Saturday, September 30, 2006

The Fate of Shangri La

It is already the last day of September. How quickly this month has passed!

When I left for work around noon today, it was drizzling rain, just a very little, like a fine mist, and I didn't even have to open my umbrella.

I was munching a Gala apple (reported to be a great antioxidant) as I walked and breathing in the cool air. I have tried to re-introduce as many fresh vegetables and fruits as I can into my diet, after having lost the taste for them over the last few years of too many fast food meals.

I had talked to my daughter Chaya earlier and she was feeling the effects of yesterday’s chemo treatment (her 2nd to last) and so I breathed a few silent prayers in her direction as I walked.

I looked forward to walking into the office, as weekends are casual dress and the mood is also more casual, and I usually spent the first hour laughing, gossiping and joking with everyone (when they are not on the phones), which is a great mood booster and sets me up for a great shift.

The day went quickly, the pace was fairly steady and at 9:30 p.m. I left the office for the day, and began my walk home.

They are building a huge high rise called Shangri La next to the building I work in, and it is supposed to become one of the tallest structures in the city, combining condos, hotel facilities and luxurious never-before-seen amenities for those who can afford them.

The construction site zone however, has become a haven for squeegee kids struggling to survive and also the covered walkway along the Georgia corridor is the bedroom of a young man who sleeps there every night.

I pass him on my walk home and he has been there most recent nights.

He has laid out a cardboard box for his mattress, one of those waterproofed kinds that are used by fruit and vegetable wholesalers, and it is usually lying there in wait for him on my way into work.

When I left work tonight and passed him, he was rolled up in his blue sleeping bag and sleeping, but most nights he has a book open and is reading.

It is extraordinary to see him there completely relaxed, as though he is lounging in his apartment, and deep into a book. He never has a paper cup or hat out for spare change, but is simply there.

The fall chill has started to hit the streets, and it is far from cozy on a cold cement sidewalk but he doesn’t look up from his book as I pass, and I sense that the world of the book has taken him from the world of the street, completely and utterly. He is never stoned or drunk but always reading, as far as I can see.

Behind the wooden barrier erected by the constuction crew, the future of this city block lies dormant, waiting to be summoned into existence by sorcerers in hardhats, armed with hammers and calculators.

But in my mind, this sleeping youth is the sage who will ultimately decide the fate of Shangri La.

Such things are possible!

Monday, September 25, 2006

In The Blink Of An Eye

The last band I played with in Winnipeg, before I took a train to Toronto to find my fortune was called Friday the 13th.

We were moderately successful and popular by local standards and played all the venues available to us and were even taken under wing of a local radio show host who saw in us a possible next big thing.

This was in the mid-to late 1960's...when rock and roll was many a poor boy's dream of fame and fortune.

When I arrived in Toronto, I was joined by the guitarist of this same Winnipeg group, who we knew as Gord. There we shared some hard times and learned a few more hard lessons about the unforgiving nature of the music business and poverty surrounding it if you don't make your mark.

After a very difficult but eye-opening winter there we went our separate ways and we lost contact through the following years.

But a few years back we regained contact again in Vancouver, after approximately 37 years apart and although we had changed dramatically, we instantly recognized each other, in a pre-arranged meeting in a coffee shop and picked up in approximately the exact same place we left off. No problem!

Within minutes, we were both laughing, joking, sharing stories and unselfconciously comfortable in each others' presence. In the old days, we used to joke that we were two old men and mimic the accents and the use of canes and before too long we were doing the same thing in the coffee shop, except this time we both had gray hair.

Today we met again for lunch at Tim Hortons on Alberni, and immediately the stories, jokes and laughter kicked in. Two hours passed in the blink of an eye.

What's two hours or 40 years to old friends?

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Music In the Morning

What a morning!

The rain was coming down in buckets and it was the day I had promised to meet Chaya at the Orpheum to see the CBC Radio Orchestra. She had some comp tickets and had offered one to me and one to a friend of hers.

The driving wind soon took the sail out of my dollar store relic of an umbrella and after a few blocks there were two new silver spines sticking out where the umbrella should have been.

