A shuffle in your shoes

Gotta love what you do, babe
For that jingle jangle
Cause we only get a few days
Nobody makes it outta here anyway
What puts a shuffle in your shoes, babe?
That’s the thing worth chasing
Gotta love what you do, babe
So not a day goes wasted…

William Prince

A few weeks ago I went with friends to the William Prince concert at Massey Hall.

It was beautiful – dynamic and heartfelt and vulnerable. He told us much about himself – was it 26 days sober that he announced? Such a tender tentative declaration… but in and amidst all of it was a pronounced preoccupation with mortality.

You get a hint of it there in the lyrics: “cause we only get a few days…”

Pretty much since then my dad has been in hospital.

It started in the hallway of the emergency room after a few falls. My brother the fireman had brought him in, and at the time I think we all thought it would get sorted quickly and he’d be back home soon enough, and there’s that trip they have booked in April…

But it has not been an easy ride. And he will not be going anywhere in April.

This morning we were officially 2 weeks into my dad’s stay in hospital.

The Physio gals came by as they do every weekday morning. At one point we had been considering walks around the hallways, but after downgrading expectations, now they are focused on sitting and standing and the corresponding blood pressure readings. So they talk as they go, they ask questions.

“So, have you always lived in Toronto?” they ask, keeping the conversation happening while they verify sitting position blood pressure.

Dad scoffs, a moment where he is distinctly in character, which he hasn’t always been over these two weeks. “I was raised in Philadelphia” he scolds them, as if they should know. “I didn’t come here {to Canada} until I was an adult”.

“Oh, okay”, they respond, indifferent and unoffended, moving him to a standing position to verify how the blood pressure holds up once they have him standing. They just started the new blood pressure meds yesterday, so standing may not last long, we all know.

“What brought you up here?’ is the next question – keeping him going, keeping him engaged. Standing, dad is starting to get a bit fuzzy, blood pressure dropping. He tries to answer. “Education…” he mutters vaguely. They pick it up with enthusiasm, “Oh, did you come up here to go to the University of Toronto?”

Distinctly dizzy now, pressing his weight into the walker, he gives them what they want: “Yes?”, he floats the quasi-question. But I shake my head.

“He was a Prof at U of T”, I clarify. “He came up from the States to teach at U of T”.

Yes, there it is – the flashback moment in the narrative – there’s, my dad, graduating with a PhD from Brown University, Rhode Island, with my mom and me. How young we all were.

One interesting thing that emerged – after both mom and dad had been offered jobs at Canadian universities as fancy-pants Brown graduates, and I grew up and went off to university in Montreal – I had a delightful roommate, Sabrina Mathews. And one Christmas when I went home to Toronto, I asked my dad if he knew Sabrina’s dad, Robin Mathews? From what I understood he was a bit of a nationalist and had something of an opinion about American graduates getting jobs that maybe could have been given to Canadians….?

“Robin Mathews?!?!!???!”, my dad exclaimed. “I almost lost my JOB because of Robin Mathews!!!” Apparently Robin was quite vocal and activist in his opinions.

Well whaddyaknow. And yet, in spite of all that paternal animosity, Sabrina and I became lifelong friends – friends who always and still share all the things.

Sadly, Sabrina lost her remarkable dad not long ago.

His passing was acknowledged across Canada.

Last time Sabrina was here for a visit, and knowing she was more experienced in the difficult things of aging parents than I, I told her about where we were at with all things regarding my dad.

“It’s a process”, she advised me.

Fair enough. A process without clear indicators.

After the Physio gals left today, the head nurse came in and went through a series of localized and cognitive tests. Dad, bored, answered the questions about dates and symptoms with a pronounced sigh of tedium. At a certain point, regarding heart condition, readings, medications, etc, the nurse said, “given your age, sir, with all respect…”

There was a bit of a pause, a blank. Dad looked at me.

Looking for levity, I said, “getting old ain’t for sissies”.

It’s a line we have toyed with before. Bette Davis and all. But today there was no mischief in dad’s eyes as he held my gaze, level and serious. “NO”, he answered.

Coming home from the hospital, I figured I’d crash in front of the television.

I decided to watch La La Land, which I hadn’t caught when it came out years ago. And gosh, it is one charming movie!

But there is a scene in it where the two leads do a bit of a Fred Astaire / Ginger Rogers moment. Of course I thought of my dad. I thought of my dad who had introduced me to Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, and Cyd Charisse and Gene Kelly… the dad with whom I’d watched so many old movies on the tiny little television out on the sunporch… For hours we’d hunched in the creaky wicker chairs and stared at that little television…

And there I had been taught the Sacred Love of Movies.

Some local drama

Over the holidays some dear friends who have moved out to BC were here at mine for a couple of days, and we did a thing which is becoming tradition for us – an “unravel your year” exercise, where you look at the past year and do your best to remember deeply what each month was about, to better envision what you would like to achieve or experience in the year ahead.

