IN MEMORY OF OUR FRIEND, DENNIS

 

 
Its been a long week, as we all sat helplessly, waiting for news that our friend had been found.  In my heart, I hoped that there was some terrible mistake and Dennis would just roll into town, give Marianne a big hug and tell her of his latest adventure.  But it was not to be.  On July 14th, after a week of hoping, his body was discovered, having tragically gone off the highway in northern BC.  The accident took his life.  

The miracle is how multitudes of people who knew Dennis, many of them from his biker lifestyle, offered a veritable army of prayers into the Ethernet, asking for his safety and sending their love in  abundance.  It made me cry each time I opened Facebook and saw hundreds of prayers and blessings day after day as his family stoically put one foot ahead of the other in their faithful search.  It was overwhelming to see how many people Dennis had touched in his sixty-one years on this planet.

If I close my eyes, I can see his smiling face, all golden, bronzed from the hours spent riding in the sunshine.  I can see his blue eyes, those laughing eyes, those knowing eyes that caught you off guard if you weren't expecting them to pierce right through you.  He could see your soul.  His recovery journey gave him an insight into life and love and loss, and that is what I want to celebrate when I think of Dennis.

My Blog is called, LOVE AND OTHER LOSSES, and Dennis' story is another lesson in that paradigm.  As sad as it is to lose him, as devastating as it is to know we will never see him again in this lifetime, the love he generated in all of us will last for eternity and that can never be diminished.  It teaches us that the most important thing in life is to love; although we risk being hurt and know we will ultimately feel the pain of loss, the joy of having loved another so perfectly lasts forever.  I know that there is only one purpose in our lives, and that is to love unconditionally.  Wealth, power and fame are insignificant in the end; only love remains through it all.  Love knows all, touches all and heals all.

So when you hear the echo of some Harley pipes in the distance, or glimpse a flash of a smokey blue decker with a sheep skin on it, and you remember in a painful flash that Dennis isn't with us in body, don't be sad.  Think of him riding with his brothers and sisters of the highway, and keeping an eye on us down here.  And remember, there are angels among us, loving us still.

Say hello to those other angels, Dennis.  Heaven's Angels.

Love Lost

Exactly thirty years ago, today,  July 1st, I thought my world was ending. 

I had been sick for a few years, and my doctors were not able to give me a diagnosis. I was slowly slipping into the abyss of the chronically ill, where, no matter what I clung to,or how loud I yelled out for help as I slid down into the crevass of hopelessness, I knew I was lost.  I had begun to separate myself from family members, friends and even from my own situation.   At last I found myself in a state of peacefulness.  Quiet, calm and reasonable.

My relationships suddenly came into shark focus.  My two children - now in their early teens - were no longer babies.  They were capable and strong - each a part of my heart.  My husband was my best friend.  I was surrounded by love.

But my illness had taken its toll on everyone.  Keith's own needs were unmet and he had allowed himself to seek love outside our marriage.  We had talked about it rationally, reasonably, like adults, and finallly, thirty years ago on this day, as we sat on the sandy beach, bathed in the summer sun, I looked at him with new eyes and saw how sad he had become.  I recall the moment as one of utter whiteness, blinding sun, blistering heat, total silence.  My heart was heavy as I told him I loved him and that it was time to find out if he needed to leave me to seek his own fulfilment.  The other woman was waiting for him.  We both cried and held each other with a fierce passion, knowing it might be the last time we sat here together as a married couple.

If I had any hope that he might stay with me, take care of me, continue to love me as his only love, it was dashed when he wiped hot tears away and said, "I have to leave you, to go to her and find out if it's real.  I'll go quickly."  And, for him, Canada Day became his emancipation day.  Freedom from caring for a sick wife, from being shackled by a 19 year marriage - once solid, now shadowed by only vague memories of the good times.  I gave him the liberty to seek a new love with my permission.  His ambivalance showed as he stood, balancing from foot to foot in the hot sand, and helped me rise so he could embrace me. He cried out, "I must be crazy.  I love you, but I have to do this".  I folded into his arms one last time before he walked away, and left me looking out over the cool, clear water. Alone.

There is a certain kind of peace that comes with the understanding that there are no more chances, no more options, no more hopes to grab.  I found that peace and calmly turned to walk back to my cottage and the remnants of my  life.  I had to make plans for my children and me.

Ultimately, I was blessed by finding a good doctor, and by the end of summer,  I had  radical surgery, found new hope for recovery and discovered that I had a stronger, more valiant source of strength than I ever suspected, lingereing within me.   I emerged from my sick bed cacoon to fly with new wings.