By the time I got there, the rain had soaked through my shoes and my feet were wet but it was great to sit in the ambience of this historic theatre listening to live music again.

I had seen the CBC orchestra a few years back with friend Herb at the Chan Centre and really liked it, but the main reason I thought I might like to go today (other than simply hanging out with my daughter) was that Jane Coop was one of the 3 featured pianists.

I have heard her on record but never live, and what a skinny (think Uma Thurman in cropped hair) powerhouse…kinda cute too! She walked out in a knee length gold jacket (not to be outdone by pianist Janina Fialkowska, who, as Shelagh Rogers the CBC host noted, was dressed like Mozart).

She was debuting a piece by contemporary composer Ramona Luengen and after a virtuoso performance almost knocked herself off the piano stool with the last chord-stroke, she hit the keyboard so hard. She teetered backward momentarily and the audience took a collective breath, but she quickly regained her balance, stood, and bowed to generous applause mixed with delighted laughter at the brief comic relief (classical music concerts are sometimes so stiff and formal that they become boring, at least in my experience.)

For me the rest of the concert (piano concertos by Mozart and Mendelssohn) was a bit of a doze but it was the first of this season’s Music in the Morning series and the place was packed, mostly with seniors whose children had treated them, as my daughter had treated me…it could easily have been Saturday night.

By the time I got home I was thoroughly soaked, but they are replacing the hallway carpets in the building and there was such a racket going on I decided that I would take a bus to Army & Navy and check out their winter jacket sale. I got as far as my front sidewalk, and it was still pouring so hard that I went grocery shopping instead.

East Hastings near Main in a rain storm is not one of my favorite nature walks. So I walked up to the Safeway at Cardero and Davie.

The wet streets were littered with multicolored leaves and nearly deserted and so when I saw the thin, bearded man in the beige coat approaching, swinging a stick and singing, my attention was immediately attracted. I didn’t look too closely though as soon as I realized that every second word was a curse, and heard the anger mixed with melody.

Yet, there was no mistake…he was singing!

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

The Alchemy of Evening

After my evening supper, I decided to walk down along the seawall from Howe, to view the sunset.

By the time I reached Burrard Street the sun had disappeared and the sky had darkened with purple hued clouds, the precursor for the forecast rain showers I was sure. The temperature had also dropped.

I was already putting on my jacket but when I reached Sunset Beach, a miraculous change had developed. The setting sun, still obscured by dark clouds, but low on the horizon, had begun to filigree the horizon. The brilliant rays, shining through the dark clouds, formed a golden etched serpentine calligraphy that grew brighter with every passing moment.

I could not tell how far down the sun had set, but the hieroglyphic lines appearing in the sky seemed to me to be the very essence of art in every sense of the word.

A gray haired man in elegant blue dress shirt and lavender tie passed me and asked, with a slight English accent: “May I offer you something positive to read?” It was a copy of the Jehovah Witness magazine Awake. I refused and didn’t wish to insult him by what was on my mind, but what more positive and inspiring thing could I possibly read than nature’s own news article appearing in the evening sky?

To give him due credit he smiled back and said, “Enjoy this beautiful evening.”

An elderly tourist passing by with his wife and friends and seeing my smile put it perfectly, saying in an Aussie accent, “And it’s all FREE!”

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” I responded, smiling back at them.

But in my thoughts I added the words, “Yes, and free in every sense of the word”.

Just when it seemed the sky could not get more beautiful, the sun emerged into the small clear space between clouds and ocean, at first like a small tear of molten gold that grew into a spendid shining mirror and finally acheived the radiance of a crimson dragon, cloaking the landscape for an unbelievable moment in purples and golds.

Wind, Big Waves and Qigong

I was so looking forward to my daughter Chaya's visit today as we had many things to discuss and she had promised me a Qigong lesson.

Chaya got here a few minutes after 11 and my son Ky was with her, and so we went for a long walk along the seawall to 2nd Beach.

Before we set off down the beach though, Chaya took me through a series of 6 Qigong exercises as she promised she would, ones she learned on her retreat in Montreal. They are spiritual/physical exercises based on slow movement and breathing (similar to Tai Chi) used to to stimulate one's Qi (Chi) energy.

