a question

Accompanied by Sheila's two Corgis, we began our walk at 9 a.m., avoiding the forecasted heat of the day.  Just as we were settling into a comfortable pace, Sheila suddenly asked me if I considered myself old.  Gulp.  Where did that come from?  In the quiet few moments following this question, my way younger friend added...."Because I don't consider you old."

The timing of her query was interesting.  Just two evenings ago, Brian and I had been with a group of friends, all of whom were at least 10 years younger than ourselves, and a couple were almost 15 years my junior. They were sharing their birthday information -- day, month and year of their birth-- in a kind of parlour game, based on the fascinating book, The Life You Were Born to Live by Dan Milman.

When the conversation shifted, I mentioned that my first teaching job in 1964 had been in Princeton, New Jersey.  Not missing a beat, Bill wondered if Einstein had been there at this same time. Consulting his iPhone, he discovered that, in fact, he had died nearly a full decade before, at the age of 76.

Perhaps it was only me who felt I was being associated with an earlier time, as an adult during their childhoods.

Continuing to consider Sheila's query, I noticed how pleased I was at a party last evening. A woman, many years younger than me, thought we were the same age.  And, earlier this year, when my daughter told me that a friend of hers thought I was very youthful, I quietly cheered.

As I write this, I wonder if  I want to simply appear younger or actually be young.

I wonder if I am perhaps expressing a sort of ageism, in seeming to discount my true numbers.

No, I realize that this isn't what I'm doing: I can appear "youthful" in mind and body and still be my 74-year-old self.

"Writing motivates you to look closely at life
as it lurches by and tramps around."    Anne Lamott

Ursula Le Guin writes in No Time to Spare, "I've lost faith in the saying, 'You're only as old as you think you are,' ever since I got old." She continues, "It is a saying with a fine heritage.  It goes right back to the idea of The Power of Positive Thinking, which is so strong in America because it so fits with the Power of Commercial Advertising and with the Power of Wishful Thinking, aka the American Dream."  She goes on to say, "If I'm ninety and believe I'm forty-five, I'm headed for a very bad time trying to get out of the bathtub.....Even if I'm seventy and think I'm forty, I'm fooling myself to the extent of almost certainly acting like an awful fool."

A woman I talked with last evening, who seemed to be my age, had her short hair in a rainbow of colours. She told me her regime. One day a walk, the next Zumba, the following a spin class...I cut her off before she could tell me about the other four days. She said that she and her friends had walked to Nanaimo last year, a five-day jaunt. What!?@#%  Just when I was feeling proud that I had a walk planned for the following day!

I reminded myself that a few days earlier, I had struggled to remove some very root-bound horsetails from a long tin planter. With a knife, I cut the mass into the three separate plants and, up to my elbows, struggled to lift the sections one by one.  It was difficult work. Taking a needed break after extracting one plant, I muttered "What in hell am I attempting to do at my age?!" I must have spoken it aloud, because my neighbour responded, from her side of the fence, that I was able to do it at my age simply because I was continuing to do it.

I guess so.  It sure beats walking to Nanaimo.

Responding to Sheila's question, I told her I feel my age number when I imagine that I possibly won't be alive to see my beautiful grandkids fully grown up. The age I am tells me to return to Cuba this year and not to wait. To tell the people I cherish that I love them. To eat that piece of almond shortcake from Tonelli's Deli.

I feel my age number and a pain in my heart whenever I reread this quote from Like Normal People (Karen Bender),  “Ella looked out the window and tried to imagine a future without herself.  The world would not need her any more than it had needed her before she was born."

I've already outlived my mother, who died before her 70th birthday.  My father lived to be 79. Their lives were shortened considerably as they were both heavy smokers, and this greatly compromised their health.

When our walk was over and we were making tentative plans for our next excursion,  I said to Sheila,  "No, I don't consider myself old."

Find the thing in you that is different, that’s as sharp as a diamond and jagged as a razor. Hone that, because that’s the thing with which you’ll cut the world. If you try to stay a safe and soft and average, then you’re going to get lost in the sea of all those other things that look just like you. Find the things about yourself that are weird and cultivate them because, eventually, those are the things the world is going to want to reward you for and that will bring you the most happiness. When you’re young, those are the things that cause you so much pain, but it’s that pain that makes you unique. Own your scars. — Clayton Cubitt, The Great Discontent (via themadeshop)

expectations: notes to myself

I'm moving though a very painful week. A week when people I had considered friends threw me under the bus.  Or that's how it seems to me. And how it seems to dear friends who have comforted me.

