a tragedy, an accident, a critical diagnosis. I know those things come on quiet Tuesday afternoons or Wednesday mornings when you least expect it. I'm talking about other things that seem to be humming along in their normal course and all of a sudden change.

Last evening, for reasons I cannot discuss, four of the members of our eight person Board at West Toronto Community Legal Services resigned. As our Chair was one of those members, in the blink of an eye I moved from my role as Vice Chair to the role as Chair. Thinking about the challenges ahead kept me awake late into the night last night. All of this happened during the only Board meeting I've missed in my two year tenure.

Instead of attending the Board meeting, I went to the "by invitation only" opening of the new Joey Restaurant at the Eaton Centre. It was way fun. The food was fabulous; the service excellent. I met interesting people. While standing at the curry bar awaiting a bowl of Thai curry noodles, I was contacted by my dear friend Gail who sits on the WTCLS Board with me, and to whom I had given my voting proxy for last night's meeting, to advise me of what had transpired. Though I had tried to prepare myself for the possibility that is how events would unfold, I still felt stunned.

Within minutes of leaving Joey, around 8:30, I was already immersed in the business of the Clinic. There were calls to be made, memos to be written, plans to be developed. It is so much work. I took a couple of moments to take a few deep breaths and remind myself of why I agreed to join this Board in the first place. I do it because our Clinic serves thousands of the most marginalized people in our city. When I finally laid my head on my pillow last night, I was able to say to myself that in reviewing my day, I had truly done the best I could.

Be It Ever So Humble

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
- John Howard Payne

There was cold, fresh watermelon on the kitchen table and groceries in the fridge when we arrived home from London yesterday afternoon around 6:30. The plants in the garden look lush. The ravine thick with foliage. When I tumbled into bed just after 10:00 P.M., I could hardly believe how comfortable it was. I love being home.

We had a really great vacation. It was wonderful to catch up with family and friends who we have not seen for far too long. It was special to travel with Jacob, the man. It was exhilarating to discover new places and steep in the history of old ones. We will have memories to last a lifetime.

And, it is incredibly wonderful to be home. No matter how great a time had elsewhere, there are things about home that we take for granted. Things that are just part of normal life but never come to mind until we notice those same things are not part of normal life elsewhere. Some things I am grateful for in a whole new way...

Toilets that flush, first time, every time.

Being able to figure out how to dress for the weather. If it's frigidly cold, I can dress to be warm. If it is scalding hot, I can dress to be cool. I can slather myself in sunscreen to protect my skin from the blazing sun. I can wear a raincoat to keep dry from the rain. Rarely, if ever, do I have to figure out how to dress for all of that in a single day, or even a single hour.

Tim Hortons. A large cup of coffee is $1.65 as opposed to a small cup of coffee pretty much everywhere in the U.K. at a price equivalent to $4.00.

Have I mentioned how happy I am to be home?

London

"When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford." - Samuel Johnson

We dropped the car off at Heathrow yesterday morning with the odometer showing we drove 1,100 miles during our two weeks in the U.K. My feet feel like they've done about that much mileage too.

We took the train from the airport to Paddington Station and then walked the six blocks to our hotel pulling our suitcases behind us. The hotel is obscenely expensive and very basic. Our room is so small, it is necessary to step out if you need to change your mind. Nonetheless it is clean and well situated, about a twenty minute walk from Lancaster Station. Upon arrival yesterday we dropped our bags and hit the street with the intention we would walk a few miles then take the underground to Covent Gardens where we would dine before the show. As we arrived in Covent Gardens quite early we stopped by the theatre to pick up the tickets I bought on-line more than a month ago. They had no record of our tickets. I produced the receipt and the young man at the box office told me that the tickets had been issued for a performance for the day after I booked it in May. We were, therefore, six weeks late. I explained to him that I had a confirmation that the tickets were correctly booked for last night. He didn't really seem surprised so I guess we aren't the first people that has happened to. He gave us three tickets for a box, not as good as the seats we were supposed to have, but good enough. It was a great show.