For all three of us, one of the big highlights was the visit I made out to their new home on Vancouver Island. For me, the one doing the traveling, it started with a gorgeous flight out over the Rockies –

The flight began in the dark of early morning, but as we flew west the sun rose in the east faster than we flew, giving the sensation of being chased across the earth by the sun.

Perhaps I was feeling especially aware of the turning of the earth as I’d done an exercise for my shamanic “course” some weeks earlier. The course itself is really a yearly engagement with the directions – east, west, south, north. This summer I moved from doing a year in the east – the place of fire, sunrise, and new beginnings – to the west. The west is about sunset, earth, stones, dreaming and death. And as part of engaging with the west, one exercise is to try and spend an entire night out sitting on the earth, seeing the sun go down and then come up again in the morning, sensing the turning of the planet.

Where I live is very urban, so I figured I could sit in our local park, amongst the trees by the beach. But then as the evening played out, groups of guys with cases of beers and boomboxes blaring reggaeton started to show up – it was after all a beautiful Friday evening in summertime – and by the time the sun went down I was too distracted and went home and sat instead on my balcony, heading back to the beach before sunrise to see how much I could feel into the experience. 

As the sun rose, I sat by this tree who seems to reach down into the earth apparently getting just enough nutrients to make a life.

So all of this leaning into feeling close to the earth was still with me while flying west – thinking of the west and the earth while flying west over the earth…

And then being in BC for a week, well… BC is just one of the most gorgeous places on the planet.

So very gorgeous that my friends attempts to try to convince me to move out there stayed with me quite powerfully upon my return to my neighbourhood of condo towers and the never-ending construction of more and more condo towers.

But there are things here that keep me here. 

There is the ongoing graffiti art project I’ve got happening here which is still a lot of fun, even in the ways that it engages with the worst of this area in all of its hideous highway underpasses and traffic jams –

And then, in the most bizarre juxtaposition, just meters away from the ugliness of the traffic, are all the pleasures of life by the lake –

And part of life by the lake for the last few years has been the delightful convenience of the New Year’s fireworks being set off from a barge on the water, meaning all we need to do is stumble down our stairwell a few minutes before midnight to revel in not only the spectacular flashes and bangs, but also the throngs of the young people of this city.

Happy New Year !!!

Lens Artists Challenge – Dramatic

On the edge of loss

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal ~

love leaves a memory no one can steal

~ from a headstone in Ireland

I went out onto the balcony at about 6:30 in the morning with my coffee as I often do.

Settling into the chair, a huge murmuration of hundreds of birds suddenly burst forth from the park next door and spread out across the city. Without thinking, I looked for the kitty cat, to point out to her this happy deluge of birds…

But alas. She left us in late July.

It’s a thing you try to keep to yourself – being heartbroken after the death of a pet, even when they’ve been with you for 20 years – because there isn’t much to say really, and well, heck, they aren’t technically “a person”…

But I gotta tell you, throughout the evolving empty nest home situation of a boy spreading his wings and making his way in the world, and then covid lockdowns, and other health challenges of the last few years, she has been, effectively, my person.

Now I have a little cylinder of ashes out sitting in her spot on the balcony.

Sometimes the balcony door suddenly opens by itself and I wonder if it is her, telling me that these fall nights are too cold for her to stay outside, and she really just wants to be in her heated bed.

Big picture, it really was all fantastically good.

She lived a long and glorious cat life.

She ruled the wilds of a phenomenal back yard for her first 10 years –

And in her older years, there was a smaller life in the quiet of a wee condo with Cat TV –

Still, managing the loss, the Never-Again-ness of death is so difficult to fathom – it arrives in bits and pieces over an extended period of time, perhaps never quite ending. You think the worst is over and then you wake from a dream in the wee hours and look for that little face, and remember again – gone.

*

In a more shocking development, we lost Tom, of Tom & Bea, very suddenly.

Only 55, it was / is still impossible to really comprehend. At the funeral service and wake it was striking to see the people – but maybe especially the men – wandering around stricken, with tears streaking their faces. How Tom with all his big-hearted generosity, his acceptance and love of so much humanity, allowed us to be ourselves – who else is there in this world to do this?

What an exceptional and beloved human to leave us so abruptly. Bea, I think of you every single day.

Tom, I want to share a tune, you know I do, and of course there are too many. So here is one of many –

*

On yet another note – one of temporary absence – my winged boy is off with a one-way ticket and no specific plans to return. His girlfriend has let slip a few more specifics than he has, mentioning perhaps a period of 2 years…

I’m trying to see it as a challenge – a challenge to build and strengthen every other aspect of life until he comes home again.

Lens Artists Challenge – On the Edge