This is right up my alley as it is all about working on my immune system right now!

We did these by the big rock in front of the Aids Memorial Wall, in mottled sunlight on the grass and below the big trees. A perfect setting!

The ocean was as choppy as I have seen it in a long time, with big waves washing up over the seawall in places and a chilly wind coming off the blue-green churning water. But it was a gorgeous day, with wind-blown leaves flashing colors and plenty of warm golden sunlight (despite the afternoon forecast of rain).

As we set off for 2nd Beach, Ky and Chaya discussed recent and upcoming favorite movies...they always point out great stuff to watch for, and the latest I-pod innovations. I didn't have much to offer but asked a lot of questions and remembered to swing my arms as I walked and focus on breathing. What a great feeling to walk between my two kids who are both taller than me. I felt like I was being guarded/guided on each side by an angel.

By the time we got to 2nd Beach, Ky commented that the waves there were big enough to surf in...you don't often get that in downtown Vancouver.

We then returned along the seawall to English Bay and up along Denman to find a restaurant. Both Ky and I were thinking “cheap, tasty and simple”, Chaya agreed and so we settled on one of the little Chinese all day breakfast cafes and I had my first coffee of the day, poached eggs and brown toast with fresh fruit, Chaya opted for a hearty grilled sandwich (which included mushrooms, yum) and a green salad, and Ky went traditional, scrambled, sausages and hash browns with immense dollops of ketchup!

By the time we returned to Chaya’s car, it seemed clear they would like to spend a little more time in the sun, so we went down to Sunset Beach once again and found a nice bench where we lounged and chatted for nearly an hour longer.

She is close to completion of her chemo treatments now, and it was a pleasure to watch her relax her face into the sun and sea, and witness the shining happiness emanating from it.

They have gone home now, Ky taking the wheel of Chaya's car for a driving lesson (he has his learner’s permit) and I came home to watch today’s Y&R episode.

Tomorrow I go back to work….these days off have been great and passed like a dream!

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Healing Through Diet

My sister Dianne was amused by my description of making it around Stanley Park without having to stop to use the washroom, but it is an amazing turn around for me in a short time.

She also asked me what I had changed in my diet...

I emailed her the following:

'My diet now includes a fresh salad (mixed organic greens if possible) every day (with chopped raw ginger, red pepper chopped with tomatoes and preservative free dressings), a handful of raw organic and "unsulphured" walnuts with my banana & orange juice (not from concentrate)for breakfast, lot's of whole grain brown rice with beans and carrot dinners which I cook myself.

If getting canned beans I make sure they are EDTA (preservative) free.

I have cut down my coffee to about a cup or 1 1/2 cups per day, drunk black and made with spring water...no more tap water.

This past 2 weeks I have taken time off from work and walked a whole lot each and every day. Despite my sore lower back, I push myself to do exercises each morning which include, touching toes, knee bends, sit ups and stretches."

This is my summer diet of course, and will probably change as the weather grows colder. I have more or less eliminated red meat for the time being.

What I didn't tell her was that I also have included an apple every day or so in my diet.

Sherry at work reminded me of the healthy benefits of walnuts (thanks Sherry)!

Brown rice diet stems from my study of "macrobiotics" in the 60's, after I read a book by George Oshawa called "You Are All Sanpaku". He cured himself of terminal cancer by adopting the diet of monks in a Buddhist Monastery.

Cooking one's own food is a huge step in the direction of good health, as you mix your own spiritual energy into whatever you prepare. This can include such a simple thing as preparing your own healing water...holding it up to reflect the sunlight and saying a short prayer before drinking it. (Thanks for the reminder Majid).

Those at work who remember me consuming Wendy's chili's on my dinner break every night will probably be amused, but cancer is a good stiff kick in the butt.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Shit Happens

I got up early and full of energy on this anniversary of the World Trade & Convention Center disaster and decided that I would at least visit Siwash Rock to honor the memory of my mom who passed away in July 2003, which is where I threw the carnations I bought back from her Winnipeg funeral wreath.

Every day I am living with quite dramatic lower back pain which my daughter Chaya tells me is the result of the body's effort to make up the required white blood cells to fight cancer.