When we left the theatre it was pouring. There wasn't a taxi to be had and none of us had an umbrella. It was a long, crowded walk to the underground, a long descent down the stairs (Merv didn't want to wait for the elevator and failed to see the sign that said there were 192 steps down to the train) and a long, wet walk back to our hotel. I practically collapsed into bed with exhaustion.

Today we bought tickets for the hop on, hop off tour bus. We rode for two hours then walked for five. We are back at our hotel for a short rest before making our way out for dinner. We have agreed to stay close to the hotel. We are all tired and tomorrow will be another long day. Our flight is at 2:00 P.M. We've had a great time. As much as I've loved it, I will be happy to go home.

Viva Las Venice

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

As You Like It Act 2, scene 7, 139–143

The production of The Merchant of Venice which we saw at the Royal Shakespeare Company Theatre tonight was an interesting modern take on the classical play. Set mainly in Las Vegas, there was an Elvis impersonator, a thug and a couple of southern belles. The language was all as Shakespeare wrote it. I was surprised how many passages I can still recite from my grade nine study of the play. Patrick Stewart was cast in the role of Shylock. As Jacob put it, he was absolutely brilliant.

Our night at the theatre was the perfect end to our time in Stratford. Today we enjoyed the history the city has to offer. We toured the home that William Shakespeare was born in and the remains of the home he died in. We toured the home of his daughter and son-in-law who was Stratford's doctor. We all learned some things about Victorian England,though I probably learned more than the boys as my knowledge deficit was far greater than either of theirs to begin with.

Tomorrow morning we will head to London for the last leg of our journey. Before going into the city we will take our rental car back to Heathrow and then take the train into the city. Tomorrow night we have tickets to see The Woman in Black. I saw it five years ago when I was in London on business with my friend Mike. Neither of the boys have seen it. As I recall it is quite scary. I think they will like it. We have yet to determine our plan for Saturday. I will go along with whatever Jacob and Merv choose. I would be content to just walk around the city and absorb the energy that is London. I do want to figure out, though, between now and the end of my shopping time on Saturday, what treasures I might pick up as table gifts for our Christmas Eve dinner. I've decided we will be having an English Christmas this year.

Stratford-upon-Avon

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

The Merchant Of Venice Act 4, scene 1, 180–187

We left Betws-y-Coed at about 10:30 this morning and made a short stop to see the aquaducts at Pont Scysylite on our way to Stratford-upon-Avon. After checking into our bed and breakfast we spent a lovely afternoon exploring the streets of the town, stopping at a couple of pubs for sustenance and visiting the church where Shakespeare is buried. I was surprised to see that William Shakespeare was only fifty-two years old when he died. Merv reminded me that fifty-two was a ripe old age in the 1500s.

Tomorrow we have tickets to see a modern adaptation of the Merchant of Venice at the main theatre in S-o-A. A shopkeeper we met this afternoon told us this version of the classic play is set in Las Vegas with Patrick Stewart (aka. Star Trek's Captain Jean Luc Picard) in the role of Shylock. I can't quite imagine it. She has warned us to expect some Elvis impressions and some accents from the deep south. It will be different for sure.

The last days of our holiday are flying by. Just one more day in Stratford and two days in London before we head for home on Sunday. It has been a great trip. In spite of all the walking I've done, I suspect I will be starting my diet from scratch when I get home.

Great Orme Head

"I don't know how you get dressed if you live in Wales, because it's pouring rain, and then it's hot sunshine, and then it might hail. It's just so confusing." - Piper Perabo

I've climbed. I've walked. I've waded in the Irish sea. I've been drenched in cold rain. I've been bathed in warm sunshine. I've been swept by lashing winds. All this in one day. We started the day in Conwy with a tour of Conwy castle. That is an outdoor activity as all that is left of the castle is the walls. There are no rooms, no ceilings. It was warm and sunny when we first arrived. Within minutes the cold rain was driving. We ducked into doorways and sloshed through puddles. Then we moved on to a fifteenth century house for a tour and a glimpse of Welsh life in old times. It seems like every school kid in Conwy was on a class trip today to both the castle and the house. To call the children ill behaved is to speak kindly. After leaving Conwy we drove to Great Orme Head. The weather alternated every five minutes between frigid rains and warm sunshine. Merv did a superlative job of driving us to the top of Great Orme Head though he claimed the need to change his pants once we finally got up there. It was a bit harrowing. I like to think of it as a chance to improve my prayer life.