The particular incident isn't important to write about, nor is the bruised part of me necessary to lay out for examination. What is important is to notice once again, how defeating it is to have specific expectations of people. To believe that they will act as I would have acted in the same situation.

I fall for this all the time!

Sometimes it is a small matter, other times it's big.

I did a Google search for "expectations" and immediately got a few million hits.

One of my favourites is a quote from Louise Beal who says, "Love thy neighbor as yourself, but choose your neighborhood."  William Shakespeare follows with "Expectation is the root of all heartache." 

And finally, the one that seems to resonate most today, "One of the hardest things you will ever have to do, my dear, is to grieve the loss of a person who is still alive." (My father's advice #1) 

Brian claims my pain is consistent with my present astrology transit: Saturn, the ruler of the universe, is square to my Aries moon.  This is a challenging time for me emotionally, akin to a teacher striking my knuckles with a ruler. Difficult transits are never brief, it appears-- this will hang around until December, so Brian says!

An antidote to my pain arrived at 10 a.m. this morning.  My friend, Joanna, came over for coffee and a spin through hundreds of my Cuba photographs stored on my computer.  We love the same clotheslines, broken chairs and wonderful abstractions of colour on plastered walls.  A photographic soulmate!


So, partly to push my hurt away, I started going through words and phrases that I have gathered over several years. Cut-outs from magazines relating to art and life's journey and sometimes spiced with a healthy dose of humour.

These paper scraps don't give credit to the original writer, they are simply borrowed words. Moving some paper bits around, messages appear, and, this afternoon, they seem to both calm me and make me smile.

While I love "a smoky and uproarious arena for self-criticism" and "Baby powder, dead fish, wax, and car engines", the word pictures following are my choices today.

The small clipping with orange letters above says, "So many thoughts are just space fillers."

            Since the clipping are difficult to read, I'll transcribe them
                           and/or click on any image to enlarge.

The larger newspaper clipping above says: "Whatever you are most passionate about in life, that is what you should be concentrating on now. Forget duty, forget about routine- the only thing that matters is that you free the creative side of your nature and enjoy every minute of every hour of every day."

The smaller clipping supports that. "For the soul needs more than useful things, and to supply that need, art has always existed and always will."  

And finally Picasso says, "Art washes from every soul the dust of everyday life."







The paper bit I chose last is a reminder. 

"People need someplace to go, something to do and someone to love."


                              Amen.

revisiting old demons

It has been more than three months since my last blog entry, exactly 14 weeks tomorrow.

On several occasions I thought I would write, and each time I felt I had nothing to say.  Or rather, the only subjects that occupied my mind and my body were the horrors unfolding in the United States under the presidency of Donald Trump.

While I don't watch the news on television, there are many other ways to access the hour by hour drama.

This morning I decided that my life was suffering.

My soul needed a hug.

During June I hadn't gone on a Victoria camera walk but once.  Even in Tofino, I had taken only a half dozen photographs, soon deleted.

Before leaving for Cuba I bought a new camera,  This particular camera has its settings in front with the lens- the way I remember it on my old 35mm Canon.

Reading about it online, reviews said the auto settings gave good results, so I felt I could give myself a little time to get the feel of the camera as I gradually remembered and relearned.

I bought a macro lens because of my passion for plants and for detail.

Not so fast: I quickly saw there was serious work to do!

As planned, I took my older camera to Cuba with me- the Panasonic Lumix with its super zoom lens- My loyal friend.

A glitch.

Before returning from Cuba with 3,225 digital photographs to download, my Lumix had been letting me know that it was exhausted.  The on/off button often needed extra encouragement, and once back in Victoria it quit altogether. The cost of repair was high, considering the camera's age and the price of the newer model on sale.

So I bought the Panasonic's newer incarnation, and this is where those demons really started their rumblings.