Over the years that followed, Keith married and divorced his soul mate, married and divorced his next wife, and finally married one  last time to the woman he needed to calm his restless spirit.  I remarried, became a widow and married again, this time to the one man who will love me forever.  Both Keith and I have remained each other's confidantes, friends and even supporters in life's challenges. 

I have learned that loving relationships can be lost.  This is the human condition in a temporal world.  But the experience of love is never lost.  It remains in our memories as timeless, eternal and infinite and feeds that part of us that is our soul.

The Seven Day Weekend

Well, today the sun is shining, it is about 22 degrees celsius and Jerry, three dogs and I are all sharing this 34 foot RV.  That's right, we are puppy sitting our daughter's two, two pound Chihuahuas as well as our Bo.  Thankfully, everyone is polite and agreeable so we havent had any territorial fights over best places to sit.

I awoke at four am this morning to discover that the sun was already on its way up!  I rose early, went to town to pickup the 'twins' and came back with a list of chores.  By noon, they were all done and I have the rest of the day to relax and enjoy the sun.  Yesterday at this time, a lovely Elk lady strolled through our grassy area beside the RV, stopping to snack a little on the green delicacy.  She looked up at me, seemed to nod and even smile I think, then continue on her way.  I feel like a resort Elk Starbucks.  She was so shiney and fat, a gorgeous ungulate, cud chewing socialite in her prime.  I am also sure she was with calf the way her belly swayed and swelled.  She also had the 'Mommy brain' thing going on, you know the one?  Where the world could collapse and she wouldnt be bothered, because she was pregnant?  I've been there, bought the maternity smock a couple of times myself.

Later in the evening, last night we went out to help my Brother in law get his boat on the trailer, and saw even more Elk.  I think they may have been the same ones from the other night.  I'm beginning to notice slight differences between each of them I see.  I think these two are about two years old, one male and one female, (the baby horns were my first clue, the rest is obvous had I thought to look).  Its going to be very hard to leave them behind when we come back to the city.

I think we will go down by the water later this afternoon.  The beach is not far away and it's so peaceful there.  By the weekend, it will be crowded with tanners and swimmers, so this will be my last solitary meander to fill my lungs with negative ions until the fall.  Oh, well, I've brought a box of great books, my computer and a good lawn chair so there will be no lack of things to entertain my little brain back at the campsite. 

Yesterday I made gluten free brownies in my microwave!  They were deliscious and rose perfectly.  Yummy.  I didn't know you could do that in a microwave, so maybe there is some magic up here.  Now I'm going to make some lunch and then find a quiet spot in the sun and ponder my good fortune until its our beach time.

May your days be blessed, your fortunes be many and may love and other losses keep you anchored in this reality we call living.

PARADISE FOUND

My husband and I have been camping for a week now.  We wandered north from our urban home in Saskatoon, Sk - and parked our older 35 foot Winnebago in Waskesiu, Prince Albert National Park.  The trailer park here is spectacular.  Large grassy lots nestled in towering pines and trembling aspens provide background music to relax by, and a gentle breeze cools even the hotest day.  Not that there have been too many of those since we got here. 

     We're both into our golden years, so it's nice to have all the amenities of home in our motorhome.  Microwave, convection oven, gas stove and oven, along with a full fridge and freezer all serve the tiny galley kitchen..  A queen bed offers perfect rest in the bedroom, with its own little tv, and a night spent there is gaurenteed to ensure great comfort. Especially for two portly old farts!  And don't forget the bathroom, with shower, toilet and sink.  A comfy living room couch faces the armchair rocker and another tv with satelitte reception makes sure we never miss a Rider Game.

     Its only a few blocks to the best swimming beach in the world.  Golden sands offer awesome tanning afternoons. Clean, pure water fills the horizon for miles and a swim in it refreshes wonderfully on a hot day.  If fishing is your thing, you can cast from shore or take a boat out - either way, you are sure to have pike or pickerel fillets for supper.  Tonight we enjoyed both those species, along with new potatoes and fresh corn on the cob.  My sister and brother-in-low left us a big serving of freshly caught catch of the day and I have to say, fish caught in this cold, clean water has a taste like none other in the world.  Fried in a little butter, some salt and pepper and there is nothing like it. 