Great Orme Head offers a magnificent view of the Irish sea, the village and the countryside. And the sheep, of course. The winds were so strong at the top of Great Orme Head that I was clinging to Jacob for protection. It is quite a fascinating place. There are more than 400 species of rare plants at the top of Great Orme Head. And there are the Great Orme Goats which have massive horns on their sheep-like bodies. After our visit at the top, we made the drive back to the bottom, which was as harrowing on the way down as it was on the way up.

In the village we walked to the pier where the boys each had a Welsh beer at the end of the pier which is half-a-mile from the shore, followed by a walk of several miles through the village. By the time we returned to the car, we were all falling apart.

The drive back to Betws-y-Coed was punctuated with rain and then sun and then more rain. A lovely rainbow briefly shone upon the mountain tops. We decided to stop for dinner at an inviting little inn. It was a great choice. The food, though far too abundant, was delicious.

Tomorrow we will leave Wales and head to Stratford-on-Avon. We have tickets to see The Merchant of Venice tomorrow night. There is still much to see in Wales but it will have to wait for another time. I managed to learn one word in Welsh today - the word for thank you. I cannot say it often enough.

Sheep

"Each section of the British Isles has its own way of laughing, except Wales, which doesn't". - Stephen Leacock

There are three million people in Wales and eleven million sheep. That explains the landscape. It is hard to drive anywhere in Wales where there isn't a sheep in view unless you are on a street in a city core. Even then, there is no guarantee.

Our current location of Betws-y-Coed is in the area of Wales known as Snowdonia. The beauty of the region is breathtaking. Today we took the train up Snowdon mountain. The view from the summit at the top is said to be of five kingdoms - Wales, Ireland, England,The Isle of Man and the Kingdom of Heaven. I'm not sure which kingdoms I was looking at when we got there, except for the heaven part. I'm pretty sure I had a glimspe of the Kingdom of Heaven. I'm happy I'm not doing any of the driving on this holiday. I don't know how Merv can concentrate on the road when immersed in such beauty. In some places it feels like a fairy land. In others it is the stark beauty which is so startling. Whether in lush green areas or in the slate rock quarries, there are sheep. So many sheep. Many of them are still wearing their winter coats. Some have been shorn. They look so tiny without their coats. I saw some today that seemed to be the size of Dora.

After our trip up Snowdon Mountain, we headed to Caenarfon, the city that houses the palace in which Charles became Prince of Wales. It is a sad gray place, showing clear signs of being economically depressed. We didn't stay long.

Tomorrow we are going to Conwy Castle. I'm also hoping to have a chance to wander through some of the specialty craft stores in Betws-y-Coed. The stores close early here and they had all closed by the time we returned to the village tonight. It is a quiet village. There is no night life which is fine. The bed and breakfast in which we're staying has a small lounge. The three of us have made ourselves quite comfortable, sharing companionship and watching a bit of TV.

Cambridge to Betws-y-Coed

“They (The British) are like their own beer; froth on top, dregs at bottom, the middle excellent.” - Voltaire

We arrived in Wales yesterday after a weekend in Cambridge with family. It has been ten years since I last saw Ann, Alan and Beryl. Other than Ann who is now beautifully slim, they look the same. Even Beryl who is now eighty-seven years old, hasn’t changed a whit. If I hadn’t been told, I would never have guessed at the multitude of health problems she has dealt with in the past decade. She made a lovely lunch for us on Friday, even baking sausage rolls, cheese biscuits and two types of cakes. Incredible.

When I was in England ten years ago, Ann and Alan were the grandparents of two little girls. Now their granddaughters number five, each more beautiful than the other. Their two sons were young men then. Now they are settled into work, marriages and fatherhood. They have become confident men. It was wonderful to see.