I often say that my old stories of self-depreciation are on tape on an old recorder that I've kicked well under my couch, out of the way. Most of the time I forget it's there. Then, all of a sudden, the tape begins playing, reminding me of old beliefs from childhood.  The belief that I wasn't smart enough. That learning was hard for me. That my older sister was smarter than me.

So here I am: two new cameras and no new photographs.

I am the child who needs guidance: restrict computer time, do your homework, do the best you can because it is definitely good enough.

It's like learning a new language; difficult and filled with discovery.

Tomorrow my computer time includes a YouTube camera tutorial with Graham Houghton. Two minutes with Donald, an hour with Graham.

Oh, and a minute to kick the tape recorder back under the couch.


 
                                   Reprogramming takes patience.
                                                And love.

contentment

Recently I have been tossing around this concept called aging and have had some interesting dialogue with myself.  In no particular order, I will wander through some of these conversations.

Yesterday I entered Uplands park from Lansdowne, walking slowly to a stand of rust-coloured bushes that I love to photograph. I chose my marker on the main path so I wouldn't be turned around and get lost when I decided to return to my car.

I had my gum boots on because it is particularly swampy there. 

I searched for different ways I could capture the magic of these bushes, with their flowering stalks, now rust brown. Yes, I had my camera, but it was my eyes that caressed the landscape, resting first on one small area and then another before seeing the wholeness.

I can only explain the openness and peace I felt by saying, as I whispered to myself then, that I believe I had never before felt such absolute and total immersion in the earth.  That I had never before been as happy as I was at that moment.  Even as I said this yesterday, it seemed a remarkable thought and yet, a full day later, I again see these plants shimmering beneath my eyelids.

A few days ago a friend and I were discussing the difficulty an acquaintance has been experiencing since she turned seventy. Tears and depression. The woman was struggling with an imaginary plateau. Maybe she was lonely. Or disappointed.

Since I am fromtheothersideofseventy, I feel I can talk with some authority!

When I turned 70, I remember thinking, well, I won't be a marine biologist this time around.  At the same time I was aware of the 70+ year olds still working and creative, writing, making art, composing, conducting, making policy, holding important government positions, inventing and running marathons. Julia Child was still cooking, writing and doing television in her 80s.

I was determined that the age I had reached was not the plateau as the geographical definition states: "a state of little or no change.."

plateau | Definition of plateau in US English by Oxford Dictionaries

https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/us/plateau

Definition of plateau in US English - an area of relatively level high ground., a state of little or no change following a period of activity or progress.

I live a life that I am grateful for. A loving husband who supports my creative growth and understands my occasional storms. Daughters and son-in-laws and grandkids who are dear to me. A sister who shares my early memories. Friends who listen. A beautiful home in a Canadian city overflowing with natural beauty. My garden. Enough money so we can live comfortably and with funds to help others who are having a tough time. Good health. Contentment.

And, a camera that has helped me see and feel more deeply than ever before.

I believe there is a ratio between contentment and the acceptance of the accumulating years.  A correlation between contentment and longevity.

I have just listened to a Ted talk by Robert Waldinger.  He is Clinical Professor of Psychiatry at Harvard Medical School and directs the Harvard Study of Adult Development, one of the longest-running studies of adult life ever done. The Study tracked the lives of two groups of men for over 75 years to understand what brings happiness and how happiness affects our lives.

https://www.ted.com/talks/robert_waldinger_what_makes_a_good_life_lessons_from_the_longest_study_on_happiness

This study, begun in 1938, has found that quality relationships with family, friends and community keep us happier, and lead to a more fulfilling and longer life than those people who experience loneliness. As well, these findings show that quality relationships keep our brain functioning better while loneliness is toxic to brain health.

       Not money.  Not fame.  Not work.  Relationships.

So, I guess I will bring a short skirt with me when I go to Cuba in May. No black tights like I wear here, because it will be very hot there. So, if what I have written above is mostly true, and with my  growing-older-and-it's-fine-attitude, it shouldn't be such a big deal to show my sun and liver spotted legs to a bunch of strangers. Right? 

 hmmmm...

                       click on any photograph to see the larger image

hidden in plain view

I haven't written for almost two months, succumbing to the chaos I see in much of the world. Silenced by the pain. The tears I can't dry. The children I can't comfort. The lies I can't erase.