My energy was much more powerful than I thought.

I normally have problems making it half way around before running out of steam. Certainly by then I have to use the washroom to take a pee.

Today, I was passing under the Lion's Gate bridge and still with no bladder urges. It looks like my change of diet and daily rituals is taking effect.

As I passed under the bridge I noticed a few things.

First there was an ancient oriental fisherman in a wonderful figure 8 white hat that looked like the magician's hat on card #1 of the Tarot deck. Google the "Rider version of the Tarot" if you don't know what I am talking about. (Note: The Rider Deck Magician actually only has the symbol of infinity over his head, which is a horizontal figure 8. Check out this link from a French deck designed by Papus where the Magician is called The Juggler, to see a picture of the big floppy hat :)
http://www.sacred-texts.com/tarot/tob/tob14.htm

Second was a dakini in a bikini, that momentarily diverted me from my path. Google "dakini" if you're still not sure. She was gorgeous and proved that my energy was pointed in a healing direction.

Third was a young man on roller blades with bare chest and a generous six pack, also looking at the dakini in the bikini. For all I know she must have been looking at him too, but for whatever reason he ignored my approach and headed straight for me.

At the exact point where our paths would have intersected, I stepped aside to let him pass.

At the same moment that I did, I heard several loud splats or splashes and heard him exclaim "Oh F***k". I think the 4 letter word in my title would have been more appropriate.

I guessed that not one, but a whole family of seagulls perched on the cliffs overhead had let loose their day's diet over his head.

I didn't look back to check, as I was sure I couldn't bear the sight!

I made it all the way home without having to take a bathroom break. This is an excellent sign!!!

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Lunch with Ky, and later music with Kim Kuzma

I was feeling lonely today and so when my son Ky told me he had a day off, I asked if he would like to meet for lunch.

We met on the Burrard Street Bridge and then walked downtown together. As soon as I saw my son's tall figure and smiling face approaching, all felt well with my world.

We passed the beginnings of the Davie Days street festival and I was reminded that Kim Kuzma was scheduled there today, but she was nowhere in evidence and I when I mentioned it Ky, he didn't seem interested.

We wound up having some tasty butter chicken at an Indian Restaurant on Robson that was so rich and filling, I almost got ill trying to finish it off. At the end of our meal, and on my visit to the washroom, I was suddenly in pitch darkness. The power had gone off. Fortunately we had just enough cash to pay our bill.

We did a little walk around in the Pacific Centre Mall, Ky got some work socks and then I saw him off on the bus as he was feeling quite tired.

After this I sauntered back towards Davie Street at my own pace and arrived just in time for Kim Kuzma’s first set.

It started late around 3:30 and it was with a conga player, a drummer, a kick ass guitartist and a great keyboard player who played bass with his left hand.

What a doll! What a voice! At one point when she sang a song about loving someone long ago, I swear she looked right at me and spoke the words, “Oh yes, I remember…I got the message loud and clear,” and I wondered whether our mutual friend Brian Donald had told her how I flipped over her and even wrote a song about her the night I first met her and heard her sing a couple years back at the Crowne Plaza on Georgia. I have a heated imagination!

Speaking of Brian, she mentioned that the Seattle crowd was present and it didn’t take too long to spot Brian and Lu sitting in the front row. I played in a band with Brian in Toronto in the 60's. He was the original drummer for Chad Allen and the Silvertones (later the Reflections and still later the Guess Who.)

After the set I went up to say hi to them. Brian’s sister and her hubby from Winnipeg were there, and so I didn’t stay long but told them I would probably show up for Kim’s second set at 7 p.m.

She had mentioned she was going to do a disco set at 7 p.m. and when I showed up I understood what she meant because there was no band, just a set of disco lights and Kim, her hair pulled back in a white scarf, wearing a glittering lamee blouse and holding a mike.

Within 10 minutes she had the crowd up and dancing and holding hands in a human daisy chain that circled among the chairs. The music was prerecorded but the vocals were live. And what vocals...my God that girl can sing.

It was all upbeat until the last number which was Over The Rainbow, which I am sure would have wowed Judy Garland.