Merv ‘s cousin Ian also visited along with his wife and step-daughter. It had been fourteen years since we last saw him. He also hasn’t changed much physically though the wife he brought to meet us this time is not the same wife we met last time. Happily, he traded up. All these people, plus a couple of friends of Ann’s descended upon their small Histon home on Saturday. Remarkably she fed us all with seeming ease and enormous grace. While she prepared the meal on Saturday morning, Alan took us into Cambridge for a walk around the university and the town. Cambridge is a very beautiful city with charm and vibrancy. Because Alan works at the university, we had access to places ordinary mortals were restricted from entering. Walking through the back of Kings College we were able to watch the punters.

It was a sad parting yesterday afternoon. Time flew far too quickly. I would have loved more time with Ann and Alan. Merv and Jacob felt the same.

Now we are in Betws-y-Coed in Northern Wales. We are staying in a charming bed and breakfast called Glyntwrog House. I’m trying to learn a few words of Welsh but the language is very hard. I would be happy to master “hello” (shwamae), “nice to meet you” (braf cwrdd a chi) ”please” (os gwelwch yn dda) and “thank you” (diolch). I’m not holding out much hope.

Today we will explore mountains and castles. The little I`ve seen so far of Wales, already marks it as one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. Though we were warned over and over during our week in England that the Welsh are not very hospitable, we have found the opposite to be true. We had a wonderful dinner last night, served in the most gracious manner. We have been treated as the most valued of guests.

Visiting the Greens

"In England there are sixty religions, and only one sauce."
- Francesco Caracciolo

We stopped by the funeral home in Diss yesterday to see Merv's cousin Richard. Richard is a Green, Merv's family on his mother's side. We were advised by a very nice man at the funeral home that Richard was out at a funeral and would not return until a bit later in the day. He asked if we would like a cup of tea. Declining with our thanks, we left a message that we would be back and headed to a cafe for coffee and a scone. While in Diss, Merv and Myron ran into their scout leader. Even at 86, he recognized his boys.

A little later we returned to the funeral home to be greeted by Richard and his wife Julie, who he called when he learned we were coming. We spent about a half hour visiting before he had to go off to arrange another funeral. Before going, however, he called his mother, Gladys to tell her we were there and would like to visit with her later in the day. After spending a delightful afternoon at a railway museum we went to see Auntie Gladys. Merv's cousin Margaret was there as was his cousin Graham's wife Elaine. We had visited Graham at the bike shop the day before and when the word went out that we would be going to see Auntie Gladys, I would guess that Elaine didn't want to be left out as all the other wives had met us.

Auntie Gladys was married to Merv's Uncle Eddie, the brother of Merv's mom Doreen. Gladys is eighty-six and looks seventy-six. She barely reaches my shoulder. Gladys lives in the apartments behind the Salvation Army. This is the Salvationist part of the family and Auntie Gladys is the leader of the band. Even at her advanced years, there is no grass growing under her feet. She can tell you the birthdates of all Merv's relatives. She has strong opinions on everyone and everything. She knits for the Romanian orphans, does needlpoint tapestries and makes a good cup of tea. Remarkable. While we were there, she thought it would be nice to call Merv's Auntie Miriam, his mother's twin sister, who lives in West Wycombe and who Merv has not spoken to in more than 30 years. Merv and Auntie Miriam had a great chat. At eighty-three there isn't any grass growing under her feet either.

After an hours visit we returned to Myron and Sue's, parked the car, met up with Warren and Lynsey and walked down to the pub for our final Diss dinner. This morning we are chatting over a cup of tea. Sue will be leaving for work in a few minutes. In about an hour we will leave for Cambridge.

The time is flying by. Many hellos and many goodbyes. Sue and I have agreed we won't be saying goodbye. See you later will suffice.