As I live in comfort in a home I own, in a country that supports my health and well-being, I often feel overwhelmed by the inequality and inhumanity I see around me and listen to on the radio.  I haven't watched network news since my children were infants, when I didn't want them to be seeing and hearing the violence and anger that appeared on the television newscasts.


It was a lullaby in comparison to what people are exposed to now.

I remind myself again and again that while racism, anger and brutality exist, so too does inclusiveness and love. So too does kindness.  Today & tomorrow and in every day that follows, it is up to each one of us to tip the scales towards goodness.  Towards gentleness and decency. Towards tolerance.


While I make donations to agencies and to local initiatives and volunteer where I can be of service, ultimately it is my camera that, once again, is my ally and companion in this scale-tipping practice.

I have been exploring a very small area near Cattle Point for several months. If it's not raining, I bring my camera and look once more at the grasses and the bent and beautiful stands of Gary oak. These trees, growing on First Nations land, appear like a grouping of spirits, ancestors looking over land & ocean.

  

Protectors.

      November's setting sun burnished the earth and bark
       and the few remaining clusters of leaves on these trees.








The dancing glow is less vibrant now, shimmering where my camera tries to focus.






My picture-taking becomes less about capturing an image and more about immersing myself into the image itself.

Being one with the glow and with the silent power of the trees,
                 my heart opens.



            In a single moment I feel hope, hidden in plain view.




To do the useful thing, to say the courageous thing, to contemplate the beautiful thing: that is enough for one man's life. -- T. S. Eliot (1888-1965)

there is no such thing as a coincidence

Yesterday, at 10 o'cock, there was a knock at my front door.  Sheets from the dryer still in my arms, I opened it to see a spry-looking man with a grizzly beard, more grey than black.  He asked if there was anything that needed doing in the garden, telling me that he needed $31 as his sleeping bag and cart had been stolen.

I asked him to come into the back garden where we could have a look.  Pulling on my gum boots, I showed him areas that needed raking.  When I pointed to the small pile under a Japanese maple, he questioned me, wondering if I needed to leave them there as a winter mulch, protecting the plants under them.

Ah...he was a gardener!

We walked around, pointing out plants that needed cutting back, and then I left Dale with pruners, a rake and some oversized plastic bags.

He refused my offer of coffee or tea, with a shake of his head. He was here to work, he implied.

1 1/4 hours later he again knocked on the door and I paid him for the excellent job he had done.

Dale had walked all the way to my doorstep at a perfect time.

Perfect because as I struggle with a bone spur and severe arthritis in my right thumb, I can't use my pruners and have been looking helplessly at my unkempt gardens.

Perfect for another reason too.  As a member of Avodah, the social action group at Congregation Emanu-El, I have been active in a drive to purchase and distribute underwear to those who are less fortunate, our vulnerable friends in Victoria.  In our Underwear Challenge, we have been asking for donations to match or exceed Avodah's $500 contribution.

The dark and rainy season is upon us and clothing essentials are needed now more than ever.  Avodah has begun distributing underwear to the following:  *Out of the Rain youth sleeping at the synagogue, *Sandy Merriman House, *Peers, *the Women’s Transition House, *Anawim House, *the Dandelion Society, *Quadra Village Community Centre and *First Metropolitan shelter. 

As Brian and I were returning home from a drop-off at the office of the Women's Transition House, we stopped at a traffic light bordering Oak Bay. In front of our Lexus was a new Audi, to the left a Mercedes, and a shiny BMW pulled up behind us.  I looked on-line to see what the top luxury car brands were and, in addition to the list,  I read this:

• More expensive and exclusive than mainstream models, luxury cars are about wants rather than needs, and about image rather than utility. ... 

The economic disparity and the injustice of it screamed in my head. How is it that some of us have landed on the okay-side-of-things while others are confined to the hardship place.  Some of us are lucky, some of us less so.  Some of us caring while others, with the same financial security, don't give a shit.  Many governments fattening the pockets of the super-rich, while shutting their eyes to the great needs of  people living at the edge of poverty and to those who have tumbled over this edge.

Meeting Dale yesterday placed a real person in front of me.  I was no longer buying and distributing underwear to "people in need".