I left with tears in my eyes at the end of her set and didn't bother to fight the crowd to reintroduce myself though I was ready to proclaim my undying love right there and then. There are some things that restore my faith, and Kim's voice and presence is one of them.

Kim's website is http://www.kimkuzma.com/.

What does a local know anyway?

Two days ago, I sat down along the seawall in a t-shirt bathed in warm sunlight.

Yesterday, the clouds were gathering, and a chilly wind blew a flurry of crisp golden leaves against my face as I sat there in my sweater. A young couple paused and pointed to the leaf-shower, and I heard them say the word “fall”.

An elderly couple paused and asked me, “Are you local?” I told them yes and they said that they were from Australia. The man pointed to the horizon, where an atmospheric haze generated by the cooler temperatures had been gathering, dulling the sharp outlines of the freighters lying in the harbour and the coast lines beyond, and asked, “Is that smog?”

It was in a similar tone of voice that another vacationer had once asked me, “Do you know where we can see some beavers?”

When I told him no, he seemed rather disappointed and inclined to argue with me about it. I did not try to convince him.

I could already hear him saying to the folks back home..."and you would not believe the smog in Vancouver!"

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Better Than Winning the Lottery!

There are some days that tower above the rest.

Today, my daughter Chaya who has just returned from a Cancer Society sponsored retreat in Montreal, called me to let me know that she and my son Kadir were coming over in about an hour.

Kadir started high school today and so I was eager to get first hand reports from both.

At the time agreed on, I went outside to wait for them in the sunshine. One of my elderly neighbors was outside and having a difficult day. He was very happy to have someone to vent to, as we all need to do sometime. I was happy to listen, as I had nothing else to do.

After nearly 45 minutes though, I thought I better check in with Chaya and went inside to call. She was still waiting for Kadir outside his school. He was in a long line up waiting to have his school photo taken. “How long?” I asked. “Very long,” Chaya told me. “Well, let's just be patient.” I said.

Nearly an hour more passed and I called Chaya. I suggested that we should postpone our visit until tomorrow, as she must be tired after her long trip. Never was a call better timed, as she confided that she had an appointment with her specialist within the next hour.

About 2 hours later I got a call from Chaya. She was so excited she was close to tears, or possibly already crying, I couldn’t tell which.

She and Kadir had gone to the specialist together, and the news of her PET scan had come back.

Chaya’s cancer is now in full remission.

She is to continue the next few scheduled chemo treatments and then, she will have her life back.

Winning the lottery must feel great, but I wouldn't know! How could it could possibly come close to this feeling though? Tomorrow we celebrate!!!

Thank God!

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Ambling Around Lost Lagoon

Today, despite the heat and clinging to the shadiest paths, I angled my way towards Lost Lagoon.

I have an old relationship with this spot and like to return to it for meditative walks, but I have not been a very devoted lover in the past year.

Carefully avoiding the huge, green and messy Canada Geese turds sprinkling the graveled path, I made my way past the “closed for renovations” Nature House and counterclockwise around the lagoon.

I was hoping I might be lucky and catch one of those crystal clear redwing blackbird songs on a point very close to where the free trolley stops, but I guess it is already too late in the season.

I was not walking. I was studiously ambling and had made a prior decision to do just this. I took my sweet time. It felt great.

Earlier, while passing the little park above English Bay, I had stopped to listen to a large brass jazz band in the gazebo, playing some pretty funky and esoteric music, much to the dismay of the mostly elderly crowd who, for the most part, would probably have been more comfortable with Colonel Boogie but seemed determined to enjoy none the less.

My ears were still tuned to hear the song of the redwing blackbird, when to my astonishment I heard the deep, meandering tones of a brass instrument playing musical scales. It sounded to me like a Euphonium, a brass horn second only in size to the Tuba.

I have been listening to Rufus Wainwright’s great album “Want One” and it’s catchy single which begins with the oomp-pah-pah of a Tuba and as I rounded the corner, there sat the Tuba-ist, a heavyset, bespectacled and bearded youth dressed in black and holding the brassiest and gleamingest of miniature Yamaha Tubas. He was practicing, and in what a perfect setting! There were no neighbors to complain and the sound resonated so beautifully among the trees and over the surface of the lagoon.