Bury St Edmunds

"Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun." - Noel Coward

We ventured into Diss yesterday morning, stopping at the motorcycle shop to say hello to another of Merv's cousins. Myron diverted Merv into a book shop to give me a chance to go into the sports shop to buy an Ipswich football shirt for Merv. Jacob and I had planned to give the shirt to Merv for Father's Day on Sunday. Unfortunately there are no football shirts available until July. I managed to secure the only piece of Ipswich football memorabilia in the store - a cup then went into another shop to buy an English themed t-shirt and barbeque apron. As we had a trip to Bury St Edmunds planned for the afternoon, Myron felt quite assured I would be able to get an Ipswich shirt there.

Bury St Edmunds is a city, though it seems only marginally larger than Diss. What marks it as a city is the presence of a cathedral. That is the way it is here - cities have cathedrals. No cathedral, no city. We did a bit of shopping on the main street where every other store seemed to be a charity shop (what we call second-hand shops at home). There are some wonderful treasures to be found. Myron and I escaped to the modern mall where we hit three sports shops in search of the elusive shirt without success. Oh well. I will have to order a shirt from the Ipswich football team website and have it sent to Canada for a different occasion.

After our walk through Bury St Edmunds we headed home to enjoy a barbeque. Emma and Neil are returning home today so we said goodbye to them last night. I expect we will next see them in Toronto. They are travelers and one of their friends has recently moved to Toronto so they are planning a visit.

This morning we will go into Diss to see another of Merv's cousins, this time stopping into the funeral home. We have a visit to a steam train museum scheduled for later today. Late this afternoon were hoping to spend a few minutes with an elderly aunt and another of Merv's cousins. Then it is dinner at a new pub. Tomorrow we head to Cambridge for the last leg of the family visits. The pollen count is still sky high here and Jacob is still miserable. The weather forecast predicts some relief tomorrow.

Southwold

"The British are special. The world knows it. In our innermost thoughts we know it. This is the greatest nation on earth." ~ Tony Blair

The North Sea is freezing. I learned that yesterday when I dipped my feet into the water. I seem to have provided great amusement to our traveling companions. It was a beautiful day to explore the seaside village of Southwold. The English are a hearty lot. They buy or rent small unheated cabins on the sea where they sit, sometimes in swimsuits, sometimes in jeans and fleeces to enjoy the sea air.

Jacob's allergies are the worst they've ever been. He is absolutely miserable. The countryside is in full bloom. The sight of all the flowers is spectacular. I doubt that he can see much through his swollen eyes. No amount of allergy medicine, even the stuff recommended by the English pharmacist, seems to be touching his problem. He's down for the count this morning. I hope a good long sleep will help him feel better.

This morning we are going into Diss to pick up a couple of things and to say hello to a couple of Merv's cousins - one working at the funeral home, the other at the bike shop. He wants to call an elderly aunt to see if he can drop over for tea. Our hostess Sue is working only half-a-day today so we will spend time with her this afternoon in whatever way she chooses. More adventures await.

Diss

"If you don't believe in ghosts, you've never been to a family
reunion." - Ashleigh Brilliant

We arrived in Diss shortly before 4 o'clock yesterday afternoon following a teary departure from Eric's. We meandered through the countryside, taking in the changing landscape which moved from Queen Anne's lace and poppies to ferns and rhododendrons and back again. Along the way we stopped at Hunstanton to look at the sea and have a bite of lunch. A lapse in our collective memory resulted in a £50 parking ticket.

Until Friday we will be staying at the home of Myron and Sue in the village of Winfarthing just outside Diss. Their home is a small cottage on the main street. There is no street address, the house identified only as the School House, named for it's location across the street from the village school. Myron, who served as best man at our wedding, is Merv's oldest friend. Merv was to Myron's parents (now deceased) what Jonathan is to us.

Last night we went to a restaurant in Diss for the family reunion dinner. There were eleven of us, Myron and Sue, their daughter Emma and her husband Neil, their son Warren and his fiancee Lynsey and Lynsey's parents Phillip and Heather. Phillip is Merv's first cousin. A tracing of the family tree has somehow connected Myron and Merv as family though admittedly I had trouble following the connections. This is the meeting that I was nervous about - the one that precipitated my diet. Of course, as most things in life go, there was no need for nerves. By comparison, my weight is absolutely fine, not to mention I have beautiful teeth. Too funny.