This essential clothing was being given to individual men and women, to people as diverse and as complex as I am.



It is people's right to have the essentials of health-care, food, shelter and warm clothing.

While I really do know this, it never hurts to be slammed again with the truth!

Stella, our 8 year old granddaughter, interviewed me 2 days ago for her classroom assignment.  Her final question was: "What advice can you give me?"

My answer was:  #1. be kind  #2. follow your dreams and put everything you have into the journey and  #3. listen -  People have so much to share, if you truly listen to them.

                  If you want to help with the Underwear Challenge, please let me know

BREAKING NEWS
The mystery buyer who bid $450 million for Leonardo da Vinci’s "Salvator Mundi" is a little-known Saudi prince and friend of the heir apparent
Wednesday, December 6, 2017 6:21 PM EST

like the imprint of a bird in the sky

"Good and bad, happy and sad, all thoughts vanish into emptiness, like the imprint of a bird in the sky."
                              -- The Sadhana of Mahamudra

 I have been feeling weighed down and squeezed as if by a too tight girdle.  I have been getting things done, but only just, and without enthusiasm.

My hostas need repotting, my garden needs attention, there are small piles of stuff around our house that need sorting and perhaps discarding.  I still have many hundreds of new photographs on the computer that need editing. And a book to read for book club.

Most of these things would be fun at another time.

This lethargy started when one of my dearest friends was diagnosed with liver cancer.  Just like that, she was told it was incurable. Just like that she texted me with the news, on her way back to the Cowichan Valley from the Victoria hospital. She wouldn't come and sit in our garden that day.

She was 6 years younger than me.

Every day something reminds me of J...the Sweet Autumn clematis that is just beginning to bloom reminds me when she housesat for us and the clematis tumbled over the deck and all around her as she sat reading...the grasses in my garden that I never remember the name of, asking her dozens of times to remind me...walking along Willow's Beach gathering seeds from hollyhocks and storing them in all our various pockets to keep the colours separate. Personal conversations about our lives while sitting in our living room.

While I know that she is no longer living, I still expect her to visit, to phone or to text. To knit me another pair of fabulous socks. To eat chicken soup at our dining room table.

J's passing propelled me to immediately visit another special friend in Steveston.  Sheila was on vacation, a perfect time to grab some time together. We walked along the dykes and took a few small day trips,  just being together and cherishing our love for each other.

It is J's cancer and Sheila's company that made me realize that I primarily want joy and nourishment and love in my life and that I needed to discard those things that were not providing this- small day to day chores not withstanding.

As if from a revelation outside of myself, I realized that our beautiful ocean- front suite at Seaview had become a burden.  I realized that our original idea to move there as we aged was unrealistic and that the responsibilities there had begun to outweigh the pleasure. We listed it for sale almost immediately.

http://tours.imagemaker360.com/Viewer/63.asp?id=155388&Referer=&referefull=idx=1

When we purchased our suite in 2013, Seaview Apts became my palette and my canvas.

Creating a contemporary space from a 1951 apartment was a challenge and great fun. From the designing to the actuality, from the choosing of a magnificent piece of quartzite to the simple furnishings to the display of art, it was an artistic experience.

Outside, Brian and I worked together in the overgrown tangle of neglected garden beds to create beautiful new spaces. The gardens began to enhance the beautiful location.

I believe that the places we make reflect who we are.





Through this endeavour, my creative self once again blossomed. Purchasing at Seaview had been a most generous error.*

My immersion into photography began.

We have just returned from a short holiday in Tofino- my place of quiet and peacefulness. While being there hasn't erased my sorrow or appreciably lessened my sense of carrying a heavy load, it has, however, allowed my seeing afresh the magnificence and sanctity and the fragility of the world.

As I walked on the beach, amidst the ever-changing tides, it allowed me to see more clearly that life is a series of changes.  Rumi said that  "All disquiet springs from a search for quiet. And so the best way to cultivate inner peace is to learn to love the way everything keeps changing."   I often forget this.  Tofino helps me remember.

   please click on the photographs to get full-size images


*Isabel Archer’s observation in Henry James’s The Portrait of a Lady that “one should never regret a generous error”

from Brian Andreas
Story People