I still thought it was a Euphonium and stopping to question him, was soon set straight! There followed a brief and wonderfully friendly exchange in which he told me he was just finishing his vacation and preparing for an audition with his Tuba.

I praised his tone and embouchure, at which term he smiled and asked me, “I take it you once played the Euphonium?” I smiled and said, “No, it was the Baritone Horn” a step further down in size from the Euphonium.

It was on the Baritone Horn, in the HMCS Chippewa Sea Cadet Brass band that I received my most priceless musical education in sight-reading, the light classics and jazz standards from my teacher Sub. Lt. Ed Rigg, who was a retired clarinetist of the Benny Goodman era. His nickname for me was “Katrink”.

I had been the lead drummer in the Navy League Cadets drum and bugle corps prior to that and was terribly disappointed that they already had enough drummers when I applied, as I had just seen Sal Mineo in “The Gene Krupa” story.

Never in my wildest dreams, did I realize what a depth of musical education I was about to and did receive, carrying this unwieldy instrument on the bus, every Thursday night to band practice in the heart of the freezing Winnipeg winters.

I wished the young man the best of luck and continued my ambling down the hot and dusty trail beside the lagoon.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

English Bay Sunset

It was one of those spellbinding and absolutely stunning English Bay sunsets, the kind that tourists travel from half a world away to witness, and I had wandered down to the beach and stumbled into it.

The sun was a huge warm fireball, sinking into a dusky lavender haze over the rippling water and a parade of cyclists, skateboarders, joggers and pedestrians streamed along the seawall, blending unselfconsciously into the beauty of it.

I settled myself on a bench at Sunset Beach above the walk, and prepared myself for the ritual watching of the sunset. It was then that I noticed the photographer, who had not been there a moment before, but had mysteriously appeared in position, tripod already spread, and at the opportune time and at the precise moment.

He was a young man in his early 30’s I guess, and dressed in work clothes, backpack and camera equipment bags slung over his shoulders, the garb of a photographer on the job I thought. Maybe he was shooting the cover of next week’s West Ender. He was totally focused and already snapping shots as the crowd passed him by, throwing cursory glances but not paying too much attention. He could have cared less. His camera was focused on the horizon and he was reaching for something ineffable, the perfect photo!

As I continued to watch the spectacle of the sunset, and the passers by, my gaze kept drifting back to him, and for the space of probably 45 minutes, he only shifted only once, and that was to set up again a few feet from his original position to get a better angle. He was hunched over the tripod, the very essence of a painter, pausing, reconsidering, taking the shot, then studying the view finder, barely looking up and paying no attention to the flow of traffic behind him.

The sun continued its rhythmic imperceptible descent below the horizon and still he stood focused, taking shot after shot, but not without long pauses between, always studying the viewfinder.

Finally the light began to diminish and his focus wavered a couple of times, once to take a shot in the opposite direction toward the Burrard Street Bridge and again when the mystical shadowy outline of a heron, crossed the water and his lens followed it.

Then with a few workmanlike movements, he dismantled the tripod, wrapped his camera in plastic, stowed it and walked away.

But before he left he turned once more, and with the air of a house builder who has driven the last nail of the day, leaned on his tripod and looked at the horizon, as though he had just arrived, and was seeing it for the first time.

Friday, September 01, 2006

The View From My Window

The view from my apartment is not the greatest. My window faces directly towards the building next door, and because I don’t like people looking into my apartment I keep the curtains drawn most of the time. But on beautiful days like yesterday, I throw the windows open anyway.

When I did, I looked up to my right between the two buildings and looked at the towering tree across the street.

I've often admired the colors of the leaves in fall, but yesterday the sun was hitting it just right and I looked way up to the top and noticed the wind rippling the sun enriched green leaves and branches. I felt an immediate sense of peace and took a deep breath.

As I looked over to my left I saw the etched white trail of a jet stream, bridging the blue-sky gap between the buildings, the sun glistening off the surface of the distant plane. I was instantly filled with a feeling of adventure and hope.