In a few minutes I will get into the shower and then Merv and I will head to the cemetery to visit the graves of his mom and sister. We have a seaside visit scheduled for a little later in the day. I also need to find a computer store where I can buy a suitable power cord for my netbook as it's out of juice and we didn't bring the right adaptor.

The sun is brilliant in the sky today. The odors from the pig farm adjacent to the house are unfortunately wafting in the morning breeze so I'm struggling a bit. Sue tells me I'll get used to the smell. I'm not convinced.

Queen Anne's Lace and Poppies

"The poppy opes her scarlet purse of dreams." - Iris
Scharmel

The Stickney drought ended yesterday. It poured the whole day. That was great for the people of Stickney though a little less great for us. Nonetheless, we had a good day driving through the countryside, looking at the small villages, stopping at the mill for lunch and walking through the old castle ruins. Do you remember when we were young, the abundance of Queen Anne's Lace in the fields and countryside? I don't recall seeing it so much anymore. But here, the countryside is a swath of white lace gloriously populated by brilliant red poppies. Simply beautiful.

In a couple of hours we will be leaving Stickney and heading to Diss. I'm dreading saying goodbye to Eric. Two short days have not been enough time after these years of absence. After dinner last night Merv and Eric poured over pictures of their childhood, sharing recollections of times long past. I think it is good for both of them. In a way, it seems to heal the hurt of some of their family disfunction. To know that they were both affected by the dozens of times they moved and changed schools. To speak of the pain of losing their sister. To remember some happy days playing together as small children.

Diss is the part of this trip that I am most anxious about. I will meet, and be judged by, the family members Merv hasn't seen for thirty years. This is the part of the trip that set me strictly on my diet forty three days ago. After all these years, Merv wants the family to see that he, the black sheep, did well. I want them to believe that he married well, at least this third time. Seeing Jacob will, at least, prove the excellence of this union.

The sun is trying to break through the clouds this morning. On to a new day.

Stickney

"There is a forgotten, nay almost forbidden word that means more to me than any other. That word is England." - Sir Winston Churchill

It is a beautiful morning. The sun is streaming in the window. It's strangely quiet and very early, still before 6 A.M. I've been awake since before five o'clock. It's an adjustment morning. Our red eye flight to London was uneventful. Though I had hoped to sleep, I knew that was unlikely. I managed a couple of ten minute catnaps and spent the rest of the night resting with my Ipod in my years and my sleep mask on. By the time we arrived in London I had that feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes it hard for me to distinguish if I'm hungry or just tired.



I don't know how Merv managed to do it, but we picked up our rental car and immediately hit the road for Stickney where Merv's brother Eric was awaiting our arrival. Jacob navigated so I climbed into the back seat for the three hour journey. I was asleep in about five minutes. I got an hour. At one point Merv was struggling with fatigue so we made a short stop at a McDonald's on the highway. Lest I think I was at home, I was made aware of the foreignness of my location when the order taker asked if I wanted black or white coffee. These English people have a strange way of speaking English. We drove through some pretty towns and villages. This part of the country is very flat so often the only tall things on the horizon were church steeples and wind turbines.



Our arrival at Eric's was an emotional one. It has been six years since he, Merv and Jacob last saw one another; five since he last saw me. A lot has happened in those years. For one thing, Jacob was a boy six years ago. I don't think Eric was prepared for the man who was before him. And when I last saw Eric, I was recovering from treatment, my hair just breaking the surface of my scalp. Eric looks good, better than ever in fact. His hair is all gray now, the lines in his face etched a little deeper in these last years. His place is small but warm. He has been very gracious, giving his bedroom to Merv and I and his guest room to Jacob. He is sleeping on the couch in the lounge.