     Nights are cool here.  Nine or ten degrees Celsius is just right for sleeping well, and although it is still quite light out at eleven o'clock, you just can't keep those eyes open a minute more.  Soon the Northern Lights, or Auroraborealis will light up the northern skies and dance with the colors of a pastel pallette.  The evenings have been great for snuggling up under a soft blanket and reading a favorite book.  It's so quiet here that I can almost hear the grass growing!  We took a ride out to the Marina tonight and within a kilometer of our campsite, we paused to let a young Elk have her supper right beside us.  Farther on, another young Elk, this one a three point male, stared at us as we slowed down and then deliberately tossed his magnificent head as if to say, " Tourists.  Humff.  What are they lookin at?"  Not much farther up the road, Mr. Reddy Fox sat by the road, hoping we would stop and perhaps give him a little treat.  I'm sure visitors to this park have already done so, and now he's trained to be unafraid of humans.  And even though his mommy likely told him not to take candy from strangers, he just can't resist temptation.  Sad, because once he has lost his fear of man, everything and everyone becomes dangerous to him.  I hope we don't find him with his poor little nose in some plastic pop ties or a can.  Our own selfishness is powerful and we want to watch, maybe even get close enough to touch, offer junk food or otherwise contaminate wildlife.  We need to be observers, not friends with these little fellows.

      Well .tomorrow is another day, so time to close.  My wish is that everyone could come here and spend a summer in this perfect paradise.  Perhaps there will be time to come back and write some more about our adventures. 

The Wisdom of Kahlil Gibran

 

Self-Knowledge

And a man said, "Speak to us of Self-Knowledge."
And he answered, saying:
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.
And it is well you should.

The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.

Khalil Gibran

      Most of my life I have wondered this world seeking wisdom answers to questions that caused me to understand my reason for being here.  It was only after finding the prose qnd the poetry of this wonderful man that answers flowed into my soul.  

     Gibran searched for the same things we do, and in that search, he found love, passion and wisdom.  I continue to seek guidance and inspiration from his writings, and I recommend that, if you, like me and so many others, ponder your life purpose, find him, read him and drink his gifts.

     My daily book of reference is "The Prophet" and in it, so many questions have been answered.              Enjoy

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Finding My Ancestors

Most of my life, I have had an empty spot inside the quietest part of me with no idea what should be there.  Yesterday, I think I found out what it is that has always drawn me to Judaism and the culture that surrounds it; to the religious rituals and the faith of those people who lived through the European hallocausts of the last several centuries.

You see, my father's family came to Canada when he was just three yearrs old.  His parents immigrated from Holland in 1910, moving to Saskatchewan to seek their fortune where bananas grew so large they had to be carried one per train car, and beautiful fields of flowers grew for miles and miles.  When they arrived, they found raw prairies, unplowed land and harsh winters.  I am told my grandmother was so devastated she went to bed for three months and my grandfather had a nervous breakdown. But life went on, and they finallly adapted, had seven children and left their mark on this province in one way or another, through their offspring.

There was copious information about my grandfather's ancestry, but Oma's history was anecdotal and sporadic. There were things that held a veil of secrecy around them, answers no one could give me to the questions about her family and early life in Holland. Why would a young couple flee a lifestyle of relative comfort as wealthy merchants and the splendor of European culture to come to such a God forsaken place as the raw, Canadian prairies where it was either a deep freeze or an oven?

It was only when she got much older and had begun to meander through dementia that Oma began to talk of her early life in Holland.  I was a teenager and her stories appealed to my romantic personality.  She talked about wealth and symphonies, beautiful clothing, maids and servants, and then, a small story about her maternal grandmother, who, she said in a whisper, was the only survivor to get out of Poland and take refuge in a Catholic girls' school in Holland.  She was fourteen when she left her family and was secreted out of the country, never to know what happened to them.  No wonder future generations thought they had to hide such history!  The family name was Rabiinovitch.  I asked around the family, but it was as if a door had been slammed shut and no one would/could remember any stories like that one.  End of the line.

Fast forward to yesterday.  We met with folks from Ontario who are in-laws of my maternal cousin and who were travelling through Saskatchewan.  We had lunch and chatted.  They are Jewish and I tuned right in as they talked about their European history.  Finally,I shared my attraction to Judaism and my suspicion that my grandmother may have been Jewish.  Once I said the family name, they assured me that, indeed I must be a direct relation.  They also told me that the ancestry is passed through the maternal side of the family, and that I was perhaps of the Sephardic Jews.  The name Rabinovitch is Polish and means son of the rabbi.  Strangely, my husband has had suspicions about his great, great grandmother, and in spite of geneological searches had met dead ends too.  Once he said his great great grandmother's surname, he discovered that it was a name bought by Jews who could afford high status in Europeaan society.  He will research this connection but is quite excited.

I can't explain how I feel now, except to say I am validated and sommehow completed.  In fact, my life won't change much, but my heart feels like it has come home.