On Angels Wings

Greta was tall, nearly six feet, and slender.  At 60 years she held herself with poise and grace.  A beautiful self assured woman who one could not help feel affinity with.  Herbert was equally tall, equally slender, with a twinkle in his eye, and love in his heart.  When these two looked at each other all you saw, all you could sense was contented happiness. 

Greta and Herbert, they loved each other.

Greta was dying.

And soon evidently, so she said.  These two had prepared for the inevitable and there was peace and grace in their hearts. 

Greta and Herbert had faith.  They had faith in the peace Greta was going to find in her release from the ravage of her disease.  They had faith Herbert had the strength to carry on in life, to continue to be the stalwart of their family.  They had faith that once again they would be joined together. 

Greta had no regrets in her life.  Greta had only one wish left.  Greta wished to sing one more time with her choir.  Hers is a large choir, forty voices.  Her hospice room small.  This evening she was going to sing with them, to be one in voice, to exalt her faith, the very fiber of her soul, one more time.  With her Herbert, with her friends.

This choir is punctual.  Complete with piano they assemble, crowded into the hall and her room.  Greta standing, dressed in her choir robes, at her place, harmonious and happy.

Hummmmmm, the sections they measured themselves.  And they sang!  The roof was lifted from the building.  The sick and dying, their families, all moving to the hall to join in the beauty of song and blessing.  Harmony layered upon harmony they sang with verve, they sang with purpose.  Glorious tunes to God and Jesus.  All that is fair and wonderful in church coming to that single point in time.

God joined this choir that evening and stood with Greta holding her, giving her strength.  Angels carried voice to the halls and the heavens.  A glow of harmony, of accord came over us all. 

The choir sang On Angels Wings.  Greta’s strength gave way after one verse.  Herbert lifted her and carried her to the bed.  He covered her to keep her warm.  And while her choir sang her Herbert held her hand, stroked her hair, told her of his love for her.

Greta, enveloped by the angelic voices of her friends, whispered back, “I love you Herbert”.  And Greta passed.

Singular Duality

fifty two years these two as one

            “I wash and cut, she cooks the potatoes”

love and passion, respect and compassion

Recycling... Dig-It

Archeologically speaking my recycling bin is a backward look to my recent past.  Layer upon layer of stuff no longer needed, a reflection of consuming, of habits, of health, of information.

I tend to hold onto this past until it is flowing out of my bin.  Then I precariously balance the bin down nine floors out the back door to consolidate my meager history with the meager histories of my flat mates, all which tells a story of our community.

My story is simple.  Three weeks of history.  Here lays three wine bottles, 2 red and one white.  The white was opened a while ago.  It is not my preferred drink and it was consumed slowly, occasionally relegated to add flavour and substance to dishes.  All the wine is memory of friends, time valued and shared, providing comfort and companionship, respect and love.  I touch these bottles fondly as they slip through the holes in the bin of histories consolidated.

A vitamin bottle, 400 tablets of Multi+ daily joy, plus a BONUS 100 tablets.  500 tablets of daily joy, how could a boy go wrong.  This bottle hearkens way back though.  To a period just prior the big relationship change when the stresses of life and concerns about my health led me to search for the “fix this” solution at the local health food store.  Misguided as it was I dutifully consumed a tablet a day… more or less, until this week this link to my past ended.

Grocery packaging: a KD box, jars from jams and sauces, soup tins, cardboard wrappers from a pie, preformed flash frozen ¼ lb Angus Beef burgers, an ice cream carton, a pie plate, a pop bottle, a pizza box, all evidence of poor diet and when presented en masse a stead fast reminder I must make change.  No change could result in the inevitable well earned, long overdue heart attack, an experience I do not wish to enjoy.  On the other hand this paunch has sure come in handy for propping up the recycling bin while fumbling with locks and reaching for elevator buttons.

And paper.  A layer of paper across the base of the box provides a softish landing spot for the evidence of consumables above.  Bills, shredded in an attempt to protect identity and information.  Flyers imploring me to exercise my duty to consume by offering me deals on bad groceries, deals I obviously fell for, to collect mileage points, to go to the temple of evil empire gods from Bentonville, to support the oldest retailer in North America long since wiped from Canadian culture to be owned and marketed by someone also south of us, buy electronics and computers.  All of it lacking, non of it with imagination, lifeless flotsam, a waste of trees.

Embedded in the paper layer a reminder: vote Conservative, vote Liberal, vote NDP.  How the nation has changed since those imploring documents came through my mail slot.  My vote it counted but wiped clean by another respected view.  Such is the wonder of politics in this country.  One tiny tick in a circle and I had a voice. 