He took us to a great pub for dinner last night in Revesby. It is a tiny village comprised of a group of gingerbread houses and an old stone church. Eric's daughter Anthea along with her husband Jason and two of her sons, four year old Josh and eight-month-old Alfie joined us at the pub. Anthea was a child when Merv last saw her. It was a first meeting for Jacob and I. She sat next to Jacob, across the table from me. It was an amazing sight. They look very much alike. Her eyes, like Jacob's, are the same blue of their late grandfather, their noses and jaw lines bear a remarkable resemblance. There is no mistaking their blood relationship. That was a first for me. As the only child on my side of the family, Jacob doesn't have any young lookalikes at home, no siblings, no blood related cousins. Seeing them together, touched my heart.



Back at Eric's, I managed to stay up until 10:00 P.M. but finally gave in and went to bed. I don't know what adventures this day will bring. Eric wants to show us some of the other towns and villages in this area. There are windmills and castles to been seen. And tonight there is another pub for the boys to sample the local beers. I can hear the doves now, calling out their morning greetings. It's time to get up and step into the day.

Awaiting a Message from Dad

"I waited and waited, and when no message came, I knew it must have been from you.” Ashleigh Brilliant

It is my dad's ninety-first birthday today. The last one we were able to celebrate with him was nineteen years ago. Barely five weeks later, he was gone. Jacob was not quite eleven months old when my dad passed away. I worked hard to keep him alive in Jacob's mind and heart throughout his growing years. So each June 7 when Jacob was small, we would go to the store and buy one helium balloon. Jacob would carry it into our backyard, look up to the heavens and let it go. The balloon was a birthday message for Granddad. After dinner we would light the candles on a birthday cake and sing happy birthday to my father. Jacob would blow out the candles on Dad's behalf. I like to think my dad watched all those celebrations and enjoyed them as much as we did. He has been alive in our lives all these many years since his exit from this earthly plain. It just the interactions that change.

Nancy believes my dad sends messages to her in the form of songs and pennies. She finds pennies in the oddest places and at the oddest times. Last Thursday when we were at Mt. Sinai struggling with what was happening to my mom, Nan found a penny in the critical care area of the emergency room. She knew Dad was letting her know he was with us. This morning Cath sent me a note to tell me Dad sent her a message via an empty elevator that came to her without being beckoned. As it is his birthday and I've been chatting with him a fair bit today, I thought maybe I would get a message today too. But so far nothing. That's okay. I know he has been here with me anyway.

The day has practically passed. There were no balloons sent skyward, no birthday cake or candles. Just the loving thoughts and wishes of three grown daughters and one grandson who nineteen years later still miss our dad like crazy.

Falling Apart

"So go ahead. Fall down. The world looks different from the ground."
- Oprah Winfrey

The cry I promised myself last night didn't materialize. Even at 55 I have yet to master the fine art of falling apart. I feel like I've been going through the motions of sanity and composure all day, through business meetings, shopping and even cooking dinner. It's just a normal day but nothing feels normal to me. My legs are like jelly and I've had a lump in my throat all day. I've been trying to figure out why the events of yesterday took such a toll. After all, Mom is okay. It was only an eight hour ordeal, not an eighteen hour ordeal. And I handled it. In the final analysis, I think I'm still reeling from the minutes I had alone with her in the car when I believed she was dying in the seat beside me and I couldn't do a damn thing about it.

It's not that I'm the kind of person who keeps my feelings to myself. On the contrary, I've long been known for wearing my heart on my sleeve. But something different happens when I'm in crisis mode. The other Jackie kicks in. The strong, in-control, I can manage anything and take care of everyone Jackie. That Jackie makes me tired. But once she is in control of me, I have a hard time getting her to relax and retreat.

I know. I know. I sound like a nut - a schizophrenic nut at that. But when faced with a crisis, I don't seem to have the ability to fall apart even once the crisis is over. Yet I know it would be be cathartic to have the cry, to let it go, to get some release. I just can't get there. It will happen eventually at a time when it's really inconvenient in a response that's completely out of proportion to the event that triggers it. And I will feel terrible for awhile. But after a little bit of time, I will get up off the floor and walk on.

Thursday at Mt. Sinai

"Hospitals are places that you have to stay in for a long time, even if you are a visitor. Time doesn't seem to pass in the same way in hospitals as it does in other places. Time seems to almost not exist in the same way as it does in other places." - Pedro Almodovar

I knew today would be difficult at best. Nan and I were scheduled to take my Mom this morning to her quarterly gynecology appointment at Mt. Sinai's Ob/Gyn clinic in the Hydro building. Mom was smiling when she got in my car at the nursing home but was asleep within a couple of blocks of driving. A few blocks later she was drooling madly. Then came the diarrhea. Finally though we arrived at the Hydro building with nowhere to park or even stop the car and no answer at the number we normally call to get the services of a porter. Nan had to go into the building to try and find a wheelchair and porter while I drove around the block. Shortly after Nan got out of the car, Mom started vomiting. I realized she was not asleep but unconscious. And for a few terrifying minutes I was hoping she wouldn't die in my car. Suffice it to say we never did make it to the gynecologist's office.

Instead, we spent the day in the emergency department at Mt. Sinai. A code team of nineteen (yes I actually counted them) met us at the car to assess Mom and take her into the hospital. They believed, as did I, that she was probably having a heart attack or a stroke. They could not wake her or rouse her into consciousness. The hospital chaplain came to sit with Nan and I.

The truth is that everyone at the hospital was just plain wonderful. They were patient, kind and incredibly responsive. They treated Mom lovingly and with gentleness. But even after running a whole gambit of tests, they were unable to determine what happened. There was no stroke. No heart attack. It may be the flu or a urinary tract infection or it may be one of those things. So by late afternoon she was released, with her vomit covered clothes in a plastic bag. They put two hospital gowns and a blanket on her and helped us to load her in my car. She didn't vomit again but she did have a small accident that wasn't quite contained in her diaper so for the second time today, I cleaned my car.

When I left the nursing home shortly before five she was sound asleep in her own bed. Nan was determined to stay with her and not take a break for some dinner though neither of us had a bite since this morning when I insisted she have a bit of yogurt with me. I decided to take a break from cooking tonight. The Swiss Chalet delivery man is on his way. My bones are aching and my stomach is growling. After the boys have gone to bed tonight, I think I'll indulge myself in a good cry.

Retirement Beads

"Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."
~Pooh's Little Instruction Book, inspired by A.A. Milne

After twenty-five years as Executive Director of Geneva Centre for Autism, my friend Marg is retiring this month. As much as I would like to be at her farewell party, we will be in Britain when the event is held. On that night though, I like to think I will be present in a small way. Marg will be wearing the necklace I made for her out of her retirement beads.

A couple of years ago Marg went to a bead store and bought twenty five beads, one to start and then one to add to a bowl on her desk on the first day of each month until her retirement. Today the beads came to me to create a piece of jewelry. So this morning with great love I spent a couple of hours arranging, re-arranging and stringing Marg's retirement beads. I first designed them, then strung them before discovering that the holes in the beads at the neck were not sufficiently large to allow the strand to be properly clasped. So once again, I started from scratch. I did the work while sitting on the deck so I could use the full light of the sun. My eyesight is deteriorating and I'm finding it more and more difficult to see well enough to do the fine detailing that comes with finishing a necklace. The warm air and full sun were a balm for my soul today, but the high winds presented their own challenges. Once I finished, I completed the piece with a lovely sterling clasp I've been saving for something special. But after looking at the necklace for twenty minutes or so, I decided I didn't like the way the clasp looked on that piece. I chose another clasp and did it again. I hope Marg likes it.

This afternoon I will visit the eye doctor and get a new prescription. Then I will dash off to the store and order new glasses that I hope will be ready in time for our trip to England. Later in the afternoon I will head downtown to meet Cath. We have a spa adventure booked this evening.

There are a couple of dozen tasks that require my attention before we leave on vacation. I've been trying to tackle them, a couple each day. But the air is warm and the birds are lovely so I'm making sure that enjoying the splendor of these June days is also on my to-do list.