And this voice is changing.  It has allowed me consume but sends me a message.  It allows me to grow old on my own terms.  It allows me to tell my country what matters to me.  My voice is added to all the many other voices recycled in the big bin.  Much of it to be changed back into consumables, to start a path again, to fit into lives.  A reflection of ourselves, an ever changing people, ever changing persons.

Opera Sino Opus Unius

Shite! 

What kind of crap is this?

Why, why, why why, for God’s sake?

In what friggin’ universe is it okay

To disparage a person in a vain attempt to advance career?

And then, damn-it another person decides

It is a dandy idea to support person number 1

In this pack of lies.

Did you know labour, meaning work

Has a common Latin root with suffer?

The creators of that beautiful language had it right

Laboro Laboris.  Damned right!

Suffer Work!

All yea managers unite.  Pareto your team.

The adage will be true. 

80% of the angst will come from 20% of your force.

But you know what to do…

Settle down.  Breathe, breathe, knowing what is right is key.

Ask what is causing this aggression? 

Remember the work: attack the process not the people.

It is always the process that causes the problem.

Check the facts thoroughly, perforo

Understand the gaps explicitly, factum

Address the barriers appropriately, parietis

Secure the peace unequivocally, pax pacis

And when all else fails imbibo vinum!

My Twenty Five in no particular order...

1. Coca Cola, in a tall thick glass, 5 ice cubes, cold.
2. Coffee, black, bitter, and strong.
3. Grandchildren: Gods blessing that life must carry on with unconditional love and free will.
4. Work driven by personal intrinsic motivation.
5. Lemons.
6. Children, my children, to love and be loved for all our days together.
7. Travel, new and interesting places, new and interesting people, culture.
8. Cathedrals, of all religions, architecture of faith, monuments
9. Chocolate layer cake, raspberry centre, chocolate butter icing.
10. Cold milk!!!
11. Water: to swim, to float, to marvel, to drink.
12. Prairie thunder storms
13. Spring snows
14. The scents of fall
15. A woman to adore: my best friend, a partner, a confidant, a supporter, a critic, a protector, a lover.  Till death do us part.
16. Winter
17. Dry Red Wines
18. Poetry
19. Internet: an organism to join us all to motivate us to better.
20. A healthy earth
21. Stories
22. Love
23. Hot Showers
24. Mountains
25. My healthy strength

Crest

My friend blessed me with a gift this early morning.  What is the view from your house the quiet excited thoughtful voice implores.  Oh, I’ve woken you, sorry, go back to sleep.  NO wait, look.  Tell me what you see…

Waves of orange and grey slip by my windows undulating across the sky, lights from a descending craft fading in flickers on its homeward journey.  The orange, an elemental glow from amber streetlights on Armstrong’s Point.  Grey, the thick cloud of flurried snow as a heavy wind blusters and blows.

It is May Day isn’t it?  What madness is this?  It is not.  This is nature’s maypole dance, a swirling crescendo of beautiful girls dancing across the sky, colours of nature in the deep night sky.  Mixtures of rain and snow, the foundations of spring life, swirl dancing to the ground below settling on trees and rooftops and cars and streets…

…and riverbanks.  The new fallen snow expands the ever widening river, this itself a tributary to the larger shed river.  The wind is churning the waters that have been hastening their descent all day as they rise to the Red.  The Red itself rising faster has been backing its waters into the Assiniboine, the two expanding waters meeting and mixing in a churning eddy at the end of Cornish Street.

Waters rise, meet, and churn, rain and snowfall, wind gusts and blows, blusters of grey and orange, release to a clean white cover.  A perfect choreography this May Day, the natural earth rhythm working to crescendo, a rivers crest rising to peak to trumpet herald a new season, a new reason, of fertile hope.

This I share with my friend, grateful for this late night call, blessed to be able to share my view, thankful voice we part to silent wonder of this earth given art.

silent vigil

step out,

look in,

this body a shell now.

examine,

reflect,

in peace it must rest.

silent vigil

protect,

this soul needs

understanding.

silent vigil

reflect.

the strength

it is there.

the offer

to take.

with strength

there wanes

a weakness

do take.

silent vigil

remove

limitation

a yearn.

a failing

join body

join soul,

be sensitive

be begging.

this nature,

this substance

wired as is

craves passion

craves feeling,

inspired

exposure.

silent vigil

attentive

the need is aware.

silent vigil

incentive,

connection,

inducement,

stimuli woke.

bottled not broke,

released

for loves sake.

this offer

loves take.

silent vigil

we learn.

silent vigil

we yearn.

join body,

join soul,

step in,

look out.